The Girl in the Mirror (21 page)

T
wenty minutes later, having run most of the way home, Mandy sat at the table in her bedsit with the carton of milk and the BLT beside her, and opened the laptop. The screen sprung into life and the last webpage appeared but with a message: Timed out. ‘Blast!’ she said. She’d have to enter her login details again. Clicking through to her Inbox she opened the email with her login details and copied and pasted the pass code into the
Login
box. The page for searching appeared and, hardly daring to breathe, she typed in James Osborne and Cambridgeshire. She clicked
Search
and waited. The familiar holding message appeared:
Please wait, searching in progress.
Please let him be there, please, this is my last hope. A few seconds passed and then
Result
appeared. There were two James Osbornes living in Cambridgeshire. Let one of them be him, she prayed, please, that’s all I ask. She clicked on the first: James Mark Osborne, but his date of birth showed him to be forty-eight. Close but not close enough. With her fingers shaking she clicked on the second: James Simon Osborne. She looked at his date of birth. Her hand shot to her mouth and she stifled a cry. The right age. Yes, he was fifty-four! Was it really him? She hardly dared believe.

Clicking on the button for more information, she drew her pen and paper across the table. The information appeared and she made a note of his address and telephone number. There was a map symbol beside his address. She clicked on it and a map of the area where he lived filled the screen. Moving her cursor to
extend the perimeters of the map, she calculated that this James lived about five miles from Evelyn and John. Closing the map she returned to James’s details and
Other occupants over eighteen living at this address.
She clicked on the link and the name Natalie Jane Osborne appeared. Wasn’t Natalie the name of Jimmy’s wife? Isn’t that what Evelyn had said? She tried to think back and remember. When she’d taken refuge in the Pink Room and Evelyn had come in and tried to explain, hadn’t she said Jimmy’s wife was called Natalie? Mandy was almost sure she had. She looked at Natalie’s date of birth. She was three years younger than Jimmy. She made a note and then looked up and gazed at the screen.

Although his age and address fitted, and possibly Natalie was the name of his wife, Mandy had to be absolutely certain that this James Osborne was the Jimmy she was looking for. It wouldn’t do to go bursting in and accuse an innocent man. A message appeared telling her she needed to pay another £5.99 before she could continue to search, which she did. It would have been cheaper to take out a year’s membership, she thought, but she hadn’t realized how much searching she was going to be doing. Returning to the page with James Simon Osborne’s details, Mandy now clicked the button to search criminal records. The holding message appeared, and her stomach churned.
Result: no criminal record found.

She wasn’t sure if this made it better or worse.

She began clicking down the line of information buttons to the right of the page but the only other detail she was able to discover was that this James had a full driving licence and passport, both of which she could have reasonably guessed as most adults possessed them. Then she came to the search button for checking birth records. Of course! She had enough information to check his birth certificate. Leaning closer and hardly daring to breathe, she clicked on the link to the register of births and
entered ‘James Simon Osborne’ and his date of birth. A moment later
Result
appeared. James Simon Osborne was born to a Mabel Elizabeth Osborne; it gave his mother’s date of birth. Not daring to take her eyes from the screen, Mandy reached for the pen and wrote his mother’s date of birth on the notepad. Close, so close; she was certain it was him, but there was one final check she needed to make before it was conclusive. Returning to the main menu, she carefully typed in his mother’s full name, Mabel Elizabeth Osborne, together with her date of birth, and clicked
Search
. The holding message appeared…
Please wait
…then a few moments later:
Result
. Mabel Elizabeth Osborne lived in St Mary’s Nursing Home, located almost exactly between John’s and James’s address. Evelyn had said John’s mother was in a local nursing home. Too much for coincidence.

‘Result!’ Mandy said, satisfied, tearing off the sheet of paper with his details on. She folded it and put it in her purse for safekeeping, shut down the computer, then finished the carton of milk and sandwich. ‘Found you at last, you bastard!’

She wasn’t sure exactly when she would be using the information, only that it wouldn’t be very long. The anger, fear, hurt and resentment she should have felt in the months straight after the attack, but which had been denied to her all these years, were flaring with vengeance, and would very likely keep doing so. She knew if she didn’t deal with them soon she would never be able to move on and leave the past behind. Being in possession of Jimmy’s address had empowered her. She knew where he lived, and he had no idea she knew. Having the advantage made her feel more in control of events rather than at their mercy. Less of a victim.

Crossing the room, she went to the easel and the painting she’d begun in the early hours of the morning. She’d still no idea what
the swirls of grey and black were and the ‘picture’ seemed even less appealing now than it had earlier. Taking down the paper, she screwed it up and put it in the bin, then clipped a fresh sheet to the easel. She took the cap off the tube of blue paint and squeezing a little on to her palette began to paint. An hour later she stood back and admired what she’d done so far. Not bad, not bad at all. The blue, cloudless sky stretched into the distance and the church spire that rose before it was a good likeness. Perhaps she hadn’t lost her talent after all. Cleaning her brush, she picked up her mobile and texted Adam:
Im free if u want 2 meet l8r?
Almost immediately a text came back:
Dinner? red lion 7pm?
She felt a frisson of warmth as she replied:
Yes plz x.
The Red Lion was the pub they’d used once before to meet after an argument – neutral ground where they’d repaired their differences.

With an hour before she was due to meet Adam Mandy sat on the bed and returned the texts and calls from the day before. There were three texts from friends, which she dealt with first, then she phoned her mother. ‘Are you sure you’re all right alone?’ her mother asked for the second time. ‘You know you can always stay here.’

‘I’m fine,’ Mandy reassured. ‘I’m keeping busy and I’m meeting Adam for dinner shortly,’ which seemed to reassure her.

Mandy then spent the next twenty minutes, before she had to leave to meet Adam, getting ready. She made a special effort – straightening her hair, changing her T-shirt for a blouse and applying eye make-up and lipstick.

‘Sorry,’ she said, as soon as she saw him outside the pub. ‘Sorry I was such a cow.’

He smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips, as usual willing to forgive even though he didn’t know what was wrong.

‘Thanks for being so understanding,’ she said. ‘I need to talk to you.’

He nodded and, taking her hand, led the way up the steps and into the carvery pub. The waitress showed them to a corner table where they ordered their drinks. Only once they were settled with their plates before them and Adam was concentrating on his food did she begin.

‘Adam, you know when we first met at Uni you thought I didn’t date because of a bad experience?’ He nodded. ‘You were right. I didn’t know it at the time but I’d had a very traumatic experience as a child. I’d shut myself in emotionally and couldn’t bear to let anyone near me. If you hadn’t taken the time to get to know me I don’t think I’d ever have had a relationship or fallen in love. I can’t go into all the details now, I’ve only just found out.’

‘While you were at your aunt’s?’ He’d stopped eating and was looking at her, his face deathly serious.

‘Yes.’

‘I thought as much.’

‘I’m still trying to come to terms with what I now know happened. I’ll tell you everything one day, I promise.’ She paused. He was watching her intently. ‘I need you, Adam, I love you. But if we are going to carry on seeing each other you’ll have to be as patient now as you were at Uni. I want your company but I can’t…’ She stopped, suddenly very self-conscious and unable to say the words. ‘Do you understand what I’m trying to say?’ she finished lamely after a moment.

He nodded and, setting his cutlery on his plate, reached out and took her hand. ‘I think we’ll be watching a lot of television. Don’t worry; take as much time as you need.’

S
everal days later Mandy stood in front of the easel, dry paintbrush in hand, and continued to study the blank canvas. Having finished the painting of the church with its spire rising high into the blue sky and been reasonably pleased with it she now found she was blocked again. Propped on the table beside the easel was her sketch pad; she kept flicking through it for inspiration but none came. It was mid-morning and Adam was at work; she was expecting him to phone or text later as he had been doing each day. Although they’d seen each other every evening, following her wishes he’d returned home to sleep.

With a sigh she moved away from the easel and wandered over to the window where she gazed out on to the front garden and street below. What was Jimmy doing now on this clear April morning? she wondered. Was he at work? Concentrating on a computer screen, with a client, or in a meeting? Or perhaps he was rich and didn’t have to work and was playing golf, or was even at home, reading the newspaper, or out shopping with his wife. Or maybe he was on holiday, taking a week before the schools broke up for Easter. Since obtaining Jimmy’s details Mandy found she kept trying to imagine where he was or what he might be doing. It was starting to become an obsession, overriding all her other thoughts. Knowing where Jimmy lived had brought him that much closer and made him more accessible and real, instead of the shadowy figure in the Pink Room or at the
foot of the slide. But in bringing him closer, the horror of his attack had taken a step closer too. Mandy knew she couldn’t put it off any longer – she needed to confront him, preferably before the funeral on Friday when she would see all her family again, which effectively meant she had to do it today, Thursday.

Two hours later she boarded the 12.05 at Paddington Station which would get her into Mowbury – the town closest to where Jimmy lived – at 13.40. From there she would catch a bus (No. 247) to the outskirts of the town, and then it was approximately a five-minute walk to his address. She’d worked out the route from maps she’d printed from the Internet, including a detailed street map of the exact location of his house. She sat in the carriage with a bench seat to herself and gazed out of the window as the train pulled away. She tried to silence her racing heart and not think about what she was doing, for she knew any more thought could weaken her resolve and she’d turn round and go home. Of course her family would be upset when she went to the police and the hurt of the past was reignited, but she was sure they’d understand. She was equally confident they would give evidence, and their evidence, together with that of Mrs Pryce and the doctor’s report from the time, would surely secure Jimmy’s conviction. She needed to make sure he wasn’t free to do it again and also to see him punished.

Gazing through the carriage window, the offices and houses of Greater London were gradually replaced by countryside, peppered with the occasional town or village. It was only from a train or plane, she thought, that you realized just how much of England was still green – easily forgotten living in London. Her mobile bleeped with an incoming text and she took it from her bag. It was Adam:
Hav a gd time. take care x,
She’d told him
she was going to see an old friend and wouldn’t be back until late. She texted back:
I will thanks x,
and then felt guilty for lying to him.

An elderly couple sat across the aisle and the woman looked over. Mandy returned her smile, and then allowed her head to rest back on the seat. She hadn’t been sleeping well with all she’d been thinking about, and the rhythm of the train on the track soon persuaded her eyes to close. But as happened at night her thoughts immediately began to race – now with the various scenarios of what could happen when she arrived at Jimmy’s: no one was in; he was out at work but his wife or daughters were in; he was in with his wife or daughters; he was alone in the house. She’d considered all these possibilities over and over again since she’d made the decision to come that morning, and had worked out what she was going to say and do for each scenario. The last, finding him alone, was the least complicated and most direct:‘Jimmy Osborne?’‘Yes.’‘I’m Mandy, your brother’s niece.’ Then she’d watch the horror spread across his face as he realized his past had finally caught up with him. She could feel her pulse race again at the very thought of it: standing face to face with her attacker after all this time. If his wife or daughters answered the door, she’d ask for him, and if he wasn’t in she’d ask what time he was expected, and return later. Yes, she was sure she’d covered every eventuality.

Opening her eyes Mandy looked again at the passing scenery, and then took the magazine she’d bought at the station from her bag and forced herself to read – of celebrity lifestyles and large glossy photographs of their luxurious homes. Every so often she took her phone from her bag and checked the time. The journey seemed to be taking for ever. Eventually it was 1.35 and she knew she had five minutes before the train arrived. She tucked the magazine into her bag, straightened her jacket and, taking a deep
breath to calm her nerves, looked out of the carriage window for the first sighting of Mowbury.

Five minutes later the train began to slow as the station approached. Mandy stood, then waited by the doors until the train stopped. The doors opened and she got out, her pulse quickening and her breath coming fast and shallow. She looked the length of the platform and then followed the dozen or so passengers who were walking towards the exit barrier. She’d never used this station before; it was on a different network to the one she used when she visited her grandparents, twelve miles away. She fed her ticket into the turnstile and then followed the signs to the ladies’ WC.

A few minutes later she was outside on the station forecourt, which was exactly as the Internet map showed. She went past the taxi rank and joined a woman waiting at the bus stop for the number 247. According to the timetable she’d downloaded the bus ran every fifteen minutes on a weekday, starting at two minutes past the hour. Keeping her gaze away from the woman so she wouldn’t be drawn into conversation, Mandy concentrated on the ground. Her thoughts returned to Jimmy. She checked her mobile again. The time was 1.55. What was he doing now? If he was at work when she arrived it could be many hours before he returned and she wondered where she should wait. Her stomach contracted with anxiety as she pictured his wife asking her what she wanted and her offering the excuse she’d concocted that she was carrying out a survey.

‘At last,’ the woman next to her sighed.

Mandy looked up and saw the 247 coming towards them. It drew to a halt and the door swished open. The woman before her got on and Mandy followed her up the steps. ‘Return to Cranberry Avenue,’ she heard herself say and gave the driver £2. She
knew from the map Cranberry Avenue was the nearest stop to where Jimmy lived. She took the 40p change and made her way down the aisle.

There were only half a dozen passengers downstairs and she went halfway down the aisle and slid into a window seat. Taking the street map from her bag she opened it on her lap. She’d marked the train station and Jimmy’s address with a Biro. She knew the route the bus would take and the stopping points from the printed timetable, and that it would take twenty minutes. After that she had about a five-minute walk to Jimmy’s house. Her pulse raced and her stomach churned. She took a deep breath and reminded herself she didn’t have to go to his house and confront him – that if it all became too much she could go straight to the police, which is doubtless what Adam would have advised her to do had she told him. But confronting Jimmy was essential if she was ever going to move on, and she knew it had to be done before she reported him; after that he would be able to hide behind legal protocol and then his barrister in court. Confronting Jimmy wasn’t something Adam would have understood, nor would anyone else who hadn’t been in her position. It was about taking control of her life again and making the abuser responsible for his crime.

Mandy looked between the map and the streets passing outside, tracking the bus’s stop-start journey. They had left the town and were now entering the outlying suburbs: rows of 1970s’ semi- and detached houses with integral garages and neatly tended front gardens. It was nothing like the private road in which John and Evelyn lived, but it was pleasant and had an air of suburban respectability. Mandy felt another stab of anger that Jimmy had been allowed to continue his comfortable and respectable life uninterrupted for the last ten years, and she wondered again if he ever thought about what he’d done to her.

From her seat by the window she saw the boys’ school and then the playing fields. She knew she was getting close. She began counting down the stops, checking the map, mentally ticking off the roads they passed: Rose Way, Tulip Close, Thorn End; she knew the next stop was hers. She stood and made her way to the platform at the centre of the bus and held the handrail as the bus shuddered to a halt. The doors swished open and she stepped on to the pavement followed by another passenger who headed in the opposite direction. With the map open before her Mandy walked along Cranberry Avenue and then took the second on the left. This was Berry Lane, although clearly it wasn’t a lane but another road of similar 1970s houses. She followed it for about thirty yards as it curved to the left and then she stopped at the corner. The next turning on the right was Jimmy’s. Jimmy. How she’d come to loathe that name since Evelyn had first spoken it and told her:
Mandy, it wasn’t John who came into your room that night and attacked you; it was his brother, Jimmy,
and Mandy had been forced to remember.

She stood on the corner of the street, folded the map in half and tucked it into her bag. She checked her phone and then switched it off. She didn’t want to be disturbed by the phone suddenly ringing and interrupting what she had to say; she needed everything to be calm with her firmly in control. Taking another deep breath and summoning all her courage, Mandy looped her bag over her shoulder and made the right turn into Hawthorn Drive. The first house was number 2, so she was on the correct side of the road for Jimmy’s: number 22. With her stomach tight and her legs heavy she put one foot in front of the other and continued steadily along the pavement, bracing herself for what she might see. The road was quiet and appeared to be on the very edge of the estate; she could see fields in the distance. Doubtless it was deemed a desirable area, Mandy thought bitterly
as she scanned the front door at the end of each drive for the house numbers. She passed number 12. Four more to go until Jimmy’s. Fourteen, 16, 18…Her heart thumped loudly. It wasn’t the sort of street you could loiter in without attracting attention, not like a London street corner where you could wait almost indefinitely. Twenty, then 22. She saw the house. Panic gripped her. Quickening her pace she continued past, taking in what she saw. A small, respectable 1970s detached house, with a neatly mowed lawn and short drive leading to a garage, the same as all the other houses in the road. Could he really live in there? It seemed impossible. She didn’t know what she’d expected to find but it wasn’t this; not normality and conformity. Net curtains had hung at all the windows in his house, as they did in many others, so she hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of the inside.

Forcing herself to slow to a walking pace, Mandy continued up the road. Her breath was coming fast and shallow and her pulse beat wildly in her chest. She hadn’t expected to be so affected by seeing his house. When she’d run through the possible outcomes in her head she’d always seen herself as anxious but composed. Now she was beside herself and wanted to get on the next bus home.

She finally came to a halt outside number 60. She stood in the centre of the pavement, took deep breaths and told herself to calm down.

‘Can I help you?’ a woman asked, suddenly bobbing up from tending her front garden. Mandy jumped. ‘You look lost,’ she said.

‘No, I’m all right. Thank you,’ Mandy stammered. ‘I know where I’m going.’ She turned and started back down the street, towards his house. The woman watched her go.

Mandy knew if she went past his house again and put it off any longer she would lose her nerve completely and go home,
never to return. She couldn’t go through this again. She began counting down the houses she passed: Fifty-two, 50, 48, 46…She drove her legs forward, towards Jimmy’s house, trying to keep her breathing even. Thirty, 28, 26, 24, 22, a small hesitation and she forced herself to make the left turn into Jimmy’s drive. Keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead and her thoughts in check, Mandy went down the path beside the short drive and up to his front door.

She saw her hand in the air waver slightly, and then her forefinger went towards the bell and pressed it. One short sharp burst – she heard it ring inside – and then silence. She waited, trying to calm her pounding heart. Perhaps they were all out. Relief mingled with disappointment. Then she saw a faint movement behind the frosted-glass panel door. She stared at the door and steeled herself. The lock turned with a small click and the door opened.

A girl in her early teens, dressed in school uniform, looked at her questioningly. All of Mandy’s well-practised opening lines vanished and her mind went blank. ‘Yes?’ the girl asked after a moment. ‘Can I help you?’

Mandy forced herself to say the words she’d rehearsed so many times. ‘I’d like to speak to Mr Osborne, please. Jimmy Osborne. Is he in?’

The girl’s expression changed from polite enquiry to confusion, and then suspicion. ‘Why? What do you want?’ she asked brusquely – defensively, Mandy thought.

‘I’d like to speak to him, please. It’s personal.’ She heard her voice quiver.

The girl hesitated and stared at her, quite clearly shocked. ‘No, you can’t speak to him,’ she said. ‘I’ll get my mother.’

The door closed in Mandy’s face.