Thinking about Todd always leads into thinking about Roni. We’re so intertwined, our stories curling and curving around each other like two trees growing from one root – even after years apart, the stems of our stories are twisted together. We are like music on a song sheet: right-hand notes and left-hand notes, both played together, both necessary for the song to be complete.
I haven’t seen her. She has done as Sasha asked and has kept away, which is the best thing for both of us. It’s given me a chance to want to talk to her. If she was in my face all the time, I would want her far away. I need to talk to her. Now that we’ve been believed, now that other people have come forward to tell about Mr Daneaux, our worlds are different.
I step outside the service entrance at the back of the hotel, into the wide alley-cum-side street that runs along the back of the hotel. I’m always amazed that this wide space exists out here, when everywhere around this part of Brighton is narrow and close, as though hunched up together to keep warm against the strong breezes that roll in from the sea. Usually there are three or four members of hotel staff standing here, smoking or drinking cups of coffee, or having a good old gossip about someone else who works in the building. Today, it’s empty. The light is fading and soon the sky will turn a light pewter, signalling the start of evening and then night.
Roni. The thought of her rushes through me, like it did all those months ago when Judge decided to get payback. I have to stop – the thought of her is so powerful as it sweeps through my body and mind, a strong wave that almost knocks me over. Roni. I take a deep breath in, hold it. When I feel the panic coming on, I know to remember to breathe. Breathe. It’s what the books all told me over the years to do, to breathe. It quells the panic, soothes my mind. I reach into my pocket, take out my music player. I don’t usually wear headphones when walking around, I don’t feel safe if I can’t hear what is going on, but after the breathing, music is what helps me.
A scuffling noise to my left doesn’t do enough to distract me from unwinding my headphones. I need to breathe. Breathe. More scuttling, and then footsteps, and then a hand around my throat, shoving me back against the wall.
‘Hello, Ace.’ Judge’s voice is against my ear, his body is keeping my body against the wall, his hand is slowly crushing my throat. ‘Long time no see.’
I close my eyes but I can still hear his breathing, I can feel his scent filling my senses.
I don’t have a death wish any more. Reese would be proud of me. I now have a reason to not want to die. All those thoughts, all those feelings have gone now that I have connections, that I have a home, that I have people who believe me.
‘Aren’t you pleased to see me, Ace?’ he whispers into my ear. ‘I’ve spent so long looking for you. I knew it’d only be a matter of time before you pissed off someone enough for me to catch up with you. Really nice young lady who tipped me off from my social media posts. Said you had a new hairstyle, new glasses, new name. She even told me where you worked – isn’t that nice of her?’ He moves his hand up and down, trying to make me nod. ‘Yes, it was, Judge,’ he says for me.
I open my eyes and he takes my glasses off and tosses them to one side so, I presume, he can see directly into my eyes.
I wonder if he can see in my eyes this one thought: I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to die and I don’t want to die like this.
‘I made a mistake all those years ago,’ he says. ‘Should have put you down there and then when you wouldn’t do as you were told. But you have to be careful, don’t you? If them on the street think you’re not being fair, they don’t play by the rules and you end up with lots of unnecessary losses and having to work harder to find replacements.’ He presses his lips even closer to my ear, probably gets his usual thrill when I flinch. He loves that moment when a person recoils, shows him that they know he’s in charge. ‘That was my mistake. I don’t make many but I should have put you down all those months ago, not your smackhead mate. I thought it would keep you in line, maybe even get you dealing and tomming for me, but instead it gave him ideas. Ideas that he could take me down.’ He pushes his body even closer to me. ‘I’ve lost everything cos of you, Ace. The previously loyal have turned against me, only worried about their own skins. I’ve stayed out of the way so far, until I found you. It won’t be worth it, to do you, but it’ll be a start.’
I used to be Grace ‘Ace’ Carter, invisible and unnoticed. No one would care if I died alone in an alleyway, killed by a drug-dealing pimp I was once stupid enough to be involved with. I am Veronika Harper now, though. And I was stupid to think that this doesn’t happen to all sorts of people, visible or not.
‘Don’t do this, Judge,’ I say. Someone is going to come soon. I know they will. This place is behind a busy hotel, a shortcut to part of the Lanes from the seafront. Someone will come and they will stop this. If I keep him talking for long enough, someone will come. ‘I didn’t know Reese would go to the police,’ I say. ‘I honestly didn’t. He was completely against it. He completely cut me off when I suggested it. I didn’t know. Please, please don’t do this.’ Whatever this is. Because I have no idea. Would he really do something here? When anyone could walk by at any second?
He is suddenly in my face, his face so close to mine I can count the open pores of his skin. He looks tired, and desperate; all his luxuries have been stripped away and he is like the people he used to prey on. ‘Ah, Ace, it’s good to hear you beg again. I could live on hearing you begging and pleading.’ His red jewel embedded in his front tooth glints every time his lips part. He has nothing to lose, it’s obvious. Someone with nothing to lose will do anything.
But someone is going to come along any second now. Someone is going to come and save me from this. I thought I’d given up on the idea of rescue, but I haven’t. Not now that I know there are people who will believe me, there are people who will take care of me, will love me. I want to be rescued from this. I want someone to come around that corner, to step out from the hotel and see this and help me.
‘Please? Please.’
‘Oh, Ace, yes, that’s exactly how I like it.’
Someone is going to save me. I know it.
He stands back suddenly, and I can breathe for a moment. He uses the distance he has put between us to draw back his fist then drive it deep into my stomach. The punch doubles me over, and I clutch the place of impact.
‘Bye, Ace. Never forget me, eh, baby?’
His footsteps hurry away, not running, simply walking quickly, a man in a rush to get from here to there. A man who doesn’t even look back at the woman he’s just assaulted. At least it was just that, at least he decided to punch me and let me go. Maybe he isn’t as bad as I thought he was. Maybe, like with Todd, the reality of Judge is much smaller, much more diminished than the thought of him. I try to stand upright, but I’m too winded from the punch, so instead I step forwards. Walk it off, Nika. The sooner you get moving, the sooner you’ll be able to walk it off. I manage one step, force myself to make another, then stop. I have to stop. This punch … it was so hard. It was so hard I can barely breathe. And my hand, it’s wet. It’s sticky and it’s wet.
I take my hand from my stomach, stare at it: a shock of sticky redness covers my fingers and the palm of my hand. My mouth fills with saline and the tang of blood-red iron; a swirl of light whirls around my head and then drains away. I’m stumbling … staggering … falling …
No one’s going to come, are they? No one is going to rescue me. This is it. This is where I stop being Veronika Harper, Nikky Harper, Grace ‘Ace’ Carter, Nika Harper. This is where it all ends. I will stop being invisible because I think everyone will see me now. Everyone will see me when I am …
Roni
London, 2016
I’ve been praying for Nika. I used to pray for her every night when I didn’t know where she was. When I began my journey to becoming a nun, she was in my prayers. When I became a nun and then a Sister and then a nun again, Nika featured in every
one of my prayers.
I miss her.
Missing her is like an ache I cannot soothe. So I pray for her, I pray for her to be OK, wherever she is, for her to know how much I loved her, how much I love her still. The world doesn’t feel the same without her in my life. I had her for such a short amount of time, there was so much I wanted to say. And now I won’t get the chance. I’ve lost the best friend I ever had.
Is this the life I’m supposed to live? Without her? I don’t know. I don’t know. I pray for her, even though I am angry with God. I can say that now, I can say it because I know He doesn’t mind if we question Him. I love Him, I always will. Because my God loves me, has given me free will, I am allowed to be angry with Him, to not understand Him, to question Him. I know His plan will be revealed in time, but in that meantime, I am angry and I am hurt and I can still love Him with all my heart.
My anger towards Dad has all but gone away. I still feel flashes of it, but no way like before. He is still accepting, still trying to navigate the way forward when Mum is refusing to engage in the divorce process. Not only that, she has been – apparently – revictimised because what Mr Daneaux did has been all over the papers and she now has people questioning her mothering skills because she had no idea what he was doing to the students he classed as special.
My uncle is still being hunted by the police and I hope he can feel their approach like I used to feel his approach when we were alone in the house; I hope he feels sick and powerless and absolutely terrified.
I am waiting for God’s plan for me to be revealed. In the meantime I am still supply-teaching at Chiselwick High, and praying for Nika every chance I get. Because that is all I can do.
I’ll never forget the first time I saw Nika when I moved to her school. And then seeing her again in the ballet studio, her face amongst the others saying exactly what I was thinking: I want to be a ballet dancer. I want to be one of the special ones who can go all the way.
I miss her so much. And all I can do is pray for her, and hope I’ll see her again some day.
22
Roni
London, 2016
‘Miss! Miss! Miss Harper!’
I am in another world and only hear my name after a fair few shouts, I imagine. I stop on the pavement outside Chiselwick High. It’s late and I am about to begin the journey home. I stay here late to avoid going home to my parents and the craziness in the house. I would move out but I don’t want to leave Dad. He is looking for a place for us to live and said last night he thought he might have found one.
Slowly I turn to the source of the shouting and see Gail running towards me, waving her hand to get my attention. Behind her, with her arms folded across her chest and a face that tells me she would slap me silly if she could, is Gail’s mother. She is how I always imagined mothers would behave in the wake of the news of their daughter or son being abused. Not how my mother is behaving.
‘Hello, Gail,’ I say. I am so happy to see her. She and her family moved away from Chiselwick after the investigation into her stepfather began, so I didn’t see her before the summer holidays or now after them, when I’ve been teaching here.
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ she says when she arrives in front of me. ‘Emma said you were back working here but you’d probably be moving on soon? I wanted to thank you.’
‘Thank me? I let you down in a pretty spectacular way, Gail,’ I remind her. To receive confirmation of this, I glance over her shoulder and her mother glares at me in return.
Gail also looks over her shoulder at her stern, unmoved mother. ‘Is that what Mum told you?’ She shrugs. ‘Suppose she’s right in one way. But when I needed a friend, you were there for me. Even though you are weird and a teacher. And sort of a nun. Not that I’ve got anything against all that. I told Mum that if you’d gone to the police or told her I would have denied it. And that would have been worse because then I’d never have been able to tell her the truth. I told her that you did what I needed – you listened and you believed me and you said you’d be there for me and you encouraged me to tell. I told Mum all that.’
‘And she still hates me, right?’
Gail shrugs. ‘Yeah. She’s kinda stubborn like that.’
‘You seem so much better, Gail, I’m very pleased.’
‘I’m pretending, Miss. Not all the time. Sometimes I feel OK about everything but when I don’t … I pretend.’
‘Don’t pretend too much, OK? Your mum needs to know when you’re feeling bad so she can support you. She can’t take the pain away, but she loves you so much, she can do her best to be there for you.’ I don’t know if what I’m saying is right, but it sounds like good advice and maybe it will help Gail to not isolate herself and to give her mother the chance to help her.
‘I’d better go,’ she says. ‘Mum only let me out because I said I’d go whether she let me or not. She was not happy when I said it was you I wanted to see. She’ll get over it.’ Rather than taking a step backwards, she steps forwards. ‘Can I hug you?’ she asks.
‘Only if your mother says it’s OK,’ I tell her.
Gail rotates on her heels. ‘MUM!’ she bellows. ‘Can I hug Miss?’
Glaring at me the whole time, her mother nods slowly. Gail throws herself into my arms, almost winding me as her body connects with mine. ‘Thanks, Miss,’ she says. Then she’s gone, waving at me, skipping back to her mother. Her mother winds her arm around her daughter’s shoulder and starts to walk away. I smile at her, try to connect, attempt to show I understand how she feels. She cuts her eyes at me and walks away. I don’t blame her, not really. How can I blame her when she is behaving exactly how I wanted my mother to behave all these years?
six months later
Nika
Hove, 2017
I should be dead.
That is the long and the short of it.
I was there for at least ten minutes, they said. Ten minutes and not a single person came out for a cigarette, a coffee, to leave work, to cut through to get to the other side of the Lanes.
I should be dead.
And no one really knows why I’m not. I had extensive blood loss, his weapon nicked a major organ, my health isn’t the best after years of living an impoverished lifestyle.
I suspect I know why I am still here, and I can’t really tell anyone about it. They’ll think I’m crazy. I think I’m crazy and I was there.
I kept phasing in and out. The blackness clearing for a moment, giving way to bright white agony, followed by the weightless sensation of drifting away. The thing that kept me anchored, tethered to this world, was someone whispering the words to Toto’s ‘Africa’ in my ear. Every time I phased in, I would hear the words being whispered to me, as clear as anything, and I would cling to ‘the Serengeti’ and how it didn’t fit. How it was a stupid word to insert into a song, as I’d told Marshall all those months ago. I believe that is what kept me here, but I can’t tell anyone that.
I am healed now. Stitched up inside, sewn up outside, the wound scabbed over, the scar still in the process of scoring itself into my skin. Everyone knows I am healed. And it still hurts. I tell no one this, I want no one to know that it still hurts. Constantly. A reminder, I suppose, of how close I came.
They caught Keith Iain Junn, also known as Judge, a couple of days after he tried to kill me. DS Brennan from Birmingham explained how they finally caught up to him, but I didn’t really take it in. It was something other to me, at the time, and by the time I was aware enough to ask, I didn’t dare, in case anyone thought I was dwelling on the negative instead of focusing on the positive.
I saw Keith Iain Junn in the papers, suddenly a rather pathetic-looking man, and I was still scared. I shouldn’t have been, I was safe, but I couldn’t tell anyone that I was scared of everything now. Now that I knew how much I wanted to live, how much I wanted to be here, everything scared me because anything could harm me. It was a good thing, in a way, because it now meant I was able to feel, care about myself. I had come
to see myself as someone important and worthy of being loved.
As it was, Judge, master criminal, drug dealer and pimp, decided to end his life in prison after three nights. DS Brennan from Birmingham came back to see me and to tell me he believed Judge had been helped out on that score, he was in deep with some pretty nasty people, but no one could prove anything, so nothing could be done.
When I saw DS Brennan that second time, my heart lifted because I thought he was going to tell me about Reese. When I asked, he was uncomfortable. Then he admitted everything. ‘It was Reese who wanted you to leave,’ he explained. ‘I went to see him that night you came to the station and he told me if I persuaded you to leave for good, to go and live the life you were meant to, he would testify against Judge and he had an army of people who would testify, too. We had to move him to protect him – new name, new life.’ I knew instantly why Reese had done it: no debts. He knew that his actions had originally pushed me to get involved with Judge and he wanted in some way to make it right. The policeman added: ‘I asked Reese if he wanted me to pass on a message if I saw you again, and he said, “Tell her: me too.” I don’t know if you know what that means? But because he’s in the protection scheme, you won’t see him again.’
I’d secretly been harbouring the fantasy that at some point I would find Reese again, we would see each other and everything would be all right. That dream was gone. Reese, as I knew him, was dead. But he did love me. Just like I did love him. I cling to that.
My parents made the journey to see me in hospital because they had to – it was all over the papers, they couldn’t avoid me and avoid explaining to their friends why they had disowned me. They sat on the visitors’ chairs and said nothing for an hour then left again, that box ticked, that duty fulfilled.