Silent Victim(17)

I tried to imagine Emma at fifteen. I’d seen family photos of a sullen young girl, but Emma tended to keep them hidden away. It was as if she didn’t want her past to taint our family. But it was too late for that now. I squeezed her hand, not wanting to interrupt her flow.

‘I met Luke when he took over from the old art teacher.’ She kept her eyes fixed on the woollen throw, unable to meet my gaze. ‘In time, we got talking. He told me he’d had a difficult childhood. I felt he was the only one who understood. All the girls fancied him, but he didn’t seem interested in anyone else but me.’ Emma picked at the throw, dislodging loose fibres as she recalled the memory. ‘We grew close. I felt special, having a proper grown-up man pay attention to me.’ Briefly she met my gaze. ‘He gave me a mobile phone so we could text each other in private. Then we started meeting up in Castle Park. It was nice, having a friend. He was nothing like the boys my age, all they wanted was a quick grope at the back of the bike shed. Luke valued my opinion, listened to what I had to say.’

‘But things got heavy?’ I said, feeling guilty for making her recall what was obviously a painful memory.

Emma responded with two sharp nods of the head. ‘He was so intense. He said he was risking everything for me. In my mind it was romantic. What I didn’t realise was that he was grooming me all along.’

Emma clenched the throw in her hands, wrapping it tightly around her. I opened my mouth to speak. As she took a breath to continue, I swallowed back my words, allowing her to carry on.

‘He became really controlling after that, emotionally manipulating me into complying with his needs. He gave me the school camera and asked me to take some pictures that he could develop in his darkroom. I took photos of outdoor scenes for my art project. It’s only now that I realise what the camera was for. I was so naive.’

‘Bastard,’ I said, my frustration growing. At least now I could understand why she had been so guarded when she’d met me. People had let her down for most of her life.

Her eyes glazed, Emma continued as if she hadn’t heard me. ‘Our relationship progressed and he pressured me for more. Well . . . I . . . I was just a mixed-up kid. Deep down, I knew I wasn’t ready for it, but I would have done anything for him. It was only a matter of time before people found out.’

Her eyes flicked to mine and back to her hands as she struggled to find the words. It pained me to think of her being with someone else. ‘So you ended it?’ I said, trying to help her out.

‘Yes,’ Emma nodded. ‘It was for the best. But as time went on, I’d see him wherever I went. Flowers came to the house, but there was never any card. I switched off the mobile phone and the house phone would ring all hours of the night and day. He began to scare me. It was like he was two different people. In the daytime, he’d refuse to acknowledge what he had done.’ Still pulling at the threads, she sighed. ‘I avoided him as much as I could. Weird things started happening, and it felt like someone had been in my room. Eventually I told the police, but Luke blamed me, saying that I wouldn’t leave him alone. I tried talking to his sister, Noelle, but she wouldn’t listen. Then he texted, saying he’d kill himself if I ever left him. I told him to leave me alone, that I didn’t want to see him any more.’

I looked at my wife and it was as if I barely knew her. So much of her past had been a mystery to me, but I was beginning to understand. Her eating disorder had descended because she knew no other way of dealing with the chaos that enveloped her. She must have felt very much alone. ‘Why was he so obsessed? You didn’t sleep together . . . did you?’

A flush rose to her cheeks. ‘We were never intimate, even though he tried. Things died down the following school year, but he was always in the background. When I was accepted into university I left home. I told my dad not to give my forwarding address to anybody.’

‘And that was the end of it?’ I asked, hoping she had meant a metaphorical killing earlier on, instead of a physical one.

‘It was . . . until Dad’s funeral. Do you remember how upset I was to get that bunch of sunflowers?’

I frowned as I recalled that day. I remembered commenting on the odd choice of funeral flower when Emma had burst into tears.

‘He must have read the announcement in the paper,’ she said. ‘I knew it was him because they had significance. I used to draw them all the time. It was my favourite flower. I say was. I’ve come to hate them now.’

‘It could have been your mum,’ I said, but was immediately silenced by a darkened glare.

‘It wasn’t her.’

A gust of cool air blasted from the nearby window, and I shuddered as it ran down my back. Sitting in my T-shirt and boxers, I felt every inch of the cold, but I didn’t want to move until Emma had finished telling me the truth. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I interrupted her again.

‘You had to cope with so much when you took me on: my bulimia, Dad dying, and you were so upset when it looked like we’d never have a baby. I couldn’t put you through any more.’

‘But Emma . . .’ I said, placing my hand on hers.

Slowly she withdrew, curling her hands beneath the throw, disappearing into herself. ‘Please. Just let me finish.’

I met her gaze, sending her a nod to tell her it was OK.

‘I blamed myself after things soured with Luke. Going to university was a form of escape. You made me believe in myself. Even after a year of me knocking you back, you still stuck by me.’