by Anita Notaro
‘Wow, this is amazing,’ I managed, craning my neck for any sign of the other partygoers. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Oh, they’ll be along soon. There’s a party on in town for Alicia. I thought we could have a chat first.’
‘Oh. OK,’ I said, wondering if I could make an excuse and leave. I didn’t like this one little bit.
‘Champagne?’ he offered.
Did anyone drink tea in this business? I wondered. ‘Water would be just great, thanks.’
He laughed, flashing those teeth. ‘You can’t come to a party and drink water.’
‘Oh, right, then. Well, just a little drop of champagne, thanks.’
He smiled and I expected him to go into the kitchen and fetch a couple of glasses, but instead he sat down on the grey suede sofa and stretched an arm along it, until it was just inches away from my shoulder. Instinctively, I moved, and he gave me a sly smile. ‘No need to be nervous.’
‘I’m not,’ I said, with more bravado than I felt. We waited for a few moments in silence, and I was wondering what on earth to say, when the door opened and a man, dressed in a white jacket and black trousers, entered with a drinks trolley. He was a uniformed servant – I’d thought no one had them any more.
‘Thanks, Sven.’ Marc accepted the two glasses of chilled champagne, handing one of them to me. ‘I’ll give you a call when we need anything further.’
The man nodded silently and disappeared.
I clutched my glass of champagne and took a sip. The bubbles popped and pinged on my tongue. Champagne was great, I thought. I could get used to it. ‘It’s lovely,’ I managed.
‘Good.’ Marc put his glass down on the plate-glass coffee table. I noticed he hadn’t taken a sip.
‘So, Marc, thanks for inviting me,’ I began, trying to sound businesslike. ‘I really appreciate the opportunity …’
To my astonishment, he just laughed. ‘Slow down, Irish girl. We can get to the business bit later. Just relax. Enjoy your champagne.’
I took another sip, more of a gulp, and felt it settle in my stomach. I really needed to get out of here. ‘Marc, this is lovely, but I have to be somewhere.’
‘Oh? What could possibly be more fascinating than being here?’ He grinned at me in a way which made me feel uneasy. Seeing my expression, he said, ‘Just joking. I really did ask you here to discuss your career. So tell me about it.’ He looked at me expectantly, as if I was the most interesting person in the world.
Here goes, I thought. ‘Well, I’m an amateur, really. I’ve no formal training or anything, apart from the church choir at home. Eithne’s taught me everything: how to interpret the songs, which ones suit my voice, that kind of thing.’
He nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t really listening. ‘This … Eithne.’ The way he said it made it sound like ‘Etnee’, and I fought the desire to laugh, in spite of the situation. ‘Who is she?’
‘The choir leader.’
‘Ah,’ he said, and I could see he was stifling a smile. ‘So, the only training you’ve had is from the local choir mistress.’
‘Well, yes,’ I answered, thinking that it sounded so dumb the way he put it.
He leaned back on the grey sofa and stretched his arm along the back, until it was uncomfortably close to my shoulder. ‘It’s a really quaint story, Toni, country girl who makes the big time. I understand that you’re quite the star in Ireland.’
‘Well, I suppose so,’ I said, thinking of all the fans who lined up outside the stadium in Dublin to say hello and get an autograph, of how hard they cheered as I made my way into the rehearsal room, of just how warm and kind people were, always wishing me the best. I suddenly felt lonelier than I’d ever been before. I want to go home, I thought. I took another sip of champagne and realized that my glass was almost empty. I hadn’t eaten since the fry that morning, and with my empty stomach I began to feel a little bit woozy. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out.
‘I’m just wondering how hungry you are for success. I mean, you seem a nice girl and everything, but I’m not sensing a burning ambition.’
‘Oh, I am ambitious,’ I said, more loudly than I’d intended. ‘There’s nothing I want more than to record and do concerts and sing. It’s the only thing that I really, truly enjoy.’
Marc smiled that wolfish smile again. ‘Easy, tiger,’ he joked. ‘Seriously, it’s great that you have ambition, because that’s really what counts in this business. Talented singers are ten a penny, but drive … that’s what separates the men from the boys … or the women from the girls,’ he said. ‘Now you … I think you need some original songwriting and a fresher image. That middle-aged market is saturated now …’ He leaned forward in his seat, and before I could do anything he reached out and touched my hair, just above my ear. ‘You have a bit sticking out … there, that’s better.’
Instinctively, I edged away, and he said softly, ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, you know. We’re just chatting.’ And he leaned back in his seat, for all the world as if that’s what we really were doing.
I swallowed nervously and put my glass down on the table. When I stood up, my legs felt wobbly, my head swimming. ‘Thanks for the champagne, Marc. It was great. But Karen’s meeting me for a drink later, so I’ll have to go. Maybe we can chat another time?’ I tried to keep my tone steady.
‘How about now?’ he said, reaching up and grabbing my hand. ‘Karen won’t mind. She knows how important your career is.’ And he pulled me gently back down on to the sofa.
I tried to pull my hand away, but his was clamped over mine. I began to panic. ‘Marc, you’re hurting my hand.’
‘I thought you’d like a little pain.’ He smiled thinly, leaning towards me and grabbing my chin in his free hand, squeezing it tightly. ‘Isn’t that what you all like, a little pain?’
‘Ow, you’re hurting me,’ I said, but he wouldn’t stop, and then he was pushing my head back on to the sofa, and then he was on top of me, pressing me down into the expensive suede fabric. I tried to scream, but his hand was clamped over my mouth.
‘C’mon, Toni, why are you here, really? It’s not for a record chat, that’s for sure.’ He was looming over me now, my chin still in his vice-like grip, his breath hot on my cheek. And then he was trying to kiss me, his lips burning into mine as I tried to turn my head away. I struggled to break free, but he was too heavy, too strong. Oh, God, I thought, I’m going to have to lie here, to give into him. But then he was struggling with my clothes, trying to pull my top down with one hand while he stuck the other up under the hem of my skirt, making hideous snorting noises, like a pig, in my ear, and I don’t know where I got the strength from, but I thought: No! And I lifted my knee up as hard as I could, pushing it into his groin with as much force as I could muster.
He let out a roar. ‘Jesus fucking Christ!’ and made to grab me again, but I’d managed to push him aside by kicking my heel repeatedly against his shin. ‘You bitch,’ he said, making to grab my hair, but I had the momentum now, and managed to push myself off the sofa and on to the floor, scrabbling furiously to push myself to a standing position. He lunged forward again, but I swung out with my fist and my ring caught his eye. ‘Oww, oww, Jesus, wait till I get you!’ he roared.
But I was too quick for him, running to the door and fumbling with it. I cursed the modern door with its hidden catch, pressing and pushing until at last it opened. Why hasn’t he caught me? I wondered, unable to stop myself glancing back as I closed the living-room door behind me. But he was just lying on the sofa, clothes dishevelled, a hand over his eye, muttering ‘Jesus Christ’ over and over again. Maybe I’ve really hurt him, I thought, as I let the door swing behind me with a bang and ran as fast as I could.
I ran so fast down the cobbled lane that one of my heels snapped, and I had to take the shoe off, breaking into a half-run, half-trot as I did so. Eventually, I gave up and threw both shoes behind me, running in my bare feet around the corner and into the busy street. I st
ood at the corner, gasping and sobbing, clutching the edge of the wall, feeling my stomach heave. It’s OK, it’s OK, I kept saying to myself. He won’t come after you here. Not on a busy street.
People were passing me by, staring at me, before walking on. God, nobody cares, I thought. I could be half-dead and no one would even ask if I was OK. I decided to ring Karen. I needed to talk to someone. But then I realized, to my horror, that I’d left my handbag back … there, in that place. I burst into tears, sobs racking my body. I had to wipe my nose with my hands because I had no tissue. I looked around for any familiar landmark, and then I remembered that I was in London, for God’s sake. I had no clue where I was.
I started walking, the pavement damp and cold under my feet, tears streaming down my cheeks. I just want to go home, I just want to go home, I kept repeating to myself. I scanned the faces of the other people thronging the pavement, hoping desperately that someone would come to my aid, but I didn’t dare ask for help. Eventually, I saw a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman coming towards me. ‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘I need to find my way back to the Knightsbridge Hotel.’
She looked at me doubtfully, obviously weighing up whether to talk to me, before saying politely, ‘Well, it’s quite a walk …’
‘That’s OK,’ I managed. ‘I feel like walking.’ And I attempted a smile, which must have appeared crazed to her. I was sure I looked a complete mess.
‘Right, well, if you follow this road for the next mile or so, you’ll come to Brompton Road, and then you’ll need to take a left …’ the woman went on giving me instructions, for all the world as if I was a lost tourist, and I smiled, nodding and thanking her for her time.
I walked and walked, in a complete daze, through the streets of London, past shops and taxis and Tube stations, until at last, I spotted a familiar landmark – a row of shops that I knew were near to my hotel. I walked on, my feet sore and bruised, my tongue dry, my chin sore from where it had been grabbed – I tried not to think of Marc looming over me, pushing me down, using his strength to defeat me. I was free, I thought. I’d escaped.
I walked through the hotel doors and across the lobby, feeling suddenly wobbly, as if I might faint. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the receptionist look up from her desk and gasp. ‘Miss Trent, are you OK?’
I nodded, feeling too traumatized to respond, until I realized that I’d need my room key. I went over to the desk and swayed there, unsteadily, until the receptionist, who had the name ‘Samira’ written on her uniform, came around the desk and took hold of me. ‘Here, take it easy, just lean on me.’
I didn’t even manage to say thanks, just rested against her. Eventually, I said, ‘I need a drink of water.’
‘Of course, of course,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and sit down over here, shall we?’
She was leading me to one of the comfy sofas in the lobby, but I shouted, ‘No! I want to go to my room. Please.’
‘OK,’ she said soothingly, sensing my distress. ‘Just let me get someone to cover for me. John,’ she yelled across the lobby.
A tall man emerged from the office behind reception, darted me a look, and decided not to ask the question which was obviously on his lips.
‘Can you take over for a sec?’ Samira said to him. ‘I just need to see Miss Trent up to her room.’
At this, he gave me a knowing look. Bet he thinks I’ve just had a few too many, I thought. If only he knew. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t bear to sit in public like this—’ I tried to explain.
Samira interrupted me, patting me on the arm and shushing me gently. ‘Take it easy. It’s fine. Let’s just go upstairs, shall we?’ she said soothingly, leading me towards the lift. When we were both inside, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored wall and nearly screamed in fright. My mascara had run down my face in deep, black rivers, my lipstick was smeared around my mouth and my top had a large rip at the neck. I looked down at my feet, which were black with dirt and covered in scratches. I glanced at Samira and saw that she was trying to hide her alarm. At that moment, she felt like my only friend.
The bell pinged for my floor and I jumped. ‘It’s OK,’ Samira soothed. ‘Let’s go to your room and we’ll have a nice cup of tea.’
A cup of tea, the solution to all ills. I allowed myself to be led to my room, Samira slotting my card into the door handle and standing to one side to let me pass.
‘Would you like me to come in?’ she asked.
I nodded silently, and she followed me into the room, drawing the curtains and switching on the low bedside light, before guiding me on to the bed. She then filled the kettle, flicking on the switch, before sitting gingerly beside me. I was grateful that she never once asked me how I’d ended up in such a state.
She took a deep breath. ‘Miss Trent. I don’t mean to pry, but should I call the police?’
I sat bolt upright on the bed. ‘No, please, no. Don’t call them, don’t.’ Panicking, I looked around for the telephone. ‘I need to ring Karen, she’ll know what to do.’
Samira shifted uneasily on the bed, then got up and came over to me, placing an arm around my shoulders. ‘Whatever’s happened, Miss Trent, I can help you. You won’t be alone.’
At that, I cried, great big sobs, and tears poured down my cheeks. ‘There, there,’ Samira soothed.
‘But I am alone,’ I wailed. ‘This is why this happened to me, because I’m alone and I’ve no one, and everyone else is at home in Glenvara, and I just want to go back there now …’ I rambled.
I could see Samira didn’t understand what I meant, but wisely she just nodded her head. ‘Can I phone this … Karen for you?’
I looked up and managed a half-smile. ‘That’d be great.’ But then I remembered that her number was programmed into my mobile, which I’d left … in that place. ‘Oh no, I’ve lost it,’ I said, my hands covering my face.
‘Not to worry,’ Samira said calmly. ‘If you’ve rung her from your room, we’ll have a record of the number on our computer. Let me just ring down and get it for you.’
Thank God for Samira. My hand was shaking as I punched in Karen’s number. ‘Please pick up. Please,’ I muttered, but it went straight to voicemail. Only when I got her cheery message did I put my head in my hands and sob my heart out. I cried so long and so hard I thought I’d burst.
‘Oh, dear,’ I could hear Samira’s voice in the background. ‘Are you sure I can’t call the police? You seem so distressed, Miss Trent.’
‘No, no!’ I screamed so loudly that she jumped back on the bed and put her hands up, as if in defence. ‘OK. OK. But please let me get you some help, you look really unwell.’
I shook my head, adamant. ‘No, I just want to have a bath and sleep.’
She looked at me for a long time. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ I said, hugging myself because I suddenly felt cold. ‘Yes, I am. Thanks, Samira. Thanks for everything.’
She hesitated for a moment. ‘Well … I don’t want to leave you alone …’
I tried a smile, to reassure her that I was just fine. ‘Thanks, Samira, what I really need now is a long soak.’
‘Well, if you need anything, just call. I’ll be on all night.’
‘Thanks, Samira, I really can’t thank you enough.’ I practically pushed her out the door, promising to call down if I needed her. I almost felt bad shoving her like that, after everything she’d done, but I needed to be by myself. And then I sprinted into the bathroom and ran the hot tap until the room filled with steam, pulling my tuxedo jacket off so hard that two of the buttons flew off, and hurling it into a corner along with my skirt, top and underwear. And then I jumped into the water, almost screaming at the heat. It was a scalding, pure heat that made me forget everything for a moment as I sank down into it, holding my nose to submerge, until at last I felt safe. I held my breath for as long as I could and then came up, gulping for air. I felt strong enough then to reach for the soap and begin to scrub and scrub, washing away all traces of that man, u
ntil I could scrub no more. I pulled the plug and crawled out of the bath, my limbs suddenly like lead, my head feeling as if it was too heavy for my shoulders. I barely pulled on a bathrobe before collapsing on the bed, my mind suddenly, blissfully blank.
28
I BLINKED IN the harsh sunlight, pulling myself up on my elbows. I turned to check my bedside clock for the time and then screamed. There was someone sitting on the bed.
‘Oh, God, Karen, it’s you! How on earth did you get in? What time is it?’
‘The receptionist rang me first thing this morning, before her shift ended, and it’s half past nine.’ Karen’s voice sounded muffled because of her cold.
‘Oh, no, no, no.’ I lay back down on the pillows, the memory of the previous night hitting me like a tidal wave. I felt the suede of the sofa against my cheek, Marc’s hand on my neck, my jaw, the other one scrabbling around at the bottom of my skirt …
I must have looked terrified, because Karen leaned towards me and said, ‘Toni, what’s wrong? The receptionist said you turned up last night in a very bad state and she practically had to carry you up the stairs.’ I could tell that she was irritated, thought I’d been out on the razz. ‘When she told me that, I called your mobile, and it rang and rang. Where the hell were you?’
At her tone, the tears came again, streaming down my face. I couldn’t do anything except just cry. ‘Oh, pet, what’s the matter? You’re just stressed, that’s all …’ Karen’s tone was kinder now, but I shook my head and gulped, huge sobs racking my body. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t open my mouth to tell her, because I felt so stupid. I knew she’d think I was even more of a fool, a liability.
‘C’mon, Toni, tell me,’ Karen pressed. ‘You’re scaring me now.’
