Wishful Thinking (39 page)

Everything stopped. Ivor's weary protest, Lin's awful whisper. I can't remember if I was talking, but if I had been, I shut up.

The tip of the knife was embedded in his trousers, low down next to the fly. From the look on Ivor's face, metal was touching skin.

‘The truth,' Georgie said. ‘Now.'

‘I've told the truth. You've been watching too many documentaries . . .'

‘
Now
.'

The knife-hand moved. Lin screamed. At the same moment Ivor's body jerked backwards – twisted – he seized Georgie's left arm, deflecting the knife, flinging her aside. Lin tried to clutch him in relief but he threw her off too, shoving past me, bolting through the front door like a bat out of hell. Evidently he'd had enough. Lin ran after him, calling his name. ‘Fucking psychos!' he cried, half turning. One hand held his groin: there was a hint of red showing between the fingers. ‘Fucking psycho bitches! I'm getting out while I still can. I'll send for my gear.'

‘But what about me?' Lin wailed.

‘Sorry, but . . . with friends like those, there'll never be a man in your life.' He went off down the street, his walk breaking into a wobbling run – not easy when you are trying to keep hold of your genitals and are clearly in pain. I might have laughed, if there had been any humour left in the world. But Lin's face left no room for laughter. We got her into the living room, attempted to relate Meredith's story as calmly as possible, but she didn't want to listen, or listening, didn't want to believe. I stayed with her while Georgie went to fetch Meredith. She kept accusing me of destroying her life, and then collapsing into a sobbing so violent I was afraid she would choke herself.

‘If it wasn't true,' I said, ‘he wouldn't have run off like that.'

Then Georgie arrived, with Meredith, and when Lin saw her daughter's face she knew it was true.

The next few days were an ongoing nightmare. The police were called and statements taken; there was endless praise for Meredith's courage and resource – not to mention the fact that she was extremely articulate for her age – which, while it didn't heal her, did help her to cope with the trauma of what she had been through. Mummy's betrayal seemed to cut as deep as the abuse; only time would close that particular wound.

Lin was torn between intolerable guilt and the pain of Ivor's perfidy, one moment hysterical with grief, the next struggling to scrape herself together for the sake of the children. She didn't want people to know what had happened, so we couldn't summon relatives from Scotland to support her, but we told Alistair in confidence so she could take time off, her doctor gave her a sick certificate, and Vee Corrigan looked after the twins as much as possible. Georgie and I came round every evening after work, stayed the night regularly, and did what we could for her – which wasn't much, because all you can do in such a scenario is to be there. There was no remedy but time, no panacea but to listen as Lin went through it all, over and over again. She showed little anger against Ivor: it was all turned inward on herself.

Georgie, with real nobility, never said
I told you so
.

Investigations revealed that, while Ivor had no record, there had been complaints against him in the past. But the children concerned were all very young, and none of the allegations had been substantiated. He had left one school rather abruptly, no reason given; the headmaster, now retired, admitted in an interview that there had been ‘issues' with some of the girls, but insisted he'd had no suspicion of ‘anything really wrong'. He had just thought it best for Ivor to leave, and had passed the problem – and the responsibility – on to someone else. One girl, then eleven, now eighteen, made a statement.

Ivor was traced, arrested, bailed. He
did
come back for his things, fleeing down the steps when Georgie opened the door. We don't know when the case will come to court, but he's got an expensive lawyer (so there's money somewhere) and he's going to plead Not Guilty. Lin's horrified at the prospect of Meredith being a witness, even though, as I thought, she'll be questioned elsewhere, on video. Meredith is nervous of it, but hugely proud of the most famous sicky of her career. Because of that, she doesn't have to see herself as a victim, and even at nine years old, that matters. Whether you win or lose, it's the fightback that restores your self-respect.

She now says she wants to be a detective when she grows up.

Georgie and I never really made it up – we didn't need to – our falling out just wasn't important any more.

There was an occasion in Lin's kitchen when we talked about it, just a little. (Lin was upstairs with Meredith.)

‘Cal's back next week,' I said. ‘Are you going to patch things up with him?'

‘I don't know. I don't know if I can.'

‘But you love him,' I said, for the umpteenth time. ‘He loves you. Real love, not lies and fairy dust. Isn't it worth putting up with anything for that?'

And, when she didn't answer: ‘There was nothing between us. Nothing that mattered. Just . . . Cal being a bit flirty, because you'd hurt him, and perhaps a little because he felt safe with me. He knew I wouldn't take it seriously.'

‘It's okay.' She squeezed my hand. ‘It isn't that. I lost it the other night – I mean, completely lost it. I've never done that before, over anyone. Supposing it happens again. What if, next time, I ring the right doorbell?'

‘There won't be a next time,' I said, being positive, but it didn't reassure her.

We had to field all Lin's telephone calls: she couldn't cope with casual conversation and dreaded inquiries about Ivor. She flinched every time the phone rang. Inevitably, Andy Pearmain was one of those on the line. Andy? I said soundlessly, making a beard-stroking gesture in the vicinity of my chin. No! Lin responded, shaking her head violently. Don't tell him anything! I duly explained to Andy that Lin was ill – no, nothing serious, just some bug the kids had brought home from school – and I was there to help out. Could I take a message? Andy provided a fount of information about Dryden and Acme City, the gist of which I scribbled down on a piece of paper. I threw in a question about Sir Harold Chorley, and noted down more details. Jerry Beauman's activities didn't seem quite so absorbing right now, but they did offer a diversion. Andy went on to ask about Ivor, and why wasn't he taking care of Lin instead of me. Lin and I swapped a succession of agonised grimaces, after which I said hesitantly that he had to go to the school, a parents' evening or similar, but should be back later. Lin gave a vague nod of approval and then began to cry, silent tears snaking down her cheeks. Andy said: ‘I see,' sounding unconvinced, and added that he would call back soon to arrange when he was coming to London. I didn't think I was imagining his proprietorial attitude towards Lin, but there was no point in commenting on it.

‘He
can't
!' she said tragically when I repeated his last remarks. ‘What am I to do? I can't face him. You'll have to put him off.'

‘Me?'

The next problem caller came to the door late on Saturday afternoon. Georgie and I were both there, losing to Meredith at Monopoly. I escaped bankruptcy to answer the bell, and found myself confronting a man of forty-odd who looked faintly familiar. He must have been good-looking once but he wasn't wearing well: his jaw-line was blurred and beginning to be jowly, his thinning hair was a little too long on the collar, and his waistline bulged over the top of his jeans. To complete the picture, his eyes were pouchy and he had the sort of incipient beard that only works if the man is ruggedly beautiful, like Viggo Mortensen's Aragorn. Otherwise he just looks the way this one did: badly in need of a shave. I was trying to recall if I had met him at a party or a launch recently when light dawned.

‘Lin here?' he asked.

Sean Corrigan.

I'd seen him as one of the guest stars in a who-dunnit series a few weeks earlier,
Midsomer Murders
or something like that. He'd changed a lot from the youthful Irish charmer Lin had fallen so desperately in love with; even the brogue had faded, at least in everyday speech, revived only in appropriate roles. His drinking binges still happened from time to time, to judge from his appearance, but the tabloids weren't very interested any more, and, at a guess, his high living had shrunk to low living, which is much the same but without the celebs and attendant paparazzi.

I said: ‘Yes, but she hasn't been too well lately . . .'

‘Mum told me. I'm going to find the bastard and kick the crap out of him. Can I come in?'

‘I'll ask.'

He came in anyway, pushing past me, breaking in on the Monopoly game. I saw Lin's face look startled but not too horrified. Sean said: ‘Mavourneen,' holding his arms out to her. Evidently he still used that one.

Lin said: ‘What on earth—?'

‘You should've called me,' Sean said. ‘I've always been here for you, haven't I?' No comment. And then: ‘What were you after, letting a man you hardly knew come and live with you? And you with the children and all.'

‘Why not?' Lin retorted, uncharacteristically tart. ‘I
married
you, and we barely knew each other.'

‘D'you want him out?' Georgie said, giving Sean the steel-hard look of a woman who had recently knifed a man in the balls (if not too far in).

‘No, it's okay.'

‘We want a word in private,' Sean said. ‘If you don't mind . . .'

Georgie ignored him, glancing at Lin, who nodded reluctantly. We retreated to the kitchen, where Meredith said: ‘Bugger. I was winning that game. I know what you'll say when we go back. You'll say we've forgotten where we were, so we can't go on playing.'

‘Probably,' Georgie replied. ‘And don't say bugger.'

‘Why not? You say it.'

‘I'm grown up. I'm allowed.'

‘How old do I have to be to say bugger?'

‘Eighteen. On your eighteenth birthday you can say it all you like. Bugger bugger bugger bugger. Until then, you have to say bother instead.'

‘Bother!' Meredith echoed scornfully.

‘How do you get on with Sean?' I asked. I noticed he hadn't even greeted her.

Meredith shrugged bony shoulders. ‘He doesn't like me. Mummy says it isn't because I'm me, it's because of Daddy. She left Sean to live with him, so he doesn't like me. I think that's stupid. I wasn't even born then.'

‘Some people react that way,' I said.

‘Maybe I could start eating some ice cream?'

‘
No
.'

Sean went about half an hour later, leaving Lin strained and anxious. ‘He said Ivor could've abused the twins,' she complained. ‘I told him, Ivor's thing was little girls. There's nothing in his record about boys. Sean said a paedophile is into any kind of child, which is totally wrong but I couldn't make him listen. He came over all paternal and protective – all very well, only he doesn't contribute very much as a father under normal circumstances. It's like . . . he's using this as an excuse to be macho.'

Lin wasn't usually so critical – or so perceptive.

‘Could well be,' Georgie said. ‘Still, what harm does it do? You're not worried about him beating up Ivor, are you? I mean . . . would it matter if he did?'

‘No. I'm just . . . worried. Generally.' She tried for a smile that didn't come off.

‘That's a natural reaction,' I said. ‘But I'm sure the worst is over now.'

‘I hope so,' said Lin.

Chapter 11

If I or she should chance to be

Involved in this affair,

He trusts to you to set them free

Exactly as we were.

It seemed to me that you had been

(Before she had this fit)

An obstacle, that came between

Him, and ourselves, and it.

Don't let him know she liked them best,

For this must ever be

A secret, kept from all the rest,

Between yourself and me.

LEWIS CARROLL:
She's All My Fancy Painted Him

The next week started badly. Cal was back from holiday, not looking particularly rested but rather grimly resolved. Holidays are difficult with a disabled child: they'd gone to a hotel in the West Country which they'd visited before, where the staff understood Jamie's needs. There were wheelchair ramps everywhere, a shallow pool where he could splash around supported by his parents, and an adjacent farm with a children's area where he liked to stroke the animals. And for Allan there was a much deeper pool, a beach a short drive away, tennis and golf. Cal said with some pride that he was the new Tiger Woods and could even beat his dad. But it was clear Georgie had been on his mind. He'd obviously missed the scene in Lyndhall Road that night, since he didn't mention it, and Cal wasn't the sort to conceal what he knew, but he went into Georgie's office early on, asking her if they could go for a drink later and talk.

‘Preferably without having a row.'

Georgie said: ‘Okay,' but she didn't feel optimistic.

‘This isn't working,' he said when they met after six. ‘We have to sort it out – stop arguing – stop hurting each other. After all, we're in the same office.'

‘Sort it out how?' said Georgie.

He avoided her eye, fiddled with a pen, spinning it between restless fingers. When he spoke, the sentences came out in short bursts, with silences in between. ‘I think we need to accept that it's over. We're not going to be able to fix it. You want . . . more than I can give. The children need me, Christy needs me. I can't walk away from that. Things may never change. Allan will grow up, but Jamie – Jamie will always have to have care. I can't be there for you, not the way you want. You deserve so much more.'