I ignore the first two rings of the doorbell and it’s only the third that gets me out of bed, fumbling into a bathrobe as I hobble down the stairs. Beyond the glare of the early-morning light stands a man who looks too young for his graying temples, his face fixed with the sort of bullish grin that tells me he is not expecting to be welcome here.
“Louise Manson?”
“And you are?”
He holds out his hand. “Mick Craddock, I’m a journalist with the Evening Express.”
It’s a tabloid rag and I wouldn’t wipe my arse with it. I pull my bathrobe tight around me as I struggle to work out what’s going on.
“Look, Louise,” he says, withdrawing his hand, “I’ll get straight to it. I’m interested in talking to you about Ronan Power’s action against Highfield Manor. We’d love to get some insight from you into the story. For what it’s worth, I think you were let down badly before and it would be great to help, you know, make amends for that.”
Adrenaline whips through me as I look around the hall for Katie, before stepping onto the porch and pulling the door behind me. I knew this might happen, but I wasn’t expecting it yet and I can’t think of any response that won’t implicate me, one way or another.
“I’m not interested,” I say.
“I won’t take up much of your time,” he says. “I’m just looking for a few quotes. I mean, you must have some opinion on this horrendous situation.”
“I said no. Now you need to leave.”
He takes a step back and then stops.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Louise, the press will not go easy on you if you don’t get out there and have your say first. Highfield, Shauna Power and all the others, they’ll be telling their stories and if you don’t, someone else will tell it for you.”
“What’s Shauna said?”
It’s out before I can stop it, before I’ve had a chance to wake up my brain. Craddock’s crooked smile is back and I know I’ve already said too much.
“I understand you and Shauna are both supporting this action,” he says. “It must have taken a lot of courage for you to get back in the room with her.”
“No, that’s not…” I say, but I have to stop before I dig an even deeper hole. “I have nothing more to say.”
I stumble back into the hall and close the door, and then rest my head against it until I can breathe. It’s happening again, but this time, I have too much to lose. I can’t let the press or the Powers or anyone else speak for me. I need to take back control of my story.
AFTER MY ENCOUNTER WITH MICK Craddock, I stop answering calls from unknown numbers. It’s Monday before anyone leaves a message, a Peter Fanning, the head coach at Northwood Park swimming club. He wants me to drop in for a chat after Katie’s training this afternoon. My mind races through the possibilities but I have to believe he just wants to talk about my brilliant daughter’s progress.
I arrive at Northwood ten minutes before the end of training and watch the swimmers from behind a pillar in the stands. I see Katie straight away, her body powering through the water as if she’s been doing it all her life. I marvel at the rhythm of her stroke, the flex of her legs, and it gives me such hope that she will finally find her way in the world.
I let Katie leave with her teammates before I re-enter the pool complex and find Coach Fanning in the office, and I’m unnerved to realize he’s better-looking than he seemed from a distance.
“Thanks for coming in, Louise,” he says, pointing to a chair on the other side of his desk.
“Oh, it’s no problem,” I say as I sit down. “We’re thrilled at how well Katie’s doing and I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to find out what a great swimmer she is. We should have known, really. Her aunt was a swimmer too, and she has the height and the broad shoulders and all of that.”
I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Maybe it’s the solemn calm in Coach Fanning’s face, as if he is simply biding his time.
“She’s certainly doing very well,” he says, “but there’s something else I want to talk to you about. It’s a fairly delicate matter, actually.”
“Look, Coach Fanning…”
“It’s Peter.”
“Peter … Katie has suffered a lot from anxiety, and I’m not going to lie, it’s been really tough for her. But this gala at Highfield is the first thing she’s been excited about in ages and it’s really helped her, so whatever the problem is, please let me try and find a solution.”
Peter’s face remains impassive as he waits for me to finish.
“The problem isn’t Katie,” he says. “It’s you.”
“What?”
“Your Highfield connection,” he says, and I feel the life drain out of me.
“How do you know about that?” My voice is barely audible.
“There was a piece in the Evening Express today about some new legal action. It wasn’t hard to work it out.”
I stare at the cables that snake across the desk. I didn’t expect this so soon, at least not before Ronan made it all public.
“That’s got nothing to do with me,” I say.
“It’s just, we run a clean club here,” he says, “and we can’t take the risk of contamination.”
“Contamination,” I repeat.
“What I mean is, we’ve worked very hard to put safeguards in place here. We want parents to trust that this is a protected environment for their kids. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
He waits for me to respond, but there is only the rasp of my breath.
“If Katie swims at Highfield on Saturday,” he continues, “and the press get wind of it—and they will—we are only inviting scandal here. I’ll have to answer to journalists, and they’ll come after you and Katie too. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I laugh, despite myself. The very protections I thought I could force on to Highfield have been turned against me and I’m not sure I have anything left to lose.
“So let me get this straight, you’re punishing my daughter because I was a victim of abuse.”
“Come on, Louise,” he says, “you know it’s not that simple. I want to protect Katie, but I also need to protect everyone else at the club. Let’s put this one gala aside and I promise Katie will swim at the next one.”
“This gala, the next gala, what’s the difference?”
He sighs, as if he had anticipated my “difficult” persona.
“Look, I’m sure there’s some gutter journalist out there who can make a story out of Katie being at some random competition, but Louise Manson’s daughter swimming at the McQueen Centre when you’ve just been linked to a case against it? That’s an invitation to drag up the past and smear you and Katie and Northwood with it.”
I know he’s right, and it’s the easy option for me. But I’m still the one who’s going to have to explain it to Katie.
“I’ll talk to her,” I say.
What I really mean is Alex will talk while I smile apologetically and try to reassure Katie of Coach Fanning’s discretion. And when she cries and refuses to look at me, a small part of me will blame her for wanting to swim in the first place.
What Alex won’t understand is the lawsuit I never mentioned. Right now, she’s on a plane home from London and I need to get to her as soon as she lands. If she hears it from someone else, I’m not sure how I’ll salvage the situation.