Silent Victim(21)

Hurt and disbelief creased her features as she stared up at me. ‘I don’t understand, have I said something wrong?’

‘Your phone, have you got it?’ I said curtly, ignoring her distress.

Silently she slid it from her handbag and passed it over. I checked the texts; there were only a few. She had been getting rid of them just as she’d said she would. ‘This was a mistake,’ I said, deleting the final texts. ‘I can’t trust myself around you, Emma. You’re just a schoolgirl. It’s selfish of me to expect anything more.’

She clambered from the blanket, an ungainly teenager again. Tears spiked her eyes, her face flushed with emotion. ‘Please, sir, don’t go.’

My features were torn but inside I celebrated a minor victory. ‘I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I want to have a deeper relationship, but I don’t think you’re ready for such a commitment.’ I sighed, running my fingers through my hair as I scanned the park for onlookers. ‘You’re better off dating someone your own age – taking things slowly.’ I handed her back her phone. ‘I’ll always be here as your friend. But I don’t think we should be alone together.’ I exhaled at her expression, which was aghast. ‘You can’t see it, can you? You’re so unaware of your own sexuality. That’s what makes all this so wrong.’

‘I’m nearly sixteen,’ she said, swiping away the tears now trailing down her face. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’

My voice softened at her obvious distress. ‘And if you were a few years older and I weren’t your teacher then maybe we could be together. But I have to let you go. I’m sorry, Emma. I’m only thinking of you.’ Placing my arms around her, I gave her a parting hug. Deep down, I knew this was far from the end. Squeezing tightly, I allowed her to feel a teasing sense of security for a few seconds as she was encompassed in my strong grip. Then, dropping my arms, I turned and walked away.





CHAPTER TWENTY

EMMA





2002


Mug of tea in one hand, I glanced out through the crack in my bedroom door to check Dad wasn’t about before making the call. The house still smelled of the fish supper we had shared an hour before. I had appreciated his efforts at talking to me, but our conversation soon ran dry. I knew I would have more luck with my sister, but it was proving difficult to get her to pick up. I felt so torn. I had vowed to keep things to myself, but I could not bear feeling this way any more.

I exhaled in relief as my sister answered the phone, reeling off the name of the estate agency where she worked.

‘Tizzy, it’s me . . . Emma,’ I said, interrupting her flow.

A slight hesitation followed before she responded. ‘Sis? Are you OK?’

‘Yes,’ I said, feeling foolish. ‘I miss you. I was just wondering when you’re coming home for a visit. I called at your flat when I was in Colchester, but there was nobody home.’

‘Oh, did you? I’m in the middle of training and having to work weekends to make up for a staff shortfall too. Is there something wrong?’

‘Oh nothing, just boy trouble,’ I said, tears blurring my vision as I spoke. A physical ache rose in my chest and seemed to lodge in my throat. I hadn’t realised just how much I missed Theresa until now.

‘Ooh, has my little sister got a boyfriend?’ she said, her voice teasing. ‘Who is it? Timmy what’s-his-name? Or that George boy you told me about?’

I winced. These were boys from the youth club in Mersea that I had spoken about over a year ago. ‘No, it’s someone in my class.’ I wrapped my right hand around my mug, taking comfort from its warmth against my skin. Inhaling a deep breath, I tried to verbalise my problems. ‘How do you know if a guy likes you? I mean, really likes you? It’s so confusing. One minute they say they fancy me, but the next they’re being totally vile.’

Theresa chuckled. ‘Oh, you’re gonna get that at your age, I’m afraid. Boys take a lot longer to mature than girls. What’s he doing, blowing spitballs at you? Stealing your books?’

I stared unblinkingly into the distance, barely registering the view. ‘Not really,’ I said, wishing I could eloquently portray my feelings in words. I wanted to ask what it was like to have sex, and how it would feel the first time. I was clueless but not entirely stupid. I knew that’s what Mr Priestwood had meant when he said he couldn’t meet me alone. The concept of such intimacy frightened me, but the thoughts of losing him scared me more. I had heard girls in the school locker room talking about the ultimatums their boyfriends had given them: go all the way or get dumped. When I asked if they had given in, they had replied with a laugh and said ‘of course’. I knew that locker room talk could be wildly exaggerated, but it made me wonder if it were my fault just the same. It was me that was slow on the uptake. Perhaps now it was time to enter the modern world.

‘I’ve been getting on really well in art classes,’ I said tentatively, as I tried to broach my relationship with Luke. ‘Mr Priestwood’s really nice. Sometimes I see him in Colchester too.’

‘You’re better than me,’ Theresa laughed. ‘I was bunking off school at your age – teachers were the last people I wanted to see.’ A hint of caution entered her voice. ‘Are you sure it’s OK to be with him outside of class?’