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‘She was a child. A child does not seduce a man. Even at sixteen, she was still a child, supposedly in your care.’
He pushes his fingers through his hair. It is thinner even than last year, she thinks, but still so brown. ‘There was nothing childlike about her, believe me.’
She takes a step towards him, close enough to feel the heat of his breath on her face. ‘She was a child,’ she repeats, her heart battering. ‘You abused her. You abused your position of trust. You do get that, don’t you?’
He grabs hold of her arm. His fingers dig in, hurt.
She tries to step back, but he has tight hold of her, shakes her so that she staggers first back then forward. Her face bumps against his chest; she cowers.
‘Look at me.’ He shakes her again by the wrist.
She looks up; his dark eyes are almost black – red-rimmed, mad.
‘I get it,’ he spits through clenched teeth.
Another second, two. He lets go.
She reels backwards, rubbing at her arm. Her legs are trembling and already a hint of blue has started to cloud the red marks on the inside of her wrist. Peter has turned away from her. He is leaning against the fireplace as if exhausted, one hand pushing over and over through his hair.
‘We didn’t …’ he says. ‘We weren’t … we didn’tconsummateour relationship fully until she was sixteen, not that it’s anyone’s business but mine.’ He swings round to face her, his mouth an ugly rectangle, hair sticking up strangely. ‘Honestly, you appear to be suggesting that I was a dirty old man, but I wasn’t that much older than her. For God’s sake, it didn’t even last that long.’
‘Did you bring her here?’ Her own voice sounds chastened, even to her.
His mouth flattens. He glances towards the fire. ‘Once. Once, yes. But it was a long time ago. To be honest, I’d pretty much forgotten all about it.’
‘She hasn’t though, has she?’
‘Apparently not.’
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
‘So,’ Samantha begins – carefully. ‘Why would she take our baby?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘You told me you left secondary teaching because your father died. Is that true? I’m guessing not. I assumeshe’swhy you left.’
Peter shakes his head. His hands are on his hips. He gives a weary sigh.
‘Peter?’ she insists. ‘You told me it was because your father died.’
‘I told you I left teachingwhenmy father died. I didn’t say it was the reason.’ That ugly rectangle again: Peter’s mouth, spitting its own particular brand of truth. It’s possible he said exactly that; Samantha cannot now remember the exact wording. All she knows is that he gave her to understand that his father’s death precipitated his career change. And he knows it.
‘So whydidyou leave?’ Gingerly she lowers herself onto the sofa, in the hope that he too will sit down. It feels safer to do this, to try to take the heat out of this … whatever this is. ‘Did someone find out? Were you prosecuted?’ She gasps. ‘Peter, are you on the sex offenders register?’
‘For Christ’s sake, Sam!’ He slams his hand hard on the coffee table.
Emily flinches, gives a soft cry. Samantha pulls her into her arms, unsure who needs the comfort most. Never, never has she seen Peter like this. Though she is less afraid of him now than she was a moment ago.
‘Don’t raise your voice at me,’ she says quietly. ‘You’re bigger than me and stronger than me. It’s intimidatory.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never intimidate you. I’d never shout. But you’re determined to drive me to it, baiting me like a bull, sneering from up there on your moral high ground.’ He looks at her with something like hate, then appears to compose himself a little. ‘Think about what you’ve just said. I’m not a monster. What you’re accusing me of is … it’s very serious, Sam.’
‘What you’vedoneis very serious. You were in a position of power. It’s enough that you even touched her before she was sixteen. If you’d been caught, you’d be on the register. Let me put it another way: were you caught?’
‘It came out, yes. But I’m not on the … I’m not on any criminal register. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all.’
‘So tell me, what was it like?’
