who I really am. But it’s not too late to put things right.
A tall man with hollow cheeks, thinning hair and an angular face opens the blue door at 29 Missingham Road. He looks me up and down, sighs and rests against the door frame.
‘Yes?’ He doesn’t say ‘what do you want?’ but it’s written all over his face.
‘I was wondering if I could have a word with you and your wife. It’s about Chloe.’
His expression darkens. ‘What’s this about?’
‘If I could just come in I’ll tell you. It’s … quite sensitive.’
‘We’ve already spoken to the police and if you’re a journalist you can fuck right off.’
‘Alan!’ a woman calls from the back of the house. ‘Who is it?’
‘No one!’
‘Please, I’m not a journalist or police. Maybe I could talk to your wife?’
‘She’s ill.’
A curtain twitches at an upstairs window.
‘Please,’ I say as Alan moves to shut the door. ‘A man called Mike Hughes is having an inappropriate relationship with your daughter and I’m worried about her.’
‘Who the fuck are you? If you’re not police or journalist …’ His eyes narrow as he looks me up and down. ‘Are you the one that reported him?’
‘I … I … yes, I am.’
‘Are you now?’ He shakes his head slowly, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line. ‘Got a soft spot for him have you, love? You wouldn’t be the first bored housewife to try it on. Turn you down, did he? Is that why you thought you’d get your revenge by spinning a little story?’
‘It’s not a story. I saw Mike and Chloe—’
‘You disgust me!’ He lurches towards me, forcing me to step back. ‘That man’s like a dad to my girl. I’d trust him with my life. And hers. And I’ve had it up to here,’ he jabs at his throat with a flat hand, ‘with gossips, do-gooders and shit-spreaders.’
‘I’m not—’
‘Mike Hughes is a good man. He spent five years in jail because he tried to keep one of the kids at his club safe when she ran away to France. The stupid bitch was so scared of her alky dad that she lied to the police about what had happened and I won’t let you,’ he jabs a finger at me, ‘or anyone else put him through that kind of hell again. If you ever come back here again I won’t be responsible for my actions. Do you hear me? Now piss off.’
The door slams in my face. As the heavy stomp, stomp, stomp of feet on stairs rattles the house, the curtain at the upstairs window twitches again. This time I catch a glimpse of a face. It’s Chloe and she looks scared.
Monday 30th April 2007
Chloe walks with her head down and her book bag gripped to her chest. Normally she’d drag her feet as she walked from the bus stop to school, but today she can’t get there quickly enough. Anything is better than being at home with her arsehole of a dad, anything. He went spare after that stupid woman turned up at the door. She tried to listen to their conversation but all she could hear was the woman pleading to come in. The second the front door slammed shut, her dad stormed up to her room. She threw herself onto her bed just as he flung open the door.
‘Is this down to you? Have you been talking shit about Mike at school?’
‘No.’ She grabbed her pillow and hugged it close. ‘I wouldn’t.’
‘Because she looked like a teacher. Sounded like one too.’ He crossed the room in four strides and yanked open the curtains. ‘She’s gone.’ He turned back to look at Chloe. ‘Who was she? I know you were eavesdropping.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen her before.’
Chloe hugged her pillow tighter. Could it be the police again? Her dad hadn’t met the woman who’d knocked on the door the other day. She was wearing normal clothes but she said her name was DS Anna Hope, from West Mercia police. Chloe felt sick with fear when DS Hope asked if her parents were in. She hadn’t taken anything big from the garden centre – just a few small ornaments she thought were cute and a packet of fairy lights. They were hidden in the bottom of her wardrobe, wrapped in an old dressing gown. But that wasn’t what DS Hope wanted to talk to her about, she wanted to talk about Mike. Was there somewhere they could have a little chat? Just a few questions. It wasn’t a formal interview. She said that Mum was welcome to join them if that was something Chloe wanted. It wasn’t, but her mum insisted she sit in on the conversation before she could say a word.
The next few minutes were the most excruciating of Chloe’s life. DS Hope started by asking her which her favourite bands were and which member she fancied the most, but she could feel her mum’s worried eyes boring into the side of her head as the police officer switched to using phrases like, ‘unwanted attention’, ‘inappropriate comments’ and – worst of all – ‘touching that made you feel uncomfortable or scared’. Had Mike ever asked her to do anything that made her feel bad? Had they spent time alone together? Had he bought her gifts? Had he asked her to keep something secret? Had he threatened her or her family? Chloe did her best to meet the police officer’s eyes but she could feel her cheeks burning as she answered the questions. Mike was her dad’s friend, she told the police officer. They’d chatted but only ever in front of another adult. He hadn’t touched her or done anything inappropriate. He was a nice man who said hello to her if he saw her at work and that was all. DS Hope wrote everything she said down in a little notebook, then made Chloe and her mum sign it. After that she asked to speak to her mum in the kitchen.
When they came back into the living room, her mum had a weird, vacant expression on her face. She didn’t say anything to her though, not even when DS Hope asked if she could have a look through Chloe’s room and made them sign her notebook again to say that they’d agreed. Chloe stood next to her mum at the door to her bedroom, hands clenched into tight fists, as the detective searched her jewellery box, homework books, bed and chest of drawers. Panic rose in her chest as DS Hope lifted up her dressing gown in the bottom of the wardrobe but she didn’t unfold it and her stolen stash remained hidden. When she asked if she could take a look at her mobile, Chloe handed it over. She deleted all the texts Mike sent her as soon as she’d read them (as well as the ones she sent him) and he’d warned her not to keep a diary or any mementoes of the time they spent together. But she couldn’t stop herself from reaching up behind her hairline to touch the necklace around her neck. Mike hadn’t bought her many gifts – a couple of CDs, a book, plus he’d given her forty pounds after he found her crying in one of the sheds at work. She’d accidentally run up a huge bill on her mobile by buying game add-ons and she was too scared to tell her dad. After listening to her sob, Mike reached into his wallet and handed her the money to cover it. ‘Now you don’t need to tell him,’ he said. ‘And you don’t need to cry anymore.’
He
