Losing You (42 page)

It took Polly no more than two minutes to read the selected entries. By the time she’d finished she looked every bit as horrified as Emma had expected.

‘So now we know why she took her flute,’ Emma said hoarsely.

Polly swallowed dryly. ‘So do you ... Do you know who this S person is?’ she asked.

Emma nodded. ‘Yes, I do. He’s her English teacher. His name’s Philip Leesom. The S stands for sir.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Polly muttered, not even wanting to imagine the more explicit details of the journal; what she’d read was lurid enough. ‘So that’s where she was, the night of the accident, waiting for him and ...’

Emma’s fury was barely containable. ‘She drove all the way to Glastonbury to meet him, to
perform
for him and God knows who else, and in the end he didn’t even bother to turn up. If he had, her path would never have crossed Oliver Lomax’s, but how can I wish that he had when this is what was going on?’

Polly had no answer to that.

‘If it weren’t for him,’ Emma raged on, ‘she’d have been out with Melissa that night, which is where she damned well should have been.’

Polly put the diary down; her expression was grave and full of sympathy. ‘So what are you going to do?’ she asked.

Emma threw out her hands. ‘I don’t know. If I tell Will ... He’ll want to kill him.’

‘Maybe you should let him.’

Emma didn’t argue. ‘Or maybe,’ she said fiercely, ‘I’d rather do it myself.’

Much later in the day Emma was sitting with Lauren, gazing down at her still bruised face, though the purple was fading to yellow now and the cuts were starting to heal. She was like the calm at the eye of a storm, with so much raging around her, tearing up truths, shattering trust,
changing the shape of beliefs, yet nothing was able to reach her. It frightened Emma to sense an invisible barrier between them, one that left her on the outside looking in at someone she loved who seemed like a stranger.

That was absurd, she told herself. Whatever Lauren had done, no matter how deep her crush had been on that man, or brazen her actions, she was still the daughter who had made Emma’s heart sing, her life worth living. She must hold on to that truth, and never let that man’s corruption overshadow it. What he’d done was in the past, and could never happen again.

Since arriving she’d barely spoken to Lauren; had simply sat staring down at her, wishing there was a way to erase every word of what she’d read from her mind, scour out the appalling images that those heady, graphic descriptions conjured of her precious daughter as the sex object of a man who had the trust of every parent at the school. He had so grossly abused his position to seduce two silly, impressionable young girls, one of whom, Lauren, had been a virgin until she’d naively, joyously yielded to him.

What a heartbreaking entry that had been to read. Emma didn’t care that he’d been ‘tender and loving, passionate, sweet, funny and touchingly emotional’ when it was over. The thought of his tears made her want to be sick. She kept wondering how much longer it would have taken him to persuade Lauren and Donna to become intimate with the friends he invited along to watch them perform. It had certainly seemed to be heading that way, from what Lauren had indicated.

It made her want to wrench out her hair and scream to recall the way he’d flirted with her. Worse was the way she, like one of his adoring ingénues, had responded. Had she been in line as one of his next conquests? Was that what the book recommendations and a coffee at the library had been about? Or did it just give him a kick to know that he could be on friendly terms with the parent of a girl he was sexually abusing? She shuddered with revulsion, and wondered how she could ever have found him attractive when, since reading the diary, she’d felt sullied by the mere thought of him,
contaminated
by his
duplicity, his evil. If it weren’t for him and his arrogance, his manipulation and filthy lechery, Lauren would not be lying here plugged helplessly into a system of life support, while he, exhibiting no signs of a troubled conscience, remained free to continue his career of debauchery and violation.

Well, it was at an end now, that was for sure. Emma had decided what she was going to do. By this time tomorrow he would be fully aware of what the outrageous exploitation of his position was going to cost him.

Chapter Twenty-Two

EMMA HADN’T EXPECTED
it to feel strange sitting on a train, but it did. It was like revisiting an old habit she’d picked up again after many years. It seemed startling to see the weather spreading out over the countryside too, as though it hadn’t been happening where she was, and was now doing its best to show how friendly it could be. She felt disconcerted watching busy people going about their day, apparently as familiar with their surroundings as they were with the language they spoke. This was the world outside the bubble she’d been in for the past three weeks: here sounds weren’t muted and the air seemed clearer, less clouded, a place where she could almost float.

She hated leaving Lauren trapped in the bubble, but her grandmother was with her and she was receiving the best care the hospital could offer, so slipping away for a few hours should be all right, and this was something she had to do.

It felt freeing, and yet unnerving, to be travelling at high speed through fields that sparkled in late winter sunshine and stretched as far as the eye could see. She was remembering other journeys she’d made on this line or on other trains, so many down the years, almost always with Lauren and usually with Will. She could see Lauren, aged three, standing on Will’s lap clapping her hands in delight as they passed cows and sheep; or chatting to other passengers about where they lived, or the different places they’d been for their holidays. She could hear her girlish laughter, her music, her excitement for new adventures or friends. She was always so full of sunshine and exuberance. Her whole life had seemed charmed, from her looks, to her nature, to
the God-given talent and compassion that had made her who she was – who she’d been – until twenty-three excruciating days ago.

Emma felt herself starting to freeze inside. Lauren had changed before that, without her noticing. Things had happened to her, been done to her, to turn her from a girl into a woman, an innocent into someone who’d seemed to exult in the acts she was performing for a man who was unashamedly exploiting her schoolgirl crush. It didn’t matter that she was eighteen; he’d broken every possible rule of moral conduct and teacher responsibility there was to break. Lauren Scott wasn’t there for him to use as his plaything and whether she had been a willing party or not, he simply could not be allowed to get away with what he’d done.

Feeling the tightness of more anger clenching her insides, she put her head against the window and forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply. She knew how she was going to handle this, had worked out exactly what she was going to say, but the emotion tearing through her heart could easily steal her resolve and send her reeling into a quagmire of useless despair. She needed to stay in control, make sure that he understood every word she was saying and was left in no doubt at the end of it that his career was over. The evidence of his corruption was tucked safely inside her bag, photocopies of the extracts she’d shown Polly yesterday. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to return to the more explicit entries, nor had she wanted to run the unthinkable risk of them having some kind of prurient effect on him.

Opening up her mobile as it bleeped with a text, she was glad to see it was from Polly.
Still think you should have let me come with you, but I’m there in spirit. Please don’t rule out calling Will. I understand it might turn violent if you do, but can’t honestly see the harm in that. B ... deserves it. Call as soon as you can. Will be there to meet you off train. Px

A part of her was wishing that she had let Polly come with her, or Will, but this was something she had to do alone, even though, like Polly, she wouldn’t have minded at all if Will knocked Philip Leesom to the furthest-flung
reaches of kingdom come. However, she simply couldn’t bear Will to know how Lauren had behaved; nor, if the time ever came and please God it would, did she want Lauren to have to face the shame of her father knowing that she was capable of even writing such explicit sex, never mind engaging in it. She knew she’d eventually have to tell Will at least some of what had gone on; he was still agitating for answers to where Lauren had been that night, and better she broke it to him than the police. By then the diary and all evidence of it would be long gone, and so too, she hoped, would Philip Leesom.

Out of nowhere she found herself thinking of Oliver Lomax and his family, and wondering what they were doing now. Had anything improved for the mother? Had the blood sample turned up? She didn’t really care, but she couldn’t
not
care either, when, as far as she could tell, Oliver Lomax was no more to blame for his mother’s addiction than Lauren was for Philip Leesom’s exploitation. They were victims, both of them, of people they trusted and loved.

It was just after three thirty when Emma walked through the arch beneath the soaring clock tower of the school’s main building and began threading her way through the corridors – high, bright passageways, enlivened by vibrant teenage art and noticeboards promoting all kinds of meetings and activities. She passed no one – most students were still in class, or taking study periods in the library, or in the sports hall in another building. She knew, from Lauren’s roster, that Leesom was taking Upper Sixth for a double period till four, a class Lauren would have been attending if Leesom hadn’t been the guiding hand of this stage of her journey through English literature. Given the choice she’d obviously prefer that Lauren was still under his influence rather than where she was now, but she didn’t have the choice. That had been taken away from her the night he’d enticed Lauren down to Glastonbury for the sole purpose of the sick entertainment of him and his friends.

Though she was shaking inside, now she was here she had no doubt she could go through with this, though God knew she longed for it to be over.

On reaching the windows to his classroom, big and wide, allowing a clear view in from the corridor, she stopped and spotted him almost instantly, leaning against a wall next to the board, his large, muscled arms folded, his beautiful Byronic head tilted to one side as he listened to a student reading or reciting, or perhaps commenting on a text. Emma didn’t know, nor did she care; she simply fixed her eyes on his sickening face and waited.

It took almost no time for his head to come up; from the way his expression changed she knew that he knew straight away why she was there.

If he didn’t come out, she was ready to go in, if necessary she’d begin the showdown in front of the class, but he didn’t waste any time in excusing himself and coming to the door. As she moved forward she caught a glimpse of Donna’s frightened young face, but she couldn’t deal with her now. All her focus was on Leesom, and as he let himself out into the corridor, rapidly closing the door behind him, she brushed aside his ludicrous attempt at surprise and concern, and headed for his office.

‘I didn’t realise you were coming,’ he babbled cravenly as he followed on behind her, his usual aplomb deserting him. ‘I sent an email. Did you get it? I was hoping ...’ His voice trailed off as someone passed from the other direction.

Finding his office door locked, Emma stood aside and waited for him to open it, trying not to think of the diary entries recounting how he’d turned the key from the inside to make sure he and Lauren weren’t disturbed. A flash of pure rage fired up inside her, making her want to smash her fists straight into his head and ram it into the door frame as he leaned forward to insert the key.

She stepped into the room ahead of him, waited for him to follow, then taking the door she slammed it shut.

‘Emma, what’s happened?’ he cried, looking extremely nervous.

‘You know what’s happened,’ she told him in a dangerously low voice. ‘I’m not going to demean myself by spelling it out, all you need to know is that today is your last at this school, or any other. You will
never
have access
to young girls again to corrupt and abuse them the way you have with my daughter.’

‘Emma, wait, wait ...’

‘This is the end of your career,’ she pressed on. ‘I want you to come with me now to the headmaster’s study to explain why you are handing in your resignation and why it must be effective immediately.’

A guilty colour was creeping up his neck; his moodily romantic eyes were sharpening with fear. Yet somehow his voice was smooth as he said, ‘Emma, I don’t understand. Why are you ...?’

Her voice was shaking, so was she. ‘I have written evidence here in my bag of the things you’ve done to Lauren. They are so disgusting they make me want to
kill
you. If her father knew, you can be sure he would.’

‘Please, you have to listen to what I’m telling you. I don’t know what you ... This evidence ... I ...’

Emma’s eyes bored into his. ‘It’s her diary. She wrote it all down.’

Shock stripped the colour from his face. ‘But – but you must understand that young girls of Lauren’s age are very fanciful, hormonal ...’

‘Don’t you dare try that with me! There was nothing fanciful or hormonal about
your
friends’ address on her mobile phone. And what the hell is fanciful or hormonal about where she is now? I’m holding you responsible for what’s happened to her, I hope you realise that. If it weren’t for you she’d never have been on that road, and that wretched boy would never have hit her.
You’ve ruined her life
. She’ll probably never be the same again, and
you
are wholly to blame for that.’ She sobbed, caught her breath and forced herself to go on glaring at him.

‘Emma, you’ve got it wrong,’ he told her urgently. ‘I swear I’ve never laid a finger on her in the way you’re thinking ...’

‘Then call Donna Corrigan in here. Let’s see if you can deny it in front of her.’