by Mel McGrath
‘It’s how I feel sometimes.’
She thinks better of saying how she had nearly destroyed herself with her hatred, her desperate need for revenge. How she would lie awake and restless at night for years afterwards picturing herself waiting outside his home and following him to his place of work, thinking up schemes of how she would call him and text him and in a thousand ways make herself known to him so that he would never have a peaceful day, would never be free of her or the fear of what she might do. How all those feelings came rushing back in a dark, unstoppable surge tide, the moment she heard his name.
‘Bystander guilt. It’s a thing, but the reality is that Mulholland raped your friend.’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘On the night? He went home. The next day I told Zoe what had happened and tried to persuade her to go to the police, but she didn’t want to. I suggested we go to the Dean then and Zoe said OK. So we went and told the Dean what had happened and she said it would be impossible to prove so it would be best all round if we didn’t say anything.’
‘And you didn’t?’
‘We were nineteen. We were scared of the gossip, the shame, of not being believed or of being believed and losing our places at St Olaf’s. We knew they would do whatever they could to keep Christopher. Taking him on at such a young age had made national news. He was their prodigy and their publicity machine. He made them look exciting, relevant, prestigious.’ Her eye travels to her phone. Still no reply from Nevis.
‘So you never told anyone?’
‘About a month later, we did. Zoe changed her mind and we went to the police. They questioned Mulholland but his mother gave him an alibi. Said he was with her from 10.30, which was absolutely not true. It was too late by then anyway. There were no forensics, nothing. A week later Zoe dropped out of college. A few days after she left, I went too. I didn’t want to stay at St Olaf’s without her. Neither of us told our parents. We found a place in a squat and lived there for a few weeks, drinking and doing our best to blot things out. I got work doing odd jobs for this farming couple way out in the countryside and they let me and Zoe live in a caravan at the bottom of one of their fields.’
Her thoughts are interrupted by a ping on her phone. A text from Nevis. Sorry battery out. Heading back to the boat now. The message reminds her, if a reminder were necessary, that there are limits to how much of the story she can tell, and that, even now, she has a duty to protect Nevis from the truth. And if Nevis cannot know, then no one else can either.
‘And Mulholland?’ Alex says now.
‘I bumped into him in the street, not long afterwards. He looked grey and depressed which I was pleased about. He told me he was leaving St Olaf’s. My fault apparently. He spat at me, actually, said he’d get his own back one day. After that, neither me or Zoe ever saw him or spoke about him again. I hadn’t heard his name in two decades till Gary mentioned it.’ She looked across at Alex and wondered how she could convey the depth of her hatred for Mulholland, how the ticking impulse she had thought was long since dormant had been awakened now, and would not quiet until she had got her revenge. Mulholland hated her as much as she hated him and she knew that such darkness as existed between them could never be eliminated while they both lived. No matter how much light was shed on it, the shadow, the stain of their hatred would remain in the world. For she and Christopher to be truly free of one another, to be released from their mutual haunting, one or other of them would have to die.
Chapter 45
Nevis
Nevis is on the sofa on the Halcyon Days, considering how she might motivate herself to return to her coursework. Her essay on oceanic population has been in for a couple of days now but she has yet to settle to anything else. Luke’s revelation has left her feeling restless and queasy the way food poisoning can do. If the visit of the older man to their flat had been innocent then surely Satnam would have mentioned it? Who was he and what was he doing? A dark car seems to rule out Mark Ratner, whose own vehicle is silver, though it’s also possible that Luke misremembered the colour of the car he saw, or even that Ratner could have been driving some other car, his wife’s perhaps? She imagines it wouldn’t be hard to find out where he lives and pay him a visit, check to see if there is a dark coloured car on the drive or parked outside, even confront the man himself? He would deny any affair, she was pretty sure of that, and he might report her to the Dean. But perhaps that would be worth it?
Another possible course of action is to go to the Dean direct. Though it seems unlikely that he would believe her, on the evidence of a selfie and an essay and the casual observation of an ex-boyfriend. And if he doesn’t believe her, what then? In his eyes she would be guilty of making serious and unsubstantiated claims against a colleague. What would that mean for her academic career at Avon or anywhere else for that matter? She has come to value his esteem, almost to rely on it, and the lunch at Luigi’s gave her the sense that her respect for him was reciprocated. So what if he did believe her? Would he be able to muster the university to act? They had, after all, continued to claim the incident on the bridge had been an accident and that Jessica Easton’s death, while tragic, was unconnected to Satnam’s actions. There had been no official response to Tash’s fate as yet or at least Nevis hadn’t seen any. How would they pass that off? It would be so easy and not untrue to claim that Tash was unstable and a drug user; or that she had been devastated by her friend Jessica’s death; or that she was not coping well with being asked to leave. Would suicide contagion be enough to explain it? After all, Tash had lived through a spate of copycat suicides earlier in her life. Hadn’t she voiced her concern that the incident on the bridge might spark others? It would be guesswork but added together the guesses might well be enough to appear definitive. So why was it that, for Nevis at least, they failed to add up? Satnam had wanted to come clean, Jessica said. Satnam had told Nevis she’d had enough. She had been willing to expose Mark Ratner in order to rid herself of him. But Jessica also said that Tash was against Satnam speaking out. Why? Because she was damaged enough to think herself in love with her abuser? Or because to expose Mark Ratner would create more trouble than it was worth, and might even prove dangerous? Whatever the facts of the matter, it all comes back to Mark Ratner.
Her phone rings, interrupting her thoughts, and flashing ‘Satnam Home’ on the screen. Her heart leaps as for a split second it seems possible that Satnam is on the other end of the line, then the realisation hits that it’s much more likely to be either Narinder or Bikram, bearing important news. She closes her eyes and does the best she can to gather herself before taking a deep breath and taking the call.
Narinder’s voice says, ‘Nevis?’
‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘My daughter is waking.’ There is a long pause. ‘The nurse said she asked for you. They said it would help her to wake up if you came, so I have agreed.’
Nevis can feel the corners of her lips turn upwards. Her pulse knocks out a rhythm in her wrists. A sob rises up and catches in her throat. She has hardly dared to hope for this and now it is happening.
‘Can I come right now?’
‘That is why I called.’
Pulling on yesterday’s clothes, she thinks about hailing an Uber, checks the traffic on her phone and decides it will be quicker to run. She leaves a note for Honor and ten minutes after the phone call she is on her way.
Nurse Becky is standing at the nurses’ station in her scrubs poring over a screen. She recognises Nevis immediately.
‘Oh sweetie, you’re here!’ She explains that Satnam’s condition remains very fluid. Earlier this morning Satnam showed signs of waking so the hospital called her parents. The decision was made to take her off the respirator and let her breathe on her own again. Bikram could not leave the pharmacy but Narinder came down right away and is with Satnam now.
‘To be honest,’ Becky says gently, lowering her voice, ‘she might have spoken but it might also have been
moaning. I think she called for you, but it really wasn’t clear. She hasn’t said anything since. It sometimes takes people a while to come round after being in a coma. In any case, I thought she would want to see you.’
Nurse Becky provides directions and, as Nevis is about to turn away, Becky stops her and in a whisper adds, ‘Her mum is still saying it’s all an accident. Probably best if you don’t argue with that right now. Nothing to be gained.’
Nevis walks down the corridor to Pine Ward with her heart in her mouth. At the curtain, she calls out. Narinder’s voice answers, ‘Come in.’
Satnam’s mother is sitting beside the bed with her hand resting on her daughter’s arm and looks up when Nevis pushes back the curtain and enters. Her face seems expressionless to Nevis. That’s probably just me, thinks Nevis, I’m not good with these things. Her friend is lying on her back with her eyes closed, no longer intubated and breathing softly but giving no sign of being awake.
‘They say she can hear,’ Narinder says, ‘but I do not believe it. I have spoken to her but she does not respond.’
‘Can I try?’
Narinder seems to consider this for a moment before nodding and getting up from the chair by the bed. She hovers in the corner of the cubicle. She seems dishevelled and worn, not unlike the homeless people who congregate in Broadmead of an evening. Since the incident on the bridge, Nevis has felt very alone, but now, she can see, she is not. Satnam’s condition, her actions, have taken their toll on those of us who love her.
Nevis sits and lays the back of her hand on her friend’s cheek. From the corner of her eye she sees Narinder stiffen but she does not say anything.
Satnam shows no sign of reacting, but feeling a softening in her friend’s body, Nevis reaches out and takes her hand, which is papery and covered, now, with a light bloom, like dust. From the bed comes a soft sigh which could be nothing more than a breath.
‘I miss you,’ Nevis says simply. ‘I understand more about what you said to me on Sunday night now. But I love you and I want you to know that we’ll find a way out of this together.’
Silence falls, broken by Narinder.
‘You see, she doesn’t know you’re here.’
But Nevis, remembering the sigh, says, ‘I think she knows.’ She strokes Sat’s hair in the casual, rhythmic way she always did when they were sitting on the sofa together watching rubbish telly. She watches Satnam’s face, the quiver of the eyebrows, the tics playing around the jawline.
‘She’s speaking,’ Nevis says.
Narinder’s face opens. ‘You heard something?’
‘Not with words.’
Nevis watches Narinder slump back, disappointed, then turning to her friend, leans in and twists her neck around so she can lay beside her cheek to cheek. Something is happening, as if Nevis and Satnam have plugged into one another. Suddenly, she can feel Satnam’s breath, her heartbeat, the thrumming of the neurones in her brain. She is trying to tell me something.
Nevis rights herself. ‘What are you wanting to say?’
But there comes no reply.
‘That’s enough now,’ Narinder says. ‘She’s tired.’
On her way out of the hospital, Nevis stops to look at the cafeteria table where she sat with Sondra waiting for Honor to arrive what seems like months ago now. In the short time since then she has become a different person. Anguish for that younger, more innocent self curls like a dead leaf inside her. No question but she is older, wiser and more cynical. She walks through the revolving doors into the car park preoccupied with those thoughts until in her pocket her mobile phone buzzes and interrupts them. A text from Luke comes up on screen.
Just remembered. The older man’s car? Dark blue Volvo.
She stops in her tracks, feels her legs weaken, a sharp rap to her brain as if someone were knocking on it, thinks someone is knocking on it. A dark blue Volvo. Her legs are trembling now. A passer-by stops. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes, yes, thank you. I’ve had a shock is all.’
It is more than a shock. It is what Satnam was trying to tell her. It seems so obvious now.
The man leaving their flat that night wasn’t Mark Ratner. It was Christopher Cullen, the Dean.
Chapter 46
Nevis
The Dean ushers Nevis into his office, shows her to a seat. He is smiling without his eyes. He looks ashen and old now, she thinks, nothing like the man who laid his hand on hers over lunch at Luigi’s. A part of her wonders how she could have been so innocent, so gullible. Another part hopes that she is wrong. This is what feeling torn must be like, she thinks, laying her jacket over the chair.
‘A coffee perhaps?’ he says.
‘No,’ she says.
For a moment he looks taken aback then his face resumes its soft, fake smile.
‘I’m sure you won’t mind if I have one?’ He turns his back to her and goes over to the coffee machine. He has sensed something’s up, she realises; he’s puzzled and trying to buy himself some time. A moment or two later he returns to the desk carrying a cup delicately by the handle.
‘You seem upset. Is this about Natasha?’ he begins.
‘In a way.’
‘A tragedy for her family. The student had a lot of problems, as I think I mentioned to you. Only the other day she came to me and Dr Keane at student welfare, saying she thought she’d have to leave Avon because she wasn’t coping. Unfortunately some students are just not able to apply themselves with the necessary rigour.’ He takes a sip of his coffee and says, ‘Are you sure I can’t get you something? Tina made some rather wonderful biscuits.’ He reaches behind and, picking up a small tin, swings his chair back to the desk, prises off the lid and offers up the tin.
‘No thanks.’ She thinks she can smell alcohol on his breath.
‘Watching your figure I suppose?’ he says, withdrawing the tin and fixing her with a steady gaze. ‘No need to, believe me.’ He reaches out a hand and makes contact with hers. She can feel his heat, the suggestion of sweat on the pads of his fingers.
Part of her wishes to be conciliatory, to find a way past what Luke has told her about the car and what Tash said about who it was who had orchestrated her downfall, but something about that smell, the sugary biscuits and the waft of alcohol, brings her to her senses. The words rise up and she can no longer keep them back. This is why she’s come after all.
‘Did you visit Satnam in our flat?’ The words come out flat and tarnished sounding.
She watches the frozen pond of his face. A crack appears. When he smiles it’s a fixed grin, like a jack-in-the-box clown.
‘Why would I do that?’ he says, in a tone suggestive of concerned, professorial enquiry. It’s fake, she thinks, the regard, the flattery, the attention. It’s all a sham. It was right in front of me but I didn’t see it. The man I looked up to is at best a liar and a drunk. At worst he’s something else too. Something more sinister.
‘How are you feeling in yourself, Nevis?’
The change in him is so unmistakeable that even she can sense it. His body has stiffened around the edges, like a slice of cheese left out on the counter too long. He is drying up, curling, turning in on himself. Before she can say anything, he goes on. ‘This thing with Natasha must have come as a big shock. I wonder whether you are coping. I’ve been thinking that perhaps the best thing for you would be to step down from your studies for the remainder of the academic year. Perhaps take a year out to regroup?’
‘This really isn’t about me.’
‘I’m afraid I have to disagree. Your essay on oceanic deep vent modelling for example. Well, why don’t you tell me what you thought about it?’
‘It was fine,’ she says, perplexed, doing her best to think back.
‘This is what I’m talking about, you see…’ the Dean says. He blinks at his screen and with one hand swivels it around so that Nevis can see her file for herself. He is pointing at a tiny line of script three-quarters of the way down. ‘Yes, yes, here it is. Oceanic deep vent mo
delling. 32 per cent. A fail by any measure.’ He looks up. ‘We understand that the last few weeks have been rather unsettling, but we really do feel that it would be best for you to take time out.’
‘But you said…’
‘Well never mind. This is what I am saying now. If we can make this quick? I’ve got rather a lot on.’
Nevis swallows and tries to clear her head. Her neck begins to prickle and goosebumps spread across her arms. The smell of alcohol hits her nostrils once more. Play him at his own game. Think about Satnam.
‘I spoke to someone close to Satnam,’ she says.
Cullen blinks. When she doesn’t go on, he says, ‘And?’
‘This person saw an older man leaving our flat a few weeks ago. He says the man got into a dark blue Volvo.’
Silence falls. Cullen watches her steadily.
‘And?’
‘I think that was you.’
She watches the small muscles in his face twitch but the expression remains the same. A terrible stillness settles over the room and, in a very calm voice, Cullen says, ‘Have you any idea how many dark blue Volvos there are in a city like this? I really think I should call student welfare. Evidently, you are not coping.’ She watches him reach out for the phone and in a blink she has slammed her fist down on the back of his hand. The handset clatters onto the desk.
‘You have become rather paranoid, Nevis. I’d say borderline delusional. If you were your usual self, you’d understand just how much trouble I can get you into.’
Shame sits on her skin like a rash. She wants to dive into a shower and scrub it off and make herself clean. She knows now that she has no future at Avon, that to carry on this conversation might well ensure that she has no future at any university, but none of that matters. She is thinking of Satnam now and how she can beat Christopher Cullen.
He stands and goes over to the door and calls for Tina, then he turns and comes to sit in his chair once more. He is no longer looking at her and, she knows, he will not respond to anything she says.
