The Party

by Lisa Hall

  At the back of the drawer I find a hair grip – I’m no lock picker, but how hard can it be? Several Google searches, a quick You Tube tutorial and one hell of scratched up lock later, I find out that it actually is really, really, hard – but can be done. Flushed, and more than a little sweaty, I check the time on my watch as I let myself into Gareth’s haven. Ten to five. It’s taken me over an hour to get into the office, and I am terrified that he’s going to be home at any minute. No time to waste, Rachel. The sky is ablaze with reds, purples and pinks as the sun starts to make its way down, and I open the window blind where Gareth usually half closes it, so I have an unobstructed view of the street outside. I know this gives anyone outside an unobstructed view in, but I’m hoping that I see Gareth’s headlights approaching before he sees me. Satisfied that I have everything in order, I turn to the desk.

  Organized chaos. That’s the only way I can describe it. There is a tiny square of clear space where his laptop usually sits, only he’s taken it to his meeting. Not that it would be much use to me – he password protects everything and I have no idea of what they could be, nor do I have the time now to try and guess them.

  I turn my attention to the paperwork on the desk but rifling through there is nothing out of the ordinary. Plans for new houses, planning permission correspondence and quotes from suppliers make up the bulk of the paperwork – nothing sinister there at all – and why would there be? He’s hardly likely to lock the door but leave everything out on his desk for the world to see. Sitting in his chair, I wheel it close to the desk, and try the drawers. It is absurdly warm in here, and I puff my sweaty fringe out of my eyes as I tug on each drawer. The top two open easily – filled with spare pens, staples and other little bits of stationery, there is nothing out of the ordinary. I push aside a small stack of window envelopes and uncover a photograph.

  Raising a hand to my mouth, I gently ease it free, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. It’s a copy of our wedding photo. Taken nineteen years ago, we both look young and happy, full of excitement at what the future holds for us. I’m not sure how we got to here – me, searching his office for evidence that he drugged me and attacked me, him barely having the time to look my way. He certainly doesn’t look at me the way he did in the wedding photo any more. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I tuck the photo back in its place and close the drawer.

  The bottom drawer is the one that won’t open. Frustrated I tug at it, but it won’t budge. I go back to the unlocked drawers, searching for a key tiny enough to fit the lock but there’s nothing, not even taped to the top of the desk, like I once saw in a movie. Dejected, I sit back, wiping at the beads of sweat that prickle on the back of my neck. The hairgrip I used to get into the office lies on the biggest stack of papers in front of me. I could do it again, couldn’t I? I have to try, but please God, don’t let it take me another hour to get into it, Gareth would be sure to be back by then. With slippery fingers I get to work, and either I’m getting better at this, or this lock isn’t so complicated, as it doesn’t take me long to get in. Hurriedly I yank the drawer open and reams of paper come spilling out, across the polished wooden flooring.

  ‘Shit,’ I mutter to myself, leaning down to scoop up the errant paperwork, freezing as I read the letter on the top of the pile. It’s a bank statement for our joint account. We both have our own separate accounts, plus one in both our names that we both transfer money into to cover the bills. As I scan quickly down the statement, I see the balance is far less than I was expecting. Frowning, I go back to the top and reread. My payment has gone in as usual, but it doesn’t look as though Gareth’s has been transferred. In fact, my payment has barely covered the overdraft on the account. Feeling slightly sick, I rifle through the paperwork until I find the statement for the month before. I remember, mid December, saying to Gareth that I hadn’t seen the statement, and that I was going to call the bank and ask for a copy. He’d said not to worry, that he was going to the bank the following day and he’d get one then, so I’d put it out of my mind. Now, I see why he didn’t want me to see it – his payment hasn’t been transferred for the previous month either. My heart starting to thump in my chest, I shuffle the papers into some sort of order, and start to comb through them methodically, feeling more and more ill with every page I turn.

  ‘FINAL DEMAND’ screams out in violent red font on white paper, as I pull a sheet of A4 from its envelope. I shake the letter open to read that it is a final demand from the electricity company, telling us that we have seven days to make payment in full before legal action will commence. It is dated the twenty-seventh of December. My heart starts to pound in my chest as I start sifting through the mountain of bills that have overflowed from the desk drawer. Final demands from both the gas and electric companies, with a bailiffs’ letter from the electricity company telling Gareth that they will be seizing goods.

  As I rifle through the post, many of the letters unopened, I find two from the bank, one informing Gareth that they are calling in the overdraft on his current account. I read, and reread the letter in horror, before tearing through the mound of paper to find his personal bank statement. It’s even worse than I could have imagined. There is nothing in his account at all, and he’s so far into an overdraft that I wasn’t even aware he had, that I have no idea how he’ll ever pay it back. The second letter from the bank is informing us that as no mortgage payments have been made for three months, despite repeated requests for contact none has been forthcoming, and therefore they have no option but to repossess the house.

  I am unaware that I am crying, until large, wet splashes hit the letter, making the ink run. How has this happened? I’ve been transferring my bill money every month without fail, trusting him to do the same – and he must have been deliberately hiding the mail from me to make sure I didn’t find out exactly how much he’s fucked up.

  Anger bubbles up, and I yank the remaining paperwork from the drawer, barely reading each letter, tearing through them, the fear and anger chugging through my veins with every letter I read. There are casino slips, betting forms from various different betting shops, and most horrific of all, a ream of IOUs to Jonno Barker, for various sums ranging from five hundred pounds to two thousand pounds, dated August onwards – from the week before the barbecue. No wonder Gareth wanted to leave Liz’s New Year’s Eve party when Jonno arrived – and that must be what Jonno meant when he told me to speak to Gareth. Gareth owes him thousands of pounds.

  Shaking, I start to collect all the evidence together, when a tap at the window scares the living daylights out of me. Darkness has fallen while I’ve been reading through Gareth’s secret hoard of bills, and now a white face is outlined at the window through the open blinds. I utter a little shriek as I see it, before placing my hand to my chest. It’s Sean, presumably here to meet Robbie. I haven’t heard Robbie come in, but I’ve been so engrossed I wouldn’t have heard anything. Sean gestures to the front door and I nod, and he appears before me a few seconds later.

  ‘Are you OK, Rachel?’ He leans against the doorframe, the tip of his nose pink with cold. I shiver as he brings a gust of fresh air in with him. ‘You look like you’ve been crying.’

  ‘No, it’s … oh, God.’ I scrub my hands over my face.

  ‘Is everything OK? Did something happen? Like, I mean, with your … with what happened at the party?’ He looks uncomfortable, not wanting to meet my eyes.

  ‘No, nothing like that.’ I fumble in my pocket for a tissue to blow my nose.

  ‘Mum?’ Robbie appears in the doorway, over Sean’s shoulder. His gaze goes to the pile of papers in my hand, and he sucks in a breath. ‘You found them.’

  ‘You knew about this?’ I have to fight to stop my voice from rising to a shriek. ‘Did your father tell you about these bills? About the fact the we are about to lose everything?’ I am fighting to keep control, my emotions running so high that I don’t know what will come out of my mouth next.

  ‘No!’ Robbie says, sliding in past
Sean to stand next to me. ‘I found them on my own … I sneaked in here one day when he was busy, I wanted to borrow his laptop while he was out, and I knew he wouldn’t let me if I asked him. I found all these bills, but I couldn’t say anything to him, he’d go mad that I’d been in his office. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘And then when I found you in here that day? The day I fell over in the woods.’

  ‘I was looking to see if there were any more bills – or if he’d started dealing with stuff. I wanted to help.’ Robbie’s cheeks flush pink.

  ‘Oh, God, Rob. Why didn’t you talk to me?’ I scrub my hands over my face, not knowing what to do, what to say. There is no way that this can be easily fixed. I need to see Gareth. This was the last thing I was expecting to find – and while I am relieved that I didn’t find anything relating to that night, relieved that I can cross Gareth off the list, leaving only Ted’s name remaining – all I can hear is the sound of my life falling apart around me. And that’s when the telephone rings.

  26

  I snatch up the receiver, fire burning in my belly, thinking, god damn you, Gareth, this had better not be you, because I cannot be responsible for the words that come out of my mouth. I practically bark into the receiver,

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Rachel? Is that you? This is Carrie – from Kingsnorth station?’ Her voice is hesitant, and I realize she only half-recognizes my voice.

  ‘Carrie! Yes, it’s me.’ At her name both the boys’ ears prick up, and they fall silent from where they have been murmuring between themselves.

  ‘Can you talk?’

  ‘Yes – has something happened?’ My heart rate starts to speed up, and my sweaty fingers slip on the telephone receiver. I juggle it to the other hand, wiping my palm on my jeans.

  ‘It’s about the DNA sample that we took from your underwear,’ she says, and the bottom falls out of my stomach, as though I’ve ridden a lift too fast, leaving me shaky and nauseous. ‘There was an incident a little while ago that led to us obtaining some DNA evidence from another case. We ran the sample through the database and got a hit against the sample from the underwear.’

  ‘Oh.’ I sink into Gareth’s desk chair, my legs no longer able to hold me up. The leather creaks reassuringly under my weight. ‘You mean …’

  ‘Yes,’ Carrie’s voice is strong and clear in my ear, ‘we got a match, Rachel. We’ve found a match to the DNA on your underwear from the night of the party …’

  ‘Who is it?’ I demand, shock draining away to leave me alert and angry, angrier than I think I’ve ever been. ‘Is it someone I know?’

  ‘It is someone you know, but I need to explain …’

  ‘Who? Just tell me who.’ I cut her off. I don’t want to hear a long explanation; all I need to know right now is who did this. I wish Gareth were here.

  ‘The sample we ran that came back as a match to your sample came from Ted Durand …’

  ‘What?’ I whisper, and as I catch sight of myself in the darkened window, I can almost see the colour draining from my face. Ted. The final name on my list, the only one I couldn’t draw a line through. Ted, who I trusted. Ted, who thought we had a future together. My thoughts scramble, and I am almost unable to process what I’ve heard.

  ‘Rachel? Rachel, are you still there?’ Carrie’s voice sounds in my ear, rich with concern and I nod, before remembering she can’t see me.

  ‘Yes,’ I murmur, my hand covering my mouth,‘I’m still here.’

  ‘Listen to me, Rachel,’ her voice is serious, an underlying edge of steel running through it, ‘it’s important that you listen to me now – Ted Durand didn’t do this to you.’

  ‘But you just said …’

  ‘The sample came back as a match – but it’s a familial match. Do you understand what that means, Rachel? It means that although it was Ted’s sample, he didn’t do this – the DNA wasn’t a complete match. It means the person responsible for your rape is a close, male family member of Ted’s. Now, I’ve got officers on their way to Ted’s house now but it’s very important that you …’

  ‘He’s here,’ I say, taking great care to keep my eyes away from Sean, training them hard on Robbie’s face. ‘Yes. That’s right, he’s here now. I’m not on my own.’

  ‘Shit,’ I hear Carrie swear and then shout something to someone in the background,‘Rachel, don’t hang up …’

  I drop the phone, crashing it back on to the stand as I try and get to my feet, nausea washing over me. Black spots dance at the corner of my eyes, and then, it’s as though a curtain falls away and I remember everything.

  ‘I’m not leaving, Gareth! It’s bloody …’ I try and look at my watch, but it twists loosely on my wrist and I can’t keep it still long enough to catch the time. ‘It’s only just midnight. Just stay for one more drink.’

  He grabs me by my upper arms and I wince – he’s hurting me, his fingers digging hard into my bicep and I try to pull away but he’s just too strong.

  ‘For God’s sake, Rachel, just do what I bloody ask you.’ He almost shakes me, before looking over his shoulder, to where Jonno Barker is advancing towards us, a grim smile on his face.

  ‘No. I’m not leaving. Just go if you’re going.’ I manage to struggle free and Gareth looks at me with something like disgust.

  ‘Fine. Suit yourself.’ He pushes past me and disappears in the throng of people filling the downstairs of Liz’s house. I make my way to the back of the kitchen, a little tipsy and fighting the start of a headache. I would have left with Gareth, if only he hadn’t been so bloody about it – all he had to do was be decent, instead of being so damn bossy all the time.

  Someone, I don’t see who, hands me a glass of red wine and I gratefully swig from it, the heat of the wine and fuggy air of the room making my cheeks glow red. It’s not long after that I start to feel poorly – I vaguely remember Ted trying to help me as my legs fail to carry me properly, then his voice as he tells me he needs to take a call. The next thing I know, I am on the bed in Liz’s spare room, hands yanking at my leggings and my knickers, trying to kick him off but my legs refusing to co-operate.

  ‘Get off me,’ I wheeze, sick scorching the back of my throat as I try to twist away, bucking my hips … only nothing is working properly.

  ‘You bitch, you total, utter bitch.’ The voice hisses hotly in my ear. ‘You think you’re so fucking great, don’t you? Let’s see how great you really are.’ Hands pull my thighs apart and tears run down my cheeks as he forces himself between my legs. ‘You’ll get what you deserve, you whore … you fucking, god damn, home-wrecking whore.’

  I try to scream, twisting my head away but his hand clamps down over my mouth and I smell that lemony aftershave. He’s too strong, and my limbs are like lead … all I can do is lie there and wait for it to be over.

  ‘Mum?’ Robbie kneels in front of me, my hands held tightly in his. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ I pull my hands away and shakily get to my feet, my eyes never leaving Sean’s face.

  ‘It was you,’ I whisper, as Robbie looks on in confusion, ‘it was you. You did this to me.’

  ‘Mum? Sean?’ Robbie looks from me to Sean and back again, his voice shaky as realization starts to dawn. Sean steps forward, his chest puffed out, but I stand my ground.

  ‘It was me.’ A smirk plays about his lips, and I have to swallow hard in order to not be sick. ‘You deserved it.’

  ‘What? You did this, to my mum? After everything she’s done for you?’

  Robbie draws back his fist, but he’s too late. Sean has Gareth’s paperweight in his hand; he must have palmed it while I was on the phone, knowing as soon as I said Carrie’s name that it was all over. In one swift move, he raises his arm and cracks Robbie across the face, sending him to the floor.

  ‘Rob!’ I rush to him, his poor cheek already bruised and bleeding. He lies dazed on the floor, one hand cradling his face.

  ‘I’m all right, Mum,’ he says, blinking as he struggles to a sitting pos
ition. ‘Just get away from him, don’t let him hurt you.’ He looks up at Sean. ‘Why? Why did you do it, Sean?’

  Sean smirks, but two spots of colour blaze high on his cheeks. ‘Do what?’

  ‘You raped me,’ I whisper, bile rising in my throat.

  ‘Rape?’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘Prove it was rape, Rachel. You’ve got a reputation for sleeping with people you’re not married to … and you can’t even remember a thing.’

  ‘You drugged me!’

  ‘Did I? There’s no proof of that either, is there?’ His voice is a little unsure, but that smirk still sits firmly on his face.

  ‘Why though, Sean?’ Robbie’s voice is thick with tears, as he lies on the floor, blood dripping from his split cheek.

  ‘Like I said, she deserved it.’ As his words reverberate around the room, his bravado seems to waver for a second.

  ‘What do you mean, I deserved it?’ I get to my feet, throwing another look of concern towards Robbie. His cheek is bruised, but he’s alert. Stepping towards Sean, even though my heart is in my mouth, I front up to him meeting his gaze full on. I will not be afraid.

  ‘You deserved it, Rachel, that’s what I mean!’ Sean’s eyes are shining with tears, as he raises his voice. ‘You’re a whore, a slut, a home-wrecker, someone who loves nothing more than ruining other people’s lives. I saw you with my dad.’

  ‘This is about Ted?’ While every fibre of my being tells me to get out, to get away from Sean, I know this might be my only chance to find out his reasoning behind all of this.

  ‘I saw you with him, in the summer. At the barbecue, you came out of the toilet and he came out just after. Your shirt wasn’t buttoned properly, and he had a smudge of lipstick by his mouth. I knew what you’d been up to, I’m not stupid. My mum was never going to come home if she found out what my dad did with you, you dirty cow.’ For a moment, he looks like the small boy I remember, before his face hardens again.