A Song in the Night (65 page)

It was about ten minutes later when she realised that Molly had stopped drawing. She moved over to the table and tried to smile encouragingly. The picture had been turned face down.

“Are you going to let me look at what you’ve drawn, Molly?”

Molly wouldn’t meet her gaze. Rosie gently picked up the sheet and turned it over. On the left side of the paper, in vivid shocking pink, was something that looked like an oversized wardrobe. Below it was an orange bed-shaped object, complete with large white pillow and clumsily drawn duvet cover. Set against the whiteness of the pillow, and sketched with no sense of scale whatsoever, Rosie could see a tiny face and two tiny stick arms. The middle section of the paper was blank, but over towards the right side of the sheet, outlined in purple and covered with pink swirly patterns, was the shape of a door.

But it was the final detail of the picture which made Rosie’s blood run cold. Next to the door, a figure. A figure dressed in black, with black dots for eyes and a straight line for a mouth.

For a few moments Rosie couldn’t speak. Swallowing hard, she tried to look at Molly, but the girl’s face was hidden again by the straggly hair. Only her small white fingers fidgeting nervously on the table top gave any indication of what was going on inside her head. Trying to stop her own hands from shaking, Rosie spoke as gently as she could.

“So … would you like to tell me about your picture, Molly?”

At ten past three Helen came back in with the rest of the class. Rosie shot Molly a brief, reassuring smile then hurriedly folded the picture and slipped it inside her own bag. As the children began getting their things ready to go home, Helen sidled over to her. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Rosie lied. Her head was reeling. Professionally, she knew what she had to do. Report her suspicions immediately. But that was a difficult course to contemplate when, right now, everything in her just wanted to vomit. Looking at Helen, Rosie felt a stab of guilt. She knew Helen trusted her judgement unreservedly when it came to Molly. It had been that way pretty much from the beginning. Such was the bond now between Rosie and the child that it was easy to forget that Molly was actually one of
Helen’s
pupils. Surely the teacher had a right to be informed of the situation straightaway? Surely that would be correct child protection procedure? But for Rosie in that moment, correct procedure was the last thing on her mind. This business had suddenly become overwhelmingly, sickeningly personal. As she tried to chew the matter over in her head, a sudden, irate outburst from the older woman confirmed Rosie in her silence. Oliver Packer had done it again, and now Helen was well and truly fuming. At least it made the decision easy. Rosie liked Helen but she didn’t rate her as the world’s most sensitive person, even on the best of days. This thing with Molly needed handling with kid gloves. If her superior’s livid expression was anything to go by, now was clearly not a good time.

When the final bell went, Rosie quietly escorted Molly to the front of the school. On the way there, the two of them hardly spoke. They didn’t need to. The silence between them was loaded with new understanding, and Rosie found the burden almost crushing. Mrs Guest made an uncharacteristically punctual appearance and Rosie felt a mixture of sickness and heart-rending sorrow as she handed the child over. She watched as the pair left the playground. The young mother trying too hard as usual, desperately overcompensating for her own perceived failures; the girl, distant and unresponsive. It was a pitiful scene.

When she got back to the classroom, Rosie was relieved to find Helen in deep discussion with Chrissie Havers. She quickly pulled her things together. “Gotta shoot. In a bit of a rush today –”

“Okay, Rosie.” Helen barely glanced up. “Thanks for all your help. See you tomorrow.”

She was in the car park before Jonathon. As she stood waiting by his car, the enormity of the thing began to hit her. By the time Jonathon arrived, her stomach was churning and her whole body felt like jelly. As soon as he flicked the remote central locking, she opened the door and almost collapsed into the passenger seat. It didn’t escape Jonathon’s notice. “You alright, Rosie?”

Trying desperately to hold herself together, she nodded shakily. Frowning, Jonathon fired the engine and pulled slowly out of the car park. As they drove along the first stretch of the journey, neither of them said a word. For his part, Jonathon had learned in recent weeks to back off when Rosie went quiet. Now, as they travelled, he respected her silence and put on some music.

After several minutes Rosie turned to him.
“Jonathon …?”
Her voice cracked as she tried to speak.

Jonathon instinctively slowed down. “Yeah?”

Rosie closed her eyes for a moment. “Would you park up somewhere? There’s something I need to tell you.”

Jonathon shot her a sideways glance. “Sure, course. Just give me a couple of minutes – there’s a lay-by not too far from here.” Moments later he pulled off the road and cut the engine. Unfastening his seatbelt, he switched off the music and turned to face her. “What is it, Rosie?”

She stared at the dashboard. “It’s Molly. I know what’s wrong with her.”

Jonathon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Go on.”

Rosie swallowed. For a moment she wanted to rewind, pretend none of it was happening. But this was Molly they were talking about. “She’s being abused.”

Her words hung in the air, pulsating and raw. Rosie stared through the front window. It was out now. She’d said the words, and it was out.

“You’re sure about this, Rosie?” Jonathon faltered. “How do you know?”

Fingers trembling, Rosie pulled Molly’s picture from her bag and handed it to him.

He studied it for several moments and frowned. “I can see why you might think that way.”

Rosie shook her head. She was angry at herself for not having realised it sooner. She of all people. Leaning forward against the dashboard, she buried her face in her hands. “I know who the guy is too.”

“
How
do you know all this, Rosie?” Jonathon spoke quietly, his tone suddenly cautious.

She sat up straight. “Don’t you believe me or something?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just –”

Rosie’s face flushed. “Just what?”

Jonathon ran a hand through his hair. “All I meant was … well, it’s a pretty stiff charge to bring – on the basis of a picture, I mean.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” she interrupted. “Of all the people I thought I could trust, you don’t believe me! You haven’t even heard me out yet.” She swore and banged her fist against the dashboard.

“Rosie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …” He didn’t finish the sentence but reached out to touch her arm.

She pushed his hand away angrily as hot tears pricked her eyes. “What
did
you mean? D’you think I make a habit of going around throwing out smutty accusations? Or is it just that you think nothing like that could ever happen to anyone in
your
neat, perfect little world?” Her eyes flashed with anger and she realised she was shouting. But she was past the point of no return. “Wake up, Jonathon! This sorta thing’s going on all the time. Just because you spend half your life in church and never see it doesn’t mean it isn’t happening! Quit staring through your stained glass windows. Out there things are ugly. Take it from one who knows.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wanted to pull them back. She’d never meant to have a go at him. Or swear at him. Poor guy had just walked into the firing line at the wrong moment. Every nerve in her body felt taut, like wire ready to snap. She bit her lip hard and closed her eyes against the tears. It had all come out so wrong. He probably hated her now.

She felt Jonathon take her hand in his. “Rosie, I’m sorry. Guess I was just shocked when you said it. I wasn’t expecting anything like that.” He squeezed her fingers gently. “I didn’t let you finish. I’m so sorry. Please go on.”

Rosie sank back against the seat. In her mind’s eye she could see Molly’s frightened face again. As the image impressed itself upon her, a lump came to her throat. She swallowed it back. For Molly’s sake she had to finish this.

“I asked her if she wanted to talk about her picture,” she began hesitantly. “For a moment I thought she was going to. Her eyes – if you could have seen her eyes.” Her voice broke then, and Jonathon tightened his grip on her hand.

“Did she say anything at all?”

Rosie dropped her head and began to tremble. “Yes. Yes, she did. Not a lot, but enough.” She steeled herself. “Her words were:
I can’t say nothing. He says it’s a secret.
She didn’t need to say any more. I knew then. I just knew.”

A sob rose in her throat and she buried her face in her hands once more. Jonathon leaned over and put both arms around her. Pulling her towards him, he held her firmly. She let him. She was too unhappy to flinch at the irony of it all. Only yesterday it would have been nothing but a distant dream to imagine herself in his arms, her head against his chest, his fingers smoothing her hair as they did now. To think it had taken something like this to make it happen. Tears streamed down her face, but they were silent tears. Somehow she managed to bite back the real anguish she was feeling. The sobs that threatened to choke her. The waves of nausea that turned her insides over. She tried to ignore the comfort of Jonathon’s closeness. Right now she needed all her strength to stay together.

After a while she straightened up and briefly wiped her eyes. Jonathon released his hold and sat back in his own seat.

“I’m gonna need to see Bev tomorrow. And Helen will have to be there too.”

Jonathon nodded. “If you want me to come with you, you know where I am. I’ll be more than happy to be there.”

“I’ll see how it goes. It might depend what time she can see me.” She looked at him directly. “I guess the thing that matters most is knowing you’re with me on this. That you don’t think I’m some crazy drama queen.”

Jonathon nodded again. “I’m with you, Rosie. I’m with you all the way.” Their eyes locked, and he looked at her for just a moment too long. She turned away. It hurt too much.

That night she hardly slept. She felt more tense than she could ever remember. The more she tried to relax, the faster her heart seemed to pound. She tried reading but nothing would go in. The words seemed to swim on the page like unintelligible scribbles. In the end she gave up. Closing her eyes brought no relief either. Jumbled images thrust themselves into her mind, each jostling for her attention, none of them conducive to sleep. A whole procession of faces began to pass before her inner vision.
Molly … Colin … Mrs Guest … her own mother … Gavin … Ciaran … Jonathon.
And Mickey. At one point she had a sudden moment of clarity.

Mickey.
Of course
. That was where she’d seen Colin before. It had been the eyes. So oddly familiar, in a disquieting, unclean kind of way. How could she have missed it? She recalled the strange smile Colin had given her that day outside school. Had he recognised something in her too? The thought of it made her want to throw up.

Eventually she fell into a fitful sleep, but it wasn’t long before a bad dream caused her to wake with a start. At quarter to five she conceded defeat and went downstairs for a drink. When at last the clock reached seven, she dragged herself wearily back upstairs for a shower. It was going to be a long day.

Somehow she managed to get through the morning sessions at school. Molly was even quieter than usual, and Rosie desperately wanted to reassure her that she was on the case. But she said nothing. She’d arranged a meeting with Bev and Helen for twelve fifteen. A volunteer parent helper had been asked to keep an eye on the child during the dinner hour. It looked like abandonment; Rosie could only hope that one day Molly would understand.

“So, Rosie, what’s all this about then?” Bev was frowning as she posed the question. Rosie wasn’t sure if her frown was one of genuine intrigue, or a result of her struggle to open the particularly awkward pot of pasta salad she was holding in her hand. “Drat!” The lid suddenly flipped open and splattered the front of Bev’s blouse with dressing. “Hang on. I’ll just go clean myself up.”

Rosie stifled a sigh as Bev disappeared to the loo.
Take as long as you like. Who said this was important?
She forced herself to make small talk with Helen while Bev was out of the room. The last thing she needed was Helen trying to draw anything out of her. She only wanted to tell this story once. A couple of minutes later Bev returned.

“Right. Fire away, Rosie.”

Taking a deep breath, Rosie began. She talked briefly about the picture competition and Molly’s original drawing. “I didn’t think anything of it at that stage. I just took it at face value. Family breakup. Bad guy who shows up in dad’s place. Nothing we didn’t know about already.”

She then went on to mention the stomach aches and the mood swings, admitting that she hadn’t suspected anything untoward in that area either. Finally, there was the second picture. As she began to relate the circumstances leading up to it, Rosie laid the drawing on Bev’s desk. “After the film yesterday Molly was very distressed. When Helen took the other kids outside, I stayed in class with her. But I couldn’t get a word out of her. Usually when she doesn’t want to talk I try and get her to draw. Well, it seemed I was getting nowhere fast so I decided to go for that approach. Now from the way she was acting, I guessed something must have frightened her. I figured if I could just get her to put her fear down on paper, I could maybe talk her through it – y’know, rationalise it, throw a bit of grown-up logic in there and take the sting out of it. So I asked her to draw something she found scary. At this point, you understand, I’m thinking monsters and that kind of thing. Well, it all took a little longer than usual ’cause she was pretty upset with herself. But this is what she came up with in the end.” She gestured towards the picture. “Wasn’t quite what I was expecting, I can tell you. At that point I did what I normally do when she’s refusing to communicate – I asked her if she wanted to talk about her drawing. In the general run of things there are times when she will and times when she won’t. It all depends on her mood. Still, on this occasion I figured I’d got nothing to lose, so I went ahead and asked her.” Rosie pulled a small notebook from her bag and glanced down at it. “I made notes detailing exactly what was said between us. To be honest, there was very
little
said between us. I simply asked her if she wanted to talk about her picture. Straightaway I could see the struggle in her eyes. Obviously I couldn’t help her out. I had to sit there all quiet and calm, like she’d just shown me a picture of her favourite teddy. Then suddenly she spoke.
‘I can’t say nothing,’
she said.
‘He says it’s a secret.’
Straight out, just like that. I didn’t probe or try fishing for info. It just came out, almost like she was willing me to understand. As soon as she’d said the words she went straight back into herself … facedown on the desk, not another sound. I guess it had taken every ounce of her courage just to say those two little sentences. By the way, talking of
‘he’
, I’m pretty sure I know who the
‘he’
is. The two pictures show him practically identical.” She took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Putting everything together, there’s only one conclusion I can draw. Dunno how you two feel about it.” She slid the notebook across the table to Bev. “Anyway, here. Everything’s in the notes.”