Honest (11 page)

Anne nodded.
‘And you mentioned the underwear.’

‘It’s
somewhere in there. We were interrupted.’

Anne looked at
me. ‘By Peter, your friend who invited you, is that right?’

‘Yes.’

Anne looked
over her notes, nodding slowly. ‘All right. I’ll go and take these notes to the
officers and they’ll send a small team to arrest the man in question. Now, are
you all right?’

‘No,’ I
admitted. I wanted to be back with Peter, not here in this little room. I
wondered if he was still waiting on the harbour, looking out for that car.

‘Don’t get me
wrong — this won’t go to trial right away, and we’ll have plenty of time to go
over the facts. But is there anything else you can think of to strengthen your
report?’

‘What do you
mean?’ I said. ‘I’ve told you all I can.’

‘I know, I
know, but this is a very serious allegation and we need to be as thorough as
possible. Let me put it this way: is there any more
initial
evidence
that might be lost if we don’t attain it now?’

It was all
gobbledygook to me. ‘What?’

‘So far we
have the underwear and the wrapper — that’s evidence, along with your
examination by the nurse, to suggest something happened tonight. But if you
want to report ongoing sexual abuse over a number of years, you might benefit
from proof other than just your word for it. If there’s anyone who could
dispose of evidence—’

‘Like his
wife?’

‘Yes, perhaps.
Can you think of anything?’

I thought
about it, pretending it was dad again and not Dennis, mostly for my own sanity.
I couldn’t get Peter out of my head. I thought of the first day I met him, and
that time in the bathroom...Then it hit me.

‘He gave me a
nightdress once. It’s up the chimney.’

Anne blinked,
pen in hand. ‘Pardon?’

‘A black
nightdress he gave me years ago. I stuffed it up the chimney at home in the
cottage. It should still be there.’

‘Right,’ said
Anne, frowning as she noted it down. ‘Right.’

‘Can I use the
bathroom now?’ I said listlessly, weary of everything. My tummy twisted and
writhed, thinking of that police car making its way to Dennis’ birthday party.
Dennis, who I really liked, and who liked me, and understood me. And it was a
small town, too. Everybody knew Dennis.

‘Um, yes, yes,
why not? Let me just make a few adjustments to the notes I’ve made and I’ll be
right with you.’

‘I’ll just ask
one of the officers where the loo is,’ I said.

She looked
flustered, clutching her papers, unsure. ‘All right, all right. Be quick,’ she
said.

I walked out
of the room, my knees shaking. I saw the front entrance, beckoning me. Peter
was waiting. If I could just have one last minute with him, explain everything—

How could I?
What could I say? He would never, ever forgive me, and he knew the truth. But I
hadn’t been thinking straight at all, and now it was far too late to take it
all back. I had sacrificed Dennis to keep Peter and my father, when really all
I wanted was Peter.

I’d backed us
both into a corner, and there was no way out.

I tried to
shut my brain off completely and just focus on that entranceway. The drunk
woman from earlier was shouting the odds in her cell down the hall. There was
one female officer at the desk, and she was leaning off her chair, calling out
to the drunken woman to behave. She had her back to me.

I took my
chance and, ducking low, hurried clean out the doorway, onto the cobbled
streets, running for my life towards Peter.

Chapter
Fifteen

He was still
there, watching the police car turning the corner up his road, its lights
flashing. I had a couple of seconds, as I ran to him, to observe how innocent
he appeared watching that car, not knowing that they were after his father and
not mine.

Panting, my
face stained with tears, I called out his name. He held out his arms to me and
grabbed me when I got near, hugging me tight. His skin was so cold and he was
shaking, but as he hugged me close he kissed the crown of my head again and
again, oblivious to it. Then he took my face in his hands and looked at me.

‘Why have they
let you go?’ he asked.

‘I ran away,’
I said. ‘I just wanted to be with you, Pete. Oh, Pete, they’re going to keep me
there forever. I wish I’d never done it. They’re arresting him, and there’s
evidence, and god, this nurse looked at me—’ I rambled while Peter cupped my
face, planting kisses on my forehead. They weren’t enough to calm me down, not
now. Not while I was still on this earth.

‘It’s okay,’
he said, stroking me with his long guitarist fingers, their tips as cold as a
frosty window pane. ‘You’re so brave, El’.’ He pulled me close again and held
me. ‘You’re so brave. You’re the bravest person I know.’

I ducked my
head against his chest and squeezed, thinking,
never let me go
. When I
opened my eyes I realised it must have been so late, maybe even the early hours
of the morning now. I glanced over the wall at all the boats, softly rocking on
the water. A small motorboat caught my eye. I cocked my head to one side and
saw the logo:
Denton
.

‘Your mum and
dad’s boat,’ I said, my voice a dry whisper. ‘We were going to go out on it
this summer. Dennis said we’d go fishing.’

‘We still
can,’ said Peter. ‘I told you, we’re gonna look after you. I promise.’

I looked up at
him, pleading, grasping both of his hands. ‘Take me out on the water now.’

‘No, El’, it’s
late. Come on, we can’t. You’re mixed up, you’re upset—’

I squeezed his
hands, fresh tears tumbling from my eyes. If only we could get out on that
clear water I might be able to think for just a minute, just a couple of
minutes.

I thought: I
could take it all back. I could pretend I was drunk and making it up, anything...but
no, Peter wouldn’t forgive me.

Then again,
he’d never forgive me for blaming his father, knowing that mine was the
criminal, the sicko. That was so much worse.

‘Peter I can’t
stay here. I can’t hear my own thoughts. My head is
screaming
for Christ’s
sake. Please just do this for me; just take me away before they make me leave
the cottage, please!’

He put his arm
around my shoulders, frowning. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘All right. Let’s go.’

The key was
hidden under a big terracotta plant pot by the stone stairwell leading down to
the boats. We crept down like smugglers in the dark, the cold biting through
the soles of my shoes. I held Peter’s hand the whole way down, and when we were
close enough to jump in the little motorboat, he turned around and helped me
in.

I could hear a
commotion in the street, someone screaming, others shouting. Peter heard it
too, pausing, before he sat at the back of the boat and cranked the engine into
life, yanking the choke rope several times. It roared, the water bubbled, and
slowly the boat chugged away from the harbour.

As we inched
further and further away, my scrambled mind ached just a little less. I watched
the lights above the harbour float away like orbs, the shops and houses getting
smaller, the cliffs swelling around us before we broke free of them completely.
Then it was just the dark, inky black ocean all around us, on a silent, moonlit
night.

Peter took my
hand in his, keeping his free hand on the lever to steer. His back against the
moon, his face and skin were darkened in shadow, and what I found so beautiful
about him now frightened me. I saw his broad shoulders, his thick wrists, his
height, all so much like the man I had just condemned.

‘El’, I’m
going to be with you all the way through this, you know that,’ said Peter, his
voice soft and familiar and close in the stillness of the night.

‘I know,’ I
said between cries. Somehow I just couldn’t stop, and seeing Peter like this
only made things worse. What was I doing, saving my monster of a father?
Because that’s what it was, and that’s how Peter would see it no matter how
much I explained. I thought of Dennis’ big kind eyes, his huge laugh, his thick
scouser voice.

It turned my
stomach over to think of what must be happening right then: the police
hammering on the door, Diane answering, dad’s heart stopping as they waded into
the garden; Dennis’ contorted, confused, drunken face as they put the cuffs on
him; the outcries of his friends, Diane’s frantic tears as they stated the
reason for his arrest.

‘El’,’ Peter
said, breaking my thoughts. ‘Wear the life jacket. It’s just there, right
behind you.’

I felt for it
below my seat and, with shaking hands, I pulled it on over my head. ‘Where’s
yours?’ I asked.

Peter
shrugged. ‘The sea’s calm enough. The rest are at home. It’s all right, El’,
don’t look at me like that, I’ll be fine — I just want you to wear yours.’

‘Look at you
like what?’ I said, fearing he could read my mind, though of course that was
impossible.

‘Like
someone’s walked over your grave.’

‘Peter,’ I said,
clearing my throat, my voice shrill in fear. I was going to tell him, I was, I
swore I was.

But when I saw
his hand on the lever, and saw the way he twisted it towards himself to make
the boat go faster, and push it back to slow it down, my hand sprung to cover
his.

I just
thought, I just thought, oh, I didn’t
know
what I was thinking, but the
ocean was so deep and everything on earth so painful that I just thought, now
that we were together, and everything would be ruined, I
just thought
—

‘What are you
doing?!’ Peter screamed, trying to pry my hand off while I slammed the lever as
far in as I could, and the boat lurched forward to an impossible speed, the
water skimming by our heads.

If we could
just go together, maybe, maybe, I just
thought
if the afterlife existed—

‘Ellen you’re
going to kill us!’ Peter pushed my abdomen with his foot, forcing me away, but
in my fury and tears I was so much stronger. I shoved the lever with both
hands, the boat roaring and raging, buzzing like a giant insect, and all that
went through my head was
make it stop make it stop make it stop
, but it
wasn’t the boat I was thinking of. The boat would be blessed relief.

There was a
horrendous crash and the sound of splitting wood, and suddenly the boat
launched into the air, turning on its side, and while Peter thrashed about and
screamed, I knew it was too late. We were already going under.

My eardrums
roared as sharp water flooded my head, my mouth, my nose, drowning me. There
was an almighty searing pain in my calf, then a sudden cloud all around me,
blinding me. As I sank lower and felt the inertia of the engine sinking beneath
me, I swore, I felt Peter’s fingertips brush mine.

My mind went
foggy and my eyes closed and my heart stopped, but all the while I was
screaming inside, screaming,
PETER!

Above me, the
propeller of the helicopter span so fast it made a blur of the stars. A mask
was fastened to my face.

In my sleep I
heard the words
they’ve found him
. In my sleep I cried and cried.

In my sleep I
felt the cold harbour stone beneath me and heard the wailing of the ambulances.

When I woke I
coughed up water and felt the sting in my throat. My leg was numb. I looked
down and saw red flesh, red as Peter’s tear ducts, red as a gutted fish. Up
ahead I saw two men pumping another man’s torso.

In the
hospital they loaded me up with drugs and carted me straight to theatre. As we
passed a crowd of people, I heard a doctor say
I’m sorry there was nothing
we could....his head injury....severe...swallowed too much wa....I’m so sorry
.
When my gurney was wheeled around a corner, I swore I could hear Diane
screaming. I fell asleep.

I woke up, I
fell asleep. I woke and dad was watching me. I fell asleep.

I woke up and
dad told me, ‘Darling I’m just so sorry but Peter—’

‘He didn’t make—’

‘I’m just so
glad you’re alive. What were you—’

‘Why did you?
Why did you?’

‘He’s been
charged. Ellen they searched the house and found—

‘How are we
ever going to clear up this mess—’

I woke up with
Diane’s hands around my throat, her bloodshot eyes boring into mine, her teeth
bared. ‘I’ll kill you! You killed my baby!’ she screamed. ‘I’ll kill you!’

Four nurses
dragged her back as the security men arrived to take her away. I was plugged
into machines and a wire trailed from my hand. My leg was cast and ached like
crazy. Diane was dragged screaming from the room. In the hall I could see dad
with his face in his palms, hunched over, shaking.

My head was
fuzzy and thick from drugs and an eternity of sleep, but when I realised I was
alive all I wanted to do was scream like Diane. She’d screamed for me.

I rolled over
and threw up all over the pale blue bedspread. All that went through my mind
was
I am a liar and I killed Peter Denton.

Chapter
Sixteen

I waited by
the front door for dad to get home, scratching the arms of my chair and biting
my hangnails until they bled. When he finally arrived, I told him right away
what David had said: that Dennis was out of prison. I watched his face drain of
all colour as he shut the front door behind him. The slam clattered throughout
the house like a snap of thunder.

‘He’ll come
here,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘If that’s true, and he’s really out. I know
Dennis. He’ll come here. I know he will.’

‘Don’t scare
me,’ I said, biting my lip. ‘Melanie tried to tell me but I wasn’t listening
properly. Will he
really
come here for us, Dad?’

He paced the
floor, scratching the back of his head, his long ponytail wet and thin from the
rain. He shrugged off his coat, frowning in thought. ‘It depends. I don’t know.
It’s something the old him would do.’

‘What do you
mean the old him? What’s he going to be like now?’

‘He’s been in
prison, Ellen.’ Dad snapped, making me flinch. I could tell he was scared,
genuinely scared, because he never raised his voice like that. I kept my mouth shut
and listened. His breaths were small and quick. ‘Who knows what he’ll be like
now. Have you ever met a prisoner? Ever met a man jailed for a crime like
that
?’

I gave dad a
long look. His eyes flitted away from me as he paced. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, crouching
down to my level. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just trying to think, all right flower? Let
me think.’

I sat and
watched him pacing back and forth, his hand covering his mouth, a bead of sweat
meandering down one side of his face. There was more to this, I knew it.

‘
Why
would he come here, dad? For me? Why would he be so stupid as to come for me
when he’s just served nearly three years?’

Dad scraped
his fingers over his scalp. ‘Not for
you
,’ he said, shutting his eyes
tight. ‘He knows it’s me.’

‘What?’

‘He knows it’s
me
.’

‘How does he
know it’s you?’ I asked, panicking. ‘He doesn’t have any reason—’

Dad pulled his
hands away from his face and sprang at me, gripping the arms of my chair. ‘Grow
up, Ellen! Don’t be so stupid. Dennis isn’t a fool. Why else would I have stood
up in court and defended my daughter against my best friend, eh? Why would I do
that if I was innocent?’

‘Because
that’s what dads do,’ I said, staring him out. He pressed his face closer to
mine, his watery iris’ like the pale eyes of a dead fish.

‘Dads don’t
let their mates go to prison when they know better, daughter or not.’ He pulled
away and sat down on the stairs, massaging his temple. When he piped up again,
his voice was calmer, though shaking.

‘Dennis used
to have a bit of a speech impediment. When they asked me to come to court and
answer questions about him, he was a stuttering moron — could hardly string a
few words together properly.’

‘I never heard
him with a speech impediment,’ I said. ‘He always sounded fine. Loud, even.’

Dad nodded. ‘Yes,
but that’s because he was relaxed. He worked off his speech impediment by
singing backing vocals in that band of his, do you understand? He controlled
it. In court he couldn’t control it. He was scared and upset.’

‘Don’t, dad,’
I said. I felt so sorry, thinking of him stuttering in court, and all because
of me.

‘You don’t get
it,’ he said. ‘In court they asked me stuff. They wanted to know if I’d ever
known of his speech problems. They must have thought he was putting it on,
because nobody else apart from Diane said they knew about it. I did, though,
didn’t I? I’d always known about it. But they needed to make sure he wasn’t
trying to look vulnerable, do you understand?’

‘And you lied
about it,’ I said. Dad nodded, his face creasing up with guilt.

‘Course I did.
I lied and it made me sick to my stomach, but I stood there and I said no, your
honour, I’ve never known him to have problems with his speech. And right there
in that bloody court Dennis went nuts, shouting at me, asking why I was doing
this to him. When he got too violent they dragged him out of the court room. He
wasn’t helping himself, of course, but that was Dennis — he wore his heart on
his sleeve. I saw his eyes, Ellen, like he had just realised everything while
they were dragging him through that door. He’d worked me out.’ Dad took a long,
deep breath and whined as he let the air out, like a sad old dog.

‘He didn’t
shout anything about me? Call me names?’ my stomach tied itself in a knot,
squeezing tighter.

‘No,’ said
dad. ‘Even then he didn’t blame you. He probably thought you were just looking
for attention, but when they brought up the evidence and then that incident
happened with me in the court, it must have all fallen into place. He knew it
was me you were protecting.’

‘I wasn’t
protecting you,’ I snapped. ‘I did it for Peter.’

Dad laughed,
but it was hollow and lifeless, an act. ‘Then why did you blame that poor
bastard, eh? Why did you blame him if you weren’t protecting me? How did you
think Peter was going to take it?’

‘It just came
out all wrong. And you just shut up about Peter. He never had to know. I
thought we’d both escape all of this.’ I wiped my eyes, tearing up. Dad didn’t
understand about what really happened that night.

In court, I
told them that Peter had gotten angry about his dad interfering with me, and
that it was him who sped the boat up. I told the court that Peter had walked in
on me and Dennis. I could still see Diane’s face as she leapt up from her row
and screamed out that I was a liar, and that Peter was in that room with me
while Dennis had been downstairs all along, enjoying his party.

‘She’s lying!’
she’d cried, pointing one of her long fingers at me. ‘You lying little cow!’

It was no use.
I almost felt sorry for her, standing there screaming and crying with her plain
face and hair tied back, her cheap brown suit and the bags beneath her eyes.
But the jury only saw me, a girl under sixteen, dead boyfriend, wheelchair
bound, crying into her hands. It wasn’t until I saw the artist’s impression of
that very moment in the paper that I realised I was going to win the case.

If only the
artist had known the truth then he would’ve had a better picture, and so would
the rest of the world. It wouldn’t have been so dramatic, but it would have
been honest. The truth was I wanted to take it all back, take back everything
I’d said, but it was too late. Peter was dead and Dennis was taking the wrap
for my dad’s crimes.

And now I was
still stuck with dad, more alone than ever.

‘I never learn
what really happened when it comes to you,’ dad said. ‘You never tell the whole
truth. I still don’t understand why you did it, why, when we were so happy.’

‘I have never
been happy,’ I said. ‘And I told you, I had to go to the police station because
Peter knew everything.’

‘You told
him.’ Dad stiffened his lip, not meeting my eyes. ‘And then he tried to kill
you both in that boat.’

‘Oh just shut
up!’ I wheeled myself into the kitchen and laid my head down on the table. I
could hear dad’s pathetic cries coming from the hallway. ‘Just shut up,’ I
muttered, too low for him to hear me. I laid there listening to him crying for
what seemed like forever before he finally came into the room.

‘I’ve
decided,’ he said, folding his arms.

I sat up,
heavy—headed. ‘Decided what?’ I said.

‘I’ve decided
that a man has to protect his daughter, and I need to set an example. If he
does
come here, and he might not, but if he does—’

‘You’ll fight
him off?’

Dad’s mouth
twitched. ‘No. No, I’ll just call the police.’

I nodded.
‘Right, right. Because you aren’t man enough.’

‘Stop it,’
said dad. ‘You’re being spiteful.’

‘It’s true
though, isn’t it?’ I said. It had taken me years to figure this out, and if any
bit of goodness had come from what happened three years ago, it was that I’d
found out that my dad was a fraud. All my life, since mum left, I’d thought he
was in control. He wasn’t. I’d read about men like him in
Cosmo
and
Marie
Claire
and I’d seen interviews with girls like me on This Morning, so I
knew better. Dad was weak; one of the weakest men on the planet. He wasn’t in
control, and never had been — I was.

‘Now look,’ he
said, pointing a trembling finger at me. ‘I don’t appreciate this attitude of
yours after everything I’ve done for you. Now, we’re going to stay here and
show everyone that we don’t have anything to be afraid of. If he comes, the
police will take him away, and then we can get on with our lives. As far as I’m
concerned, that’s enough for everyone, no matter what he says.’

‘You mean if
he tells everybody about you?’

‘Even then.
The justice system found him guilty and we’re just two people living here
peacefully. That’s enough.’

It wasn’t
enough. Not for me, and not for dad, because we knew the truth. If Dennis knew,
then he could do some real damage. I wouldn’t blame him for trying. Dennis had
guts where dad was only skin and bones.

That night in
bed, I saw Peter’s shadow walking along the cliff top. I was so mesmerised, so
happy, even, that I didn’t notice the sound of dustbins being kicked over
outside. I didn’t pay attention to the smashing of a bottle, or the sound of a
man hammering against our kitchen window with his fist.

It was only
when I heard him kicking our front door in that I snapped out of it. The shadow
vanished, and I was left poised in my bed, listening closely.

Dennis really
had come for us.

I huddled up
under my covers. Dad had woken up, and I could hear him tapping 999 into his
mobile, the beeping noises clear in the silent house. The door rattled,
thumped, then rattled some more.

Then he
started screaming. It was Dennis, all right. ‘Come out and face me Terry!’ he
shouted, his voice thick and slurring. I could tell he’d been drinking, but I
hadn’t heard his voice in so long that I wasn’t so much afraid as stunned. It
was like waking up from a coma, back in my old life.

‘Terry, you
piece of shit, you come out here or I’ll break this fucking door down!’ he
shouted, banging his fist against the front window again.

I could hear
dad’s voice muttering into the receiver. I could just imagine his knees
shaking, crouched down low in the dark.

I pulled the
duvet off and leaned out of bed for my stick, which was propped up against my
bedside table. My fingers nearly touching it, my breaths quick, the stick fell
from its place and rattled against the floor. When I reached down low for it,
determined to get a look at Dennis out the window, a cold shudder rippled over
my skin.

A sickness did
tumbles in my belly. I’d felt this before, recently — the time I flung myself
down the stairs.

Only it hadn’t
been me. Peter did it.

I looked
around my dark bedroom, searching the walls for shadows in that familiar shape
of him. I found nothing. I only felt the sickness writhing around inside me,
like a worm, while my skin got colder and colder.

‘Peter?’ I
whispered, almost whimpering the name. My bad leg stiffened, then my right, and
soon my arms stiffened too. Pins and needles rose on my skin, my hairs standing
up, my toes and fingertips numb.

My right hand
closed up into a fist, then flexed, against my will. I gritted my teeth and
tried to prize the fingers open, willing them with my mind, but they refused.
They weren’t mine anymore. I panted, afraid, as my legs swung themselves off
the bed and I was propped up, as if by invisible hands, shivering in my
nightie.

I made a sound
like crying, but the sound soon faded. I felt trapped inside my own body,
possessed by some Other. My mouth tightened up and I lurched stiffly towards
the bay window. My hands slammed against the glass when I hit it, my body
flexing and convulsing while in my mind, trapped, I screamed and screamed.

I could see
Dennis below, shouting through the letterbox. He was still large like I
remembered, but his hair had turned grey and was buzzed close to his scalp,
shaven at the sides. I was shut in, watching him like a fish inside a bowl.
Then, creeping up beside me, was my own hand reaching for the latch. I groaned
and whimpered but it was no use; my mouth closed up, zipped tight.

When I
unhooked the latch and pushed the window open with my white, stiff fingers, I
felt my good leg rising up. The night air rushed over me, warm compared to the
chill in my bones, the wind teasing up wispy lengths of my hair. My knee
pressed down on the window seat as my hand gripped the windowsill, then my
other joined it, and while I cried inside my body continued with determination.

Dennis looked
up and saw me, a pained look spreading upon his face.

‘You!’ he
said.

I was in a fog
now, completely numb. Accept it, I thought — you are going to die. I deserved
it. I didn’t know what was happening to my body, but did it matter? Perhaps I
really was sleepwalking after all. Perhaps this was all a horrible dream.

I could almost
feel the wind sailing over my body as I was plunged down into the street below,
eager for it even, when two startling hot hands grabbed me around the waist. I
twisted in his grip, screaming, when the coldness left me suddenly, and I went
limp, a cool sweat bathing my skin. The mist cleared from my mind.

As dad laid me
down on the bed and closed the window with haste, I heard Dennis’s shouts
getting louder and more furious down below. I stared over dad’s bony shoulder
at the cliff top beyond the harbour. Peter’s shadow was walking again, making
his way up that long, steep hill.

When he
reached the peak, he carried on and walked right off, his body disintegrating
as it fell.