The Happy Family by Jackie Kabler (electric book reader txt) 📕

For the first few days after that awful Saturday I forced myself to deal with the fallout. On the Sunday, I went to see Dad. He knew, of course. Holly Tree has all the papers delivered every day, broadsheets and tabloids all sitting on a polished side table in the lounge alongside an eclectic selection of magazines – Country Living, Angling Times, Woman’s Weekly. He knew, but there was no anger, no judgement. Instead, he just looked sad, and even though he’s the only person who really knows what happened back then with Lucy, the only person I could conceivably have a proper conversation with about it now, I just couldn’t bring myself to burden him with my fears, with my certainty that this has all happened because of what I did to her.

‘I didn’t take those pictures, Dad,’ I said. ‘Someone hid a camera in my room; someone did it for a joke. And then somehow the newspaper reporter saw them and decided it would make a good story, and … well … It was a really stupid, really bad joke that got out of hand, and I’m trying to find out who’s responsible. But I’m so sorry about it all, and so sorry you had to see it.’

He shook his head.

‘S’lucky I’m half-blind. Couldn’t shee them prop’ly anyway. Billy read the article to me though. He shed you looked crackin’.’

He raised a thumb, clearly attempting to lighten the mood. I tried to laugh, but inside I was shrivelling with embarrassment.

These old men ogling me, talking about me, looking at me now from across the room … I see lecherous expressions on some faces and curled-lip disapproval on others. This is horrible …

‘Bloody shtupid joke. Some friend,’ he said.

‘I know, Dad. I know.’

He paused, then squinted at me, one eye red and watery.

‘He knew, then, that reporter. ’Bout Lucy,’ he said. ‘Wonder how? At leasht he didn’t say much, eh?’

He wiped a hand across his face, closing his eyes for a few seconds, and I knew that this had taken him back there, back to those bleak days. My stomach lurched with guilt and sorrow.

‘Yes, at least he didn’t say much. It’ll be OK, Dad. Don’t worry. I’m so sorry you had to see it, and it’s been awful, but it’ll pass. I’m handling it. And the kids are still at Jacob’s by the way. But I’m sure he’ll bring them in to see you soon. Hey, did you listen to The Archers this morning? Jolene’s on the warpath, isn’t she?’

I changed the subject and we chatted about our favourite radio soap-opera for a while. It seemed to distract Dad as his face brightened. I couldn’t bear it for long though, and I made my excuses and left shortly after that, feeling wretched, sick at the thought of how much more of this there was to come. I’d already had the call from Gabby at work, her tone uncharacteristically sharp, her disappointment and frustration evident.

‘We’d really hoped, as we hadn’t heard anything else from that reporter, that this wouldn’t happen, Beth. It’s not good, not good at all. Obviously it’s dreadful for you, but for the surgery too, our reputation … and what’s this about a suicide back in your school days?’

I told her the same vague story I’d told Mum and Jacob and she’d rung off muttering that she’d be in touch, though her unhappiness had been clear. Ruth had waited until the Monday evening to call me, to express the same shock, to ask the same questions. I was getting good at answering them by now.

‘Is Deborah OK? I haven’t heard from her at all since I was … well, since I’ve been off,’ I said, and there was a long pause on the line – so long I thought we might have been cut off.

‘Ruth? Are you there?’

‘Yes … erm, she’s on holiday,’ she said. ‘Had some days to use up. Think she’s gone to the Lake District. It was all a bit last minute.’

‘Oh,’ I said.

They do have phones in the Lake District, I wanted to say, but I left it.

‘Nadia was asking for you though,’ Ruth said hurriedly. ‘I popped over to take her some tea this morning and, well, she’d actually seen the Daily Star. Sorry, love. Apparently it was lying around in the hostel. Think she got the shock of her life, but she was asking if you were OK. She seemed really concerned. She likes you, I think.’

‘I like her too,’ I said. ‘Oh, bloody hell, what must she think of me now?’

I pictured Nadia, chapped fingers in her tatty gloves, thumbing through the paper and seeing me like that. I shuddered.

Another person I’ll never be able to face again. She must be appalled.

Mum, who had continued to be amazing, taking care of me, trying to keep my spirits up, went to her yoga class on the Tuesday morning and, realising after she’d gone that we were out of milk, I’d ventured out to the shop. I pulled on a baseball cap and slouchy sweatshirt, not making eye contact with anyone. I was almost home, feeling weak with relief that I’d got away with it, when suddenly there were Brenda and Barbara walking towards me, just feet away.

I glanced from one to the other and they stopped dead, but I kept walking.

‘Beth! Beth, we—’

Brenda was holding out a hand as if to stop me in my tracks, but I lowered my head, unexpected tears pricking my eyes. I barrelled past them, desperate to get home. I couldn’t, just couldn’t, not that day. Maybe not ever. Those two, Deborah, Robin … my suspicions still bounce around in my head, but I don’t even care anymore. I just want to move on.

Since then, I’ve hardly been out, hardly spoken to a soul, other than my mother. My phone has buzzed repeatedly with messages from friends and acquaintances, and I’ve ignored them all. I can’t