The Art of Forgetting by Julie McLaren Page B

was nonsense. There could have possibly have been a case for Linda to answer if she had carried it on, but nobody knew at that time whether she had. The worst thing for me was Mum and Dad finding out, and I probably could have kept quiet, but I had no way of knowing what the police would do. The policeman thanked me and said they would deal with it now, and I honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d filed it away and done nothing, but in my new spirit of clearing out all the skeletons from my closet, I told them, chapter and verse.
    I suppose their response was tempered by the passing of time. They were shocked, but it was that other Judy they were shocked about, and if there was a prevailing emotion after I’d finished it was probably sadness.
    “Oh, Judy,” said my mum, and she came to sit next to me on the sofa and pulled me to her. “You’ve had an awful lot to deal with in your little life, haven’t you?”
    Well, yes I had, and it wasn’t over yet. My parents may have been sympathetic and ready to understand but that certainly wasn’t the case where Linda’s mother was concerned. It was only a few days later that there was a huge hammering on the door just as we’d finished eating. I was upstairs packing, as I was due to start my first term in a week or so, and when my dad opened it, she barged in and stood at the bottom of the stairs, shouting.
    “Where’s that daughter of yours? I need a few words with her!”
    There was a lot more, but I couldn’t bear to listen as she shouted and cried. I closed my bedroom door and lay on the bed, my hands over my ears, but it didn’t make any difference as I knew what she’d be saying. How could I have kept all this to myself? How could I have lied, bare-faced to her when she came to me on her knees, asking for help? How could I have let the trail go so cold that the evidence would probably be worthless now? How could I have ruined her life?
    She was drunk again, and quite difficult to manage, but my parents were calm and kind and they didn’t throw her out and they didn’t call the police. Instead, they sat her down and gave her strong coffee, and they told her their version of what I’d told them, and what I’d been through to get to that point. They understood her pain and, although they wouldn’t let her see me, they promised her that I’d told the police everything now and, eventually, she accepted it and cried some more. That’s what they told me later, after she’d gone and my dad had tapped on the bedroom door and opened it, just enough to look inside.
    “Are you OK?” he said, and then, when I told him no, not really, he agreed that was a silly question and came in to sit on the bed beside me.
    “But I do think that’s the worst of it over now,” he said, and if only that had been true.
    Tomorrow is my birthday. I don’t know why I am writing that, as the date is clear enough on the digital clock. It must be new, and I think Robin may have brought it round and shown me how to use it. I seem to remember something like that, but then Robin always thinks the answer to problems lies in buying something. I would like it better if he stayed a bit longer, like the girls do, but he’s always in a hurry, just popping in, can’t stay, things to do.
    That’s the other thing I have to remember. My birthday, and that woman who came round. I don’t know who she was, and I don’t think she’s local as she came in a car. She wanted to come in, said she wanted to help me, but I wasn’t falling for that. I’ve not forgotten the man and the new windows, and all the trouble that caused. Kelly was so angry I thought she was going to hit him. “Preying on the vulnerable,” she said, to him, “you should be ashamed of yourself,” and although I wasn’t very happy at the idea that I was apparently vulnerable, Laura explained that any single woman can be a target. I let her think that I believed her, but actually I was shocked. Shocked at myself