Forgive Me (24 page)

As soon as she’d reported what had
happened, she slumped down on to the stairs, trembling with shock.

Phil had claimed she was an innocent more
than once. She knew that if she told him about this he would ask why she had allowed
Myles to come in. He would never believe that she hadn’t encouraged the man in any
way, and hadn’t even told him where she lived. The police were likely to be much
the same, and she had no doubt that by the time they went to
arrest
Myles he would have a plausible story ready, and make out she was some kind of madwoman
who attacked him out of spite.

She put her fingers to her neck. It hurt,
and it felt as if bruises were coming up. Would that be enough evidence to prove
he’d almost throttled her?

The police arrived within ten minutes. By
then Eva was crying and unable to stop herself shaking. The woman police officer made
her a cup of tea while the policeman questioned her about what had happened.

‘So you didn’t make a date with
him?’ he asked, after she’d explained what had happened the night
before.

‘No. He flirted with me, and said
he’d call round today. He already knew where I lived, but I didn’t take him
seriously. If I had, and really liked him, do you think I’d be dressed like this
and painting my bedroom? I’d have been all dolled up with make-up on.’

‘But you didn’t say he
wasn’t to come round?’

‘Not exactly. But we only spoke for a
minute. The woman he was with was outside the bistro, and he went off with her. I felt
he was only winding me up. I told Antonio about it, and he said he was a bit of a
playboy.’

Eva related everything that had been said
between them this morning – how she’d got angry and told him to go – and then she
showed them where he’d pinned her to the wall. The evidence was still there, with
the broken bottle on the floor and wine dripping down the wall.

‘And you cut his face with a piece of
glass?’ the policeman asked. ‘After you’d kicked him in the
testicles?’

‘You make it sound like I was the
attacker!’ Eva said angrily. ‘I kneed him in the groin, because that was all
I could do to get free. What was I supposed to do? Let him throttle me and rape
me?’

They put the piece of glass she’d used
into a plastic evidence bag, as well as the glass Myles had been drinking from to test
for fingerprints. Eva had said she hadn’t touched the wine he poured for her, and
they could see that was true because it was still on the table in the garden.

‘You’d better come with us to
the station so we can get a photograph of the bruises on your neck,’ the policeman
said. ‘We’ll get you home immediately after we’ve taken your
statement.’

The police drove Eva back home just after
three in the afternoon. Her heart sank as they turned into Pottery Lane and she saw Phil
knocking on her door.

‘Do you know that man?’ the
police constable asked.

‘Yes, he’s a friend,’ Eva
said. ‘But I wish he hadn’t called now.’

‘You need someone with you,’ the
policeman said. ‘But if you think he may give you a hard time, I can ask him to
leave.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’
she said. ‘Thank you for bringing me home.’

As the car pulled up she saw Phil’s
surprise. He came over to the car and opened the door. ‘What’s
happened?’ he said. ‘Are you alright?’

‘She’s a bit shaken up,’
the policeman said, leaning across Eva to speak to Phil. ‘She could do with some
TLC.’

When Eva opened the front door and saw the
spilled wine and broken glass on the floor, she burst into tears. Phil closed the door
behind him, put his arms around her and let her cry for a minute.

‘I’m going to put the kettle on
and get the garden chairs in here. You can sit down while I clear up that mess, then you
can tell me all about it,’ he said gently.

Phil listened carefully, fighting down the
desire to find the piece of shit that had done this to her and kick his teeth in. Just
the way Eva was dressed, in paint-splattered old shorts and a T-shirt, was all the
evidence he needed that she hadn’t been expecting this bloke to call on her. The
bruising on her neck and the broken wine bottle were proof that she had been in real
danger.

From what she’d said the police
hadn’t been at all sympathetic, and it didn’t sound as if they were stirring
themselves to find the man. Did they think she deserved such treatment just because she
let him in?

‘I’m going to stay here
tonight,’ he said, taking both her hands in his. ‘He won’t come back
of course – even if the police haven’t arrested him yet, he’ll know better
than to risk getting himself in even deeper shit. But you might be scared alone, and I
can bunk down here on the floor. I’ve got an old sleeping bag in my
van.’

Eva had a bath and changed while Phil cooked
sausages and mash for them both. She felt calmer now she wasn’t alone, and they
discussed what she should do about her job.

‘I can’t go back there,’
she said. ‘I’ll be afraid he’ll come in.’

‘Why don’t you just take a month
off without trying to find another job,’ Phil suggested. ‘You’ve got
lots of stuff to do in the house, and perhaps you could go up to Leeds and see your
brother too? And how about finding Patrick, the man who might be your dad? I could take
some time off too and we could take some day trips to places like Brighton, or just
cruise about London and see the sights.’

‘That sounds very appealing,’
she admitted. ‘If I can get the house decorated and furnished, I could advertise
for another girl to share it with me. I’d feel much safer with someone else
here.’

‘You’ll have to make sure you
get someone who will
become a real friend, not one of those stuck-up
know-it-all Sloane’s this area is full of,’ he said.

Later on, Eva felt much better and gave the
bedroom a final coat of paint, while Phil rubbed down the doors upstairs and the
banisters ready for painting. She felt cheered to see the bedroom ready for a carpet and
furniture. And if she wasn’t going to be working for a while, she could spend some
time choosing things to decorate the room.

Phil looked a bit apprehensive when she said
she wanted to put up the curtain poles.

‘I know I can do it,’ she
insisted, realizing he didn’t believe she was capable. ‘I’ve got all
the equipment: a power drill, spirit level, Rawlplugs and the tape measure. You just
watch and stop me if I go wrong.’

He had that look on his face that men always
got when they didn’t believe a woman could do something. And once she’d
begun, she could see him twitching because she was so slow. Yet he didn’t
interfere, and he grinned at her encouragingly as she drilled the wall for the
brackets.

‘Well, I’d take my hat off to
you, if I had one,’ he said when the poles were finally up. ‘That’s
really good. Most women I know haven’t got the strength to get the screws right
in.’

‘There will be no stopping me
now,’ she joked. ‘If that creep comes back, I’ll screw him to the
wall!’

‘Just make sure you do it in the
garage then.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t want the walls I skimmed being
messed up.’

The next morning Phil woke her with a cup
of tea. ‘I’ve got to go to work now,’ he said. ‘But I’ll
be finishing early. If you like, we could go up to that bookshop in Notting Hill and
make some inquiries about Patrick O’Donnell. If he illustrates children’s
books, someone there is bound to know about him.’

‘That would be nice,’ she agreed,
thinking how kind and thoughtful he was. She hadn’t met many men who she thought
would cheerfully sleep on the floor just to make her feel safe. ‘I’ll have
to phone Antonio this morning and explain why I’m not coming back. Do you think
he’ll understand?’

‘Of course he will. Anyone would. Now
go back to sleep for a bit. Yesterday must have drained you.’

The phone ringing about an hour later woke
Eva up. It was the police, informing her that Myles Babbington had been arrested that
morning, charged with assault and would be appearing in court the following morning.
They said he was certain to be bailed pending his trial, but he would be warned that he
must not approach her again.

Just the thought of being called as a
witness at his trial made her feel frightened all over again. She knew his defence
lawyer would try to make it look like she’d led him on.

She phoned Antonio straight away to tell him
she didn’t feel able to come back to work. He wasn’t surprised, as the
police had contacted him about it.

‘I told them exactly what you told
me,’ he said. ‘And I said you weren’t one to flirt with customers,
that they should talk to Marcia because she could tell them how the evening had gone in
the bistro – she only left about ten minutes before you.’

It was nice that Antonio was sympathetic; he
even said she could have a job there again any time she wanted it. He said he would drop
her wages round to her. ‘I never liked that man,’ he said. ‘Always
bragging about deals he’d made, women he’d pulled. I’m really sorry he
hurt and frightened you, and I’m going to miss you.’

Eva spent the rest of the day making her
curtains. With no sewing machine she had to sew them by hand, and although she tried
hard not to think about Myles, he kept creeping into
her head. It was
more than likely he’d only get probation, or a suspended sentence, and part of her
wondered if the humiliation she’d probably encounter at his trial was worth
it.

She was hanging the finished curtains when
Phil arrived around four o’clock. ‘They look lovely,’ he said.
‘I am very impressed.’

There was something about Phil that really
lifted her spirits. He was so manly. Chasing after the man who stole her handbag, and
sleeping on the floor without ever making a big deal of it, was evidence of that. He was
also calm, he had a dry sense of humour, and he didn’t try to ingratiate himself
with her. But, above all, he was kind. She hadn’t met many men who had that
quality.

He asked if she minded if he had a shower,
making a joke about hers being a posh one; he claimed his one at home was just a
glorified rubber hose on the taps.

‘Shall we have something to eat out
after the bookshop?’ he yelled out from behind the closed bathroom door.

She shouted back that she’d made some
Bolognese sauce and would cook some pasta when they got back.

‘Yum yum,’ was his reply.

She smiled, as that response appealed to
her.

The bookshop Phil took her to in Notting
Hill had a very well-stocked children’s section.

They wandered around the shop for a while,
but the huge selection of books made the likelihood of stumbling upon one illustrated by
Patrick very unlikely.

‘Is there anyone here who might know
about book illustrators?’ she asked the woman behind the counter.

‘I don’t,’ the woman said.
‘But Mr Temple, the owner, probably does. He’s back there,’ she said,
pointing out a rotund grey-haired man right at the back of the shop.

They walked up to him. ‘Hello, Mr
Temple,’ Eva said, smiling at him. ‘I wonder if you can help me? Have you
ever heard of an illustrator called Patrick O’Donnell?’

‘Indeed, I have, my dear. His
illustrations in the Mr Bear books are an absolute delight,’ he said. ‘The
latest one,
Mr Bear Goes Camping
, is number three in the children’s book
chart right now.’

Eva felt as if someone had just switched on
a light inside her. ‘Really! He’s well known then?’

‘One of the best.’ Mr Temple
beamed. ‘Let me show you.’

Being shown O’Donnell’s work was
as exciting to Eva as finding her mother’s paintings in the attic. The Mr Bear
books, aimed at under fives, were written by someone called Mabel Brown.

Eva opened the book to look. She read each
page, but it was the stunning pictures that brought the simple stories about a family of
brown bears to life.

Mr Bear was hapless, and his long-suffering
wife was constantly sorting out his mistakes. One picture, where it transpired that Mr
Bear hadn’t packed the tent poles for their holiday, made Eva laugh out loud. Mr
Bear was scratching his head and looking helplessly at the heap of canvas on the ground,
and the various little bears were either crying, sheltering under trees or climbing
them. Mrs Bear was standing with her hands on her wide hips, with a very grumpy
expression on her face, saying: ‘I can’t trust you to do even the simplest
thing, Mr Bear. I asked you before we left home if you’d packed the
poles.’

‘Lovely, aren’t they?’ Mr
Temple said. ‘It’s all the detail: one little bear seizing the opportunity
in all the confusion to steal an apple from the picnic basket, another one pinching his
little sister, and that one trying to snuggle into a blanket. When you read to small
children it’s good to have stuff like
that to point out. But Mr
Bear always triumphs in the end. He catches a big fish for their tea, or he chases away
a scary eagle or something. Look at the last picture,’ he said.

Eva turned to it. The tent canvas was tied
to bushes and the whole bear family were snuggled up together under it. She smiled; it
gave her a good, safe feeling. She could imagine a small child dropping happily off to
sleep at that picture.

‘Would you know how I could contact Mr
O’Donnell?’ she asked. ‘He was a great friend of my mother’s,
and she died recently. I wanted to talk to him about her.’

‘I’m so sorry about your
mother,’ he said. ‘I’ve spoken to Patrick at book events, but I
haven’t a clue where he lives. The best thing to do is write to him care of the
publishers – they will pass the letter on to him.’

Eva bought the book
Mr Bear Goes
Camping
, thanked Mr Temple for his help, and then she and Phil left the
shop.

‘Wow,’ Phil said as they got out
on to the street. ‘If he is your dad, he’s someone to be proud
of.’

‘He might not be,’ she said.
‘I’m not going to build my hopes up.’