As soon as Helen had left in her car, Miriam had demanded that the chauffeur, who was meant to be having a day off, drive her to the Grand – drive her anywhere, as long as it was away from the house.
Looking out of the window as they drove down Ryhope Road, she recalled the day her father had told her he had been forced to commit their mother. It had been a shock, but she had not questioned his actions. Why would she? The lie he’d constructed about her mother dying abroad had made sense. They were saving her good name – the family’s good name.
Had her mother really tried to do the right thing and been punished for it?
As they drove into the town centre, she thought of Eddy and Agatha. Had they known? The looks on their faces suggested they had. No, no, no, no, she did not want to think about all of this. But she had to – how could she not? Had a part of her known all along what her father was really like? Was that why she and Margaret had always orchestrated invites to friends’ houses over the holidays, so that they spent as little time as possible at home when their father was there?
God, she wished Margaret lived nearer. She was the only person she would be able to confide in.
As the car pulled up on Bridge Street, Miriam was already planning a trip to her sister’s in the New Year – if not before. Tomorrow even. She needed to get away. Run away.
Her father was a rapist.
A monster who had imprisoned their mother.
And now, to top it all, she would have to face the ridicule of Jack coming back.
The humiliation when the gossipmongers got wind.
The hurt he would bring with him.
Miriam stepped out of the car and walked up the steps to the Grand.
She needed a drink.