The Child Next Door

  Neither Lorna nor her daughter want to be home when Stephen returns from work – which I completely understand – so I said they could come to mine and stay for as long as they needed to. Lorna has already arranged for her other daughters to spend the night at friends’ houses.

  Both Hannah and Lorna are jittery as rabbits as we head into the lounge. I settle Daisy upstairs in her cot for a nap and we decide to put Leo in her room too, where it’s quiet. I offer tea, but no one wants it. Hannah keeps drifting over to the lounge window, staring into the peaceful afternoon sunshine, waiting for Parkfield to get home.

  ‘What if he knows?’ she asks, turning to look at me and Lorna, her eyes wide, face sallow. ‘What if he’s found out that I told you? That I’ve told the police?’

  ‘He doesn’t know,’ I reply, shaking my head. ‘How could he? He’s been at school all day.’

  ‘I know. I know, you’re right.’ She chews her nails. ‘But he might,’ she adds. ‘And if he found out, then he won’t come home right away. He might hurt Jess or Lydia. He might do something… drastic.’

  ‘Jess and Lydia are safe at their friends’,’ Lorna says. ‘He won’t know where to find them. He won’t do anything. Like Kirstie said, he doesn’t even know. How could he?’ But her voice is shaky, like she’s trying to convince herself as well as her daughter.

  I don’t blame her. It’s hard not to worry. Until that man is behind bars, none of us will be able to relax. I get up off the sofa, cross the room to where Hannah’s standing by the window, and gently guide her back to the sofa to sit down next to her mum. ‘Listen to me, Hannah. He won’t be hurting anyone ever again, okay?’

  Hannah nods several times, but her eyes still have that wide, shocked look. Not surprising really. She’s been suffering in silence for years, and now, finally, something is being done to put a stop to it. It must feel strange. Surreal. She gets up again and heads straight back to the window, like she’s attached to a piece of elastic. ‘What time did the police say they’d get here?’ Hannah asks, a tremor in her voice.

  ‘Any minute,’ Lorna replies.

  ‘What if they get here before Stephen?’ Hannah asks. ‘He might see their cars and drive away?’

  ‘He won’t know they’ve come for him,’ I say, drifting to her side once more. ‘He’ll probably think it’s something to do with me again.’

  Hannah nods several times, still chewing her nails, her blonde hair tucked behind both ears.

  ‘I know it’s hard, but try not to worry,’ I say. ‘The worst is over.’

  I turn at the sound of Lorna gasping, sobbing. Her head is bowed, her face in her hands. Hannah and I rush to her side. ‘It’s okay, Lorna. It’s okay.’ What a stupid thing to say. It’s obviously not okay, but we always seem to fall back on these platitudes.

  ‘I’ve been a terrible mother,’ she cries.

  ‘No you haven’t.’ I stroke her hair.

  ‘You’re a great mum,’ Hannah says. ‘The best.’

  ‘You didn’t know what was going on,’ I say.

  ‘But I should have.’ Lorna looks up at me, her face a blotchy mess. ‘I should have known. She’s my daughter, for goodness sake.’ She puts a hand to Hannah’s cheek. ‘You’re my baby and I should have protected you.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself,’ I say. ‘This is not your fault. It’s his fault, okay? He’s the one who should be feeling guilty. Not you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, too,’ Hannah says to her mum, tears falling. ‘I should have told you. I should never have kept it a secret.’

  ‘Don’t you dare apologise,’ Lorna cries, pulling her daughter into a hug. ‘Kirstie is right. This is his fault, not ours.’

  At the sound of a car engine, I make my way back to the window and peer out. ‘Guys,’ I say, my heart speeding up. ‘The police are here.’

  Mother and daughter get to their feet and come over to the window, wiping away their tears. Lorna’s hands are clasped in front of her as though she’s praying.

  We stare ahead at the entrance to the cul-de-sac, where a police car has just turned in, followed by a second unmarked car. We chart the slow-moving vehicles’ progress as they make their way down the road towards us, pulling up outside next door, one behind the other.

  ‘Should I go out there, do you think?’ Lorna asks. ‘Speak to them?’

  ‘It’s up to you,’ I reply. ‘But you and Hannah have already told them everything you know. They’re here for Stephen. You don’t need to talk to them or him if you don’t want to.’

  ‘Shit,’ Hannah murmurs, as a navy BMW turns into the road.

  ‘He’s back,’ Lorna says, her face blanching.

  My stomach lurches in sympathy.

  I take Lorna’s hand and squeeze it gently. She grips my hand even tighter and then takes hold of Hannah’s hand too. The three of us stand together and watch as Stephen Parkfield drives his car past the police vehicles into his driveway and switches off the engine. After a moment or two he gets out, and there’s a muffled thud as his car door closes. I can hardly bear to look at the man, my skin crawls with revulsion and rage. If I feel this way, I wonder how Lorna must be feeling.

  ‘He’ll go mad when he realises no one’s home,’ Lorna says. ‘He told us that Leo was never to leave the house. Not until we move.’

  For a second, Parkfield looks across in our direction at the lounge window. I freeze and the other two shrink back out of sight. Did he see us? But he runs a hand through his hair and walks towards his front door.

  Behind him, the officers have got out of their cars. DS Callaghan and one of her colleagues have started to walk down the Parkfields’ driveway. Parkfield stops and turns around. Callaghan is saying something to him, but I can’t make out the words.

  ‘I’m going out there,’ Lorna says, letting go of our hands and clenching her fists.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I ask.

  ‘Mum!’ Hannah cries. ‘Don’t go!’

  ‘Stay here, Han,’ Lorna says. She turns to me on her way out of the room. ‘Make sure she stays here.’

  I give a brief nod. But as soon as Lorna has left the house, Hannah dashes past me and goes out of the front door after her mother. I hesitate for a moment before deciding that I’d better go after her. I grab the baby monitor from the side table, snatch my keys from the hall and head outside.

  Striding up the driveway, I can see that Lorna is already squaring up to her husband, yelling at him, trying to keep Hannah behind her.

  ‘Kirstie!’

  I turn my head to see Martin coming across his front lawn towards me. ‘Not now, Martin,’ I call out. ‘I’m busy.’

  He doesn’t listen. ‘I just wanted to say that I didn’t see any signs of an intruder yesterday, so maybe you were mistaken.’

  It takes me a few seconds to work out what he’s referring to.

  ‘Did you see the intruder again?’ Martin continues. ‘Is that why the police are here?’

  I’m not about to answer his questions right now. I jog up the path to see if Hannah is okay, Martin following behind like an annoying shadow.

  ‘How could you?’ Lorna is yelling at her husband. ‘I trusted you! She’s a child! A child!’

  I finally reach Hannah. She’s pulling at her mother’s arm while the police are trying to calm Lorna down.

  ‘Mrs Parkfield, I know you’re upset, but this isn’t helping anyone,’ DS Callaghan says.

  ‘I don’t care about helping anyone,’ Lorna snarls. ‘I just want this bastard to pay for what he’s done to my baby girl. To know he will never get away with this.’

  ‘What’s happening here?’ Martin asks, coming and standing by my side. I take another step closer to Hannah to increase the distance between us, wishing he would leave me alone. I turn away, hoping he’ll get the hint.

  I notice the Cliffords have also come out of their house next door, and are standing on their driveway gawping at the proceedings with undisguised interest. Rosa catches my eye and gives me an enquiring look, b
ut I don’t have the time or inclination to go over and explain. It’s not my place to gossip about what’s happening here. Mel has now joined them and they carry on talking, pointing, speculating.

  Parkfield squares his shoulders and glares at his wife. ‘Lorna, what on earth has got into you? Have you gone mad? Get inside now. Take Hannah with you. The police are just here to ask me a few questions, that’s all.’ He suddenly catches sight of me and his scowl deepens, his top lip now curling in disgust. ‘I might have known this is something to do with you! What have you been saying to my wife? Spreading vile lies, no doubt.’ He turns to Callaghan. ‘Officers, I’m so sorry about this, I know how you hate false call-outs, and people wasting police time.’

  ‘Mrs Rawlings,’ Callaghan says, ‘maybe it would be best if you went back inside your house.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Rawlings,’ Parkfield sneers. ‘Run along home.’

  While Hannah is still out here, I’m not going anywhere. She and Lorna may still need my support, so I ignore the detective’s suggestion and Parkfield’s jibes.

  He turns back to Callaghan, smoothing his tie. ‘I’m the headmaster at St George’s, and Kirstie Rawlings is one of my teaching staff. She’s on maternity leave, but it seems she may have developed a few mental health issues—’

  ‘Let’s not start making unfounded accusations,’ Callaghan interjects.

  ‘Hannah!’ I turn to see Callum come racing over from the direction of the building site, followed by his dad.

  Hannah turns at the sound of her name, but when she sees who it is, she shakes her head and turns back to her mum.

  ‘You okay, Hannah?’ Callum arrives out of breath, but his dad puts a hand on his shoulder and stops him coming any closer.

  One of the uniformed officers steps forward to usher Callum and his dad away. ‘Please can you gentlemen give us some space. This doesn’t concern you.’ He turns to Martin. ‘You too, sir.’ Martin mumbles something apologetic and shuffles back to his front garden while Carson guides a reluctant Callum away, but they’re still hovering outside number six, watching.

  Parkfield stares Detective Callaghan in the eye while pointing his finger at me. ‘This woman is the worst kind of troublemaker,’ he cries. ‘Kirstie Rawlings has accused my family of all kinds of things. She’s completely unhinged. You can’t trust a word she says. Just this weekend, she was blind drunk at a neighbour’s barbecue. So drunk that she fell over and dropped her baby. I’m surprised no one’s called social services. There were witnesses. You can ask anyone—’

  ‘Yes,’ Callaghan interrupts. ‘I’m glad you brought that up. We’ll also be questioning you regarding allegations of assault against Mrs Rawlings…’

  ‘What!’

  ‘…following an incident at the same event, where she claims her drink was tampered with at your request.’

  ‘Absolute rubbish!’ Parkfield cries, his face colouring. ‘Look,’ he continues, his newly plastered smile translating as a grimace, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. ‘Let me just go inside, have a shower and get changed, then I’ll happily come to the police station to set the record straight regarding what Mrs Rawlings has been up to.’ He glances at his watch. ‘Let’s say seven o’clock, yes?’ He takes a breath. ‘Okay. Thank you, Detective.’ He gives a short nod, turns away and begins walking back towards his front door.

  Callaghan raises an eyebrow at her colleague. They overtake him and block his path. ‘Stephen Parkfield,’ Callaghan says, ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of rape and sexual activity with a child, and of assault with intent to cause grievous bodily harm. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he explodes. ‘I told you, it’s all nonsense. I’ll come and talk to you later. Surely you can give me a few hours! This is outrageous. Lorna, tell them!’

  But Lorna has fallen silent.

  Still protesting, Parkfield is handcuffed and led towards a police car, his face crimson with anger and embarrassment.

  Hannah wanted to come out here to see her stepfather arrested, but I notice that she is now shaking uncontrollably. The shock is all too much. I put an arm around her and tell her how brave she is.

  The detectives lead Parkfield, ashen-faced, to the marked car, guiding him into the back seat in full view of all the neighbours.

  ‘Are you okay, Hannah?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says, her voice shaky but clear. ‘I am now.’

  Forty

  Seven Months Later

  The tea tray rattles in my hands as I head out into the garden. It’s the first day of the Easter holidays and it’s also the first warm day of the year. I went back to work in February, so life has been a bit of a whirlwind these past few months. Mel stands up and takes the tray from me, setting it down on the wooden patio table. I sanded and painted the table and chairs last weekend and I can’t stop admiring my handiwork.

  Mel and I smoothed over our differences months ago. I decided that life was too fragile to hold grudges. Yes, she’s a little flaky and doesn’t always think before she acts, but I’m sure there are hundred things that irritate her about me too. That’s the thing about Mel and me – since we were kids we were always falling out over something or other, but we always make it up in the end. And Mel hasn’t been as lucky. I have a family support network. She lost hers when she was still a child.

  Mel cleared up the Tamsin situation for me. Turns out Tamsin lied when she said Dom invited her to the barbecue. Apparently, Tamsin was at Mel’s place when the Cliffords popped round to invite Mel to their party, so they ended up inviting Tamsin along, too. Tamsin was just stirring things when she told me it was Dom who had invited her, trying to upset me – it worked.

  I’m ashamed to say that I haven’t been able to resist a few peeks at Tamsin’s Facebook page over the past few months. I noticed that she’s training for a triathlon, and I wonder if she’s doing it to try to impress Dom. I know I shouldn’t even be looking at her page, but I can’t help myself. Her updated status says she’s “in a relationship”, but there are no photos or mentions of her new man.

  ‘That sun is just heaven,’ Mel says, smoothing her hair back, closing her eyes and turning her face skywards, looking for all the world like a 1950s movie star.

  ‘It’s about time the weather cheered up,’ Lorna adds, picking up the teapot. ‘It’s been a long old winter. Cal! Hannah! Are you having tea or a cold drink?’

  ‘Tea please!’ they call back. Callum and Hannah currently have their hands full. They’re on the lawn – not only are they keeping an eye on Leo, who is now at the crawling stage, they’re also running around after Daisy, who has just started toddling, as well as Mel’s two little ones. But there’s a lot of squealing and laughter, so I’m not too worried. Hannah doesn’t want anything more than friendship from Callum, but he is so besotted with her that he says he’ll be with her any way she wants. Lorna now thinks the world of the boy and has apologised many times for treating him so badly before the truth came out.

  ‘So,’ Lorna says, pouring the tea, ‘have you decided what you’re going to do about Dom yet?’

  I screw up my nose and sit down, angling my chair so it faces the sun. ‘I don’t know. He’s fine at his mum and dad’s for now. I miss him, of course I do, but I can’t quite seem to forgive him for not believing me when it when it was all going wrong, you know?’

  ‘He misses you, Kirst,’ Mel says. ‘And he misses Daisy. He’s miserable without you and, you know, if you take him back you can hold this over his head for years. I mean, he owes you big time.’ She grins.

  ‘If I did take him back,’ I reply, ‘I’d want to put all this behind us. I wouldn’t use it against him, tempting as it sounds. Trouble is, I don’t know if I can put it behind us, which is why I can’t make up my mind what to do. And I don’t want to make the wrong decision because it would
be a nightmare to take him back and then end up resenting him every day.’

  Dom has tried his hardest to make it up to me – looking after Daisy whenever I ask (although I suspect it’s more his mum who’s doing the looking after) and ringing me every day to see how I am and checking whether I need anything. He also stopped taking the steroids and pulled out of his triathlon. He said it didn’t feel right to compete after everything that had happened. Said his heart wasn’t in it any more.

  Something else occurs to me. ‘So, you’re in touch with Dom, then?’ I ask Mel.

  ‘Oh, yeah. It’s just, you know, he sometimes needs someone to talk to. That’s okay, isn’t it?’ She blows her fringe out of her eyes.

  ‘Of course,’ I reply. But actually, I’m not sure that it is okay. I’m not sure why. Is it that I don’t trust Dom, or that I don’t trust Mel?

  ‘You’ve got to do what’s best for you and Daisy,’ Lorna says. ‘No offence, Mel, but if Dom’s miserable without her, that’s not Kirstie’s problem. He needs to realise that he wasn’t there for his wife when she needed him most.’ She doles out our mugs of tea.

  Some days I feel like it would be easy to forgive Dom, other days, not so much. But the main thing I’ve realised is that whatever I decide, it will be fine. I will be fine.

  Mel and I have become close with Lorna these past few months. We both feel terrible about our earlier judgement of her. We never realised that the reason for Lorna’s stand-offishness was firstly because she’s always been incredibly shy, and secondly because she was being abused by her husband. It just goes to show how wrong we were to have judged her. She was going through a horrific time and needed our support, not our judgement. I just hope we’ve gone some way to making things right by being here for her now.

  I still can’t believe I didn’t see what was going on next door – Hannah was my pupil and my neighbour, and I wish I could have put a stop to Parkfield’s abuse earlier. But if I feel guilty, Lorna feels utterly wretched. We’ve told her it’s not her fault. He never bullied any of the girls in front of her, so she never suspected a thing. And how could you even begin to accept that the man you once loved was capable of such evil?