The Glass Tower

by Gregg Dunnett

  Twenty-One

  Later on, back in the solitude of her flat, and fortified with another four Dramadol tablets, and half of another bottle of white wine, Julia finally felt able to open her laptop. It hadn't been that much of a disaster. They had met, they had chatted, and when Julia had glumly suggested how they must do this more often, Marion had actually sounded quite enthusiastic. She'd even suggested that, should Julia's travels around the capital's second-hand furniture auctions ever take her near her office, she should pop in and say hi. But Julia could already imagine how that might go. She shuddered at the thought.

  On her laptop she found an email from Gavin. He clearly worked Saturdays as well. It included a baffling list of instructions for how she should register on the Facebook page the publisher had set up to support The Glass Tower. She read them through twice, and made no progress on deciphering what they wanted her to do. In the end she decided to simply follow them one by one.

  1. Go to your Facebook page.

  There was a link. She clicked it, and since she hadn't been on the page in quite a while, had to re-enter her password.

  And when she did, she got the shock of her life.

  Twenty-Two

  She never got to the second point on Gavin's list. A post on her Facebook feed took her attention instead.

  At first she thought it was a joke. A strange, young person's joke that she didn't understand. But she didn't think that for long. Not even Julia was so out of touch that she could mistake the sincerity of the drama laid out in front of her.

  So I'm borrowing Rob's computer to write my essay, and I discover his search history is totally FULL OF PORN. #sohumiliated

  The post was written by Becky Lawson. Following the 'award' of funding to the two students selected for Julia's new bursary, Becky had sent Julia a Facebook 'friend request' which Julia had clicked upon, rather proud to be asked. But since then she hadn't actually logged into Facebook to do anything further.

  Julia stared at the posting now, perplexed. There was a huge trail of comments below the original post, mostly (judging by their profile photographs) other young women Becky's age.

  Why hon?

  Ahhhhh, what's happened?

  Whaaaatttttt!!!!!????

  Men! Their animals. I'm on my way.

  Julia winced at this last one, almost more shocked by its spelling as by the fact Becky would want to share something so very private in the first place. Or maybe it was a joke? Surely it couldn't really be what it looked like? Julia kept reading, fascinated, and a little further down the page was another post, this one from Becky again.

  Am I not enough for him? #sohumiliated.

  This had generated another slew of comments, all enthusiastically commiserating with her. But then there was another, which took the opposite view and was clearly in support of Rob. It said how lots of men looked at porn – and how some women did too – and that it was harmless. Becky had replied to this as well, saying that she knew this, but there were, ‘like, hundreds of images on the computer, which made it “not okay”’.

  Julia read the whole thread, which seemed to have consumed Becky and her group of friends, and split them into two polarised groups. Those who supported Becky also seemed to support her right to protest about Rob's actions on her social media page. Those who supported Rob, felt this was 'out of order' (a few requested Becky to put up some of the images that Rob had been viewing). It was astonishing to Julia that these people could talk so openly in public about such private matters.

  Her confusion reminded her of some of the early literary reviews of The Glass Tower. She hadn’t knowingly written the book as a metaphor for the modern social-media-obsessed world. She had simply gone along with James McArthur when he suggested that positioning the work as such would help sell it. But when she saw how right he was, and how this interpretation had attached rocket boosters to the book, her memory of writing it also changed. She came to believe that, though not knowingly writing the book as a social-media critique, it had nonetheless sprung from her subconscious with that theme running through it. All James had done was help to recognise it, and even that wasn’t something she wouldn’t have done herself if given a little more time. Indeed, she had since come to reflect on this when asked about the book, taking talking points from the very reviews which argued the book was a critique of modern social media to explain how the book was intended as such.

  But despite all this she had never really engaged with social media in any serious way. Now she was doing so, and suddenly she was an instant addict. She was utterly gripped by this voyeuristic window into Becky’s crisis. For an hour she read through Becky’s post, and the comments that followed, with both the cool, fascinated distance of a scientific observer, and a greedy desire for more and more details. And then she came to the part where Rob was sucked into the argument.

  He had been entirely absent from the discussion for two whole days, Julia noticed, after she realised that every comment came with a time and date which allowed her to reconstruct the argument as it had happened. Other men – presumably Rob’s friends – had posted to defend him, and one of the most frequent posters was someone named Neil Bath. However, his contributions were even more thoughtless and stupid than the average (which were quite stupid and thoughtless already). Rather than trying to calm the situation down, his intention appeared to be to further rile everyone up. He had gone from repeatedly requesting Becky share some of the ‘evidence’ from Rob’s hard drive, to posting links to pornography sites with the suggestion they might be useful to Rob (followed by lots of, what Julia learned were called ‘cry-laughing’ emojis). When this failed to elicit a response, Bath had begun suggesting Becky should be careful what she said about Rob because he was a keen photographer and would therefore have lots of interesting pictures of Becky herself.

  Julia was astute enough to understand he was referring to something called 'revenge porn'. She had heard about it on the radio. It was where young people took photographs of themselves naked, or having sex, or just of their genitals, and then held each other to ransom, saying they would post the pictures on the internet. It wasn't something she had ever been concerned with personally, since she was quite sure no one had ever photographed her genitals. But just the thought of such an attack was horrific enough that she understood the threat. Then Rob finally joined in the argument.

  Yeah mate. I do have a couple of photos Becky wouldn’t want me to release!

  Under this was a fresh deluge of comments, some outraged at what Rob appeared to be implying, some enthusiastically asking to see them, some even promising to pay Rob to see them.

  For a moment Julia almost chuckled at the thought of Becky being further humiliated in this way, then something else struck her. A sudden, horrible realisation, no, certainty that Rob wasn’t talking about revenge porn at all. He was threatening Becky with releasing the final photo of the accident.

  He’d never deleted it like he promised. He’d lied to her.

  She knew she’d been right about him.

  Julia wiped a hand across her brow, and it came away greasy with sweat. She bit her thumb anxiously. Rob was actually posting on a public forum, threatening to reveal Becky’s involvement in the cover-up of a woman’s death. How insane could you get? How stupid?

  Julia read to the end of the thread. It petered out, finally – perhaps The X-Factor had come on the television, or whatever else served to distract these people. And then Julia felt starved of information. She looked back over all the comments, feeling sick but hoping she'd missed something. Some hint that she was wrong, some confession from Rob that he didn't really have the images. But all she saw was another threat from him saying that, if Becky didn't start acting reasonably, she was going to regret it even more. (He also, for what it’s worth, denied ever looking at the porn, and said that his friend had put it there for a joke. But Julia paid this little attention.)

  One hour, four Dramadol, and a bottle and a half of French Sauvignon Blanc l
ater, Julia retired to her new penthouse bedroom, a very worried woman indeed.

  Twenty-Three

  The first thing she did when she awoke the next morning was log into her Facebook account to see if there was anything new. There was – the debate had rumbled on overnight – but nothing significant had changed. Julia thought about contacting Rob, somehow finding a way to imply – or even telling him outright – that if he revealed the photographs their financial arrangement was off. But even though she doubted that would have much effect – he must be aware of that – she didn't even know if it were possible. It wasn't something she had ever discussed with that nice solicitor Mr Hedges. Now that the money had been handed over, did she have any power to take it back?

  Anyway, the problem wasn't what happened to Rob after he posted the photo, it was what would happen to Julia.

  Someone would see them, or screenshot them – or whatever the term was – and they would be out there forever. She knew that about the internet. Once something was out there, it could never be taken down. Which meant it would only be a matter of time before someone would identify her, and work out what it meant. And then her entire life, everything she had worked for, everything she had created, would come crashing down.

  The thought made her feel physically sick, and then she ran to the bathroom and was physically sick. Her back ached more than usual, a low rumbling ache that was constant as well as deep stabbing pains that could appear anywhere from her neck to her buttocks when she tried to move. She upped her dose of tablets and added paracetamol into the mix. Then she spent the morning alternating between refreshing her computer's Facebook page (the page actually refreshed automatically, but Julia didn’t quite trust this) and biting her nails, while staring out at the rooftops of East London. She was paralysed with indecision. Worryingly, Becky changed her status from 'in a relationship' with Rob to 'single'.

  By the afternoon Julia was deep in an imagined conversation with Rob, imploring and persuading him not to release the image or images (it seemed clear from Rob’s comment that he had kept more than one, and Julia assumed he must have had back-ups when he pretended to delete them). But unsurprisingly this had little effect on reality, and the more she went over it in her mind, the more it was clear she would never speak to him about it. She couldn't. The problem wasn't Rob's irrationality. It was more fundamental than that. The problem was that Julia had never been able to talk to boys like Rob. She knew his type. There had been plenty like him at school, and in college, and in teacher-training college after that. And they were always the same. They always ignored girls like Julia. They hung about in their macho groups, talking about sports and drinking, and sometimes girls, but only certain girls. Girls with clear skin and glossy hair and attractive features that they’d done absolutely nothing to earn, they just happened to be born like that. Girls like Becky. The other girls – clever, intelligent, interesting girls – might just as well have been invisible. They weren’t considered at all. It was as if they didn’t exist. Yes, Julia had been able to overcome this when negotiating the bursary with Rob, but at that time she had been on a huge financial and emotional high. That advantage was now gone.

  She was back to being the old Julia again, and girls like the old Julia never talked with boys like Rob. They couldn't and they never would. So if there was going to be a way out of this mess, it had to be through Becky.

  Twenty-Four

  There was one significant change to the last time Julia had made the trip down to Southampton. By now she had replaced her car and didn’t have to rely on public transport. She had considered getting another Morris Minot, or even a real classic - like a Jaguar - she imagined this would photograph well for a Sunday newspaper photo spread, should she ever be offered one. But she wasn’t an expert on classic cars, and in the end decided that modern brakes and creature comforts were important too. So she had chosen one of the new editions of the VW Beetle. It had, she felt, at least some of the charm of her previous car.

  It still took her hours to get there, since she had to travel out of London and then around on the M25, before heading down to the south coast. When she was off the motorway Julia stopped at a convenience store to buy some wine, and while she was there she noticed a bunch of flowers was reduced in price because they were wilting a little, so she got them for Becky too. Just after four o’clock, she rang the doorbell of Becky’s small terraced house in the student district of Southampton. The last – and only – time she had been here before was on that fateful night, almost four months previously.

  The girl who answered the door looked so dishevelled that Julia barely recognised her as the bright young thing who had stood up for her and helped her that night. Despite Julia’s late arrival Becky was still dressed in her pyjamas. She had bare feet, and wore no bra, so when she bent over to pick up the post from the floor (it looked as though she was trying to pretend it hadn't been lying there all day) Julia couldn't help but see almost all of her breasts. Julia drew her eyes away and onto Becky's face. Her hair was tied back, her blue eyes were puffy from crying.

  "How are you feeling?" Julia asked. Becky wiped awkwardly at her eye.

  "I'm alright," she said. She scratched at a point on her skin below her ear that had become blotchy. "D'ya wanna to come in?"

  "Yes, please. I got these for you." Julia thrust her offering of flowers towards Becky. She had the wine in her bag.

  "Thanks,” Becky said, trying to smile. “Tea?" she said. "Or something else? I’m on the white wine."

  Julia brightened visibly. "Well, I think something else then. In the circumstances." Becky didn’t smile, but shuffled out of the way to allow her inside.

  The hallway of the little house was small and dark. There was a bicycle leaning against the wall, and the rubber from its handlebar grips had created a pattern of black marks on the white emulsion. Becky tramped through it and into a small kitchen. It looked like it was normally kept clean, only now there were plates piled in the sink. Becky was already halfway through a glass of wine, which was sitting on the little table next to her phone. Becky sat back down, and began stabbing at it. Julia realised she would have to get that away from her, or everything she had come to say might end up online.

  "I saw what Rob said," Julia began. "What he did. Horrible."

  Becky's head jerked up at the mention of his name, then dropped again.

  "Bastard," she muttered.

  "I'm so sorry," Julia went on. "It must have been a horrible thing to discover. Were they...?" She had been going to ask about the pornographic images that Rob had viewed, but changed her mind. Pornography wasn't really an area she had much expertise in.

  "I didn't exactly examine it," Becky said. "It wasn't, like, kiddie porn or anything. But..." she began, then stopped.

  "What?" Julia asked.

  "It's not how bad it was that I mind. It's just, I feel like it means I wasn't enough for him. So what's the point? You know?"

  Julia didn't really, but she nodded anyway. She glanced at Becky’s glass and looked about the kitchen for the bottle it had come from, spying it next to the fridge. She pointed at it.

  "I say, do you mind if I…?"

  “Glasses on the shelf.”

  Julia had already spotted them and poured herself a large glass.

  “I’m driving so I’ll just have the one,” she explained.

  Becky waved her hand as if she didn't care either way.

  "So you were passing?" she said.

  "Pardon?"

  "You said in your message, you had to come down here anyway?"

  "Oh. Yes. I had to meet with... Actually I needed to do some research, for something I'm writing."

  Becky looked up at this. She brightened slightly. "Really? What kind of research?"

  Julia took a moment to sip at her wine, giving herself some time to think.

  "My new book," she said at last. "I'm featuring a church here."

  "Really?" Becky sounded dubious. "Why?"

  "I'm think
ing of doing something that speaks about the decline of organised religion in society."

  "Oh," Becky said. She seemed to have lost interest.

  "Well, it was just an idea," Julia went on. It had been an idea too, or the beginnings of one, but given Becky’s reaction it probably wouldn’t last much longer.

  "Really it was an excuse to come and see if you were alright."

  Becky smiled at this, and Julia sat down opposite her. She hadn't noticed Becky actually drinking, but now her glass was empty, so she leaned across and filled it up.

  "Thanks," Becky said.

  "So," Julia said. "Is that it with Rob then? For good?"

  Becky nodded, then raised her bleary eyes and fixed them firmly on Julia's.

  "Definitely. After what he's done. And what he said. There's no way I'm having him back. Ever. Even if he came begging."

  "And is he?" Julia pressed. "I mean is he trying to apologise? To get back with you?"

  "I don't know. I think he's staying with James. Sally saw him the other day, said he was drinking loads, and talking about going out to Starburst."

  Julia had no idea who these people were, nor what Starburst might be. But she tskked as if this information was somehow relevant, then sipped again at her wine.

  "Becky." She spoke quietly. "We need to talk. About the threat that Rob made."

  For a moment the girl appeared not to have heard, but then she very slightly nodded, all without looking at Julia.

  "Yeah," she said.

  "I may not be quite as technologically savvy as you youngsters, but I always thought there was a possibility he hadn't deleted all the images. Clearly I was right to be concerned. But while things were... were stable between the two of you, it seemed it was all under control. Now that’s not the case anymore."