Hurt

by Tabitha Suzuma

  ‘But, Matt, for God’s sake, man, you can’t just let this go! There’s a fucking predator out there and you know who he is!’

  Lola jumps up, reaches towards Hugo. ‘Please let’s not argue – we can talk about this rationally—’

  ‘You don’t think I know that!’ Mathéo hears himself shout. ‘You don’t think that every waking second I’m living in fear that this psycho, this – this predator – might strike again?’

  ‘Then for God’s sake, do something about it!’

  Lola is tugging at Hugo’s arm. ‘Come on, don’t. We agreed we’d all talk to him about this calmly.’

  Mathéo feels the sweat break out across his back. Suddenly, even the pillar supporting him doesn’t feel altogether solid. ‘You – you . . .’ He stares at Lola, struggling to catch his breath. ‘You agreed with him? You planned to force me to go to the police too?’

  Guilt washes across her face. ‘Not force, Mattie. But it’s – it’s – you said yourself it’s what you had to do!’

  ‘I said I didn’t know what to do! I thought you said you’d support me whatever I chose. I thought you understood, I thought you were on my side!’

  All three of them are standing together now, ganging up against him. Three against one. His Lola, his darling, amongst them.

  She breaks away, moves towards him. ‘Mattie, it’s not like that! It’s not about taking sides!’

  Somehow, before she can reach him, he manages to move. Across the room and down the hallway and out of the front door. Through the garden, over the grass, right out to the cliff edge, and down the slippery, stumbling, uneven steps in the rock face – down, down, down towards the sea.

  The tide is so far out it’s barely visible. Miles of darkened sand seem to stretch ahead of him, striated with beams of orange and gold from the setting sun. At first he is running, but this morning’s rowing has weakened him, and soon he is forced to slow to a stride, the muscles in his legs shaking with exhaustion.

  ‘Mattie, where are you going? Mattie, wait for chrissakes!’ He can hear the slap of Lola’s sandals on the hard sand behind him, hear her panting breath, hear the panic in her voice. ‘Mattie, wait for me, please. Just listen to me for a second!’

  He feels her hand attempt to grasp his, but lengthens his stride. ‘You were talking to them about it? You were agreeing with Hugo’s shit?’

  ‘Only because I’m worried about you!’

  ‘Hugo doesn’t know fuck about anything! He has no idea! No idea at all!’

  ‘But he cares about you. And he’s right, sweetheart! We do need to go home, we can’t hide out here for ever! What happened to you was terrible – you need to tell your parents for a start. And Mattie, you said you know this guy so you’ve got to report him to the police.’

  Lengthening his stride, he turns just enough to see her running, hair blowing across her face, cheeks flushed with exertion, eyes glistening with tears.

  ‘Oh my God! You don’t understand! Go to the police? It would be a disaster – a fucking disaster, Lola!’

  ‘You wouldn’t have to go through some dreadful court case. You are perfectly entitled to go to the police, say you don’t want to prosecute, but just give them a name—’

  ‘I’m not going to the police!’

  ‘Then just put it in a letter. If he was waiting for you outside the Aquatic Centre there’ll have been other people about – spectators and staff who can corroborate your story.’

  ‘You’re not listening to me! I’m never going to the police! I told you that right at the start – how can you turn against me now?’

  Lola slows to a fast walk as the gap between them closes. He can make out the determination in her face, the rise and fall of her chest, the small puffs of exertion as she works to keep up. ‘You wouldn’t even have to be directly involved! Write it anonymously and I’ll hand it in for you! What the police do with him then is up to them, but at least you’ll have done something to try to stop him from abusing someone again!’

  ‘Why won’t you listen to me? I don’t want to do anything!’

  ‘But sweetheart, don’t you see? Hugo is right about one thing – this guy will attack again; maybe he already has! By doing nothing you are letting the sicko go free! You’ve been through hell already! How could you have that on your conscience?’

  The line of the sea is gradually approaching, the shimmering white wavelets reaching out further with each exhalation, the water reflecting the light like glass, stunning in the evening sun. He will keep walking – keep walking until he reaches them, splash through the delicate veils of lace until they get deeper, covering his sandals, his ankles, soaking up the bottom of his jeans. He will keep wading until the weight of the water pulls him down, sucks him beneath the surface, wraps him up in the rising tide.

  ‘On my conscience? On my conscience? Do you have even the faintest idea of what I have on my conscience?’ He whips round to face her, walking backwards, sandals splashing in the shallows. ‘I am dying here, Lola!’ he hears himself yell. ‘I’m dying inside. I wish I was dead!’ He feels the punch of his fist against his own stomach. ‘I wish he’d fucking killed me!’

  ‘But – but why?’

  ‘Because I can’t tell. Not the police, not anyone! And by not telling, then yes, I’m fully aware I’ll have to live with that on my conscience – the fact that he will most likely continue to – to abuse.’ The wavelets wash against his feet, lapping against his sandals, working their way up the legs of his jeans. He turns round to see that Lola has stopped several metres back, still on dry sand, hugging herself against the wind.

  ‘But Mattie, you’re not making any sense! If you feel that way, why can’t you just give a statement, or simply his name?’

  ‘Because, Lola, that man – that man has a family! A family which will be ripped apart, destroyed, torn to shreds!’

  They are both having to shout to be heard now, the wind out here so powerful it tugs at their hair, their clothes, almost threatens to knock them over. Behind him he is aware of the rising waves – the semblance of calm from a distance revealing itself as choppy sea and blustering air.

  ‘Who the hell is it?’ Lola shouts.

  ‘I can’t – I can’t tell!’

  ‘If he has a family, then all the more reason to tell! His kids could be in danger themselves!’

  ‘That’s why—’ Gritting his teeth, he runs his hands frantically through his hair, ready to pull it out. ‘That’s why I don’t know what the fuck to do!’

  He chokes on a sob and stumbles backwards, the water was now almost reaching his knees. He thought it was going to be OK. She let him think he’d got away with it, buried it in the past. She allowed him to think he was safe – safe from ever having to tell, from ever having to live through it again. He puts his face in his hands. Between the cracks in his fingers he watches as, in the glory of the evening light, Lola approaches him tentatively, brow puckered with concern. ‘Mattie, sweetheart, please don’t cry. This pervert’s family is the least of your concerns.’

  Slowly, painfully, he lifts his face from his hands, cheeks wet with tears, shaking hard. ‘Lola, oh God! It’s the greatest concern – the greatest concern of all!’

  ‘What?’ She wades through the shallows to reach him, takes his hand softly in hers, pulls him gently back onto dry land. ‘I don’t understand, sweetheart. What on earth do you mean?’

  Mathéo stares at her through the kaleidoscope of light refracting through the tears in his eyes and realizes that this is it. This is actually going to happen. There is no turning back, no running away; he has run out of options, of excuses, he has no choice now. Perhaps he never did. Perhaps, after that horrendous night, every path available to him was always going to lead to this crucial, horrific point in time. One he wrestled and fought to escape without ever realizing that all along, it was totally out of his control. After that night there was never really any going back. The die was cast and, with the throw, this moment in time set by default on
the trajectory of his new life. Unavoidable. Inescapable. Postponable for a time, but only until now. He bows his head and feels the acute pain of something breaking inside him – something permanent, something he knows will never, ever mend.

  He lifts his head and looks into her eyes. Her gentle, loving, trusting eyes. Eyes that never once imagined him ripping her life apart, shattering her existence, hurting her beyond repair. He takes a breath and feels his world end. Feels her world end. Feels their love – their warm, passionate, all-consuming love – hover between them for one last moment, before being brutally snatched away. He stifles a sob of despair.

  ‘Because, Lola, his family is you.’

  17

  She remains horrifyingly still for several seconds, her expression unchanged, as if frozen in time. Then slowly, very slowly, she starts to back away.

  Mathéo stumbles towards her, his jeans weighed down with sea water, shivering hard.

  ‘Dad? My – my dad? You’re – you’re saying my dad raped you?’ Her face is so white, so bleached with shock, he fears she might faint.

  He takes a tentative step closer. ‘Lola, I swear, I will never tell anyone. But you were right, I had to tell you. You had to know, just in case he ever tried anything – did anything to you. I thought he must have to be gay, but now I just don’t know, I don’t understand—’

  She lets out a small sound like a trapped animal and, wincing, takes another step back, beginning to heave, as if about to throw up. ‘You’re – you’re claiming my dad’s a – a rapist? A – a gay rapist?’

  He stands there, witnessing her shock, feeling it permeate his own skin. ‘Lola, I wish— Oh God, I’m so sorry!’

  ‘You’re sick!’

  ‘Lola, listen—’

  ‘How could you even think such a thing!’ Clutching her stomach as if shot, she backs away still further, staring at him as if he were metamorphosing into some hideous kind of monster.

  ‘No. Lola, listen to me. It’s true. I would never lie about something like this. Lola, you know me!’

  ‘Oh God, you’ve gone crazy! You’re – you’re traumatized, you’re sick!’

  He moves forward, reaching out for her, but she instantly shrinks back. ‘Lola, I saw him, as clearly as I see you now. There was never any doubt. He didn’t even try to hide his face—’

  ‘No!’ she screams suddenly, her voice louder than the gulls: a shrill, sharp shriek of despair. ‘Stop it, stop it, shut up right now! You’ve gone crazy, Mattie! Whatever happened, it’s fucked up your whole mind!’

  ‘Lola, I’m not crazy. It happened. It was Jerry. You have to know because you can’t go back home. I don’t know if he was on drugs or ill or – or has some condition, or what. But I do know he’s dangerous—’

  ‘No! This isn’t you, this can’t be you talking! Take it back, Mattie. Tell me – oh please God, this can’t be happening. You can’t have gone crazy. Please, Mattie . . . please tell me you’re just messing around!’

  ‘Lola, I can’t. Because I’m not. And you have to know. You can’t go back there, it’s not safe!’

  ‘Mattie . . .’ She has begun to sob, bending forward and hugging herself as if in agony. ‘Why would you do this? Why would you say something like this? Why, Mattie? Why? Why?’ She is screaming now, white-faced and petrified, tears coursing down her cheeks. ‘Do you hate me? Do you hate Dad? What the fuck are you trying to do to us?’

  ‘I hate your dad for what he did to me. But not you, Lola. Never you! I love you – you know that!’ He tries to move towards her, arm outstretched, but she continues to back away, like a wild animal poised to flee.

  ‘Then why are you doing this?’ she screams.

  ‘I had to tell you – you were going to go to the police! They would interrogate me. Obviously I’d have lied, but they’re trained to see through bullshit and my lies would immediately make them suspect I was covering for someone I knew! They would interrogate people close to me, including Jerry; including Perez, who saw me go off with Jerry that night. They would probably even find other witnesses who saw Jerry in the area that evening . . . Don’t you understand, Lola? If I hadn’t told you and you’d gone to the police, your dad would have ended up in prison!’

  ‘But it’s all a lie!’

  ‘It’s not a lie, Lola. I wish, I wish it was! You have no idea how much I wish—’

  ‘Look at me, then!’ she screams. ‘Look me in the eyes and tell me my father raped you!’

  He holds her gaze. ‘Your father raped me, Lola—’ His voice breaks as her expression distorts into one of disgust and she backs away from him still further. How did he ever think, for one insane moment, that he could tell Lola the truth and not lose her? Even if the near-impossible happened, if she confronted Jerry and he confessed, how could she ever forgive him, Mathéo, for destroying the most important relationship in her life? That one person who had cared for her since she was a baby, had been by her side all these years, had fed her, brought her up, looked out for her, become her confidant, her best friend?

  ‘You know my dad would never hurt a fly!’ Lola shouts. ‘You know him! He loves you! He’s always been nice to you! How could you!’ She is crying so hard, she appears unable to draw breath; her lips are tinged violet. Tears course down her cheeks, dripping onto the jacket she hugs ever tighter round herself, as if it is a shield to protect her against his words. ‘And what about me? I trusted you. I loved you!’

  ‘Lola, I love you too!’ he shouts, his voice splintering. ‘That’s the only reason I’m telling you! I’ve been agonizing over this ever since it happened, but you finally made me realize – I couldn’t risk you getting hurt by my silence!’

  ‘You didn’t want me to get hurt?’ she yells back, sobbing wildly into the rising wind. ‘You’ve just destroyed everything between us, Mattie! You’ve just said the most hateful, disgusting, filthy thing anyone could possibly think of!’

  ‘But it’s true! Lola, you’ve got to believe me. You can’t go back, you mustn’t confront him – it could be dangerous!’

  She stares at him, utterly aghast. ‘Of course I’m not going to confront him! Did you think for one second I’d ever consider these vile accusations? That I’d believe you before my own father?’

  Fear, like an electric bolt, streaks through his veins. ‘Lola, no, you mustn’t go back! I’ll look after you, I’ll protect you, I’ll do anything to keep you safe, I swear!’

  ‘D’you think I’m stupid? I never want to see you again, Mattie! I can never forgive you! Oh God, oh God—’ She doubles forward suddenly, retching. When she straightens up, her face has taken on a ghostly, translucent look, as if she might suddenly disappear. ‘I just don’t understand . . .’ she half whispers. ‘Why would you do this? I trusted you. I trusted you more than anyone, Mattie!’ Her slim frame racked with sobs so violent they threaten to break her, she presses a fist to her mouth, turns and begins to move away.

  He immediately follows her, tries to reach out for her.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ She spins round and screams, a sharp cry of terror.

  ‘Lola, please!’ he shouts at her, tears choking him. ‘Don’t go! Don’t leave me! I never meant – I’ll take it back, I’ll take it all back—’

  ‘You can’t!’ she screams. ‘Don’t you see, Mathéo? Don’t you realize what you’ve done? You’ve accused my dad of the most horrific crime imaginable! How can you ever take that back? How can you ever make up for that? And you believe it – look at you! You still believe it!’

  ‘I believe in you, Lola! I believe in us! That’s all I care about—’

  ‘There is no us! There never was. Everything we had between us was a lie! You believed my dad was a rapist while – while making love to me? While pretending to love me?’

  ‘I never pretended, Lola. I swear on my life! I loved you from the moment we first met!’

  She takes a deep, shuddering breath, pausing for a moment in her retreat. ‘How can that possibly be true?’ she asks more quietly no
w, her voice shaking with barely suppressed fury and pain. ‘If for some crazy reason you actually believe my dad raped you, you wouldn’t love me! How could anyone possibly love the daughter of a rapist – their rapist, their rapist’s own flesh and blood?’

  ‘Because you’re not your father!’

  ‘He’s my family! He’s my life! He created me, he brought me up, I share his genes – I’m a part of him!’

  ‘That doesn’t make you the same person!’

  ‘I am his daughter! If you’re deluded enough to believe he’s a rapist, do you believe he’s raped others?’

  ‘Oh God, Lola. I don’t know, but he could do it again! And I know you’re his daughter and he loves you, but there’s always the risk that he might do something – do something to you! Don’t you see, I had to warn you!’

  She appears to stop breathing for a moment, then heaves in a lungful of air and lets out a swift, sharp cry.

  ‘Lola, I can help you through this. You’ve got to believe me. Whatever you father did, I love you just as much as before!’

  ‘Love?’ Lola screams. ‘You call this love? It was all a lie – every second of it, every shared moment, every time I ever touched you. I hate you, Mathéo!’

  ‘Lola, don’t, please!’ He heaves for breath, blinded by tears. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I do! I swear on my life. I wish I’d never met you. I wish you were dead!’ She sounds almost hysterical, as if being beaten, and continues stumbling back, further and further away from him, close to collapse.

  ‘No!’ he yells at her. ‘You don’t mean that. You don’t mean that, Lola. You don’t, you don’t!’

  ‘I do! I wish you’d killed yourself diving off that cliff. I wish you were dead, Mathéo Walsh! I wish you were dead, I wish you were dead!’

  The pure, undiluted hatred in her voice hits him in the chest like a bullet. ‘No!’

  Lola stands still and presses her hands to her face. A long moment passes. Neither of them has the strength to speak. Then Lola lowers her hands and takes several long, steadying breaths. ‘I’m going to pack and take the first flight home,’ she says, her voice trembling with shock and exhaustion. ‘I’ll be quick, but don’t come back to the house until I’ve gone.’