As the Clock Struck Ten

by Gill Mather

But he still preferred that she wore some sort of T shirt or something so that he didn't feel like a complete pervert. She was going to have to get out and go back to her shared house for a time in case of any repercussions and that was agreed between them. He already had another one lined up for a few weeks to put any snoopers off the scent. But in the long run he’d have to get back with her for sure. He couldn't resist it. Whether Grace returned to him or not.

  018 The Aftermath

  “DON ARE YOU sure you don't want me to stay at home with you today? Because I can if you want. I’ll just call and take it as holiday. It’s not that busy now with half the country off on their annual breaks.”

  “No don't worry. I’ll be fine.”

  “But Don. You’re not fine. You’re….well you seem depressed.”

  “I’m sure I’ll survive.”

  “But Don….”

  “Look. I’m all right,” he said firmly, the furthest she’d seen him to being anything other than charming to her as he always was. “Please just go to work.”

  “So. Can we talk later?” she said in a small voice.

  “I expect so.” He walked off to his study and shut the door.

  They hadn't known each other well for very long. Grace hadn't thought he was subject to moods and sulks. Even over the Emma-Luke issue, she’d been able to jolly him along. But now he seemed completely closed to her. It worried her a lot. She tried not to cry as she put her car in gear and set off. He wouldn't even discuss her attempts to contact Luke and he’d been evasive about giving her Emma’s email address or mobile number. Well, she would continue to try to contact Luke. If they could get Emma on the telephone to the police in England, maybe that would solve it.

  But perhaps the police wouldn't be satisfied with a call from France. She didn't want to wreck their holiday which was apparently going so well. But it was only Tuesday. They’d only been gone since Thursday night. It would be another nine days or so before they’d come back. She thought about it all the way to work and decided on balance that she should not bother Luke any more. He and his young girlfriend were entitled to a holiday without parents pestering them. If Luke did call, she’d have to make something up about an apparent panic. He’d received a letter from Northampton university yesterday. She’d open it and tell him it was about that. She hoped it would be good news for him. Something at least to justify a load of calls to his mobile and apparently urgent emails.

  And she’d have to hope that Don came out of his black mood.

  AFTER GRACE LEFT for work, Don mooched about for a time but found that he didn't feel like doing anything. He didn't feel like eating breakfast. His work, which usually seemed so urgent and which normally beckoned him irresistibly to his office, especially after nearly a whole day off as he’d had yesterday, had lost any sense of urgency. It hardly seemed to matter.

  He hadn't slept very well so he decided to take a couple more paracetamol and go upstairs and lie down. He diverted the calls to his mobile and took that up with him. He drew the curtains in his bedroom and lay down. He couldn't disguise the fact that he felt terribly grim. Those two men who had turned up yesterday blithely threatening him with arrest and a search warrant had done something to him. They had pierced the veneer with which most of us cloak ourselves which enables us to think that we have some control over our lives, that our lives are orderly, secure and reasonably predictable. Don found that his veneer was dissolving away around him so that he could see the chaos lurking beneath threatening to take hold and get the upper hand.

  Even during the long years of caring for Carol and Emma, carrying on of necessity his semi-nocturnal existence, having almost no life outside this house, he had been, he realised, happy. He’d been able to make sense of everything and he’d been in control of his destiny, or had certainly felt that he was. Like millions of others, he had worked hard and behaved well and paid his taxes; he had kept out of the way of the authorities and had not asked the state for help. He had expected in return to be left alone by the powers that be, not to be harassed or interfered with, certainly not to be threatened with arrest, detention, search warrants, accused of appalling acts of abuse towards his own daughter.

  It was a sort of covenant with society. Or an equation. You accepted the minuses and expected to be rewarded with the pluses. However when it came down to it, none of the minuses, the hard work, the sacrifice, the restrained behaviour, seemed to matter. He might as well have spent his life on benefits, constantly knocking at the door of social services, having unseemly Eastender-style scenes in the streets, his name and circumstances on the registers of many authorities. It took just one little report by some person unknown, backed up by apparently another report of a wholly nebulous and flimsy nature, to bring the whole structure of his life crashing down like the tissue of impressions and illusions that it must actually be, none of it concrete or solid.

  He was reminded again of what Martin had said at the lunch those weeks ago; that the pendulum had swung the other way. Don had assumed at the time that this pendulum would affect other people, not him. But it appeared to have swung unerringly in his direction hitting him squarely on the chin and he was left reeling from the blow.

  And the ignominy of having his private relations picked over, his private bodily fluids collected and subjected to examination. The physical products of his pure love for Grace treated as merely laboratory specimens and subjected to analysis by strangers. To him it was both despicable and literally heart-breaking and tears started to form at the corners of his eyes.

  Further, a man who had been his client but whom he hardly really knew was now aware of intimate details about him, things that should be kept entirely private between those you knew and actively chose to share them with.

  What was more heart-breaking however was that the pure love was fading away, or so it felt. The joy he’d experienced of every aspect of his and Grace’s relationship appeared misty and rather foreign now. It had been soured by those men, as a witch might turn milk sour. He couldn't say if the sourness would lift and the joy would ever return. Martin had asked him if he’d met anyone who knew Grace well and he’d had to say that he hadn't, though that was partly because of Greg’s initial threats to torch her brother’s house and therefore also possibly his if he found out where Grace was living. They’d decided they ought to keep a low profile. Nonetheless this was all from what Grace had said. There was no other evidence of it and Greg hadn't actually done anything since he’d known of Grace’s whereabouts. She hadn't been injured. She’d been back to her old home apparently without incident.

  Don realised he had to be open to the possibility that he’d invited someone who was unbalanced into his home, that the things Greg had said were true. What was it he’d said? “You’ll regret ever meeting her. She’ll make your life a misery. You won't know whether you’re coming or going in the end. She’ll make things up. Half the time she’ll be lying to you.” Could it possibly be that since Emma left last Thursday that Grace had changed the sheets and doctored Emma’s bed? He hadn't been aware of Grace doing any changing or washing of bedclothes though most of the time he took little notice of the domestic chores unless he was doing them himself. He’d had a belly full of domestic chores in the past; enough to last him a lifetime and beyond. And he often spent hours on end in his study working.

  Could Grace have somehow made the allegation to the police or got someone else to do so? Presumably got someone else to do so because the police’s questioning where Grace was involved hadn't had about it any hint that Grace might be the informant. And quite honestly if she had been the informant then for the police to have gone on for all the world as though she was just a third party would have been dishonest. But could you trust the police anyway? In Don’s own days as a criminal lawyer certainly you couldn't. But things had moved on since then. The close media attention to everything now, the scandals that had occurred, the appeal cases had made the police modify their behaviour.

  This other person w
ho'd made some claim was a mystery. Two years ago he'd not even met Grace and she hadn't met him. How could she have found someone who might have been in sufficient proximity to him two years ago to be able now to make a claim of sexual assault at that time. However of course he was forgetting that it was made up. Which meant that the person hadn't had access to him. She just might have at that time sufficient to give the police the additional allegation they needed to support an investigation. It didn’t matter that there was no forensic evidence of an attack two years ago. The case was historical. All Grace would have had to do was find someone suitable who was prepared for some reason to tell lies to the police.

  Don sighed to himself. Why Grace would do something like that was a moot point but if she was really as Greg said, then quite possibly she might. He often listened to BBC iplayer while working and he recalled a radio programme which included details of an awful case of some poor man who’d had a long relationship with a woman which was on/off more recently and she had suddenly reported him to the police for rape. He had no idea why at the time, but he’d been incarcerated for over a month and the police had apparently made no effort to investigate his whereabouts at the time of the alleged event or look for any alibi evidence. The woman was seemingly simply believed, possibly because she was a lawyer. It turned out he was a great many miles away at the time of the alleged offence and the whole thing ruined his life. This was obviously an example of what Martin had meant by saying that the default position was now for abuse to be given credence and seriously investigated with less regard for the alleged perpetrator's account. If the woman featured in the programme could make a false allegation of rape, then why couldn't Grace who, if he was honest, he hardly knew, set him up for an investigation for child abuse. An unbalanced person wouldn’t need a reason to do such a thing.

  These thoughts turned around in his head. Then he groaned. Of course if he hadn't been so stupid and driven Emma and Luke out of the country, the allegation would almost certainly not have been made at all. If Emma had been available, she could simply have been asked if she’d been abused and she’d have said no. And there wouldn't have been any bruising. Presumably. Unless of course it was all or partly her doing and she’d played a part in orchestrating the allegation, had told someone that her father had abused her, had caused her own bruises. She may even have known the other accuser, apparently a young girl. With or without Emma's involvement, it seemed likely that the informant and anyone connected with the informant had taken advantage of Emma’s sudden absence. If Emma was involved, she wouldn't have to face the music for the time being. If she wasn't, then whoever was doing it could feel safe to initiate some turmoil for Don if only on a temporary basis.

  And what about Luke. He essentially wanted his mother to go back to his father. Of course he did. He may have lied about his father’s efforts to stop him going to art college to disguise his true loyalties to his father. He may have given his father a key to get into the house and plant evidence. Presumably this would have been on Sunday when he and Grace were both at church.

  Martin had hinted that the informant was probably a member of his household. Martin was an impartial outsider. His opinion was to be respected. However Don turned the facts around, they all led to painful conclusions. It all strained his mental faculties, at least for today. He didn't really want to think hard about these things or anything really. And his confidence in himself was shot to bits. That he’d had the temerity to even imagine that he could conduct a successful relationship with a woman at all now seemed like an impudence, especially a beautiful woman like Grace. That a woman like Grace would take an interest in him was ridiculous. He should have crawled into a hole once Carol had died. He should have buried himself and let the rest of his life moulder away. He was on the point of switching off his mobile when it rang insistently on the bedside table next to him. He reached over and made the connection.

  “Hello, it’s Martin here. How are you?”

  How indeed, Don thought but he made the customary noises.

  “Unfortunately I don't think we’re going to be able to get hold of the forensic evidence the police have. As there’s no due process going on, you were at the station voluntarily and also agreed to the forensic team going in. I imagine they’ll wait for Emma to come back and then try to interview her. So that’s probably about it for the moment.”

  Don didn't say anything.

  “Don? Are you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you OK?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to be.”

  “Look you’ve gone through a significant ordeal. There are support groups for people in your situation, who’ve been falsely accused. I can email you the details if you like.”

  “OK.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right? Is anyone with you?”

  “No.”

  “Er, is Grace at work? Do you want me to ring her?”

  “No. Definitely not. Thanks Martin. I’ll be all right.”

  “Look….”

  “I’ll be all right. Thanks for what you’ve done. Just send me the bill. All right?”

  “Very well. OK then. Bye for now.”

  Don said goodbye.

  Martin at the other end contemplated calling Grace anyway. He didn't want a suicide victim for a client. You never knew how people would take things. Don was obviously a somewhat bottled up person in his estimation who’d managed to keep the lid on a pretty hard life up until recently. It was these sorts of people who sometimes cracked when they found out how fragile in fact their world really was. However his client was of full age and so far as he knew mental capacity. In normal circumstances, he couldn't contradict his client’s instructions even for the client’s own perceived benefit. He wasn't a psychologist or a counsellor. You had to keep within the bounds of your professional duties. He sighed and pushed the file to one side.

  For Don the damage was done. Whatever the outcome was now, and it appeared that for the time being at least the wheels may have stopped turning, he sensed that his life couldn't be the same again. Don did what he’d intended to do before Martin rang. He switched the `phone off and just lay there.

  GRACE LEFT WORK early. She hoped to get back and suggest to Don that they go out for a meal. They didn't do this often but she’d got nothing ready that morning and she hoped that a little treat would be just the thing to get Don out of the doldrums. They could walk to the Duck and Lizard. She’d called the pub and they’d said it wouldn't be necessary to book. She imagined a nice meal, wine, a gentle stroll back, looking over the hedges at the gorgeous view. It was warm enough to eat outside. She was starting to look forward to it very much as she pulled into the drive.

  The house was quiet as she opened the back door. She called to Don but there was no answer therefore she went around the house looking for him, first in the kitchen and the sitting room, then in his study. It would be unusual indeed for him to be in bed at this time. He normally appeared to be able to stay up for hours, far longer than she could.

  But he had to be upstairs as he was nowhere else. And she found him in their bedroom with the curtains drawn, lying on the bed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. He didn't stir as she entered the room and for one horrible moment, she thought he might be dead. She gasped and then he looked over at her, but a second later he turned again to regard the ceiling above him.

  “Oh Don,” she went over to him relieved and, sitting on the edge of the bed, she took his hand. It felt quite cool.

  “Don’t worry,” he said without looking at her, “I’m not dead. Have you ever seen a dead person?”

  “Well….no.”

  “Their faces go sunken. They go ghostly pale. Oh and they evacuate their bladder and bowels.”

  “Don stop it.”

  “There’s no point pretending.”

  “What?”

  “That the unpleasant things in life don't exist.”

  “Well perhaps you’d feel a little better if we were to
go out for a nice meal together tonight. We could….”

  “I’m not going out.”

  “It’d do you good.”

  “I’m not going out.”

  “But….”

  “I don't want to go.”

  “Yes but once you get there you’d….”

  “Please stop. I don't feel hungry. I don't want to go anywhere.”

  “Have you eaten today at all?”

  “Whether I have or not it doesn't make any difference. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Well OK then I’ll make our dinner to have at home as usual. What do you fancy? Can I bring you up a nice glass of wine while I’m doing it? Or will you come downstairs and sit with me in the kitchen and have a glass while I’m cooking?”

  “No I don't want anything to eat or drink. I’ll get some water from the bathroom if I feel like it.”

  Grace wasn't sure how to cope with all this. Should you feign anger towards the person and tell them to pull themselves together, that there were plenty of people in the world far worse off? Or should you let them have a dark period which hopefully in most cases they’d snap out of in time? Should you get a doctor in? She didn't know. Should you try to get them to talk about the ordeal they’d been through?

  “I’ve decided not to try to contact Luke and Emma any more,” she said. “They ought to be able to have a nice holiday without a lot of worry at home.” Don didn't respond. “Have you heard any more from the police?”

  “No.”

  “Have you thought about who might have made the report to the police?”

  “I can't be bothered. What’s the point.”

  “Don, please don't give up. A little anger wouldn't be out of place here.”

  “Grace. I know you’re only trying to help. But really, what I really want is to be left alone.”

  “But,” Grace said in a small voice, “I don't want to be on my own. Can we at least go to bed together?”

  “If we must.”