Chapter 28

**Megan**

I stare out of my bedroom window watching as Mr Peters pulls up in his black Porsche outside his aunt and uncle's house. Their names still haven't come back into my mind but I'm sure they will. My father has just left the house to go food shopping so he is guaranteed to take about two hours. I walk out onto my balcony and stand watching as he fusses in his car. It is about half past six, he is earlier than he has been the past couple of days, I never knew he visited them so often. I'm positive I haven't seen him around until recently.

"Mr Peters," I call, once he is out of his car and he has locked it up. His head turns and I notice a cigarette in his mouth. He takes it out of his mouth and looks up at me.

"What can I do for you Megan?" he asks, leaning against his car.

"Can I talk to you please?" I ask. He raises his eyebrows slightly as if my question has taken him by surprise.

"If you like," he says.

"Come to the door and I will let you in," I say and walk back into my room, shutting my balcony doors and locking them. I walk carefully down the stairs. My walking is a lot slower than it was before I went into the hospital so it takes me longer to get to the door. I unlock all the bolts on the door and open it to come face to face with him. He still has on his work clothes. All that is different is that the top two buttons of his shirt are undone and his tie is tied loosely.

"Come in" I say finally and stepped to the side. He walks in, looks around a little and then turns his attention to me "I didn't know you smoked." I say now noticing he doesn't have the cigarette in his hands now.

"Sometimes I do," he pauses. "What did you want to talk to me about?" asks.

"It's been bothering me for a while" I say walking off into the kitchen "you can follow," I call. He follows and stands in the doorway leaning against the white painted frame.

"How long have your aunt and uncle been living there?" I ask as I start to take two mugs out of the cupboard.

"About all my life" he says. I frown slightly, how is it I haven't seen them?

"What are their names?" I ask.

"Eric and Lynn Rosendale," he says as my eyes widen slightly.

"Yeah I remember them now," I say with a small smile "My mum and your aunt used to do the weekly shopping with each other,"

"Where's your dad?" he asks suddenly, making me stop smiling and talking altogether. "Megan," he says, getting my attention.

"Oh he's gone shopping, I would have gone with him but he gets stressed out, he hates shopping and I'm a nag when I get to the sweets," I say and turn to him "tea or coffee?"

"Tea, three sugars and strong" he says. I smirk slightly as I put the sugars in "are you having one?" he says walking closer to me. I nod "No sugar?" he asks when I finish putting the sugar in the cup he will have and then putting the sugar jar back in its place.

"I'm not allowed sugar," I say. This is true I wasn't. My father didn't let me have it, well the evil one didn't. He says it is unhealthy for me to have sugar and I'm already fat enough. He gives me a questionable look "the dentist orders" I say flashing him my teeth and then starting to stir the tea.

After making the tea I sit down on the couch and he sits at the other end. I watch him. I never noticed that his hair is different types of brown. It wasn't the sort of dusty brown most men had; it was rich and brought out his eyes beautifully. He has his hair in the messy trendy style that most men his age have nowadays and he has the unshaven look going on. Unlike most men that have that look it suits him.

"What part of England are you from?" I ask suddenly. His blue eyes look and meet mine; I give him a small smile and bring the cup of tea to my lips for a sip.

"Cornwall" he says with a small smirk on his face.

"Oh I know where that is I was expecting you to say somewhere I have never heard of. I don’t know much about England," he chuckles at what I say. "So how come you moved here to be a teacher couldn't you be a teacher there as well?" I ask.

"When I was 13 I was forced to come here because my parents died and then when I was 15 I met Stephanie. When I was 20 I went back to England to sort myself out and I only moved back here about six months ago" he pauses "I came back here because my only family is here and well most of my friends and plus I like it," he says with a small smile. I smile back and then his phone chimes. He looks at his phone and sighs slightly then presses a button on it silencing the ringing. "So that's been my life," he says.

"You can answer that you know," I say.

"I don't want to," he says.

"Ohhh, so did you live in Cornwall all your time in England?"

"No, first I lived in London then Yorkshire then back to London then Cornwall. My father's job made us move a lot," he finishes off his cup of tea and I place mine on the coffee table.

"Cool my father is a workaholic all he does is work," I pause "at the moment he has a lot on his mind so he's trying to keep himself busy to take his mind off it,"

"Off what? If you don't mind me asking," he says.

"I do mind," I say pleasantly, he looks at me then away "but I will tell you," I add. He looks up at me and makes himself comfortable "he is convinced that what happened to me on Monday night is his fault," his eyes widen then he frowns "he thinks it is his fault because he let me go to that party and that no normal descent father would have," I lie.

The truth is he does have something on his mind and that is what I told him on Sunday, I can tell it is tearing him apart.

I notice Mr Peters clench his fists and grit his teeth as if he is angry, I move back slightly and it seems he notices as his fist unclenches. His lips part and he lets out a small breath. "What happened at that party?" he asks a moment later.

"I got drunk and then I was on my way home and well I don't remember much from that," I lie. "But I managed to get home thankfully," I mutter.

"So what are the police going to do?" he asks. I shrug at his question "Didn't they tell you?" he asks.

"I told them there were no point pressing charges when I don't remember anything, I say hoping that would stop the questions.

"What did your father say about it?" he asks. Seriously, why does he always ask questions? "I mean I wouldn't be happy if I found out my daughter was attacked, drugged and raped and then the police wouldn't do anything about it," he states. I sigh and look down at my lap, I felt uncomfortable sitting here with him asking these questions. It is like he is interrogating me, like he knows the truth he just wants to hear me say it. "I'm making you uncomfortable. I'm sorry" he says.

I look over at him "It's not that I just don't want to really talk about it" I say. He nods an ok and changes the subject.