by Lisa Hall
I pull myself together enough to stash my notes away before Robbie comes home from college, and I am standing in front of the open fridge door, the chilly air clouding out around my face, making my nose itch with the cold when I hear the front door slam. I am trying to decide whether I can pull together something for dinner, or whether the rest of the bottle of white wine in the fridge door and yet another takeaway pizza will suffice.
‘Rob?’ I call, swinging the fridge door closed. I cup my hand over my mouth and breathe into it, hoping the smell of wine isn’t too strong on my breath. ‘Do you mind pizza again? Only …’ I break off, as Gareth appears in the kitchen door way. ‘You’re back.’
‘I’m back. Bloody hell, Rach, what’s been going on?’
‘What do you mean?’ I frown, puzzled, before Gareth gestures to my foot, still bound up in a fraying bandage. ‘Oh, I fell over, running. Where have you been?’ If anything, Gareth looks worse than I do. He hasn’t shaved, so a salt and pepper bristle covers his cheeks and chin. The skin on his face that is hair-free looks pale and slightly clammy, as though he needs a good night’s sleep and a shower. The skin around his eyes is faintly purple, and could either by caused by tiredness, or bruising, it’s hard to tell.
‘Croatia. You know that.’ He nods towards the fridge and, like the good wife I am, I reach in and pull out a beer, biting my tongue against the questions that rise to my lips. ‘You look exhausted.’ Something like concern passes over his face, and I give a weak smile.
‘Yeah, bit tired.’
‘You haven’t still been chasing all this … stuff, have you?’ Gareth takes a mouthful of beer, his eyes never leaving mine. I pause for a moment, not sure what to say.
‘I took the underwear to Carrie, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Oh, Rach.’ I can’t read the look in his eyes as he comes towards me and I freeze for a moment, not sure of his reaction, but he puts one arm over my shoulder and pulls me in to a one-handed hug. ‘Has she said anything?’
‘Not yet.’ I lean in to him for a moment, enjoying the feel of his weight against me. It’s been a long time since Gareth actively showed me any affection and I want to drink it all in before he removes it again. Like a pathetic little puppy, I shake my head, forcing the thought away. ‘But listen,’ keen to jump on the tiny bit of interest he has shown, I plough on, ‘I know you didn’t want me to keep my notes, and I know I promised I would leave it, but I’m so glad I didn’t – Jason came to see me and told me exactly why he left Newcastle, and I found out that Aaron wasn’t at the party after all …’
‘You mean exactly like he told the police?’ Gareth drops his arm from my shoulders and moves away from me, his affection fading as quickly as it arrived. ‘Only, when he says it, it’s not the truth, you have to hear it from someone else? And what have you been doing? Knocking on the neighbours’ doors, demanding to know what they know?’ I say nothing, my eyes fixed on my feet, a slow, guilty blush creeping up from my neckline. ‘For fuck’s sake, Rach! I told you, God knows how many times, let the police deal with things!’
‘But they’re not!’ I shout back. ‘They ask a few questions and don’t hear what they want to hear so they tell me there’s no evidence … and then that’s it, whoever did it gets away with it.’
‘Rach,’ Gareth shoves his hand through his hair, ‘you can’t even tell them what did happen, because you can’t remember. You can’t even remember if anything did actually happen … and now you’re hassling the people around us. It’s not right. The police have got the underwear, they can test for DNA – just let them do their job.’
‘But I’m getting somewhere, if I hadn’t spoken to Liz she might never have brought round my underwear in the first place and …’
‘I don’t need this!’ Gareth roars, throwing his beer bottle into the sink where it smashes into shards. I stop, my mouth hanging open in shock. ‘Jesus, Rachel, you have no idea … you have no clue what’s going on under your nose, do you?’ He scrubs his hands over his face, and when he pulls them away there are tears in his eyes.
‘What are you talking about?’ I whisper, my mind racing as to what he could mean. ‘What’s going on? Where were you yesterday? I rang you and it was a UK dial tone but you didn’t come home last night.’
‘Forget it.’ Gareth turns to the sink and starts picking the shards of glass gingerly from the stainless steel. ‘It’s nothing, OK? I’m tired, I’ve been in non-stop meetings for days, and I just want to relax when I get home. I don’t want people complaining to me that you’ve hassling them – I have to go into the office tomorrow and face Aaron, knowing that you’ve been questioning him about that night, even though he wasn’t there. I know you’ve had a shit time, and I want to be supportive, but honestly, Rach?’ He turns to face me and my heart flips at the desolate look on his face, ‘we’ve had a really rough time lately, and I just want us to move on. I want things to be normal, you understand?’
Shell shocked, I nod but inside I am screaming, unable to comprehend why he doesn’t understand how important it is to me to get this resolved. Only then will I be able to move on. I can’t live my life in fear, constantly looking over my shoulder, paranoid in case he comes back.
‘Fine,’ I say, and leave him to his glass picking, not sure that if I stay in the same room with him, I can be certain not to tell him that things will never be normal, not until my rapist – because that’s what he is, whoever he is, that’s what happened to me, I know, even if I can’t remember – is caught.
23
JANUARY – TWENTY DAYS AFTER THE PARTY
‘I need to see you. Meet me at the coffee shop on the High Street?’ The phone call comes early, the buzz of my mobile dragging me from a dream-ridden sleep, one that I’m not entirely unhappy to be woken from.
‘OK. Give me half an hour.’ I hang up, rolling out of bed and heading towards the shower, feeling groggy with lack of sleep. Yet another headache starts to thump behind my eyes and I grab two painkillers from the bottle next to the bed as I go, swallowing them dry. Gareth’s side of the bed is untouched, and when I peer out of the window his car is gone from the drive. I assume he must have spent the night on the sofa bed in his office, and part of me is relieved that he didn’t try to share a bed with me, not after the things he said last night.
I shower at speed, giving my hair a quick wash, wishing I could stay in for longer, leaving the conditioner on for minutes instead of seconds, attempting to make myself feel more like the old me. Instead, I hurry, pulling my clothes on even though my skin is still slightly damp, my leggings clinging and twisting as I tut in frustration, before rushing out of the front door, calling an apology to Thor for leaving him behind as I go, his head raising briefly from his basket before he closes his eyes and goes back to sleep. I’m still late though, shoving through the door of the coffee shop ten minutes later than expected, my cheeks flushed with the cold and the rush to get here.
‘Hey, I got you a latte. And a muffin.’ Amy stands up to kiss my cheek, and I whip my hat from my head, static making my still damp hair stand out around my head like a halo.
‘Thanks.’ I take a sip, letting the coffee soothe me as I swallow, getting my breath back. ‘What’s the urgency? Why did you need to see me? Not that I don’t appreciate an early morning phone call from you.’ I smile to show her I’m kidding, but my stomach does an anxious roll as I wonder what she has to say.
‘Something’s happened.’ Amy’s green eyes are serious as she watches me over the rim of her coffee cup, and the smile dies on my lips. ‘I wanted to speak to you before the gossip patrol are out, it’s about Ted.’
‘What about him?’ The sound of his name gives me a little shiver, raising goosebumps on my arms, as I remember the flashback of Ted’s hand on my arm at the party.
‘He’s been arrested.’
‘What? Why?’ Oh, God. I feel sick, saliva spurting into my mouth, and I swallow hard. I picture Ted’s name, alongside Gareth’s in my notebook, only in
my head now there is a big neon light around it. Is this it? Is it all over? Thoughts tumble over one another in my mind before sense reels me in. Wouldn’t the police have called me? If they thought it was Ted who did it?
‘Oh shit, no … it’s nothing to do with … God, sorry.’ Amy reaches across the table, knocking her coffee over in her haste to reassure me that this is nothing to do with the party. ‘He’s been arrested for drink-driving.’ She dabs ineffectually at the coffee spill with a tiny napkin.
‘God.’ I feel like I can breathe again, although my hands tremble slightly with the shock. ‘That’s awful, not like Ted at all.’ I’m struggling to get my head around what Amy is telling me – Ted is usually just so good. This is completely out of character. ‘What happened? How do you know this?’ I have a million questions.
‘I shouldn’t really be repeating this, it came from Vanessa.’ Vanessa is Amy’s sister-in-law, who works at Kingsnorth police station – I’m not too entirely sure what she does there, something to do with administration, but I do know she walks around with her eyes and ears open, and often repeats things she shouldn’t to Amy. This is the first time Amy has ever repeated anything to me. ‘There was an accident – Ted went up on the kerb and clipped a cyclist. Well, I say clipped, he knocked the poor bugger right off. The bloke is in hospital – they think he’s probably broken his leg. The problem with it all is that Ted didn’t stop.’
‘Oh no.’ My hearts sinks – this is far worse than I first thought. ‘He just drove off and left the guy there? What was he thinking?’
‘I don’t think he was … anyway; someone saw it happen and took Ted’s number plate. They reported it, and obviously the plate came back in Ted’s name. The police went straight over to the house and the car was on the drive. Parked terribly, but still on the drive. Apparently when he opened the door the stink of whisky on him was overwhelming.’
‘So, what will happen to him?’ I can’t help but feel some sympathy for Ted, despite my suspicions about his involvement the night of the party – although what possessed him to get in the car after all that booze I have no idea. Guilt? A snippy little voice at the back of my mind asks, has he got something to feel guilty for? I take a hurried sip of my coffee, the dregs now lukewarm and horrid.
‘I don’t know. Dangerous driving charge maybe? There was blood on the steering wheel, and apparently Ted has a cut on his nose, so that kind of puts him there. They’ll test the blood anyway to confirm it’s his, and then that with the alcohol reading will probably be enough to get him a driving ban at the very least. That’s what Vanessa thinks anyway.’
‘This is awful. Poor Ted. Poor bloody cyclist. I should probably go and see him.’
‘Who? The cyclist?’
‘Funny. Ted, of course. Now that Angela isn’t there he hasn’t got anyone.’
Amy arches an eyebrow in my direction. ‘Not your job any more, Rach.’
‘No, I know. But he doesn’t have anyone to talk to – and when something like this happens you need support. It’s awfully lonely otherwise.’ I should know. I lean down and pick up my bag from under the table. ‘Thanks for the coffee – and thanks for letting me know. I shouldn’t imagine Ted has too many people feeling sorry for him at the moment.’
‘Rachel Walker. I have an appointment at ten thirty with Mr Durand.’ I give the receptionist a confident stare and dare her to argue with me. I am at Ted’s office on the other side of town, fudging my way into an appointment so I can talk to him.
‘I can’t find it on the system, Mrs Walker. Are you sure you have the right day?’The receptionist eyes me coolly, and I shake away the idea that she knows who I am, knows that Ted and I were having an affair a matter of months ago.
‘It might not be in the diary. I made the appointment with Mr Durand himself.’ She holds up one finger as she makes a call, presumably to Ted. She speaks quietly into the receiver, her eyes never leaving my face, before pointing me in the direction of Ted’s office. I smile sweetly, and make sure I slam Ted’s door a little behind me.
‘Rachel … what are you doing here? You don’t really have an appointment, do you?’ Behind his desk, Ted looks confused and more than a little battered, a tiny sticking plaster on the bridge of his nose, the green and purple of a bruise radiating out from beneath it, spilling down towards his cheeks.
‘I heard what happened, Ted. At least, some of it anyway.’ I cross the room to him, wanting to touch the tender skin on his nose, but something stops me. Perhaps the tiny ripple of fear that snakes along my arms, raising goosebumps on my skin, as I once again remember his name etched into my notes. ‘Are you all right?’
Ted sighs, wincing as he gingerly presses his fingers to his bruised nose.
‘I’m an idiot, Rachel. I drank too much, hit that poor guy and then panicked. I drove home, for goodness’ sake – I didn’t even stop to make sure he was OK.’
‘Everyone makes mistakes, you just have to take the punishment.’ I sound unfeeling, a harsh edge to my words. ‘What on earth made you drink so much?’ I have to know – if it does have anything to do with the party, something he’s keeping secret, maybe now he’ll have to talk, burdened by guilt and unable to keep it in any longer.
‘Angela.’
‘Oh.’ I wasn’t expecting that.
‘She called and said that she’s booked Sean’s flight for the summer. Then she told me that she and Devon would be taking him to view colleges, and helping him with his applications. He can’t wait to leave! It’s all he’s talked about since she rang. She’s keeping him there, Rach. She’s going to take my boy away from me.’ Ted looks at me, despair in his dark eyes and I reach out a hand to him.
‘There’ll be visits,’ I say, ‘it’ll be difficult, but it’s not as though you won’t ever see him again.’
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Ted yanks his hand from mine, pushing me away, anger radiating from every pore, and I glance nervously towards the door, making sure I have a clear escape route. There is something disconcerting about the way he expresses his anger, and I lick my dry lips nervously, wanting desperately to leave. I wish I’d never come at all. ‘I’ve lost everything, Rachel! Angela left – it hurt, but I could deal with it, it wasn’t working between us. Our marriage had been over for a long time before she moved in with Devon. Then you … I thought we had something.’ His eyes lock on mine and I feel a flutter of fear in my chest. ‘I thought you were different, Rachel. I thought we would be together eventually, but you called it off. Yeah, you said it was a bit of fun and you loved Gareth, but I knew you were coming round to the idea of us being together permanently. Only then, you left me too. And now … Angela wants to take my son from me, leaving me with nothing.’
‘Ted, please calm down,’ I hold my hands up, trying to quieten him down and keep my voice from shaking. ‘Sean is eighteen. He’s an adult. He doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to, and even if he does, if he wants to come home then he can. He might not even want to go, have you asked him?’
‘She’s put all sorts of ideas in his head – he’s already talking about packing, booking flights. And no wonder, it’s not like life at home with me is as appealing, is it?’ His voice breaks, and he shoves his hands through his hair. ‘This is it, Rachel, I’m going to be left with nothing. No wife, no lover, no son. And what’s coming next? No driving licence? Then what? No job? How can I do my job without a car? Maybe this is it. Maybe I’ll get what I deserve.’ Regret etched onto his face, Ted puts his head in his hands. ‘God, I never should have got involved with you.’
‘I think maybe you need some time alone.’ My back presses against the closed door, my hands shaking. ‘I’ll let the receptionist know you’ll be a few more minutes, OK?’
Without waiting for him to answer, I turn and open the door, rushing down the corridor towards the exit. My heart hammers in my chest and my legs feel like jelly as I make it back to the car, sliding into the driver’s seat and pressing the locks down. I would have said before
that Ted always keeps his cool, very rarely – if ever – losing his temper. If anyone had asked me before if I had seen Ted flip out the answer would always have been no. Something in the way his face changed so quickly, the way he went from composed to pure rage in the blink of an eye has caught me off balance and made me think that maybe I don’t know Ted as well as I thought.
Maybe I’ll get what I deserve. The words spin through my mind, and all at once I am back there, at the party. Faces whirl past me in a blur, Katie Fielding, her hair tied up in a fancy, glittery up-do, Melody, a drink in her hands, something with a sparkler and a straw. Then, hands gripping my upper arms, and I am wincing with the pain, struggling to get free. Cigarette smoke fills my nose and throat and I want to gag, the ashy taste on my tongue suffocating me. Kicking out, a flash of my silver sandal as I try to lash out, only my foot doesn’t move the way I want it to. A head leans in close, hissing in my ear, ‘… this is all your fault, I’ll make sure you get what you deserve.’ My arms and legs don’t want to move properly, as though they are filled with lead or cast in concrete, heavy and unwilling. I want to scream, it catches in my throat and I think, yes, someone will hear me, someone will come, but it doesn’t break free of my throat and then I am on the bed, his hand clamped over my mouth, holding the scream tight inside me, that citrusy lemon scent filling the air.
Back in my car, I cry out, fumbling with the door handle, desperate for fresh air. I half fall, half stagger out of the car, landing on the edge of the kerb on my knees, the shock of the pain making me gasp. There is a rip in my leggings, right on the knee cap, and a thick, maroon ooze of blood starts to run down my leg, tiny pieces of gravel sticking to the graze.
Slowly, I get to my feet, feeling shaken and drained, dusting away the tiny pieces of dirt that cling to my palms. I can almost smell the cigarette smoke on the air, taste the Christmas canapés on my tongue, it feels so real when I’m back there at the party. A little more of that night comes back to me with every flashback, and I just wish I could see his face, or get some hint as to who he really is. I draw in deep lungfuls of cold, crisp January air, dabbing at the cut on my knee and avoiding the gaze of curious passers-by, until I am calm again, my heart rate back to its normal pace. You might think that every flashback, every memory that I manage to piece together would batter me down, until there is nothing left of me, but I’m determined not to let it. I think of my notebook, tucked away and hidden from sight (from Gareth) behind the cookery books on the bookshelf in the kitchen. I need to take every piece of information that comes to me when I’m caught up in the horror of these memories, and make it work for me – use it to make sure I take this bastard down.
