Page 5 of Chasing Temptation
Head teacher covering for his own and his teacher’s child abuse.
Lies, betrayal, and abuse uncovered.
Hundreds of victims of abuse at Earlington Manor are coming forward.
“Jesus,” I mutter. No wonder she wanted nothing more to do with the place.
Eventually I manage to find the school’s website amongst all the news sites, and I locate the postcode at the bottom of the homepage.
Lake District. Nothing like making it easy for me.
Plugging it into my SatNav, I wait for it to find the location and balk when I see the estimated time.
Five motherfucking hours.
“Sorry, Erica, but this is way more important,” I say into the small space around me before slamming my foot down on the accelerator and flying into the middle lane, much to the other drivers’ annoyance.
It takes me forever to get out of the city and onto the motorway. The SatNav’s telling me that I won’t be there until gone midnight. I desperately want to go storming in and rescue my girl, but the reality of the situation is that the only address I have is that of a school, and the chance of her being there is probably pretty slim.
It’s the longest drive of my life. By the time I pass the ‘Welcome to the Lake District’ sign, my entire body is locked up with tension. I need to let off some steam but anything less than ploughing my fist into Quinn’s ex-husband won’t suffice. He’s been harassing her from a distance for weeks. It’s time he got a taste of his own medicine.
The winding country roads are seemingly endless, but eventually, just as I hit the crest of a hill, this huge old manor house comes into view.
“Wow, pretentious,” I mutter as I drive through the entrance, surprised that I’m not stopped by giant gilded gates. They’d fit right in.
Parking up, I climb from the van and stretch out my sore muscles. Huge spotlights illuminate the grand building, and I’m under no illusion that I’m probably the focus of a million CCTV cameras right now, but still, I can’t help walking up to the closest window and peeking inside. It’s an office. A huge mahogany desk sits in the centre with a massive computer screen on the top. There are a few filing cabinets and an antique looking chair pushed behind the desk but nothing that helps me out with my little quest.
The sound of a barking dog forces me back into my van. The last thing I need is to be wrestled to the ground by a guard dog.
Driving away from the school, I do a tour of the local village. The houses are beyond huge; I guess they would be if they could afford for their kids to go to an establishment like that. I wonder how all the parents feel, watching the news stories play out, knowing the amount of money they’ve spent to send their little angel to be cared for by a bunch of paedophiles. A shudder runs down my spine. I hated my time at private school, but I never experienced or was aware of that kind of treatment from the teachers. The only kind of thing they could ever be accused of would be turning the other cheek at all the things we got up to.
There’s no evidence of life or even a bed and breakfast, so when I come to the decision that I’m at a bit of a dead end, I pull over in a dark layby and tip my chair back as far as it will go in the hope that I might get a bit of sleep. I know it’s wishful thinking. As I lie there, all kinds of images run through my head about where she could be or what could be happening to her. If her husband, and her dad for that fact, don’t bat an eyelid at hurting innocent kids then they’re not going to think twice about punishing Quinn for going against them, that I’m positive of.
I tried her phone on the drive up here. I was in two minds in case he’s got it and is monitoring her calls, but my need to find out got the better of me. I was proven wrong about him sitting there waiting for it to ring, because it didn’t even go to voicemail.
