‘Oh, of course, I would love to. When?’
An hour and a half later we sat side by side on a leather sofa inside a coffee shop. She’d chosen a Starbucks in a retail park on the outskirts of town because she didn’t want us to be seen by her dad or his friends, she explained. We sipped hot chocolates topped with whipped cream and sprinkles as I listened intently to my daughter filling me in on the time I’d missed from her life. She explained how some of her friends had turned against her when her Facebook account was hacked and her ex-boyfriend Thom was humiliated. Then her grades had slipped and she’d found herself alone and without any confidence in her own intelligence. It was Ryan Smith I really wanted to know about, but I couldn’t just shoehorn him into the conversation.
‘Are there any subjects you like?’ I asked. ‘What was it you used to be good at? Chemistry, wasn’t it?’
‘English and biology. And now I get shit marks in English and I hate biology because we’re expected to dissect animals. Baby pigs . . . it’s gross.’ She screwed up her face.
To begin with, Effie struggled to maintain eye contact with me and I understood that, while I was her mother, I was also a stranger. I still struggled to remember what had torn us apart, and as frustrating as it was, it didn’t seem appropriate to ask her and risk opening old wounds. Today was about moving forward and getting her back on side, to show my husband what he was missing without me. When her eyes finally reached mine and remained there, I could see so much of myself in them.
It gradually dawned on me, as Effie spoke, that I’d never really heard what she had to say before. I’d listened, but all too often I’d dismissed her words and feelings as those of a child. Now, with her fifteenth birthday approaching, she was a young woman, and it was time I treated her like one.
Several times she opened her mouth as if to ask me something, before having a change of heart and closing it again.
‘I don’t want to pry, but is there something else you want to talk to me about?’ I coaxed.
She shook her head and looked across the car park at the shoppers loading their vehicles with bulging bags or strapping toddlers into buggies. She pursed her lips and looked so sad.
‘I’ve messed everything up, Mum,’ she said, before her face crumpled and she began to cry.
I couldn’t have asked for anything better. I moved my chair closer to hers and draped my arm around her shoulders for comfort.
‘I got this new teacher, and at first I thought he hated me because he kept giving me rubbish grades,’ she continued.
‘Is this Mr Smith?’ I asked.
She nodded. ‘He seemed like he really cared and gave me lots of attention after school. And then we started getting . . . closer.’
‘How close?’ I asked. Our reunion was turning out to be even more rewarding than I could have anticipated. While I hoped Ryan Smith hadn’t hurt or abused Effie, would it be the worst thing in the world for my case if he’d stepped over the line a little?
‘I didn’t have many friends left and he was really lovely to me and I started to get feelings for him and I thought he had them for me too. But when I told him, he was so horrible.’
So that’s what he’d done to her. He’d led the silly girl on. Now I had something to work with.
‘Darling, did something physical happen between you?’
‘No. And I know it was wrong, but I wanted it to. He turned me down and called me nasty and stupid. I feel like such an idiot. I can’t even look at him anymore without wanting to be sick. I hate him.’
‘He seemed so nice. I bet he’s having a laugh about you in the staffroom over this.’
Fear spread across my daughter’s face. ‘You think he’s told the other teachers?’
‘Men of his age love attention from pretty girls like you. They boast about it to their friends. And you know how rumours spread in schools – maybe that’s how he gets his kicks, leading girls on so he can humiliate them and boast about it. I just hope none of the students know.’
Effie held her head in her hands and began to cry again. I rubbed her shoulders but didn’t encourage her to stop. I was torn between wanting to be the mother that Effie needed and demanding my revenge on Ryan. Effie potentially had all the ammunition I required, but I had to talk her around to my way of thinking first.
‘Does anyone else know about your feelings towards Mr Smith?’ I continued.
‘No, I didn’t tell anyone.’
‘Were you seen together?’
‘I guess so. I had meetings with him twice a week.’
‘But it’s not like you were spending time with him when there was no one else around?’
‘We were always alone in the room behind his classroom.’
I wanted everything in the world to stop moving so that nothing could distract me from savouring her every word. This was how I was going to destroy Ryan: mother and daughter together, working towards a common goal.
‘You were alone every time?’ I repeated. ‘You’re sure of this?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did he give this kind of attention to any of the other girls?’
‘No. He’d wait until everyone had left.’
‘And how close were you, physically, when you were alone together?’
‘A couple of metres apart.’
‘Okay.’ I must have looked disappointed because she added hastily, ‘But sometimes he’d get a lot closer.’ I’d always been able to tell when she was exaggerating.
‘Did he ever ask you about your family?’
‘A little – he asked about you and Dad.’
‘And what did you tell him?’
‘Nothing, really.’
‘Did he say why he wanted to know about us?’
‘He said he was trying to understand if I had problems at home that might explain my falling grades. But it was him who started it all by marking me down all the time. He told me he didn’t want to worry you both, so it was best I didn’t mention he’d been asking about you.’
‘So he encouraged you to keep secrets from us?’ I shook my head, folded my arms and let out an exaggerated puff of air. ‘That’s a fairly typical approach.’
‘To what?’
‘To grooming a child.’
‘What, like a paedophile?’
I nodded. ‘Part of my role at End of the Line involves talking to young people who’ve been through this, only by the time they reach me it’s often gone much, much further. These poor children. Oh, Effie, the stories I could tell you.’
‘But wouldn’t he have done something when I made a move on him in his car?’
‘You’ve been in his car?’
‘Yes, he gave me a lift home and I thought it was leading to something else. Then he started telling me how disgusting I was.’
‘Maybe he got cold feet; maybe he was playing mind games with you. It’s hard to know how these people think.’
‘I should tell Dad, shouldn’t I? He’ll know what to do.’