The Betrayal

His actions had cost us everything – and there was no way I was going to stand by and let him strike again

Iwatch CCTV for a living, and every now and then I see people I know: a friend walking into the shopping centre or a neighbour waiting at the bus stop. But today I see Andrew Silver.

Andrew Silver. His very name has the power to make my fists clench. He met my mother the year I moved up to senior school. After three months, he was living with us. At one point, they were even planning a wedding. I haven’t seen him for almost 20 years, and I might not have recognised him but for the fact that he has hardly changed. There’s no sign of middle-aged spread, and he still has a full head of hair.

He’s standing outside the office block in the high street, talking to a woman and a girl of about nine. The familiarity of that smile sparks a pain in my chest and I time-travel right back to my 11-year-old self.

I liked him from the very first time we met; he brought sunshine into our lives. He drove me to my hockey matches and shouted encouragement from the sidelines; he organised trips to the Natural History Museum or the theatre; he took a real interest in my schoolwork and encouraged me to reach higher than I ever imagined I could.

‘Watching something, Linda?’ Angie says, leaning across to see what’s on my spot screen.

‘No.’ With a quick stroke of the keyboard, I switch cameras to a view from one of the feeds at the railway station. ‘It’s been a slow day.’

‘You’re telling me.’ She looks back at her own screen. ‘Did I tell you my hip op’s been delayed again?’

I nod, half-listening. Andrew Silver. After all this time.

‘They had to close one of the wards because of infection, and I said to Rob,’ – she points a finger at me – ‘I can’t be expected to live like this. Not with the pain I’m in.’

I let her ramble on, nodding every now and then as if I’m hearing the details, but really I’m remembering the day

Silver left us. He dropped me at school in the morning, happy as you like. But when I arrived back from school, bursting with excitement because I’d been chosen for hockey captain, he was gone.

Just like that.

And it wasn’t only the fact that he dumped my mother (and me). It wasn’t just the leaving – we could have recovered from that. What we couldn’t recover from was the money he stole. It kicked off a spiral of debt and misery, and my mother took an eternity to climb out from under it.

The man I’d started to call ‘Dad’ had turned out to be a conman. He’d emptied her savings account of the thousands of pounds she’d scrimped and saved over the years. Without that buffer, we lost the house, and my mum’s struggle with depression meant that she soon lost her job.

I’ve never told my husband Mick about Silver, and I want to pour it all out as soon as I get home, but it’s almost midnight, and he’s already fast asleep.

In the morning, he and our

The familiarity of that smile sparks a pain in my chest…

twin girls rise before me, and by the time I join them in the kitchen, they’re caught up in a whirlwind of packing for their school trip. They needed a parent to make up the adult numbers, and Mick volunteered. They leave before 8am in a rush of heavy rucksacks, quick kisses and promises to call me.

I’m on another late shift. ‘Keep an eye out for a couple of men,’ the boss says. ‘Early 20s, working as a pair.’

‘Will do,’ I say, pleased that I’ll have more reason to zoom in on people’s faces.

There are rules involved in CCTV monitoring. Zooming in for more than three seconds becomes surveillance, and that’s illegal unless we’ve been instructed by the police or if we have ‘an honestly held belief’ that would stand up in court.

Well, there you are then. Silver committed a crime against my mother, albeit some time ago. We didn’t report him – my mum was too ashamed. And when, after a couple of weeks of my mum’s tears and my own stunned misery, I went to his workplace, they told me he’d moved on.

I watch. Silver comes out of the same building at exactly 6pm. The woman and the girl are waiting for him. I zoom in on the woman’s face. She has wide, green eyes and wavy, brown hair and must be a good 10 years younger than Silver. I frown, knowing that I’ve seen her somewhere before.

It takes me a minute to remember, and then… I picture her at the school gates. Her daughter is younger than the twins, but they attend the same school. I watch the three of them walk along the street, the little girl’s hand sliding neatly

into Silver’s. I switch from one camera feed to another, following them until they reach their house.

With Mick and the girls away, I pay Mum a visit. I don’t tell her I’ve seen Silver – none of us needs bad memories churned up like muck from the seabed. She lived in chaos for years after he left, but recently found peace. She’s religious now, and helps out at the church. ‘Making up for years of only thinking about myself,’ she tells me these days.

I watch Silver again, and it occurs to me that he’s doing the same thing to this mother and child as he did to us. How long before he steals from them?

The little girl has exactly the same adoring expression I once had, and the mother is hanging on his every word.

I can’t let it happen. In all conscience, I have to warn this woman and stop him before they too become victims.

I lie in bed that night imagining what I’ll say, wondering whether I care more about the woman and her daughter or more about punishing Silver. So what if it’s the latter? I was a child and he almost destroyed me. I’m entitled to get my own back.

I catch her at the school gates the next day. I wait until her daughter has run inside before I approach her.

‘Excuse me,’ I say, touching her arm as she goes to walk past me. ‘Could I have a word?’ She smiles at me, her eyes questioning. ‘Your partner is Andrew Silver?’ Her neck pulls back in surprise. ‘I need to warn you about him.’

‘What?’ Her green eyes cloud. ‘Why? What do you mean?’

‘He went out with my mum. Years ago.’ I take a shallow breath. ‘He stole money from her, thousands of pounds. It almost broke her.’ Almost broke us both, I could’ve added.

I’m prepared for her to argue with me, ask for more details or simply tell me to get lost, but she doesn’t.

‘I know you, don’t I? You have children at this school?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Why would you say this?’ ‘Because I can’t let him hurt someone else.’

I feel as if I’ve been catapulted into an upside-down world

She holds my eyes, searching for honesty, and when she finds it, her face pales and she says slowly, ‘I thought he was too good to be true.’ Her lips tremble. ‘I don’t seem to attract decent men.’

She shakes her head against her own stupidity.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. The hurt in her eyes makes me flinch.

She walks away, and an uneasy weight lodges in my stomach. I thought I’d feel satisfied – pleased, even – but I don’t. I feel as if I’ve just ruined her life.

I stop in to see my mum again. She’s made a chicken pie, and we eat it silence. ‘You’re quiet, Linda,’ she says. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Guess who I saw?’ I hear myself say.

‘Go on. Who?’

‘Andrew Silver.’

Her cheek twitches. ‘Don’t worry,’ I try to smile. ‘He was playing the same conman’s trick on another mother and daughter, but I warned her. She seemed to almost expect it.’ I shrug. ‘Intuition, I suppose.’

‘But Linda!’ My mum’s fork clatters onto her plate.

‘Don’t worry, Mum. I know this is a shock, but I’ve dealt with it.’

‘No, Linda.’ She bites her lip. ‘You don’t understand. I…’

‘Mum, it’s OK.

We’ve moved on…’

‘He did nothing wrong,’ she blurts out.

‘He stole your savings!’

She grabs my arm across the table, suddenly urgent. ‘I told you he’d taken our money, but it wasn’t true. I lost the money.’ Her voice is low and slow. ‘I gambled, I drank. He gave me an ultimatum and I told him to leave.’

I’m too stunned to speak. I feel as if I’ve been catapulted into an upside-down world.

‘And I know you were hurt and you stopped trusting men,’ Mum adds, ‘but it never stopped you marrying a good one. Mick’s a great husband and dad.’

My ears are buzzing; my hands and legs are shaking.

‘Andrew wanted to stay in touch with you, but I told him I didn’t want him coming round here again.’

‘How could you?’ I stand up, and I’m blinking back tears. ‘He loved me!’

She tries to defend herself. ‘I wasn’t well… The power of addiction held me like a vice.’

I use the flat of my hand to push her away from me – harder than I mean to – and I watch her topple backwards. For a split second, I simply watch, with no intention of helping her. Then my hand goes out and I pull her upright again. Then I leave, and she calls after me, but I don’t turn around. How could she? How could she? The pain of her betrayal floods through me. I want to curl up on the ground and cry myself empty.

If only Mick had been here, I’d never have approached Silver. Mick’s called me a couple of times, but the signal’s been poor so we haven’t talked. I know what he’d say, though – you have to make it right.

So that’s what I decide to do. I summon up every ounce of strength I have and go to their front door…

When Andrew opens it, his face is tight, but I am 11 years old again and I smile – I can’t help myself – and then, when I remember what I’ve done, my smile fades and I look beyond him into the hallway.

‘It was my mum who spent the money,’ I say to the woman. ‘It wasn’t Andrew. All these years I blamed him, but it wasn’t him.’

I glance back at Andrew and see recognition in his face. ‘Linda?’

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For being my dad for 18 months.’ I look back at the mother in the hallway. ‘Your daughter’s a lucky girl.’

I turn away before they can invite me in or ask questions. I walk back home and sit in the dark, waiting, thinking.

Tomorrow I’ll go and talk to my mum – calmly, sensibly. I’ll listen, try not to judge.

And on Saturday, Mick and the twins will be back. I’ll make their favourite tea and catch up with all their news. Because my mum’s right – I did marry a good man. He’s the father I’d have chosen for myself if I’d had the chance.

I never had a dad, but my children do. And that has to be enough.

Her Watchful Eye by Julie Corbin, £8.99, is published by Mulholland Books on 20 September.