I Saw You (19 page)

‘What did happen?’

‘She was playing Rosie Atkinson. She was winning. Serving beautifully. Returning like a dream. Hitting fabulous passing shots. Lovely stuff. It was all going her way and then Dominic
appeared. He stood and watched. And after a few minutes she fell apart. Started serving badly, lots of double faults. She lost her pace, her rhythm. Made stupid mistakes. And when the match was
over, well, it’s odd but I remember it so clearly, she walked off the court and Dominic followed her. He put his hand on the back of her neck and,’ she shrugged, ‘I don’t
know why but it gave me the shivers.’

‘And the bullying? What about that?’ McLoughlin jingled his keys.

She smiled. ‘Dominic was, and I’m sure still is, very clever. Charming, personable, powerful. You know, a school like this goes through phases. It’s a bit like human history in
miniature. You have your monarchs, your tyrants, your benevolent despots, your democrats. Dominic was a monarch. He had his court and his favourites. And God protect anyone who wasn’t a
favourite.’

‘And who were his favourites?’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s funny. So many children pass through this school, I don’t remember them all. But there was something about that time. I can still see the
group. Dominic, of course, Ben, too, and then the girls. Gilly Kearon, who married Dominic, Sophie Fitzgerald, Rosie Atkinson. Not her sister.’

‘That’s Poppy?’

‘Yes, but Poppy wasn’t pretty. She didn’t fit the profile, I think you could say.’ She smiled fleetingly. For a moment, she looked young, her expression wistful.

‘So how did Mark fit the profile? He surely didn’t measure up to the other boys?’

‘No,’ the smile became a downward curve, ‘but he was useful in other ways. Every beauty needs a beast. Every hero needs a coward. Every genius needs a fool.’

‘And Marina? What was her function?’

‘I’m not sure, but maybe she was the catalyst, the accelerant. I don’t know.’ She took a pace away from him. ‘I’ve said enough. I’ve really nothing else
to add.’

‘And did you ever say any of this to your husband?’

‘I did, but . . .’

‘But Dominic had a hinterland. Even though his father was dead.’

‘Yes, he had a hinterland.’ She pushed the little handkerchief into her sleeve and clasped her hands at waist level. ‘It was a long time ago. The school has entered the phase
of liberal democracy. We make sure that nothing like that ever happens now. We’re much more careful with our children.’ She looked past him towards the gardens and the playing-fields.
‘This is a good school. We have an extensive scholarship programme. We take children from disadvantaged backgrounds. We give them a chance.’ She turned away. ‘I’d better go.
It’s time for Tony’s pills. I have to make sure he takes them.’

He watched her hurry away. He waited until she was out of sight, then walked down the path towards the tennis courts. They looked neglected. The wire netting around them was sagging and holed.
The grass needed cutting and the lines were faded and indistinct. He pushed through the gate to the nearest of the three courts, A shabby net drooped from one side to the other. Someone had
abandoned a racquet near the base line. He picked it up. It was old and wooden, badly warped, its strings loose and sagging. He lifted it above his shoulder and mimed a serve.

‘What happened here, Marina? What happened to you?’ His voice was quiet, subdued. A breeze stirred the branches of the tall pines. He dropped the racquet. It was time to go.

Vanessa arrived on the doorstep as Margaret was getting her breakfast. When Margaret opened the door she barged past her into the hall. ‘You left me!’ she shouted.
‘You left me in the library! I didn’t know where you were. I went looking for you and you were gone. Why did you do that?’ Her face was flushed.

‘Well,’ Margaret hesitated, ‘I’m sorry. There was something I had to do. Somewhere I had to visit. You seemed to be having a really nice time there in the library. I went
to look for you, but you were reading. To be honest, I didn’t think you’d want to come with me.’

‘But you didn’t ask me.’ Tears ran down Vanessa’s cheeks. ‘You didn’t ask me, you just left me there. You treated me the way everyone always treats me. As if
I was a nuisance and a nobody.’

She sank down on her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

‘Vanessa.’ Margaret squatted beside her. ‘Hey, come on, Vanessa. Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I had to see someone. I did look for you. You were reading. You looked happy.
I didn’t want to disturb you. Please,’ she tried to pull the girl’s hands away from her face, but Vanessa resisted, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think.’ She put
her arms around Vanessa’s hunched back and stroked it gently. ‘There, there, now. There’s a good girl.’

Gradually the sobs subsided.

Margaret took her hands. ‘Now, stand up. Come down to the kitchen and I’ll see if I can find something for you to eat. I’m sure you’re hungry, aren’t
you?’

She made her a mug of cocoa, then toasted some cheese on a thick piece of white bread. Vanessa sat at the kitchen table and ate greedily.

‘Better now?’ Margaret sat down across from her.

Vanessa lifted her mug and drained it. ‘That was lovely. You make good cocoa. It’s really nice and creamy.’

Margaret smiled at her. She held out a tissue. ‘You’ve got a bit of cocoa on your chin. You’d better wipe it off.’

Vanessa scrubbed vigorously. ‘Is that better?’ she asked, her voice a little hoarse.

Margaret took the tissue from her. ‘There’s a little bit just . . .’ she dabbed at her nose ‘. . . there.’ She smiled, leaned over and put her arms around her.
‘Now, tell me, what’s really wrong.’

It was her mother. She wasn’t sleeping. She wasn’t eating. All she did was cry. Vanessa couldn’t bear it any longer.

‘And McLoughlin, the policeman you told me about, has he done anything?’ Margaret began to wash their dishes and put them on the draining-rack.

‘Mum got a phone call from him yesterday. He said he thought she should get the locks changed on Marina’s house. So when I got home we went there. Mum didn’t want to go on her
own. She wanted me to come too.’ Vanessa picked up a mug and began to dry it. Carefully, thoroughly.

‘And how was that? Was it difficult?’ Margaret watched the expression on Vanessa’s face. She had become suddenly very tense.

‘It was awful. The house was a terrible mess. There was stuff all over the floor. Books and photographs, CDs and tapes, and upstairs in Marina’s bedroom her clothes were everywhere
and the mattress on her bed had been pulled off. It was horrible.’ Vanessa’s face was white and pinched.

Margaret took the tea-towel from her. ‘You don’t need to do that. Sit down.’

Vanessa snatched it back. ‘No, no, I want to. I want to do something.’

‘OK, fine.’ Margaret sat down at the table again. She waited for a couple of seconds. ‘Do you have any idea who did it? Had the house been broken into?’

Vanessa shook her head. ‘No, so it had to be someone who had keys. And as far as we know there was only us, the guard, and Mark Porter. So . . .’

‘Mark Porter?’

‘He’s this guy who went to school with Marina. And recently she’d started seeing him again.’

‘A romance?’

‘Oh, no, nothing like that.’ Vanessa’s voice was dismissive. ‘No, not at all. She was just being nice to him.’

‘So why would he trash her house?’

Now Vanessa was piling the crockery neatly. Mugs, plates, bowls. ‘Did your mother call the police?’ Margaret asked.

Vanessa picked up a teaspoon. She began to polish it. ‘No. I said she should. But she said there was no real harm done and she’d had enough of the police. And anyway, she said, she
thought if Mark had done it then it must have been because he was so upset about everything that had happened. And she said she could understand it.’ Vanessa put down the tea-towel.
‘And then she got really upset because there were some pictures on the floor and one of them was this old school photo. Marina when she was about fourteen and all the other kids. Mark was in
it too.’

Margaret remembered how it had been. Finding pictures of Mary. Unexpectedly. Opening an old bag and finding a photograph. Her first day at school. Her curly hair in two pigtails and a big grin
on her face. ‘And what about the mess in the house?’ Her voice was gentle. ‘What did you do about that?’

Vanessa was crying now as she polished the knives. Margaret stood up and put her arm around her shoulders. She took the tea-towel from her and pulled her down on to a seat.

‘Mum phoned an emergency locksmith and we waited until he came and changed the locks. Then we went home. But I could hear her last night. I kept on waking up and I could hear her walking
around the house. All night. And I can’t stand it any longer. You have to help her,’ Vanessa begged. ‘You have to talk to her. Please! I’ll phone her, get her to come here.
You have to help her.’

The woman whom Vanessa brought to the house was small and frail. Margaret stood at the top of the steps and watched them walk up the path. Vanessa had an arm around her
mother’s shoulders and guided her carefully over the cracked and uneven surface.

‘It’s good to meet you.’ Margaret held out her hand. ‘I’m Margaret Mitchell. Please come inside.’

The woman tried to smile. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice was quiet, tentative. Her face was pale. There were deep shadows beneath her eyes and lines around her mouth. ‘I’m Sally,
Vanessa’s mother. I hope we’re not imposing.’

Margaret drew her into the house. ‘Not at all. It’s my pleasure.’ She looked past Sally to Vanessa, who was hovering uncertainly in the doorway. ‘Would you like to go out
for a bit? We’ll be all right now.’

‘Yeah, thanks. I’ve some things to do.’ Vanessa turned to her mother and kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll see you later, Mum. OK?’

The woman nodded. She lifted her hand and touched her daughter’s cheek. ‘You go. I’ll be OK.’

They sat in the kitchen. The kettle hummed. The clock ticked. Margaret heated the teapot.

‘I’m sorry. I hope Vanessa hasn’t been making a nuisance of herself. She’s had a hard time recently and I haven’t been much company for her. I’ve been
neglecting her, I’m afraid,’ Sally Spencer fiddled with her watch-strap, her wedding ring, pushed the sleeves of her blouse up her forearms, then pulled them down again.

‘No, it’s fine, really. She’s a sweet girl. I like her.’ Margaret poured water into the pot and gestured to the two white mugs on the table.

‘Thank you, tea would be lovely.’ Sally smiled. ‘Mm, it smells good. What kind is it?’

‘Darjeeling. My father was very fussy – he would only have the best. And he hated teabags. So I couldn’t imagine drinking anything else here, in this kitchen.’ She
offered milk and pushed a plate of biscuits forward with the tip of her finger.

‘The tea is lovely, but I’ll pass on the biscuits,’ Sally said.

‘You’re very thin.’ Margaret lifted her mug and drank some tea. ‘Have you been eating?’

Sally looked at the floor. ‘I have no appetite. I feel sick when I eat. I force myself when Vanessa’s at home, but I’d be as happy without.’

‘It’s a phase. You’ll get over it. I thought I’d never eat again. I thought I’d never want to taste food. It seemed somehow disloyal to Mary, to think that I could
eat and take pleasure from it. That I could eat to sustain my life when she couldn’t.’ Margaret took a biscuit. She bit into its chocolate coating. And thought of Jimmy Fitzsimons. Her
stomach heaved and for a moment she thought she would vomit. She forced herself to swallow.

Sally smiled at her. ‘It’s good to talk to you. It’s so hard to explain to anyone how I feel. People are well-meaning. They want to help. They try to understand. But they
don’t get it.’

‘How can they? They have no experience of such pain. And with pain, you can’t feel someone else’s, only your own.’

The two women sat in silence as they drank their tea. Margaret’s chocolate biscuit remained half eaten on the plate. Sally’s eyes closed and her head drooped.

‘Sally.’ Margaret’s voice was low.

‘Mm?’

‘Come upstairs with me. Let me put you to bed.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve things I have to do.’

‘No, you don’t. You need to sleep. More than anything else. Here.’ Margaret stood and took Sally’s hand. ‘Come with me.’ She pulled the other woman to her
feet and put an arm around her. She led her up the steps from the kitchen to the hall. She guided her into the bedroom at the front of the house. She sat her down on the bed, then closed the
shutters. She laid her flat and lifted up her feet. She took off Sally’s sandals. She covered her with the quilt.

‘Sleep now,’ she said. ‘Sleep. I will look after you. Sleep.’

Sally sighed, Margaret closed the door behind her, then walked back down to the kitchen. She picked up the plate of biscuits and dumped them in the bin.

Loose gravel crunched beneath Vanessa’s clogs. Their bright red leather was covered with a layer of fine dust. She pulled a crumpled tissue from her pocket, bent down and
wiped them clean. Then she straightened up and took a deep breath, filling her lungs with salty air.

She walked on down the pier towards the lighthouse at the end. It was quiet today. A couple of boys cast their fishing lines into the harbour. A jogger passed her, tanned legs moving smoothly.
And up ahead she could see a woman with a large dog. Vanessa’s heart began to race. The dog was a German shepherd. His coat was the colour of toffee. His ears were pricked. He looked alert,
on his guard. Sweat prickled on Vanessa’s skin. She cast around for escape. But there was none. The high sea wall was on one side, and on the other a deep drop to the pier’s lower
level. The dog was getting closer. Vanessa flattened herself against the wall. Panic grabbed her by the throat. She whimpered.

The dog was very close now. He was walking slowly, his long tail waving from side to side. Her legs were shaking and her mouth was full of saliva. The dog stopped. He reached out his large head.
His wet nose touched her skirt. He sniffed, his nostrils opening wide. Then he whined.

‘Tch-tch.’ The woman behind him clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. The dog lay down. He rested his nose on his front paws and closed his eyes.