The Party: The gripping new psychological thriller from the bestseller Lisa Hall
The Party: The gripping new psychological thriller from the bestseller Lisa Hall
Lisa Hall
A missing wife…Tom thought his life was perfect. Until his wife vanishes turning his seemingly perfect world upside down. But the nightmare is only just beginning…A secret past…As Tom searches for missing Claire he discovers secrets about his wife's past that don't add up, making him question everything he once took for granted.A lie that changes everything.Because some secrets are best left hidden and Claire's past is about to catch up with them all…
LISA HALL is the bestselling author of Between You and Me and Tell Me No Lies. She has dreamed of being a writer since she was a little girl and, after years of talking about it, was finally brave enough to put pen to paper (and let people actually read it). Lisa lives in a small village in Kent, surrounded by her towering TBR pile, a rather large brood of children, dogs, chickens and ponies and her long-suffering husband. She is also rather partial to eating cheese and drinking wine.
Readers can follow Lisa on Twitter @LisaHallAuthor (https://twitter.com/LisaHallAuthor)
Copyright (#ulink_1b31d0b6-4a17-58fc-bc43-7f36ef5b1f51)
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018
Copyright © Lisa Hall 2018
Lisa Hall asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © July 2018 ISBN: 9780008215002
Version: 2018-06-07
Praise for Lisa Hall (#ulink_bc767f53-0350-5f42-85c7-73387e9419f8)
‘Breathlessly fast-paced and cleverly unsettling, this thriller about a couple trying to escape their past is the very definition of unputdownable.’
Heat
‘An uneasy creeping feeling followed me through the book – I was never quite sure who I should be trusting – I read this book in one sitting because I had to know what was going to happen next. An excellent thriller that had me hooked from the start.’
Katerina Diamond
‘A paranoia-inducing plot that makes you question everyone! Lisa Hall’s new novel is one to get under your skin and has an ending that’ll leave you reeling.’
Sam Carrington
‘Gripping and unforgettable… and will leave you wondering who you should really trust…’
Inside Soap
‘What a page turner! Compelling, chilling and an incredibly impressive debut.’
Alex Brown
To the real life Katie and Amy
In memory of Frank Moylett – some stars burn brighter than others
Don’t you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t made that particular decision? If you had decided to go right, instead of left? If you had said no, instead of yes? It’s strange how one, tiny, sometimes seemingly insignificant decision can have a knock-on effect on life … like a cleverly constructed domino chain, crashing down into a broken and ruined pile of rubble. Maybe if I had been a little bit stronger, if I hadn’t had that one moment of weakness, where I threw caution to the wind and just did what I wanted to do, as opposed to what I should have done, maybe then, none of this would ever have happened. Life would have gone on as usual, with no tears and recriminations. Nobody would have been hurt. Nobody’s life would have been ruined. There wouldn’t have been any lies, or betrayal, and we all would have carried on living our lives, completely unaware that everybody has two sides to them, completely oblivious to the fact that the people surrounding us carry their own secrets, locked deep inside them. It’s easy to look back and say none of this is my fault, that I am exempt from blame, but deep down, I know that’s not true. All of this – everything that has happened – all of it starts with me. And so now, I have to do what needs to be done. I have to finish it, once and for all.
Contents
Cover (#u6199523e-e45c-5c8c-b833-a37d0df85d69)
About the Author (#u9cd07bf4-78de-5af7-873c-568225930050)
Title Page (#ua0db933c-1ad1-52c2-8f13-87f7f5eb212a)
Copyright (#ulink_f8e3e8e6-8d23-5e04-9e51-30b9857c19be)
Praise (#ulink_5ce117b7-1283-5c6a-9d99-a731da2905ad)
Dedication (#u27a3ace6-a64a-5b36-8591-00d09708f252)
Contents (#u9fa88736-8c34-5988-9b7e-0a5f2bb1f074)
CHAPTER 1 (#ulink_34b8df0b-9b80-5cc1-9572-21e889e08012)
CHAPTER 2 (#ulink_bc9a760e-25d3-5a93-9979-44ebcb5ed468)
CHAPTER 3 (#ulink_cbd8c66b-ceb6-53c0-ae1a-500fa0772692)
CHAPTER 4 (#ulink_dbe3ed8b-e490-5c02-8732-c88612edfb10)
CHAPTER 5 (#ulink_2dfd5cab-99a3-55c0-b77d-332891bdd0ee)
CHAPTER 6 (#ulink_74670afd-43ec-5a84-8d4a-232334787d12)
CHAPTER 7 (#ulink_8f719b4d-7668-506a-b4dc-d6616a12bbc3)
CHAPTER 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (#litres_trial_promo)
Short Story (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#ulink_1de6155c-14a5-54e3-a346-ad09cdaeccfe)
NEW YEAR’S DAY – THE MORNING AFTER THE PARTY
Something happened. Something bad. That’s the first thought that swims vaguely through my mind as I struggle my way into full consciousness. Followed by the realization that, I don’t know what, but I know it’s not good. My head hurts. I try to open my eyes, the feeble wash of winter sunshine that tries to force its way through the lining of the curtains making me squint in pain. My head hurts and I feel really, really sick. I close my eyes again, willing the thud at my temples to die down and let me go back to sleep, before I crack one eye open again, a vague sense of uneasiness making me reluctant to keep them closed.
Where am I? Peering out from under the duvet cover, the room is unfamiliar to me and I swallow down the nausea that roils in my stomach. In the dim light, I can make out a large chest of drawers pushed against the wall, the top of it free of any clutter, and a mirror hanging above it. A generic picture hangs on the opposite wall, and there is no sign of anything personal – no photos, no make-up, no clutter that tells me that this is someone’s bedroom. A spare room, then, and I seem to be alone, which is good, I think.
The same thought drifts through my mind as when I woke, that something happened last night, something that makes me feel somehow dirty and indecent. Scratching at my arms, I roll on to my back before pushing the duvet away from my clammy face, sweat making my hair stick to my forehead. The touch of fabric against my skin makes me stop for a moment, pausing in my quest to get comfortable, that and the fact that every muscle in my body seems to hurt. Sliding a hand under the covers I feel around – yes, my top is still on. No bottoms though, the fabric against my bare legs is that of the cotton sheets I’m lying on, not my trousers, or pyjama bottoms.
Something bad happened. My heart starts to hammer in my chest as I run my hand over my thighs, wincing at the sharp pain that lances me. Frowning, I push the duvet down, exposing my lower half to the warm air emitted from a large radiator under the window, and struggle my way into a sitting position. Slowly, Rachel, go slowly. As I push up on my elbows to shove my way up the pillows behind me, a surge of saliva spurts into my mouth and I swallow hard, desperate not to be sick. The thumping in my head accelerates and black dots dance at the corners of my eyes.
Closing my eyes again I wait a moment, drawing in a ragged deep breath and letting it out slowly. I’ve never had a hangover like this before. The nausea fades, and I run my hands over my lower half again, the skin on the inside of my thighs feeling bruised and sore. I slide my hands between my legs, and my heart beat doubles as I realize the bruised, raw feeling extends to there too. Oh, God. I lean back against the cool of the pillow, eyes closed again against the watery light, trying my hardest to remember what happened last night. There’s nothing, not a single thing that I can hook my memory on, just that uncertain feeling that something happened to me last night. It’s like there’s a gaping hole in my memory, a black bottomless pit that has sucked away any recollection of the previous evening. Gareth. What about Gareth? Where is he? I have to get home. I have to see Gareth; he’ll be worried (angry?) that I didn’t come home last night.
Steeling myself, I swing my legs round and out from underneath the duvet, pressing my feet to the floor as dizziness washes over me. My mouth is dry, so dry it hurts to swallow. Spying a plastic water bottle on the floor, half-hidden under the bed, I lean over, another wave of nausea making my mouth water, and take a sip. It tastes stale and dusty, as though it has been there for a long time, but it relieves the scratchiness of my throat, squashing down the bile that sits at the back of it. Placing the bottle back down on the floor, the sleeve of my top rides up to reveal a thick, purple bruise on the underside of my bicep. I poke at it, hissing as the tender skin shrieks out at my touch, the muscle sore and delicate. I wrap my fingers around my arm and see that the bruise is a perfect thumbprint, as though someone has grabbed me roughly. Remember, Rachel.
I slide my body slowly down the bed frame until I have sunk onto the immaculate carpet, the thick pile tickling the undersides of my bare thighs, my head pounding in time to a rhythm that no one else can hear. Scrubbing my hands over my eyes, I take a deep breath and look up – I am naked from the waist down, and that needs to be rectified before I can go anywhere. I need to get out of here. Something flutters in my stomach at the thought of the door opening and someone walking in, finding me like this, half naked and vulnerable. Getting to my knees, and squashing down the horrid, shameful thoughts that lurk at the outskirts of my mind at the soreness in my thighs, I crawl towards a tangled mass of black, bunched into the corner of the room, against the mahogany of the chest of drawers. Reaching out a hand, I pull the bundle towards me, unravelling it to reveal my black wet-look leggings. Thank God. Relief floods my veins as I recognize the snarl of black fabric as my own clothing, but that fades as I shake them out, searching for my underwear. It’s not there. I turn the leggings inside out and back again, hoping that I’ve pulled everything off in a drunken state last night, but my underwear is definitely missing.
And are you sure that YOU took them off, Rachel? A stern voice whispers at the back of my mind, the bruising on your thighs … the fact that you can’t remember anything … what does that tell you? I hunch forward over the bundle of cloth in my arms, fighting back tears and the ever-present urge to throw up. What the hell happened to me last night? What did I do? And who else was involved?
On shaking legs, now clad in yesterday’s leggings, the plasticky fabric clinging uncomfortably to my clammy skin, I gently push open the bedroom door and venture out into the hallway. The murmur of low voices wafts up the stairs towards me, uncertainty making me waver on the landing, not wanting to go and face whoever is down there. At least now though, I have some idea of who it will be – a family portrait hangs at the top of the stairs, and I recognize the tiled hallway and stained-glass windows of the front door below. It’s a house that I’ve only ever visited occasionally, and I’ve never ventured upstairs, which goes a long way towards explaining why I was confused when I woke up this morning. White Christmas lights glitter around the front door, and the scent of pine from the Christmas garland that circles the banister catches at the back of my throat. A tacky silver banner hangs drunkenly across the wall of the entrance hall, loudly proclaiming for all to have a ‘Happy New Year’. The glitter of the lights makes me dizzy and I squeeze my eyes closed for a moment, gripped by vertigo, certain I am about to lose my footing and tumble down the stairs. The dizziness passes, and slowly I make my descent, one hand brushing the wall to keep my balance, as I still feel ridiculously hungover – more than I would ever have expected, the insistent throbbing in my temples making me long for my own bed, and the safe comfort of my own home. My silver sandals dangle from the other hand, found in the opposite corner of the bedroom much to my relief, although I think I would have walked barefoot if necessary.
As I reach the hallway, the tiles almost painfully cold beneath my bare feet, the chatter of voices gets louder, as though a door has been opened. I scoot across the cold tiles into the front room, where all the evidence of a party lies, scattered and ground into the carpet. A Christmas tree, looking worse for wear now, its needles dropping and littering the carpet, shines gaudily in the corner of the room, almost seeming out of place in the grim aftermath of what must have been a raucous party. Several empty wine bottles line the mantelpiece, and glasses litter the coffee table, some empty, some with the dregs of boozy Christmas drinks in the bottom. The table is usually polished to a shine, but now it is marred with glass rings on the wood, crumpled napkins, and several paper plates with the remains of buffet food smeared over them. I fight back the nausea that rises at the sight of left-over canapés, the faint smell of warm seafood hitting the back of my throat. A hefty splash of red wine scars the cream rug in front of the still smouldering open fire, and there are tiny shards of glass glinting on the hearth, where someone has made a drunken attempt to sweep away a broken wine glass. I breathe lightly through my mouth, as the scent of red wine and a hint of stale smoke rises up from the damaged rug. The curtains that line the wide front bay window have been left open, and wintry sunlight glints on a frost-covered garden, watery rays streaming in and highlighting the dust motes that dance in the air.
Turning away from the window, I catch sight of myself in the mirror that hangs above the fireplace, and double take; sure at first that someone else is in the room with me, my reflection looks so unfamiliar in that fleeting glimpse. Stepping closer, avoiding the still damp wine stain, I peer into the glass. I was obviously one of those partaking in the red wine last night – a faint purple stain marks my lips. I run my tongue over my teeth, cringing at the furry feel of them. My face is pale, my long, dark hair framing it in a tangled mess. I run my fingers through in an attempt to smooth it. My eyes look too big for my face, ringed as they are by dark circles. In short, if I thought I felt like shit, I look worse. My belly rolls over as the scent of frying bacon hits my nostrils, and I bend to slide my sandals on to my feet, intent on leaving and getting home before anyone realizes I’m still here.
‘Rachel!’ A deep, hearty voice behind me almost makes me overbalance, one sandal on, as I wobble precariously on the other foot.
‘Neil.’ I place my foot back down on the floor, the bruises twinging at the strain in my thigh, and inwardly sigh at not getting out before I was seen, unwilling to engage in conversation when I am so unsure of the events of the previous evening. ‘Sorry, I was just …’
‘I didn’t know you were still here!’ Jovial, and with no hint of a hangover, Neil grins at me, and gestures towards the kitchen. ‘We wondered where you got to last night … end up in the spare room, did you? Come on through, Liz is in the kitchen, and I’ve got coffee and bacon on the go.’
My stomach gives another undulating roll at the thought of the greasy, salty meat. I give a small shake of my head and open my mouth to say, ‘I’m sorry, I should go,’ but Neil holds out an arm and gestures for me to go first, and despite the ache in my head, the rolling nausea in my stomach, and the underlying fear that streaks through my nerve endings thanks to my black hole memory, I have no option other than to walk across the cold, tiled floor into the kitchen. I have obviously stayed here without my hosts knowing – so who undressed me? I remove the one silver sandal that I’m wearing and pad through into the open plan kitchen dining area, the bright sunshine that pours in through the patio doors at the back of the room making me feel even more nauseous, if that’s at all possible. My neighbour, Liz, sits at the kitchen table, sipping intermittently from a travel mug that sits on a coaster in front of her. She turns as I enter the room.
‘Look who I found.’ Neil pulls out a kitchen chair and motions to me to sit down, before walking over to the hob and flicking the gas on. He dumps more bacon in the pan and I have to swallow back the saliva that fills my mouth.
‘Rachel!’ Liz smiles and waggles her fingers in my direction. I slide into the chair next to her – she smells of bacon fat and stale coffee, and I have to hold my breath as she gets close to me. ‘How are you feeling this morning? A little worse for wear?’ She chuckles, but her face is pale and devoid of make-up, unusually for her. ‘I think we all are. Some party, eh?’
‘Yes. Some party.’ I shift uncomfortably on the kitchen chair, the hard wood of the seat pressing against my bruises.
‘Bacon sandwich?’ Neil holds out a plate to me, and I try and fail to stop myself from recoiling. ‘No New Year’s diet actually starts on New Year’s Day, does it?’
‘No, thank you. Could I just have a glass of water, please?’ I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not sure I could keep the sandwich down if I ate it. My throat is still painfully dry, and I feel as though my entire body is craving a cold glass of icy water.
‘Here.’ Liz fills a glass from the water dispenser built into the fridge, her fingers leaving a trail in the condensation on the surface as she hands it to me, and as I reach out to take it from her, I get a flashback. Last night, Liz opening the door to me, a glass in her hand, the smile on her face much the same as it is now – slightly smug, a mildly boozy air about her. I feel the frosty air on my bare arms, as she opens the door and pulls me inside; warm, sweaty air enveloping me, the beat of the music – something Christmassy? An old song, perhaps – thumping through the house. The smell of cloves and woodsmoke in the air – Liz has the open fire lit, even though the house is sweltering. I shake my head to clear the image, setting the bells clanging inside again, and sip at the water.
‘Thank you … for letting me stay, I mean.’ I sip again at the water, as Liz pulls a chair out across the table from me and sits back down. I try not to wince at the harsh scraping noise the chair makes as she drags it across the tiles. Neil hums under his breath as he slaps bacon between two slices of bread and drops the plate in front of Liz. ‘I didn’t mean to impose.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly, you’re not imposing.’ Liz takes a bite of her bacon sandwich, before dropping a Berocca tablet into her own glass of water. She offers the packet to me and I take one, gratefully, dropping it into my glass and watching the bubbles start to erupt. ‘I didn’t realize you’d stayed to be honest; I thought you must have left with Gareth.’ Oh shit. Gareth. He’s going to be furious, I should imagine.
‘Well, thank you. For the hospitality, I mean. I don’t really remember going to bed.’ I watch her carefully, hoping that she’ll tell me who it was that must have helped me upstairs. Who bruised my arms, and my thighs, and … worse? And did I go willingly? Liz gives nothing away, sipping at her travel mug and still munching on her sandwich, taking each bite with relish.
‘God, I don’t think many of us do.’ She gives a huff of laughter through a mouthful of food, a stray crumb flying from her mouth and landing on her plate. It makes me feel sick. ‘Never let it be said that the Greenes don’t know how to throw a party.’
‘Right.’ I look away, wanting to ask her if she saw anything, but not wanting at the same time, afraid of what she might say. ‘Was I … was I bad? Like, drunk?’
‘Oh darling, we were all tipsy. I don’t remember you doing anything you shouldn’t have, if that’s what you mean. Gareth left early, and you wanted to stay for another drink, no harm in that. It was New Year’s Eve, after all.’ She pushes her plate to one side, and makes to take my hand but I pull away, grabbing at my glass of water. No harm. Only, I think maybe there might have been.
‘It’s bloody New Year! Gareth needs to lighten up,’ Neil says, as he slides his own sandwich onto a plate. ‘Rachel, it’s lovely to see you, and if you’re sure I can’t tempt you with my fried pig slices, I’m going to slope off and watch last night’s Hootenanny.’
I wait for Neil to leave the room, headed for Jools Holland and a mild food coma if the amount of food on his plate is anything to go by, before I speak again.
‘Did we … did we argue, do you know? Me and Gareth?’ I pick at the skin around my nails as I ask, not wanting to make eye contact with Liz, as I feel as though I’m confessing to being absolutely hammered last night. You’re a disgrace. The words float through my mind, spoken by someone else, an unseen, unknown someone, and I feel a hot flush of shame. ‘I know he must have left without me, but I just wondered if we’d had a disagreement about things and that’s why he left.’ I raise my eyes to look at her, as she sips from her travel mug again, gripping it tightly in her hands as if afraid I might snatch it away.
‘No, not that I’m aware of,’ Liz says briskly, but her eyes slide away from mine, and I get the feeling that maybe she’s not telling me something. ‘He’s probably at home wondering where you are.’
‘Oh God, probably. I need to go. Thank you for … everything.’ The urge to leave overwhelms me and I push back the chair roughly, slipping my sandals back onto my feet, the straps rubbing across the top of my foot. Startled, Liz gets to her feet but I hurry out of the front door before she can speak again, calling out a goodbye to Neil, and step out into the cold January air. Frost glitters on the front path, and I carefully make my way across the square to my own house, where I can make out the glow of the Christmas tree lights through the front window, calling me home. Home, to Gareth. Hoping that he can shed some light on what happened last night – why I can’t remember anything … and why my body feels as though something, or someone has broken into the very core of my being.
2 (#ulink_fec633b7-4e51-5fd5-831b-221f795036bd)
As I walk up my own front path, the chill morning air making my exposed toes shriek with the cold, I realize that I don’t have a door key. My heart sinks at the thought of having to ring the bell and not only face Gareth’s wrath at not coming home, but also waking him up. Gently I press down on the door handle, sighing with relief when it gives under the pressure. I slide in through the door, closing it on a whisper behind me. Maybe if I can make it into the front room without being seen and get my shoes off, Gareth will just think I spent the night on the couch. I’m not sure why I feel like this is the best course of action, maybe because after everything that has happened between us over the past few months I doubt if he’s likely to believe that I spent the night at Liz’s, alone. I desperately want to avoid us having another row – I don’t want to start the New Year with us fighting. And I don’t know right now if he’ll believe me when I tell him that I don’t know what happened last night.
I blink back the hot tears that sting my eyes and pull off my shoes, before I push open the door to the living room. As I step into the room, Gareth stands from where he has obviously been sitting on the couch, waiting for me. He looks tired, the skin around his eyes grey and wrinkled, worry pulling at the corners of his mouth. He still wears the shirt and jeans that he pulled on to wear to the party.
‘You decided to come home then.’ His voice is flat, his eyes cold. ‘That’s good of you.’
‘Please, Gareth,’ I force the words out, too tired and feeling far too fragile to be able to argue with him right now, not when I can barely stand up straight. ‘Can we talk about this later?’
‘Later? Are you kidding me?’ As the level of his voice rises, so does the pounding at my temples, and once again I have to fight the urge to be sick. ‘Rachel, you don’t get to stay out all night, especially after what you’ve done, and then tell me we’ll talk about it later.’ He snorts in disgust. ‘Look at the state of you, you’re a disgrace.’ His words sting, just as they are supposed to, and I close my eyes against the nausea that the words induce.
‘Look, I didn’t stay out on purpose, OK?’ I rest a hand on the back of the couch, to steady myself, the heightened emotion making me feel dizzy. ‘I was at Liz’s, I swear. I … I stayed in the spare room. Please, Gareth, I don’t want to argue.’
‘Oh right, that’s OK then, isn’t it?’ He steps towards me, a flash of anger in his eyes, and I feel ever so slightly afraid of him at that point, afraid that he’s so angry he’ll go one step further than just shouting at me. When he speaks again, his voice is low, the words catching in his throat, and it’s as if all the rage has suddenly drained out of him. ‘I’m not an idiot, Rachel.’
‘You can ask her!’ I take a step backwards, stumbling slightly as I pull my hand away from the couch, dizziness making me lose my footing. I close my eyes briefly, wanting the world to stop for just a second. ‘I swear to you, Gareth, I stayed at Liz’s. On my own.’ I push away the thought of the soreness in my thighs, the bruise on my upper arms, the layer of fear that sits just under my skin, jangling my nerves and making me afraid to remember.
‘You said you were going to stay for one more drink, Rachel. That was just after midnight, and now you’re only just getting home, ten hours later.’ Gareth raises his eyes to mine and I am shocked to see they are bloodshot and raw, as though he’s been crying. ‘What the hell am I supposed to think? My wife stays out all night, with no explanation, and I’m supposed to just be OK with it?’ Before I can answer he speaks again, his voice hard once more, the flinty edges of his words scraping at my nerves. ‘I saw Ted there, Rachel. Don’t take me for a fool.’
‘Ted?’ Confused, I try to think, did I see Ted? Was Ted there? Nothing, I can’t remember anything, just that gaping black void and a sense of vulnerability. ‘What does Ted have to do with things, Gareth? I told you, anything between Ted and me is over, it’s been over for weeks.’ He huffs out a noise that sounds like laughter, but isn’t, cut with a sharp, bitter edge, before pushing past me towards the kitchen. Angry, confused, and desperate to clear this up so I can just go and lie down and try to get things straight in my head, I follow him as he stalks over to the work surface and snatches up his phone.
‘Gareth, please. Why would I lie to you? I told you it was over with Ted, we agreed that we’d try and make this work, so why would I jeopardize it? I chose you, Gareth.’ I want to reach out to him, but he bristles with animosity, so instead I tug my sleeves down over my hands. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come home, I slept in the spare room at Liz and Neil’s house, I swear.’
‘Then why didn’t you answer your phone?’ Gareth throws his phone across the kitchen table at me and I fumble to make the catch, almost dropping it. Swiping across the screen I see the unanswered calls and text messages that he’s sent to my phone over the course of the previous evening.
‘I …’ I lay his phone down and run my hands over my hips, even though I know the cheap, tacky leggings don’t have any pockets, and my phone isn’t in there. It hasn’t even crossed my mind to think about my phone, so intent was I on getting home to Gareth. ‘I don’t have my phone; I don’t know where it is. I must have lost it.’ I picture the room I woke up in, Liz’s spare room, but I don’t recall seeing my phone anywhere – definitely not in the jumble of my clothes that I found on the bedroom floor.
‘You had it last night. I asked you, before I left, if you had your phone and you waved it at me. So, if you had it then, where is it now?’ He folds his arms across his chest and waits for me to answer.
‘I told you, I don’t know. I must have dropped it somewhere at the party. I’ll call Liz and ask her if she’s seen it.’ I move towards the landline phone that hangs on the kitchen wall, before I remember that I don’t know Liz’s number, not off by heart. It’s stored in my mobile, like everybody else’s.
‘Leave it, Rachel. I don’t want to hear any more, OK?’ Gareth sighs, and scrubs his hands over his face, wearily. ‘You can tell me whatever you like, stories about staying at Liz’s or whatever, but I don’t want to hear it. Not now. Did you even stop to think about Robbie? About what he might think about you staying out all night?’
‘Where is he?’ Guilt creeps over me in a hot wash, as I realize that Robbie, my boy, the one thing that has kept me going through all of this with Gareth and Ted, will know that I didn’t come home last night. My cheeks burn with shame. ‘Is he home?’ I don’t want him to hear us arguing – he might be eighteen, but he’s had to listen to us rowing for long enough, no matter how hard I’ve tried to protect him from it. When Gareth and I agreed to make this work between us, I swore to Robbie that the rows were over.
‘No, he’s not home. He stayed at Sean’s last night, if you remember.’ Gareth turns away and busies himself by putting the kettle on and I realize this is also eating away at him. Not only did I not come home, but also Robbie stayed at Sean’s last night – at Ted’s, if you want to get technical about it.
‘Sean’s been his best friend since primary school, Gareth, you can’t begrudge him spending time with him just because of what happened.’
‘Oh, you mean when you decided your best course of action was a rampant affair with Sean’s father, you mean?’ Gareth slams a mug down on the counter and whirls round to face me, a deep red flush burning its way up his neck. ‘Just fuck off, Rachel. You can’t tell me how to feel, or how to act when you prance around doing whatever you want, not caring if you make me look stupid, not giving a damn if people think you’re a whore.’ On that last, spiteful word, one that scorches and burns, he slams his hand down on the table and I flinch.
‘I can’t talk to you right now,’ I whisper, my whole body aching as though I have the flu, my head thumping and the fear and disgust that I first felt upon waking beginning to flood through my veins again. I don’t wait to hear if he answers, just run from the room and upstairs to the bathroom, where I lock myself in and let the tears come.
Hot water thunders into the bathtub, and I move slowly and cautiously, aware of the muscles that twinge and pull with every movement I make as I pour in my own blend of aromatherapy oils and reach for a clean towel. I pull the leggings from my body, peeling them away from my skin, leaving my exposed legs feeling clammy and sweaty, before throwing them towards the laundry basket that sits next to the shower. They miss, landing in a heap on the bathroom floor, looking much the same as they did screwed up on the bedroom floor at Liz’s. Sighing, I bend to pick them up, the sudden movement jarring my head and making bile rise in the back of my throat. Shoving the leggings deep down into the basket I have to move quickly to reach the toilet, before the vomit that has been threatening all morning rises up, quickly, urgently, scorching the back of my throat as I throw up the glass of water and anything else that was in my stomach, until finally, I crawl into the bathtub, exhausted and weeping.
I know that something happened last night at Liz’s party … I rotate my arm, brushing away the bubbles that cling to it, in order to inspect the bruise on my bicep. It’s a deep, angry purple colour, sore and tender, clearly the result of someone holding me far too tightly, but who? And what did I do? Did I upset someone? No. I shake my head; despite the way it seems to make my brain roll around inside my skull. My fingers slide into the warm water, smoothing over the skin on my inner thighs. I clear a hole in the bubbles, raising my leg up and out of the water, flinching at the chill air that hits my skin. Peering closely, I can see now that there is more bruising to the inside of my thigh, round greenish-purple dabs, almost like fingerprints, that hurt when I press lightly on them. Jesus.
Sliding my legs back into the water, hiding the bruises from sight, I lay my head back against the cold enamel of the bath, hot tears stinging my eyes. Think, Rachel, you have to remember. Taking a deep breath, I sniff away the tears and try to pull myself together. The only way to deal with this is to try and remember what happened yesterday – then I can decide how best to move forward. Closing my eyes, I let out the breath I’ve been holding and try to concentrate. I remember getting ready…Gareth was in the shower, and I was drying my hair in front of the bedroom mirror, Radio X playing loudly in the background, and I remember feeling annoyed by one flick of a curl that I couldn’t get to lie flat. Gareth came in from the shower, towel wrapped tightly about his waist, smelling of Hugo Boss aftershave and the fresh scent of shaving gel. He had tutted at my singing, as I wailed along to ‘Boys Don’t Cry’ by The Cure, and I remember feeling secretly relieved that he was in a good mood, seeing as he’d spent most of the afternoon complaining that he didn’t want to go to the party.
‘Why are you tutting?’ I had grinned at him in the mirror, while putting the finishing touches to my hair. ‘Don’t you like my singing?’
‘Ha.’ Gareth looked up from buttoning his shirt. ‘Let’s just say … I didn’t marry you for your voice. You have far better talents than that.’
The unexpected compliment had brought tears to my eyes, and I had blinked them away quickly before my mascara could run.
‘I could say the same for you,’ I stood up, pushing the chair away from the mirror, to find Gareth had crossed the room and was standing directly behind me.
‘You look lovely … really beautiful.’ He had looked down at me, brushing that stubborn curl that just wouldn’t lie properly away from my forehead, before giving me a soft kiss on the lips, not even minding my pink lip gloss. ‘Just, please … and I’m begging you, now … don’t sing any more.’
I had swatted him on the arm, laughing, feeling buoyant and as though maybe, just maybe, we could put things behind us. I remember shivering as we crossed the green, on our way to the party, too stubborn to wear a coat, or a jacket, as it would have ruined my outfit and Gareth pulling me into him to keep warm, the huff of his breath on my hair as he laughed at me for being so ridiculous.
So, we were OK, at least when we set off for the party. Tears sting my eyes again, at the difference in Gareth’s tone this morning when I arrived home. Another memory swims into view – the one that came to mind earlier this morning – Liz, pulling the door open and smiling at me, the faint scent of booze on her breath as she leaned in to kiss me on the cheek, Neil’s raucous laugh in the background. That’s all I remember. The rest of the night is just a blank, a darkness so thick and dense that I don’t feel as though I’ll ever see through it. My head feels packed full of cotton wool, fuzzy and blurry, as I wash myself slowly and deliberately, scrubbing every inch of my exposed skin, until I feel raw and sensitive, my usually pale skin shining a vivid pink as I roughly towel myself dry. My fingers skim over my inner thighs again, and I wince, unable to stop myself from pressing down on the bruising that mars the otherwise unblemished skin.
Pulling on clean pyjamas, I climb into bed, embracing the cool of the cotton and the darkness provided by the blackout blinds, trying to think rationally through what I do know. What happened? Did I go upstairs willingly with someone and let them do this to me? No, surely not. Was I angry with Gareth – did we fight? Not that I can remember – I remember feeling happy, as we walked over to the party. I didn’t have that feeling this morning, the one that I’ve woken up to so many times lately – that prickly, miserable feeling that tells me Gareth and I went to bed on an argument. And even if we had argued, I wouldn’t have slept with someone else at the party to get back at him. I wouldn’t have slept with someone else willingly, not after what happened with Ted, and the hurt and upset that caused.
As I try to fall over the edge into sleep I fail miserably, as I attempt to force away the only other answer I can come up with as to what happened at the party last night. The idea clings stubbornly, like a stain that’ll never wash out, which is appropriate really, and every time the words cross my mind I feel that same wave of nausea. Something bad happened. Someone did this to me – someone hurt me, and did things to me against my will. Someone raped me.
3 (#ulink_beb13edd-8411-5a8e-82dc-a102967375f5)
AUGUST – FOUR MONTHS BEFORE THE PARTY
I catch sight of Gareth’s scowling face in the mirror as I lean in to smack my lips together, evening out the pink lipstick that stains them. He is frowning as he buttons up his shirt, his displeasure written across his face, and I sigh.
‘Please, Gareth, I know you’re not keen, but will you try and enjoy today? It’s a barbecue, for heaven’s sake, it’s supposed to be fun.’ Flicking my hair over my shoulders and smoothing the flyaway ends down, I stand, ready to head downstairs and put the finishing touches to the food. It’s our turn to host the cul-de-sac’s annual summer barbecue, much to Gareth’s horror.
‘I’ve got things to sort out – work to finish – this is the last thing I want to do this afternoon. You could have spoken to me before you agreed to it,’ Gareth grumbles, shoving his feet into deck shoes, before marching over to the bedroom door and shouting for Robbie to get a move on.
‘He’s nearly ready.’ I lay a hand gently on his shoulder, wanting to soothe him a little, or at least make him a little less fractious. If we’re going to spend the afternoon and into the evening with the rest of our friends and neighbours on the street, then I want to him to at least be civil, even if he can’t completely shake off the tension that seems to surround him lately. ‘Look, I know it’s not ideal, us hosting the barbecue when you’re so busy with work, but look at it this way – at least it won’t be our turn to host it for a few years after today.’ I give him a smile, but he just rolls his eyes.
‘OK. Let’s get on with it. Hopefully the sooner people get here, the sooner they’ll leave.’ Gareth shrugs my hand off his shoulder and thunders down the stairs, leaving me with a familiar feeling of rejection, one that seems to be all too common at the moment.
The afternoon is warm, the sky a perfect, deep blue, and I’ve made a huge pitcher of sangria that is going down a little too well. I am hot and exhausted by mid-afternoon, having spent much of my time dashing backwards and forwards between the barbecue area and the kitchen, and topping up everybody’s drinks. Gareth has spent the afternoon hunched over the grill, flipping burgers and shouting instructions to me every five minutes, somehow managing to avoid too much interaction with our guests. I’m pretty sure that none of them have picked up on the tension between us, but Lord knows I could do with a drink. Satisfied that everyone is happy for a moment, I double check Gareth has a drink before sliding into the garden chair next to Amy, my best friend. She smiles as she looks up and holds her glass out for me to top up from the jug I’ve brought out from the kitchen.
‘Hey. How’s things?’ She glances over to where Gareth now stands with Neil at the barbecue, beer in hand and seemingly in a better mood, and raises her eyebrows at me.
‘Hmmm. Could be better.’ I take a large sip of the sangria, wincing slightly at the burn of the brandy on my tongue, still feeling raw and ever so slightly hurt by the way Gareth spoke to me before people arrived. We haven’t had an opportunity to speak at all since people got here, apart from his barking instructions at me, and last time I looked he’d still got that frown on his face. ‘He’s got the arse because he doesn’t want to be hosting today.’
‘He seemed OK when I arrived? Well, not miserable anyway.’ Amy looks at me quizzically and I sigh inwardly. Gareth has this knack of turning on the charm when it suits him. No one would believe that he doesn’t actually want any of them to be here, or that we’d had a disagreement before they arrived, he hides it so well, coming across as good old Gareth, so friendly and charming. What a guy.
‘Believe me, he doesn’t want the neighbours to be here. He said he’s got things he should be doing – work, you know,’ I roll my eyes, ‘but it’s our turn. We argued about it before everyone arrived – he said that I shouldn’t have agreed to host, not without discussing it with him first, but what was I supposed to say? We couldn’t very well just say we weren’t doing it, not after everyone else has hosted.’
‘So things are still a bit difficult?’
‘So fucking difficult at times. It’s like a rollercoaster – sometimes he’s just … brilliant. The Gareth I married – funny, kind, the old Gareth, you know? He’ll do something unexpected, something that makes me think, oh, that’s why I love you. And then other times …’ I resist the urge to lay my head on Amy’s shoulder and cry. ‘Other times he’s just … impossible. Constantly in a foul temper, but when I ask him he tells me it’s none of my business, or that nothing is wrong. Either that or he just completely ignores me – literally, he just blanks me when I speak to him, just carries on staring at his phone. And then when he does speak to me, all we do is row. It’s awful for me – it must be hell for Robbie.’ I look over to where Robbie stands with his primary school best friend, Sean, and his father. There’s no sign of Angela, Sean’s mother. The West Marsham rumour mill has it that Ted and Angela are on the verge of splitting up – apparently, she’s been getting friendly with her yoga teacher – and the fact that she doesn’t seem to be spending much time with Ted at the moment is only fuelling the gossip. Robbie says something and they all laugh, Ted – Sean’s father – clapping Robbie on the arm. Ted obviously doesn’t seem to be too bothered by the rumours. Either that, or he has utter faith in Angela’s fidelity. Across from them, Gareth stands alone at the grill, his mouth set in a grim line. I incline my head towards him and Amy follows my gaze.
‘Ahhh. I see what you mean. I don’t know what to suggest – if he won’t talk to you properly, have you tried suggesting counselling?’
I drain my glass, letting out a bark of laughter.
‘Are you kidding? If he won’t talk to me, there’s no way he’ll even consider counselling. To be honest, Amy, Rob’s old enough now … sometimes I think it would be easier to leave him and just start again.’ Abruptly I get to my feet, under the pretence of finding a fresh pitcher of sangria, but in reality, it’s so Amy doesn’t see the tears that spring to my eyes.
‘Rachel!’ Gareth’s voice cuts through my thoughts. ‘Little help here, please!’
I walk over, trying to keep a smile on my face as our guests look on, the empty pitcher dangling from one hand.
‘Can you get rid of these things, please?’ Gareth forces a smile, but you could cut the tension between us with a knife. He leans in close. ‘You did say you’d take the empty trays in to leave me some space.’
‘I was busy,’ I hiss, anxious not to let our guests overhear, ‘I’ve been trying to keep people entertained.’ I snatch up the trays, trying to balance them and the empty glass jug without anything crashing to the floor. Walking away, I don’t wait for Gareth to reply, knowing that whatever I say today won’t help things.
‘Here, let me.’ A voice stops me, and a warm hand lands on my wrist. I look up to see Ted. ‘You look like you’re about to overbalance.’
‘Thank you.’ I smile up at him, letting him take the top two trays and the jug. He walks away, towards the kitchen and I glance over to see if Gareth has noticed. He hasn’t.
I manage to relax a little after that, the tautness of my nerves loosening as the drink flows and the afternoon cools into early evening. Gareth also seems to be more like his old self, putting away the scowl that’s permanently fixed to his face lately and actually engaging with people, now that the food is cooked and he doesn’t have the excuse of the barbecue to hide behind. He still doesn’t speak to me, though, and before long I stop worrying about what he is doing and whether he is making an effort, and try to enjoy the party.
Robbie disappears after a little while, telling me he’s going to meet Courtney, a girl I know he has his eye on. I wish him luck and tell him to make sure he has a door key, before settling back in to conversation with Liz, Amy and Natalie, all of us gossiping and swapping stories. It is dusk when Jonno and Melody, the neighbours from two doors down arrive, Melody greeting me with a hug and Jonno greeting Gareth with a hearty clap on the back, a fug of alcohol already surrounding them as they squeeze into the circle of friends and neighbours that sit around the small bonfire Robbie lit before he left.
Staggering slightly as I get to my feet, the sangria I’ve been steadily drinking hitting me as I stand, I wander towards the kitchen intent on getting drinks for the new arrivals, as Liz greets them with boozy kisses and Neil forages under the cover of the grill to find them a leftover burger. I am humming slightly under my breath as I peer into the wine rack for another bottle of red, the alcohol firing a warm buzz through my veins, when someone grips me tightly by the arm. Shocked, I drop the glass I’m holding and it shatters across the kitchen floor.
‘Shit.’ I pull away, rubbing at my arm as Gareth appears beside me. ‘What the hell did you grab me for?’ Scowling, I open the cupboard under the sink and start rummaging around for a dustpan and brush.
‘Party’s over.’ Gareth pulls at my arm again as I stand, dustpan in hand. ‘Come on, it’s time to wrap it up. You’ve had enough to drink.’
‘What? No, the party isn’t over – Mel and Jonno have only just arrived! I need to clean this mess up. And I’m not drunk.’ I bend and start to sweep clumsily at the glass on the floor, but Gareth shifts so that he blocks my way. ‘Gareth, move, please. Someone could cut themselves.’
‘I said leave it. The party is over. You need to come out and help me tell everyone it’s time to go. Now.’ He leans down and pulls me upright, almost knocking me off balance into the broken glass, as I put out a hand to steady myself.
‘And I said no. Everyone is out there having a good time – everyone apart from you! I don’t know what the problem is Gareth, but I’ve just about had enough – do you realize that?’ My voice is raised, my throat thickening with tears of anger. ‘You’re unbearable at the moment, I don’t know what’s going on but …’
‘Keep your bloody voice down. There’s nothing going on. These people have had our hospitality all day – I said the party is finished, so let’s go out there and wrap it up.’ He grips my upper arm again and I tug away violently, alcohol and the slight buzz of fear making my stomach clench.
‘No. No, I’m not telling people to leave, it’s far too early.’ My palm throbs, and I look down to see a thin line of blood welling up.
‘Fine. If what these people think is more important to you than I am, that’s fine. You do what you want.’ With that he storms towards the front door, leaving me shocked and confused by his outburst, with no idea what has brought all of this on, before shouting after him.
‘Fuck you, Gareth!’
There is a light tap on the bathroom door as I lean over the sink, splashing cold water over my puffy, tear-stained face. I’ve picked a shard of glass out of my hand and managed to stop the bleeding, before dissolving into tears at the thought of Gareth storming out and having to deal with his bad mood when he decides to come back. Thinking it’s Amy checking up on me, I call out a soft, ‘Come in,’ before burying my wet face in a towel.
‘Are you OK?’ The voice isn’t the one I’m expecting to hear, and as I lower the towel I see Ted’s face peering round the doorframe at me, concern in his eyes.
‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Hanging the towel over the edge of the bath I turn back to the mirror, avoiding Ted’s gaze as I fuss at my fringe.
‘I didn’t mean to … barge in on you or anything. I just, well I overheard you and Gareth in the kitchen and I wanted to make sure you were OK. It looked like you’d cut yourself.’ Ted steps fully into the bathroom and gently pushes the door closed.
‘I did. I mean, it’s fine, just a scratch. Oh God, I’m sorry.’ Covering my face with my hands I swipe quickly at the tears that spring easily to my eyes, the way they do when you’ve been on a crying jag, made worse by Ted’s kindness and concern. ‘I’m so embarrassed, I didn’t realize anyone overheard us.’
‘Hey, shhh,’ Ted crosses the room in one easy stride and yanks a length of tissue paper from the holder, handing it to me as I start to sob.
‘I’m sorry,’ I hiccup again, scrubbing at my face with the tissue, but Ted pulls my hand away, his fingers closing easily around my wrist as he pulls me towards him. ‘Oh, God, I have to go out there and tell everyone they need to leave.’
‘I can do that. I’ll tell them that you’ve got a migraine and Gareth is looking after you. Don’t worry.’
I let out another hiccup-y sob at his kindness. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry, I can’t seem to …’
‘It’s OK, Rachel, you can cry if you want to.’ I bury my face in his shirt, inhaling the cool, fresh scent of his aftershave, something sharp and citrusy that makes me think of Italy, and a holiday we spent staying on a lemon grove. I stay there for a long moment, feeling the thud of my heart against his chest, as he breathes in and out, before I look up to see him staring down at me. Without thinking, without even trying to stop myself, I reach up on my tiptoes, planting my lips firmly against his. Holding my breath, I wait for him to pull away but he doesn’t, instead just moves his mouth against mine. I feel light-headed, the booze and the intoxicating smell of Ted’s aftershave making the room spin lightly and I hold tight to his shirt in a wave of dizziness.
‘What about Angela?’ I breathe, pulling back, my heart pounding in my chest. What about Gareth? Yes, I know it’s wrong, and I know that I am probably going to regret this in the morning when I wake up with a raging hangover, my head thumping and my mouth sour, but it’s been so long since Gareth has been anywhere near me that my skin is aflame by Ted’s touch, and I’m not sure what I’ll do if he stops.
‘She’s left. Angela and I aren’t together any more.’ Ted mutters, pulling me back towards him. Our mouths crush together and I can taste beer and cigarettes on his breath. It was just a kiss – at least, that’s what I try to tell myself after, when I wake the next morning feeling sick with shame. One drunken, unexpected kiss when I was feeling low, that eventually leads to so much more. That’s how it starts. That’s how I end up tangled in a dirty, sordid – and if I’m brutally honest – intoxicating, exciting, enjoyable affair with Ted Durand.
4 (#ulink_450d121b-4dbc-596a-99ad-075107322621)
JANUARY – NEW YEAR’S DAY
A dip in the mattress as somebody’s weight leans against the back of my leg pulls me from the uneasy doze I’ve fallen into. I’ve slept for a while – the light is almost gone, the bedroom swathed in darkness with just a faint orange glow from the streetlights outside – but it’s not been a restful sleep; dark images and shadowy thoughts exaggerated in my dreams. Turning from where I lay on my side, I roll over to see Robbie perched on the side of the bed. He leans over to switch on the bedside lamp and I squint slightly as the yellow warmth chases the last of the shadows from the room.
‘How are you feeling?’ He hands me a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol as I struggle my way into a sitting position, the duvet tangled around my legs.
‘Better,’ I lie, swallowing the pills with two huge gulps of water. The insistent thumping in my head starts up again as my brain protests at being upright, but the nausea seems to have subsided a little, so I’m not completely lying. ‘Where’s Dad?’
There is only silence from downstairs.
‘He’s gone out. He said you were up here sleeping it off, but when you didn’t come down for dinner I thought I’d just better check that you were OK.’
‘Dinner?’ I look at the clock on the bedside table, squinting at the numbers in the dim light. ‘Oh Rob, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late. Did you eat? I can get up now and make you something.’
‘No, Mum, it’s fine, honestly. Dad made a curry earlier – he said you always like a curry when you’re hungover. We saved you some.’ I give him a grateful smile, even though the thought of food makes my stomach roll.
‘And now Dad’s gone out?’ I frown, the chalky aftertaste of the pills thick on my tongue. ‘Did he take Thor for a walk?’ Thor, our ancient beagle, and possibly the most inappropriately named dog in England. A splatter of rain hits the bedroom window and I frown again, knowing how Thor hates to go out in the rain, and hates to go out in the dark even more.
‘No, I don’t think so. He just said he was going out. Look, Mum, are you OK? You look really pale.’
‘I’m fine, honestly. Just a little bit hungover, like Dad said.’ I can’t tell him the truth – not yet, anyway – that deep-seated maternal urge to protect my child from knowledge that will hurt him is in full swing. I smile to make the lie seem more like the truth, but my mind is whirring away in overdrive.
It’s New Year’s Day – where on earth would Gareth have gone? Surely everything is closed, it’s not like he’s got shopping to do. There is a little tickle at the back of my mind, a familiar one from the summer – the voice that whispered to me that maybe the reason why Gareth was so unbearable – snappy, irritable and secretive – was because he was having an affair. Then that makes me think about Ted, and the party, and what could have happened last night – no, not what could have, what did. My stomach turns over, and I have to swallow down the saliva that spurts into my mouth.
‘I could make you some tea?’ Robbie says tentatively, looking like a small boy again, and I wonder exactly what Gareth has told him about last night. Judging by Rob’s reaction to me, he thinks I’ve just overdone it on the wine and I’ve got a raging hangover.
‘That would be lovely. I’ll be down in a minute.’ Robbie leaves the room, thundering down the stairs like a baby elephant and I lie back on the cool pillows for a moment, before I force myself from the safety of the bed, the comfort of the bedroom, downstairs.
It’s almost midnight before Gareth comes home. Our roles are reversed, and this time it’s me sitting in the dark, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea, with Thor snoring at my feet. Robbie asked me if I minded him spending the night at Sean’s again tonight, and I told him to go, secretly relieved that he wouldn’t be home when Gareth came in, wouldn’t be there to hear what I have to say. My head feels less foggy now after my sleep, and the more I think about things the more I am convinced that whatever happened to me last night happened against my will. I wouldn’t have done that to Gareth – not after Ted, despite what people may think about me now, the thought of an affair never crossed my mind before Ted – and the fact that I can’t remember anything past the start of the evening fills me with terror, especially as I don’t think I drank that much. I hear the front door close, the lock engaging with a snick, and a few seconds later Gareth stealthily creeps into the living room, where I sit, waiting. He gasps as I flick the lamp on, clearly expecting me to be upstairs sleeping.
‘Shit, Rachel, you scared me.’ He holds one hand to his chest and I can imagine that, yes, I did scare him, sitting here in silence, in the dark. ‘Jesus, you look awful.’
‘Thanks.’ I am fully aware that I look dreadful – a glance in the hallway mirror as I made my way downstairs confirmed that for me. My hair is wild and frizzy, thanks to my falling asleep with it still wet after my bath, and my eyes are ringed with dark circles despite my nap. Now, I am sure, they are red-rimmed and puffy, as I’ve tried and failed to stop the tears that seem to leak in a constant stream, every time my thoughts turn to the previous evening. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I went for a drink. With Neil.’ He shuffles past Thor’s sleeping body and slips onto to the couch beside me. ‘I needed to get out for a bit … I had a lot to think about, you know?’ He takes a deep breath in, before he speaks again. ‘I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier.’
I lean down to stroke the dog, using him as the perfect excuse not to look at Gareth, just for a moment. I don’t know what to say in response, so I don’t say anything, not yet. Gareth fumbles for my hand, pulling it away from Thor and tucking it into his lap.
‘I spoke to Neil … asked him about last night. He told me that you stayed in their spare room. On your own.’ So, he can believe Neil, but not me. I squash the thought down, pushing it away to deal with it later. ‘So … I’m sorry. It’s just hard, you know? After everything that’s happened this year.’ He huffs a tiny puff of laughter, and I think I see a tear shining in the corner of his eye. ‘Last year. You know what I mean. After all the stuff with Ted, and us … I’m just finding it hard to trust you, and when you didn’t come home …’
‘Gareth, I need to tell you something.’ I talk over his words, not wanting to hear how he doesn’t believe me, not when I am about to tell him something that I desperately need him to believe, that I desperately need him to listen to, without questioning whether I’m being honest or not. ‘It’s important, I need you to listen to me.’
He stops talking and frowns at me, his hand tightening on mine, a warm comfortable squeeze that reminds me of the way he used to hold my hand, before we were married.
‘Gareth, last night … something happened. I think …’ I pause, my throat thickening so much that for a moment I struggle to get a breath and the sharp, bitter taste of panic floods my mouth. ‘I think someone raped me.’
As soon as I say the words hysteria washes over me, and I want to laugh at Gareth’s reaction. His mouth drops open and the blood drains from his face, leaving his skin pale and washed out.
‘What?’ He manages to force the words out, and as the hysteria leaves me I find that I am crying again. ‘Rachel … what do you mean? Someone … Jesus. Are you sure?’ Dropping my hand, he gets to his feet and starts pacing the living room floor, shoving his hand repeatedly through his hair. Thor squeaks indignantly as Gareth trips over his back half, before scuttling over to his basket to stay out of the way. I stand, drawing my dressing gown tightly around me until it digs into my waist, and step into the middle of the rug, hoping to stop Gareth’s frantic pacing. As he reaches me, I grab both of his hands in mine, pressing my palms against his skin.
‘No, I’m not sure. I think so. I don’t … Gareth, please listen to me.’
‘What happened, Rachel? Is this why you didn’t come home? Who did this to you?’
I shake my head, trying to deflect the torrent of questions. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know? Oh, Rach.’ Gareth pulls me towards him, wrapping his arms around me and I wince, aware that my wrists are sore too, I just didn’t realize earlier thanks to the heavier bruising on my upper arms. Tired, I rest my cheek against his chest for a moment, letting him hold me, before I look up at him. He smooths the hair away from my face. ‘What do you mean you don’t know? How can you not know? I don’t understand.’
I pull away, rubbing at my wrists and sit back down on the couch, my legs feeling strangely jelly-like.
‘I just … don’t know. I don’t remember. I remember getting to the party, Liz opening the door. Maybe having a glass of red wine?’ I look up at him and he gives a small nod, his face pale and his mouth pinched into a tight line. ‘Then I woke up in the spare room at the Greenes’ house, feeling like shit. Like, the worst hangover I’ve ever had. I don’t even know how I got home this morning, I felt so awful.’ I choke back a sob at the memory of coming to in Liz’s spare room.
‘But you think someone raped you?’ He kneels in front of me, the scent of stale beer on his breath wafting up as he speaks, making me feel sick. I smell a faint whiff of smoke on him, and know that he’s smoked a sneaky cigar with Neil.
‘Yes. My … I hurt. My thighs, at the top and … inside.’ Taking a deep breath, I slide the dressing gown off my shoulders to reveal the bruising at the top of my arms, the delicate skin underneath so purple, it’s almost black. ‘And I wouldn’t have done that to you, Gareth, not willingly, not after all we’ve been through.’
‘Fucking hell, Rachel.’ His gaze sliding away from my bruises, Gareth breathes out hard through his nose and I see the skin across his knuckles whiten as he clenches his fists. ‘And you have no idea who did this? No memory of it at all?’
I shake my head, fat drops hitting my knees and leaving wide, dark patches on the fabric of the dressing gown.
‘Nothing. It’s just black, like it’s been wiped from my brain. A black hole. I’ve tried and tried to think, to remember anything about the party, anyone that might have done this but I don’t know. I don’t know anything.’ I can barely swallow, my throat is so thick with tears and I am powerless to stop them from pouring down my cheeks, scalding as they drip from the end of my chin.
‘Oh God, Rachel, come here.’ Gareth pulls me to my feet and into his chest again, his arms tightening around me. The crush of his chest against mine takes my breath away, and for a moment I enjoy the sensation of not being able to draw breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I’m so fucking sorry that I left you there alone, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to protect you. I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have left you there on your own. I should have made you leave with me.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I mutter into his chest, despite feeling that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t left me there, if I hadn’t been so stubborn, apparently, about staying. ‘I don’t know what to do, Gareth. I don’t know how to deal with this.’ Fear rises up and I pull away slightly, fighting to catch my breath, black spots dancing at the corner of my vision, panic making my heart beat frantically in my chest like a caged bird.
‘We’re going to the police,’ his voice is firm, ‘and we’re going to let them catch the bastard that did this.’
5 (#ulink_14e20136-a8b2-58ee-8bab-31165dc845b1)
I stare blankly out of the car window, as the rain that hasn’t stopped since yesterday evening lashes against the glass. Every now and again Gareth reaches over from the driving seat to pat my knee or squeeze my hand but I don’t give him any response. I feel numb, unable to return his gestures, just wanting to get the whole thing over and done with. Last night, when he said he wanted to call the police, I felt my breath freeze in my lungs, the thought of having to tell people – people who aren’t Gareth, people who have no idea who I really am – what actually happened, making panic swarm in my belly like a thousand angry bees.
‘No, I can’t,’ I’d said, backing away from him and tying the dressing gown cord so tightly that I felt it cut into my waist.
‘Rachel, you have to, you can’t let whoever did this get away with it.’ He’d reached for me, but I had flinched from him and he’d stared at me, hurt and confused. ‘I’m going to call them, they need to know.’
‘No, Gareth, please, I don’t want them to know … I can’t …’ The words died in my throat as he reached for the phone and I shoved past him, headed for the safety of the bedroom. He hadn’t phoned them, not then, but this morning when I woke up from a fitful sleep he was standing over me, phone in hand, ready to make the call. Now, I find myself sullen and angry, slumped in the passenger seat on the way to meet a police officer at the Kingsnorth rape suite.
‘We’re here.’ Gareth rests his hand gently on mine, before switching the ignition off and I ignore him, still gazing out of the window as the rain makes the puddles leap and dance with splashes. ‘Rachel? Come on, I’ll be with you the whole time. I won’t let you do this on your own, I promise.’
I turn to face him, exhaustion making my movements slow and clumsy, but I don’t have the words to say how I’m feeling. Instead, I silently turn back and fumble for the door handle, pretending that I don’t hear his little exhalation of relief that I am finally doing as I am told.
The building that houses the police station is a sprawling, double storey structure masked from the outside world by a short driveway lined with trees, quaint compared to the usual expectation of a police station. As I step out of the car and look towards the road, I realize I have driven past it hundreds of times on my way to drop Robbie off at school, without ever considering what goes on inside. I wait, scuffing the gravel with the toe of my shoe as the rain soaks my hair, for Gareth to lock the car unwilling to move even a step towards the building on my own.
‘OK?’ Gareth’s eyes search my face, as he tucks the slip of paper he wrote the police station address on into his back pocket, before reaching for my hand. I give a small nod, lying again, as I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready for this. We walk slowly up the path together towards the door over which hangs a sign for reception. I stumble at the threshold, almost as though my feet don’t want to carry me over, but I force myself onwards, following Gareth to the front desk. He speaks in a low voice to the woman there, her eyes drifting towards me as he talks, and I turn away, not wanting to see pity on her face. It’s not long before a slightly built blonde woman appears in my eye line, a small smile on her face showing off the gap between her two front teeth.
‘Rachel?’ She asks, and I nod. ‘I’m Carrie – do you want to follow me?’ I get slowly to my feet, casting a panicked look back at Gareth. ‘Oh, your husband can come too, if that’s what you’d like?’ I nod again and take Gareth’s hand gratefully, his palm warm against my cold skin, as he stands to follow Carrie though a set of double doors and along the corridor to a small room with a low couch either side of a coffee table with a fake vase of flowers standing on it. It feels homely and it throws me for a second – I somehow thought I would have to give a statement, be questioned or whatever, in an interview room.
‘Have a seat.’ Carrie sinks down onto one couch and Gareth and I follow suit, leaning in to one another on the opposite couch. ‘Now, Rachel, I’m what they call a SOLO – sexual offence liaison officer – I’m specially trained to help you with what you’ve experienced, OK? I know you’re frightened, but I’m here to do the very best that I can to help you.’
‘OK.’ I let out a shaky breath that I didn’t realize I was holding and wiggle my toes in the ends of my shoes, pressing them into the beige carpet tiles.
‘I’ll take a statement from you, and if it’s OK we’ll do a medical examination. Trust me, Rachel, we will do everything we can to make this as less stressful as we can for you.’ Carrie reaches over and pats my hand and I find I am already fighting back tears before I even begin to make the statement. ‘Can you take me through that evening – the evening of December thirty-first?’
‘I don’t remember very much. Only arriving at the party, maybe having a drink or two? It was hot in there. Busy.’ I glance at Gareth who is chewing on the inside of his lip.
‘Would you rather do this on your own, Rachel?’ Carrie sees my glance and follows my gaze over to Gareth.
‘No,’ I say hastily, not wanting to be alone with her, afraid of the questions that she might ask me. ‘It’s fine. I just can’t remember anything about that night. Not past the first hour or so of the party.’
‘Do you think there’s a possibility that something could have been put into your drink?’ Carrie asks, her pen scratching away at the notepad in front of her.
‘I … maybe. I don’t know.’
‘How did you feel when you woke up?’ Carrie asks me gently, and Gareth gives my knee a tiny squeeze, letting me know he’s still there.
‘Rough. Really, really poorly. Like the worst hangover I’d ever had. Everything was a bit foggy … I was sick and dizzy, a bit unsteady on my feet.’
‘And when did you first start to think that perhaps you had been raped?’ Carrie’s voice is kind, her tone soft and it makes tears jump to my eyes. I was so frightened that they wouldn’t believe me, that they’d think that I was just a woman who’d drunk too much and stayed out all night and needed to concoct a story for her husband, that the fact Carrie seems to believe what I’m saying makes me feel almost faint with gratitude.
‘Not until last night, not properly. It’s not the kind of thing that you think will happen to you, you know? When I woke up the morning after the party … my whole body was sore, and there was bruising to my thighs and my upper arms. Also, I was sore, you know …’ I gesture downwards towards my lap. ‘I was trying to think of a reason why I would feel like that, but I know I wouldn’t have … not, you know. I wouldn’t have wanted to.’
‘Is there anybody who you think might have … had something to do with this?’ Carrie asks gently.
‘What? I don’t …’ The words won’t come and I grip Gareth’s hand tightly, my whole body starting to shake.
‘It’s OK, Rachel, I don’t mean to upset or confuse you,’ Carrie says, with an anxious glance at Gareth,‘what I meant is, is there anyone who has upset you lately, anyone who might have a grudge against you? Have you fallen out with anyone? Friends or colleagues? Basically, anyone you might think would have a reason to want to hurt you. The reason I ask, Rachel, is that acquaintance or date rape is much more common than stranger rape, do you understand what I mean?’
‘No … not that I can think of. I don’t have any colleagues – I’m an aromatherapist. I work from home.’ I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My brain is foggy and I can’t think straight.
‘There’s nobody that would want to hurt Rachel,’ Gareth’s voice is strained and he runs his hand through his hair again, like some sort of nervous tic, ‘she gets on with everybody. There were lots of people at that party – every room was crowded. There were lots of people that we knew there, but also lots of people that we didn’t know. Presumably friends and acquaintances of Liz and Neil.’
‘Rachel?’ Carrie gives a brief nod to Gareth, but clearly wants to hear it from me. ‘Nobody at all?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘There isn’t anyone that I can think of who would ever do something as awful as this.’
The interview, the statement, whatever you want to call it goes on and on, Carrie asking me questions about every little aspect of the party. Who else was there? I have to tell her that I don’t know, I only remember seeing Neil and Liz, although I know other people were there. What time did I think the party finished? I don’t know, I can’t remember anything past the first hour. Did anyone see me spending time with anyone in particular? At this I utter the same words for the hundredth time, I don’t know, tears of frustration streaming down my cheeks. If only I could just remember something, anything, that could give Carrie a lead. Eventually I manage to stop the tears, my eyes feeling raw, and Carrie apologizes for causing me any distress. As she leaves the room to fetch tea, I turn to Gareth.
‘Please, can we just go now?’ Exhaustion is tugging at my bones and all I want to do is go to sleep. ‘I’ve done what you wanted, I’ve reported it.’
‘Not quite done yet, sorry, Rachel.’ Carrie appears in the doorway, obviously overhearing, and replies before Gareth gets the chance to. ‘I’d really like to get the doctor to give you a quick medical examination, and to take some photos of that nasty bruising, if that’s OK with you. We’ll also do some tests for STDs and a pregnancy test.’
God, I want to weep, the thought of someone pulling at me, inspecting the deepest parts of me, makes me want to throw up. I can’t even entertain the thought that whoever he is might have given me something else as well.
‘Rachel, please,’ desperation leaches into Gareth’s voice, ‘you’ve been really brave. Please just do this one thing; whoever did this needs to be caught.’ Fighting back the panic that seems to have been simmering under my skin since the night of the party I agree to the medical, despite feeling as though I might faint at the touch of someone I don’t know. Gareth is right – whoever did this needs to be caught, and if it means I need to do this, then I need to do it. Gareth kisses my temple, and then I follow Carrie along a corridor towards the back of the police station, and realize that this must be the rape suite – a block of three rooms, one for examination, another room similar to the one I have spent the morning in, and a bathroom, complete with shower. Carrie explains that after the medical, I can have a shower and she’ll give me clean clothes to wear home, if I want them.
‘Where are the clothes you wore that night, Rachel?’ she asks, as another officer photographs the bruises that stain the skin on my arms.
‘At home,’ I whisper, ‘in the laundry basket. I haven’t washed them yet.’ Carrie tells me she’ll come and collect them, that I don’t need to worry, just put them in a bag and she’ll drive over tomorrow to pick them up. She leads me into the examination room and I start to slowly slide my clothes off behind the paper screen, my heart thumping double time in my chest. Even the realization that the doctor examining me is a woman doesn’t stop the fear from clogging my throat, and I lie on the examination table, my muscles so tense they hurt. Finally, endlessly, it is over and I slide from the table, wrapping the paper gown Carrie has left out tightly around my body and dress in my own comfortable, familiar clothes, ignoring the jogging pants and sweatshirt provided by the staff. Back in the room, Carrie perches on the end of the coffee table, talking to Gareth, both of them looking up startled when I appear in the doorway.
‘All done?’ Carrie smiles and gets to her feet, moving towards the door. ‘Rachel, you’ve been fantastic – really helpful. I’ll be over tomorrow to collect the clothing, and as soon as I have any further information for you I’ll be in touch. Here’s my number, you can call me any time, OK?’ She presses a business card into my hand and I whisper my thanks. I don’t want her to come over tomorrow. I don’t want to have to call her. I just want this to never have happened.
We drive home in silence, the claustrophobic kind that you could cut with a knife. I have no words left to say, and after a few feeble attempts at starting a conversation, it seems that Gareth has run out of sympathetic phrases, something that I’m more than a little relieved about. Once back home indoors, he offers to take Thor for a walk, somehow sensing that I don’t want to leave the house, and he grabs the lead from where it hangs by the back door.
‘Will you be OK if I take the dog out? I won’t be long.’ He doesn’t look at me as he fusses with the lead, not quite managing to clip it in even though Thor isn’t moving.
‘What were you talking to Carrie about when I was in the examination room?’ I didn’t want to ask, but the look on his face when I re-entered the room puzzled me, and I want to know what was said. He sighs and ruffles a hand through his hair before he answers.
‘I asked her if it made a difference, the fact that you’d had a bath as soon as you got home that morning.’
‘And what did she say?’ My heart starts hammering in my chest and my mouth goes dry. I twist my fingers together to hide their shaking, but I already know what the answer will be, I knew straight away when I saw her face when I answered the question.
‘She said it probably did. That it will have massively reduced the chances of them recovering any useable DNA.’ He stands and clicking his tongue at Thor strides towards the back door, slamming it closed behind him. I stare after him, my breath coming in frantic huffs as I fight back tears, at the realization that despite seeming so supportive on the surface, perhaps my husband doesn’t really believe me.
6 (#ulink_f1dcbdce-0b27-56dd-9ed9-8c1ca72aa3a9)
LATE AUGUST – THREE AND A HALF MONTHS BEFORE THE PARTY
Ted slides a warm hand up my thigh under the table and I push him away half-heartedly, feeling guilty at the little thrill that runs through my veins at his touch.
‘Don’t, Ted. What if someone sees?’ I look over my shoulder but the people at the other occupied tables are engrossed in their own lives, no one is paying any attention to us. We are sitting in the beer garden of a pub twenty miles outside of West Marsham, chosen for its tucked away location. Over the past two weeks things have escalated between Ted and myself, starting when he called me two days after the barbecue, seemingly to check how my hand was. We’ve met for coffee twice, just to chat, and now … now, we’re sitting in a pub, tucked away from prying eyes, and Ted’s hand is on my thigh. I have cancelled this afternoon’s clients, a risk in itself, in order to be able to meet Ted and I have butterflies in my stomach at the idea that something more might happen, alongside shredded nerves.
‘That’s why we picked this place, isn’t it? Because it’s little known and secluded, so no one would see us?’ Ted turns his blue-eyed gaze on me and stares intently. I look away, feeling suddenly shy. Feeling noticed. My stomach flips as I breathe in the scent of his aftershave and for a brief second, I long to feel his mouth on mine again, before I pull away, reaching for my wine glass.
‘We can never be too careful.’ Smiling, I tip my glass towards him before taking a sip of the cold, crisp white wine, perfect for the warm summer afternoon. Despite the buzz of spending time with Ted, there is always the niggle of fear that someone will spot us at the back of my mind. ‘Where is Angela today?’
‘Apparently she’s at work. But she took her yoga mat and she was wearing her leggings, so I strongly doubt that that’s the case, unless she’s going in after her “class”.’ A shadow crosses his face briefly, as Ted makes air quotes around the word, convinced as he is that Angela isn’t going to yoga so often to work on her flexibility. Despite the rumours, and what Ted told me that day in the bathroom, Angela is still living at the family home. ‘What about Gareth?’
I shrug and bury my face in my glass to buy myself a few seconds. Who knows where Gareth is today? He’s stopped telling me anything about the business, dealing with all the properties himself, and now that he’s taken on an actual, proper secretary he doesn’t even need me to do his paperwork any more, all under the guise of leaving me ‘more time for your aromatherapy’.
‘I don’t know where he is,’ I confess, draining the last of my wine. ‘He’s always either out somewhere, or closeted away in his office at home.’ Even when he’s only in his office, the emotional barrier he’s put up between us means he might as well be a million miles away.
‘So, things haven’t improved much between you recently?’ Ted asks, his hand moving from my thigh to rest lightly on the table, a respectable distance away from my fingers.
‘Not really. They’re worse, if anything. I mean, we’ve barely spoken since the night of the barbecue.’ I flush a hot red at the thought of that night, the night this … thing between Ted and I started. ‘Every time I try to talk to him he tells me he’s too busy and he’ll speak to me later.’ Of course, later never comes. I quite often have clients come to me after they finish work, meaning that I spend most of the evening in the log cabin at the end of the garden that serves as my treatment room, and then I’m usually asleep by the time he comes up to bed, if he even comes to bed at all, and he’s gone by the time I wake up in the morning.
‘You don’t have to put up with it, you know, Rachel.’
‘The same way you don’t have to put up with Angela sleeping with her yoga teacher?’ Immediately the words leave my mouth I feel like a bitch, even more so at the way Ted’s face crumples slightly. He pulls it back quickly though, I’ll give him that, and the look is gone before I’m even really sure I saw it in the first place.
‘Rachel, I know that my marriage with Angela is over. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think that. I wouldn’t have let anything happen at the barbecue if I wasn’t sure that Angela was about to leave me.’ Ted’s voice is quiet, and deadly serious. His forehead creases in a deep frown as he speaks, as if it hurts him to say the words out loud. I wish I had another drink that I could nurse, a barrier that I could hold between us, so things don’t feel quite so intense. ‘Angela is sleeping with Devon, or Cornwall, or whatever the bloody hell his name is. I’ve found the evidence – she’s not exactly tried to hide it – and much as it pains me to admit it, she’s going to leave me … the signs are all there.’ I want to ask him what the signs are, what should I be looking for in Gareth, but he carries on speaking, his voice breaking slightly. ‘That’s the reason why I put up with it all – because when she does leave, when I am left behind, telling Sean that life as he knows it is changing, then I can’t be blamed. It won’t be me that my son can’t stand to be around. I might not have Angela, but I’ll still have Sean. Do you see?’ His eyes search mine and my heart flutters under his intense gaze.
‘Yes, I do see.’ I look away, my right hand moving to fiddle with my wedding ring. It sits fast on my finger, metal snug against skin. ‘It’s different for me though, Ted – do you see? I do love Gareth – I want things to work with him, but I am so sick of being pushed aside, ignored … treated like I’m nothing.’ I raise my eyes to meet his. ‘I’m lonely, Ted, but when I’m with you, I’m not. I feel like you notice me. Gareth … he doesn’t even know I’m alive sometimes, but he’s my husband, and deep down he is still that man I married. I love him and I want us to get back to the way things were, but I also want this, here, with you. For now, anyway. Does that make me a bitch?’
‘Some would say so,’ Ted laughs, before reaching over and brushing his hand through my hair, in that way that makes me forget about Gareth and his cold, brittle demeanour, and I force away the feeling of self-loathing that bubbles under my skin.
I should leave, I know that. But sitting in the sunshine with Ted, enjoying the alcohol, the sun beating down on my bare shoulders, the feeling of actually being listened to for the first time in I don’t know how long, I can’t resist staying for one more drink before I head back to real life.
‘Another beer?’ I get to my feet, swinging one leg over the seat of the picnic bench, and picking up my empty wine glass.
‘Wouldn’t say no … but don’t you have to get back?’Ted flicks his wrist to glance at his watch. Another thing I like about him – he’s just as aware of where I need to be and when I need to leave as I am, although that might be fear of being found out that makes him so conscious.
‘One more drink can’t hurt, can it?’ I smile down at him. ‘And it’s like you said, it’s not as if there’s anyone we know here.’ Stepping my other foot over the seat of the bench Ted brushes his fingers across my ankle, sending a shot of desire straight through me. I’m not sure I’ll be able to go straight home after this drink.
The inside of the pub is dark after the bright sunshine of the beer garden, and I squint slightly as I enter, willing my eyes to adjust. It’s busier in here now, and glancing at the clock behind the bar I see it’s almost six o’clock. Not that I have anything to rush back for, Gareth won’t be home until goodness knows when, and Robbie will be out with Sean. I jostle next to a couple of men in suits at the bar as I wait to be served; the speedy service of this afternoon gone now as people stop in on their way home from work to enjoy a drink in the evening sunshine. Definitely best to make this the last drink before I get Ted to drop me somewhere close enough to the house to walk the rest of the way, but far enough out that we don’t get spotted.
As I wait, the pub getting busier and busier, I feel less and less confident about staying. What are you doing, Rachel? Are you really going to risk everything with Gareth for a fling with Ted? Just as the guilty feeling that sits heavy in my stomach becomes unbearable and I finally make the decision to leave it, to go home to Gareth and forget about seeing Ted again, I catch the bartender’s attention and he mouths, ‘Same again?’ I waver for too long, and then it’s too late – he pours a beer for Ted and another glass of wine for me. Turning, my hands full, I am startled by a man standing right behind me, almost too close. Beer slops over my hand and I yelp, holding the glass away from me to avoid it spilling down my skirt.
‘Shit, I’m sorry …’ He raises a hand to steady me before he squints at me over the top of his glasses, recognition dawning on his face. ‘Rachel? What are you doing here?’
Fuuuuck. This is the last thing I need. I knew we should have left while it was still quiet, less chance of being spotted. Now it seems like I’ve blown everything. Keep cool, Rachel, he doesn’t know anything.
‘Aaron.’ I keep my tone deliberately on the icy side, hoping that he doesn’t want to stop and chat. ‘I haven’t seen you for years.’
‘It’s been a while,’ he smiles, crinkling his eyes at me, ‘so, is Gareth here? It would be good to catch up over a drink, if you guys have time.’ He looks pointedly at my full hands, both carrying fresh drinks, and my heart sinks down to my sandals.
‘Ermmm, no.’ I manage to force the words out through my dry mouth. The urge to sip at the wine in my hands is overwhelming. ‘Gareth isn’t here, I’m just … having a quick drink with a friend, that’s all.’
‘Ah. Shame.’ Aaron looks me up and down, and I remember how he used to make my skin crawl when he first started working for Gareth. Aaron and I had been at the same university together but had never really been friends, he’d just known some of the people that I had hung around with. I hadn’t seen him since graduation, not until his CV landed on Gareth’s desk. I didn’t remember him being creepy at uni, but when he started working for us he had this … unsettling air about him. Intense – to the point of making me feel quite uncomfortable.
‘We’ll have to catch up though, really soon,’ he’s saying, ‘I’ve just moved back over this way. I split up with Harriet, so I’m renting a place over in West Marsham, not far from you guys actually.’ Oh Jesus, I’m not sure things could get any worse.
‘Yes. Yes, of course. We’ll arrange something. If you’ll excuse me?’ Heart thundering so hard I swear Aaron can see my pulse jumping in my throat, I lift the full glasses and nod towards the door into the garden.
‘Nice to see you.’ Aaron stands to one side and I walk as casually as I can towards the beer garden, feeling his eyes on my back until I’m out of his sight.
‘Here.’ I thrust the not quite full pint at Ted and take a healthy slug of the rapidly warming white wine in my glass.
‘Easy tiger, what’s the rush?’Ted looks at me in amusement as I swallow, not even waiting to sit back down on the bench. ‘I thought we said one more drink would be OK.’
‘That was before.’
‘Before what?’Ted pats the bench next to him, but I shake my head and move to the opposite side, sitting to face him.
‘Before I saw someone I know. Someone who knows Gareth.’ I scan my eyes quickly over the garden, but I don’t see Aaron anywhere yet. Hopefully he’s decided that it’s too hot outside and taken a seat at the bar.
‘Shit,’ Ted swears, but still doesn’t seem fazed – he’s certainly not as worried as I am. ‘Don’t panic, Rachel.’
‘Don’t panic? Ted, we have to go – I don’t want us to be seen together!’ I start collecting up my cardigan and bag, tucking the strap under my arm, but Ted lays a hand over it.
‘Wait. If we rush off together it looks like we’re up to something …’
‘We are!’
‘… but if we just have a drink, talk and don’t panic, we look innocent, OK? Plenty of people go out for a drink completely innocently.’ He holds my gaze in a calm, steady look and I let myself take a deep breath. ‘Now, who is this person?’
‘Aaron. He used to work for Gareth, God … it must be five or six years ago now.’ Calmer now, I take another sip of wine. ‘He’s moved back here after he split up with his girlfriend apparently. He’s a creep.’ I suppress a shudder and peep over my shoulder, still anxious that he’ll come out into the garden at any moment and spot us.
‘Is he likely to tell Gareth that he saw you?’
‘I don’t know … maybe. I don’t know why he’s back, or what his plans are. I don’t know if he’s made any plans to see Gareth, although he did say it would be good to catch up. I was so rattled to see him that I forgot to ask.’
‘OK. If anyone asks … or more importantly, if Gareth asks, we were meeting to discuss a job opportunity.’
‘A job opportunity?’ I’m not quite sure where Ted is going with this, or how he’s going to make this convincing. ‘Ted, you’re a salesman. I don’t even know what it is that you sell. What job could you possibly have for me?’
‘I don’t know … part-time admin assistant at our offices? You used to do Gareth’s paperwork so I asked you to meet with me to discuss it. You turned me down. Too busy with your aromatherapy business. Honestly, Rachel, keep it simple and it’ll work, that’s if we even need it to.’ Ted’s hand covers mine, and I pull my hand away, too unnerved by Aaron’s appearance to even think of letting Ted near me.
‘OK. Oh God, what was I thinking, Ted? This is all wrong, I shouldn’t be here.’ Panic makes my heart stutter in my chest, and the burden of guilt sits heavily on my shoulders. ‘Please Ted, can you just take me home?’
Ted drops me a couple of streets away, behind the High Street that will still be busy even though it’s past seven o’clock. Digging in my bag for my key as I approach the front door my phone bleeps in my bag, but I ignore it, intent on getting indoors and into my usual slouchy outfit, one that I wear around the house, before Gareth gets home. Thankfully, there is an undisturbed air as I let myself in, telling me that I’ve beaten both Gareth and Robbie home.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I head upstairs, kicking my sandals to the back of the wardrobe and brushing my teeth to rid my mouth of the sour taste of the wine I’ve drunk. I tell myself that’s the reason – but deep down I know it’s so that Gareth doesn’t smell it on me and then question why I’ve been drinking in the afternoon. As I brush, I berate myself for being so stupid – how could I have let myself stay so long? Someone was bound to see us. And if Gareth finds out … well, it’s not just the two of us who will be affected. Am I really ready to jeopardize my marriage, to potentially lose Robbie who will no doubt take his father’s side, all for a quick fling? I spit out the toothpaste, eyeing myself critically in the mirror as I wipe my mouth. Stupid. Stupid and reckless, that’s what today was.
Comfortable now in yoga pants (I think of adulterous Angela when I pull them on) and an old Suede T-shirt I grab a glass of water and slump on the couch in front of the TV, wishing I’d just worked as originally planned. Tired from the stress of the afternoon and with a mild headache starting behind my eyes thanks to the wine, I huff in irritation as my phone bleeps again in my bag, before I get back up and grab it. A text from Gareth telling me not to wait up (no surprises there – my guilt lessens slightly as I read it), and a notification from Facebook telling me I have a friend request. Sighing, I text Gareth back, before opening the Facebook app and tapping the requests button. My heart sinks as I read the words on the screen.
‘Aaron Power has sent you a Friend Request.’
7 (#ulink_4ca48da1-f5e0-5ebd-a325-4c034e78c85f)
JANUARY – TWO DAYS AFTER THE PARTY
‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’ Gareth pauses from where he’s stuffing paperwork into his laptop bag, running his eyes over me. He looks pale, washed-out, with dark circles like bruises under his eyes. I can only imagine how I must look – better than I feel, hopefully.
‘I’ll be fine. I know you’re busy.’ Too busy. The words hang in the thick silence between us. It’s the first proper working day back after the Christmas holidays and I know that Gareth is itching to get back to the office. In a way, I’m happy that he’s going for the day. I can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t quite believe my story about what happened at the party; something about the way he looked at me when he told me Carrie said I had probably destroyed all the evidence. Almost as though he thought I’d done it on purpose. It’s hard enough trying to process it all, without feeling as though I have to convince him to believe me.
‘If you need me I can come home. You know that.’ I nod as he crosses the small gap between us, pulling me close for a quick hug before he lets me go again. ‘Or I can stay – if you want me to, I’ll cancel the meetings.’ He pulls the laptop bag over his shoulder and reaches for his travel mug of coffee, saying the words, but not really meaning them.
I shake my head, playing my part to perfection. ‘It’s fine, honestly. I’m sure Robbie will be home before too long, and I have Carrie’s number.’ Not that I’ll call her. ‘I’ll take the dog out for some fresh air and then maybe I’ll … I don’t know. I’ll find something to do.’ I force out a smile, shooing him towards the door and he scurries off down the drive, giving me a brief wave as he reverses the car out and heads towards West Marsham.
I sit at the kitchen table, hugging my mug of tea for warmth. I don’t seem to have been able to get warm since I woke up in that stifling, stuffy room in Liz’s house, the morning after the party. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back and try my hardest to remember something, anything, about that night. I’m tired of not knowing what happened, tired of the fear that hovers every time I try to fill in the blanks. Music.That’s something that floats into my mind as I try and think – I remember as we walked in there was Christmas music playing, something old, maybe from the 80s, playing loudly, the bass line thudding in my chest. I remember Gareth rolling his eyes, laughing at me, as I started to dance my way into the house, grabbing at his hand to pull him along behind me. I still thought that I could jolly him into having a good time, that once he’d had a beer or two he’d loosen up and start enjoying himself. Did he, though? I can’t remember. Liz said she didn’t think we argued, but who knows? I should maybe start to think about talking to some of the others at the party, maybe they would know?
The shrill ring of the doorbell startles me, and I jump, slopping cold tea down the front of my dressing gown. Shit. I dab at it pathetically as the doorbell rings again, before giving in and getting to my feet.
‘Rachel. Hi. How are you doing?’ I open the front door to find Carrie on the doorstep. True to her word she is here, just as she said she would be. She looks me up and down quickly, as if she’s trying to assess me without me noticing. I notice.
‘I thought you would have called first. I’ve just got up.’ I feel as though I have to justify why it’s nearly ten o’clock in the morning and I’m still in a scruffy dressing gown.
‘I’m sorry, I was passing and I thought I’d pop in now, instead of having to drop back later. Is it OK to come in?’ She already has one foot on the threshold so I pull the door fully open to allow her to come in. She moves aside to let me lead the way and I take her through to the living room, aware that I haven’t tidied the kitchen after last night’s dinner.
‘Here,’ I gesture towards the couch for her to take a seat. ‘Would you like tea?’
‘No, thank you.’ Carrie sits, and digs in her bag for her notebook and pen. ‘I’m going to be your dedicated officer, Rachel. That means that I’ll be the one keeping you informed of everything that takes place during our investigation. I know you gave us a statement yesterday, but do you think I could ask you a couple more questions?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I draw in a shaky breath. ‘Sorry. It’s difficult to keep talking about it, you know?’ Picking at the threads on my dressing gown, my stomach flips with nerves at the thought of having to talk it all through again.
‘I know, I do understand and I’m sorry that I need to ask you more. I just want to check and make sure that you haven’t remembered anything else, anything that might be significant.’ I shake my head, fighting back the wave of frustration that rises up in me at the thought of the black hole in my memory.
‘Just that there was music. There was music playing really loudly when we walked in. That’s it, there’s nothing else. What have you done so far?’ The question blurts out before I think. ‘I mean … how are you investigating this? What are you doing to find out who did this to me?’ The words tumble out and I raise my hand to my mouth to try to stop them. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry … I just …’
Carrie leans forward and lays her hand on mine, squeezing in some gesture of reassurance.
‘Rachel, I promise we’re doing everything we can to get as much information as possible. We’ve spoken to the party host and asked for a complete list of guests. We’ll be talking to every guest individually, asking them questions to see what they can tell us. Sometimes people see things that they don’t even realize are relevant. Any information can be useful.’
‘OK,’ I nod, already feeling a little calmer, now I know that even if Gareth doesn’t necessarily believe me, Carrie does. ‘And you’ll speak to everybody that is on the list?’
‘Of course, we will.’ Carrie makes a point of writing in her notebook, almost as if to prove to me that she’ll do what she says she will. ‘Once we have the results of your medical examination I’ll be able to give you more information, but the truth is …’ Carrie breaks off for a moment and I feel a swell of horror, as I know what she’s going to say. She swallows hard, as if finding it difficult to speak. ‘The fact that you had a bath won’t have helped … it might make it difficult for us to pick up any DNA.’
‘I had to! I had to have a bath … I felt …’ the words stick in my throat,‘I felt filthy. And anyway … I didn’t know, not at first. I thought … I don’t know what I thought; I just didn’t think it was that. Everything was so … confused, blurry. Things like that don’t happen to people like me.’ I break off, the words unable to force their way out past the lump in my throat.
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Lisa Hall
A missing wife…Tom thought his life was perfect. Until his wife vanishes turning his seemingly perfect world upside down. But the nightmare is only just beginning…A secret past…As Tom searches for missing Claire he discovers secrets about his wife's past that don't add up, making him question everything he once took for granted.A lie that changes everything.Because some secrets are best left hidden and Claire's past is about to catch up with them all…
LISA HALL is the bestselling author of Between You and Me and Tell Me No Lies. She has dreamed of being a writer since she was a little girl and, after years of talking about it, was finally brave enough to put pen to paper (and let people actually read it). Lisa lives in a small village in Kent, surrounded by her towering TBR pile, a rather large brood of children, dogs, chickens and ponies and her long-suffering husband. She is also rather partial to eating cheese and drinking wine.
Readers can follow Lisa on Twitter @LisaHallAuthor (https://twitter.com/LisaHallAuthor)
Copyright (#ulink_1b31d0b6-4a17-58fc-bc43-7f36ef5b1f51)
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018
Copyright © Lisa Hall 2018
Lisa Hall asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © July 2018 ISBN: 9780008215002
Version: 2018-06-07
Praise for Lisa Hall (#ulink_bc767f53-0350-5f42-85c7-73387e9419f8)
‘Breathlessly fast-paced and cleverly unsettling, this thriller about a couple trying to escape their past is the very definition of unputdownable.’
Heat
‘An uneasy creeping feeling followed me through the book – I was never quite sure who I should be trusting – I read this book in one sitting because I had to know what was going to happen next. An excellent thriller that had me hooked from the start.’
Katerina Diamond
‘A paranoia-inducing plot that makes you question everyone! Lisa Hall’s new novel is one to get under your skin and has an ending that’ll leave you reeling.’
Sam Carrington
‘Gripping and unforgettable… and will leave you wondering who you should really trust…’
Inside Soap
‘What a page turner! Compelling, chilling and an incredibly impressive debut.’
Alex Brown
To the real life Katie and Amy
In memory of Frank Moylett – some stars burn brighter than others
Don’t you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t made that particular decision? If you had decided to go right, instead of left? If you had said no, instead of yes? It’s strange how one, tiny, sometimes seemingly insignificant decision can have a knock-on effect on life … like a cleverly constructed domino chain, crashing down into a broken and ruined pile of rubble. Maybe if I had been a little bit stronger, if I hadn’t had that one moment of weakness, where I threw caution to the wind and just did what I wanted to do, as opposed to what I should have done, maybe then, none of this would ever have happened. Life would have gone on as usual, with no tears and recriminations. Nobody would have been hurt. Nobody’s life would have been ruined. There wouldn’t have been any lies, or betrayal, and we all would have carried on living our lives, completely unaware that everybody has two sides to them, completely oblivious to the fact that the people surrounding us carry their own secrets, locked deep inside them. It’s easy to look back and say none of this is my fault, that I am exempt from blame, but deep down, I know that’s not true. All of this – everything that has happened – all of it starts with me. And so now, I have to do what needs to be done. I have to finish it, once and for all.
Contents
Cover (#u6199523e-e45c-5c8c-b833-a37d0df85d69)
About the Author (#u9cd07bf4-78de-5af7-873c-568225930050)
Title Page (#ua0db933c-1ad1-52c2-8f13-87f7f5eb212a)
Copyright (#ulink_f8e3e8e6-8d23-5e04-9e51-30b9857c19be)
Praise (#ulink_5ce117b7-1283-5c6a-9d99-a731da2905ad)
Dedication (#u27a3ace6-a64a-5b36-8591-00d09708f252)
Contents (#u9fa88736-8c34-5988-9b7e-0a5f2bb1f074)
CHAPTER 1 (#ulink_34b8df0b-9b80-5cc1-9572-21e889e08012)
CHAPTER 2 (#ulink_bc9a760e-25d3-5a93-9979-44ebcb5ed468)
CHAPTER 3 (#ulink_cbd8c66b-ceb6-53c0-ae1a-500fa0772692)
CHAPTER 4 (#ulink_dbe3ed8b-e490-5c02-8732-c88612edfb10)
CHAPTER 5 (#ulink_2dfd5cab-99a3-55c0-b77d-332891bdd0ee)
CHAPTER 6 (#ulink_74670afd-43ec-5a84-8d4a-232334787d12)
CHAPTER 7 (#ulink_8f719b4d-7668-506a-b4dc-d6616a12bbc3)
CHAPTER 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (#litres_trial_promo)
Short Story (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#ulink_1de6155c-14a5-54e3-a346-ad09cdaeccfe)
NEW YEAR’S DAY – THE MORNING AFTER THE PARTY
Something happened. Something bad. That’s the first thought that swims vaguely through my mind as I struggle my way into full consciousness. Followed by the realization that, I don’t know what, but I know it’s not good. My head hurts. I try to open my eyes, the feeble wash of winter sunshine that tries to force its way through the lining of the curtains making me squint in pain. My head hurts and I feel really, really sick. I close my eyes again, willing the thud at my temples to die down and let me go back to sleep, before I crack one eye open again, a vague sense of uneasiness making me reluctant to keep them closed.
Where am I? Peering out from under the duvet cover, the room is unfamiliar to me and I swallow down the nausea that roils in my stomach. In the dim light, I can make out a large chest of drawers pushed against the wall, the top of it free of any clutter, and a mirror hanging above it. A generic picture hangs on the opposite wall, and there is no sign of anything personal – no photos, no make-up, no clutter that tells me that this is someone’s bedroom. A spare room, then, and I seem to be alone, which is good, I think.
The same thought drifts through my mind as when I woke, that something happened last night, something that makes me feel somehow dirty and indecent. Scratching at my arms, I roll on to my back before pushing the duvet away from my clammy face, sweat making my hair stick to my forehead. The touch of fabric against my skin makes me stop for a moment, pausing in my quest to get comfortable, that and the fact that every muscle in my body seems to hurt. Sliding a hand under the covers I feel around – yes, my top is still on. No bottoms though, the fabric against my bare legs is that of the cotton sheets I’m lying on, not my trousers, or pyjama bottoms.
Something bad happened. My heart starts to hammer in my chest as I run my hand over my thighs, wincing at the sharp pain that lances me. Frowning, I push the duvet down, exposing my lower half to the warm air emitted from a large radiator under the window, and struggle my way into a sitting position. Slowly, Rachel, go slowly. As I push up on my elbows to shove my way up the pillows behind me, a surge of saliva spurts into my mouth and I swallow hard, desperate not to be sick. The thumping in my head accelerates and black dots dance at the corners of my eyes.
Closing my eyes again I wait a moment, drawing in a ragged deep breath and letting it out slowly. I’ve never had a hangover like this before. The nausea fades, and I run my hands over my lower half again, the skin on the inside of my thighs feeling bruised and sore. I slide my hands between my legs, and my heart beat doubles as I realize the bruised, raw feeling extends to there too. Oh, God. I lean back against the cool of the pillow, eyes closed again against the watery light, trying my hardest to remember what happened last night. There’s nothing, not a single thing that I can hook my memory on, just that uncertain feeling that something happened to me last night. It’s like there’s a gaping hole in my memory, a black bottomless pit that has sucked away any recollection of the previous evening. Gareth. What about Gareth? Where is he? I have to get home. I have to see Gareth; he’ll be worried (angry?) that I didn’t come home last night.
Steeling myself, I swing my legs round and out from underneath the duvet, pressing my feet to the floor as dizziness washes over me. My mouth is dry, so dry it hurts to swallow. Spying a plastic water bottle on the floor, half-hidden under the bed, I lean over, another wave of nausea making my mouth water, and take a sip. It tastes stale and dusty, as though it has been there for a long time, but it relieves the scratchiness of my throat, squashing down the bile that sits at the back of it. Placing the bottle back down on the floor, the sleeve of my top rides up to reveal a thick, purple bruise on the underside of my bicep. I poke at it, hissing as the tender skin shrieks out at my touch, the muscle sore and delicate. I wrap my fingers around my arm and see that the bruise is a perfect thumbprint, as though someone has grabbed me roughly. Remember, Rachel.
I slide my body slowly down the bed frame until I have sunk onto the immaculate carpet, the thick pile tickling the undersides of my bare thighs, my head pounding in time to a rhythm that no one else can hear. Scrubbing my hands over my eyes, I take a deep breath and look up – I am naked from the waist down, and that needs to be rectified before I can go anywhere. I need to get out of here. Something flutters in my stomach at the thought of the door opening and someone walking in, finding me like this, half naked and vulnerable. Getting to my knees, and squashing down the horrid, shameful thoughts that lurk at the outskirts of my mind at the soreness in my thighs, I crawl towards a tangled mass of black, bunched into the corner of the room, against the mahogany of the chest of drawers. Reaching out a hand, I pull the bundle towards me, unravelling it to reveal my black wet-look leggings. Thank God. Relief floods my veins as I recognize the snarl of black fabric as my own clothing, but that fades as I shake them out, searching for my underwear. It’s not there. I turn the leggings inside out and back again, hoping that I’ve pulled everything off in a drunken state last night, but my underwear is definitely missing.
And are you sure that YOU took them off, Rachel? A stern voice whispers at the back of my mind, the bruising on your thighs … the fact that you can’t remember anything … what does that tell you? I hunch forward over the bundle of cloth in my arms, fighting back tears and the ever-present urge to throw up. What the hell happened to me last night? What did I do? And who else was involved?
On shaking legs, now clad in yesterday’s leggings, the plasticky fabric clinging uncomfortably to my clammy skin, I gently push open the bedroom door and venture out into the hallway. The murmur of low voices wafts up the stairs towards me, uncertainty making me waver on the landing, not wanting to go and face whoever is down there. At least now though, I have some idea of who it will be – a family portrait hangs at the top of the stairs, and I recognize the tiled hallway and stained-glass windows of the front door below. It’s a house that I’ve only ever visited occasionally, and I’ve never ventured upstairs, which goes a long way towards explaining why I was confused when I woke up this morning. White Christmas lights glitter around the front door, and the scent of pine from the Christmas garland that circles the banister catches at the back of my throat. A tacky silver banner hangs drunkenly across the wall of the entrance hall, loudly proclaiming for all to have a ‘Happy New Year’. The glitter of the lights makes me dizzy and I squeeze my eyes closed for a moment, gripped by vertigo, certain I am about to lose my footing and tumble down the stairs. The dizziness passes, and slowly I make my descent, one hand brushing the wall to keep my balance, as I still feel ridiculously hungover – more than I would ever have expected, the insistent throbbing in my temples making me long for my own bed, and the safe comfort of my own home. My silver sandals dangle from the other hand, found in the opposite corner of the bedroom much to my relief, although I think I would have walked barefoot if necessary.
As I reach the hallway, the tiles almost painfully cold beneath my bare feet, the chatter of voices gets louder, as though a door has been opened. I scoot across the cold tiles into the front room, where all the evidence of a party lies, scattered and ground into the carpet. A Christmas tree, looking worse for wear now, its needles dropping and littering the carpet, shines gaudily in the corner of the room, almost seeming out of place in the grim aftermath of what must have been a raucous party. Several empty wine bottles line the mantelpiece, and glasses litter the coffee table, some empty, some with the dregs of boozy Christmas drinks in the bottom. The table is usually polished to a shine, but now it is marred with glass rings on the wood, crumpled napkins, and several paper plates with the remains of buffet food smeared over them. I fight back the nausea that rises at the sight of left-over canapés, the faint smell of warm seafood hitting the back of my throat. A hefty splash of red wine scars the cream rug in front of the still smouldering open fire, and there are tiny shards of glass glinting on the hearth, where someone has made a drunken attempt to sweep away a broken wine glass. I breathe lightly through my mouth, as the scent of red wine and a hint of stale smoke rises up from the damaged rug. The curtains that line the wide front bay window have been left open, and wintry sunlight glints on a frost-covered garden, watery rays streaming in and highlighting the dust motes that dance in the air.
Turning away from the window, I catch sight of myself in the mirror that hangs above the fireplace, and double take; sure at first that someone else is in the room with me, my reflection looks so unfamiliar in that fleeting glimpse. Stepping closer, avoiding the still damp wine stain, I peer into the glass. I was obviously one of those partaking in the red wine last night – a faint purple stain marks my lips. I run my tongue over my teeth, cringing at the furry feel of them. My face is pale, my long, dark hair framing it in a tangled mess. I run my fingers through in an attempt to smooth it. My eyes look too big for my face, ringed as they are by dark circles. In short, if I thought I felt like shit, I look worse. My belly rolls over as the scent of frying bacon hits my nostrils, and I bend to slide my sandals on to my feet, intent on leaving and getting home before anyone realizes I’m still here.
‘Rachel!’ A deep, hearty voice behind me almost makes me overbalance, one sandal on, as I wobble precariously on the other foot.
‘Neil.’ I place my foot back down on the floor, the bruises twinging at the strain in my thigh, and inwardly sigh at not getting out before I was seen, unwilling to engage in conversation when I am so unsure of the events of the previous evening. ‘Sorry, I was just …’
‘I didn’t know you were still here!’ Jovial, and with no hint of a hangover, Neil grins at me, and gestures towards the kitchen. ‘We wondered where you got to last night … end up in the spare room, did you? Come on through, Liz is in the kitchen, and I’ve got coffee and bacon on the go.’
My stomach gives another undulating roll at the thought of the greasy, salty meat. I give a small shake of my head and open my mouth to say, ‘I’m sorry, I should go,’ but Neil holds out an arm and gestures for me to go first, and despite the ache in my head, the rolling nausea in my stomach, and the underlying fear that streaks through my nerve endings thanks to my black hole memory, I have no option other than to walk across the cold, tiled floor into the kitchen. I have obviously stayed here without my hosts knowing – so who undressed me? I remove the one silver sandal that I’m wearing and pad through into the open plan kitchen dining area, the bright sunshine that pours in through the patio doors at the back of the room making me feel even more nauseous, if that’s at all possible. My neighbour, Liz, sits at the kitchen table, sipping intermittently from a travel mug that sits on a coaster in front of her. She turns as I enter the room.
‘Look who I found.’ Neil pulls out a kitchen chair and motions to me to sit down, before walking over to the hob and flicking the gas on. He dumps more bacon in the pan and I have to swallow back the saliva that fills my mouth.
‘Rachel!’ Liz smiles and waggles her fingers in my direction. I slide into the chair next to her – she smells of bacon fat and stale coffee, and I have to hold my breath as she gets close to me. ‘How are you feeling this morning? A little worse for wear?’ She chuckles, but her face is pale and devoid of make-up, unusually for her. ‘I think we all are. Some party, eh?’
‘Yes. Some party.’ I shift uncomfortably on the kitchen chair, the hard wood of the seat pressing against my bruises.
‘Bacon sandwich?’ Neil holds out a plate to me, and I try and fail to stop myself from recoiling. ‘No New Year’s diet actually starts on New Year’s Day, does it?’
‘No, thank you. Could I just have a glass of water, please?’ I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not sure I could keep the sandwich down if I ate it. My throat is still painfully dry, and I feel as though my entire body is craving a cold glass of icy water.
‘Here.’ Liz fills a glass from the water dispenser built into the fridge, her fingers leaving a trail in the condensation on the surface as she hands it to me, and as I reach out to take it from her, I get a flashback. Last night, Liz opening the door to me, a glass in her hand, the smile on her face much the same as it is now – slightly smug, a mildly boozy air about her. I feel the frosty air on my bare arms, as she opens the door and pulls me inside; warm, sweaty air enveloping me, the beat of the music – something Christmassy? An old song, perhaps – thumping through the house. The smell of cloves and woodsmoke in the air – Liz has the open fire lit, even though the house is sweltering. I shake my head to clear the image, setting the bells clanging inside again, and sip at the water.
‘Thank you … for letting me stay, I mean.’ I sip again at the water, as Liz pulls a chair out across the table from me and sits back down. I try not to wince at the harsh scraping noise the chair makes as she drags it across the tiles. Neil hums under his breath as he slaps bacon between two slices of bread and drops the plate in front of Liz. ‘I didn’t mean to impose.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly, you’re not imposing.’ Liz takes a bite of her bacon sandwich, before dropping a Berocca tablet into her own glass of water. She offers the packet to me and I take one, gratefully, dropping it into my glass and watching the bubbles start to erupt. ‘I didn’t realize you’d stayed to be honest; I thought you must have left with Gareth.’ Oh shit. Gareth. He’s going to be furious, I should imagine.
‘Well, thank you. For the hospitality, I mean. I don’t really remember going to bed.’ I watch her carefully, hoping that she’ll tell me who it was that must have helped me upstairs. Who bruised my arms, and my thighs, and … worse? And did I go willingly? Liz gives nothing away, sipping at her travel mug and still munching on her sandwich, taking each bite with relish.
‘God, I don’t think many of us do.’ She gives a huff of laughter through a mouthful of food, a stray crumb flying from her mouth and landing on her plate. It makes me feel sick. ‘Never let it be said that the Greenes don’t know how to throw a party.’
‘Right.’ I look away, wanting to ask her if she saw anything, but not wanting at the same time, afraid of what she might say. ‘Was I … was I bad? Like, drunk?’
‘Oh darling, we were all tipsy. I don’t remember you doing anything you shouldn’t have, if that’s what you mean. Gareth left early, and you wanted to stay for another drink, no harm in that. It was New Year’s Eve, after all.’ She pushes her plate to one side, and makes to take my hand but I pull away, grabbing at my glass of water. No harm. Only, I think maybe there might have been.
‘It’s bloody New Year! Gareth needs to lighten up,’ Neil says, as he slides his own sandwich onto a plate. ‘Rachel, it’s lovely to see you, and if you’re sure I can’t tempt you with my fried pig slices, I’m going to slope off and watch last night’s Hootenanny.’
I wait for Neil to leave the room, headed for Jools Holland and a mild food coma if the amount of food on his plate is anything to go by, before I speak again.
‘Did we … did we argue, do you know? Me and Gareth?’ I pick at the skin around my nails as I ask, not wanting to make eye contact with Liz, as I feel as though I’m confessing to being absolutely hammered last night. You’re a disgrace. The words float through my mind, spoken by someone else, an unseen, unknown someone, and I feel a hot flush of shame. ‘I know he must have left without me, but I just wondered if we’d had a disagreement about things and that’s why he left.’ I raise my eyes to look at her, as she sips from her travel mug again, gripping it tightly in her hands as if afraid I might snatch it away.
‘No, not that I’m aware of,’ Liz says briskly, but her eyes slide away from mine, and I get the feeling that maybe she’s not telling me something. ‘He’s probably at home wondering where you are.’
‘Oh God, probably. I need to go. Thank you for … everything.’ The urge to leave overwhelms me and I push back the chair roughly, slipping my sandals back onto my feet, the straps rubbing across the top of my foot. Startled, Liz gets to her feet but I hurry out of the front door before she can speak again, calling out a goodbye to Neil, and step out into the cold January air. Frost glitters on the front path, and I carefully make my way across the square to my own house, where I can make out the glow of the Christmas tree lights through the front window, calling me home. Home, to Gareth. Hoping that he can shed some light on what happened last night – why I can’t remember anything … and why my body feels as though something, or someone has broken into the very core of my being.
2 (#ulink_fec633b7-4e51-5fd5-831b-221f795036bd)
As I walk up my own front path, the chill morning air making my exposed toes shriek with the cold, I realize that I don’t have a door key. My heart sinks at the thought of having to ring the bell and not only face Gareth’s wrath at not coming home, but also waking him up. Gently I press down on the door handle, sighing with relief when it gives under the pressure. I slide in through the door, closing it on a whisper behind me. Maybe if I can make it into the front room without being seen and get my shoes off, Gareth will just think I spent the night on the couch. I’m not sure why I feel like this is the best course of action, maybe because after everything that has happened between us over the past few months I doubt if he’s likely to believe that I spent the night at Liz’s, alone. I desperately want to avoid us having another row – I don’t want to start the New Year with us fighting. And I don’t know right now if he’ll believe me when I tell him that I don’t know what happened last night.
I blink back the hot tears that sting my eyes and pull off my shoes, before I push open the door to the living room. As I step into the room, Gareth stands from where he has obviously been sitting on the couch, waiting for me. He looks tired, the skin around his eyes grey and wrinkled, worry pulling at the corners of his mouth. He still wears the shirt and jeans that he pulled on to wear to the party.
‘You decided to come home then.’ His voice is flat, his eyes cold. ‘That’s good of you.’
‘Please, Gareth,’ I force the words out, too tired and feeling far too fragile to be able to argue with him right now, not when I can barely stand up straight. ‘Can we talk about this later?’
‘Later? Are you kidding me?’ As the level of his voice rises, so does the pounding at my temples, and once again I have to fight the urge to be sick. ‘Rachel, you don’t get to stay out all night, especially after what you’ve done, and then tell me we’ll talk about it later.’ He snorts in disgust. ‘Look at the state of you, you’re a disgrace.’ His words sting, just as they are supposed to, and I close my eyes against the nausea that the words induce.
‘Look, I didn’t stay out on purpose, OK?’ I rest a hand on the back of the couch, to steady myself, the heightened emotion making me feel dizzy. ‘I was at Liz’s, I swear. I … I stayed in the spare room. Please, Gareth, I don’t want to argue.’
‘Oh right, that’s OK then, isn’t it?’ He steps towards me, a flash of anger in his eyes, and I feel ever so slightly afraid of him at that point, afraid that he’s so angry he’ll go one step further than just shouting at me. When he speaks again, his voice is low, the words catching in his throat, and it’s as if all the rage has suddenly drained out of him. ‘I’m not an idiot, Rachel.’
‘You can ask her!’ I take a step backwards, stumbling slightly as I pull my hand away from the couch, dizziness making me lose my footing. I close my eyes briefly, wanting the world to stop for just a second. ‘I swear to you, Gareth, I stayed at Liz’s. On my own.’ I push away the thought of the soreness in my thighs, the bruise on my upper arms, the layer of fear that sits just under my skin, jangling my nerves and making me afraid to remember.
‘You said you were going to stay for one more drink, Rachel. That was just after midnight, and now you’re only just getting home, ten hours later.’ Gareth raises his eyes to mine and I am shocked to see they are bloodshot and raw, as though he’s been crying. ‘What the hell am I supposed to think? My wife stays out all night, with no explanation, and I’m supposed to just be OK with it?’ Before I can answer he speaks again, his voice hard once more, the flinty edges of his words scraping at my nerves. ‘I saw Ted there, Rachel. Don’t take me for a fool.’
‘Ted?’ Confused, I try to think, did I see Ted? Was Ted there? Nothing, I can’t remember anything, just that gaping black void and a sense of vulnerability. ‘What does Ted have to do with things, Gareth? I told you, anything between Ted and me is over, it’s been over for weeks.’ He huffs out a noise that sounds like laughter, but isn’t, cut with a sharp, bitter edge, before pushing past me towards the kitchen. Angry, confused, and desperate to clear this up so I can just go and lie down and try to get things straight in my head, I follow him as he stalks over to the work surface and snatches up his phone.
‘Gareth, please. Why would I lie to you? I told you it was over with Ted, we agreed that we’d try and make this work, so why would I jeopardize it? I chose you, Gareth.’ I want to reach out to him, but he bristles with animosity, so instead I tug my sleeves down over my hands. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come home, I slept in the spare room at Liz and Neil’s house, I swear.’
‘Then why didn’t you answer your phone?’ Gareth throws his phone across the kitchen table at me and I fumble to make the catch, almost dropping it. Swiping across the screen I see the unanswered calls and text messages that he’s sent to my phone over the course of the previous evening.
‘I …’ I lay his phone down and run my hands over my hips, even though I know the cheap, tacky leggings don’t have any pockets, and my phone isn’t in there. It hasn’t even crossed my mind to think about my phone, so intent was I on getting home to Gareth. ‘I don’t have my phone; I don’t know where it is. I must have lost it.’ I picture the room I woke up in, Liz’s spare room, but I don’t recall seeing my phone anywhere – definitely not in the jumble of my clothes that I found on the bedroom floor.
‘You had it last night. I asked you, before I left, if you had your phone and you waved it at me. So, if you had it then, where is it now?’ He folds his arms across his chest and waits for me to answer.
‘I told you, I don’t know. I must have dropped it somewhere at the party. I’ll call Liz and ask her if she’s seen it.’ I move towards the landline phone that hangs on the kitchen wall, before I remember that I don’t know Liz’s number, not off by heart. It’s stored in my mobile, like everybody else’s.
‘Leave it, Rachel. I don’t want to hear any more, OK?’ Gareth sighs, and scrubs his hands over his face, wearily. ‘You can tell me whatever you like, stories about staying at Liz’s or whatever, but I don’t want to hear it. Not now. Did you even stop to think about Robbie? About what he might think about you staying out all night?’
‘Where is he?’ Guilt creeps over me in a hot wash, as I realize that Robbie, my boy, the one thing that has kept me going through all of this with Gareth and Ted, will know that I didn’t come home last night. My cheeks burn with shame. ‘Is he home?’ I don’t want him to hear us arguing – he might be eighteen, but he’s had to listen to us rowing for long enough, no matter how hard I’ve tried to protect him from it. When Gareth and I agreed to make this work between us, I swore to Robbie that the rows were over.
‘No, he’s not home. He stayed at Sean’s last night, if you remember.’ Gareth turns away and busies himself by putting the kettle on and I realize this is also eating away at him. Not only did I not come home, but also Robbie stayed at Sean’s last night – at Ted’s, if you want to get technical about it.
‘Sean’s been his best friend since primary school, Gareth, you can’t begrudge him spending time with him just because of what happened.’
‘Oh, you mean when you decided your best course of action was a rampant affair with Sean’s father, you mean?’ Gareth slams a mug down on the counter and whirls round to face me, a deep red flush burning its way up his neck. ‘Just fuck off, Rachel. You can’t tell me how to feel, or how to act when you prance around doing whatever you want, not caring if you make me look stupid, not giving a damn if people think you’re a whore.’ On that last, spiteful word, one that scorches and burns, he slams his hand down on the table and I flinch.
‘I can’t talk to you right now,’ I whisper, my whole body aching as though I have the flu, my head thumping and the fear and disgust that I first felt upon waking beginning to flood through my veins again. I don’t wait to hear if he answers, just run from the room and upstairs to the bathroom, where I lock myself in and let the tears come.
Hot water thunders into the bathtub, and I move slowly and cautiously, aware of the muscles that twinge and pull with every movement I make as I pour in my own blend of aromatherapy oils and reach for a clean towel. I pull the leggings from my body, peeling them away from my skin, leaving my exposed legs feeling clammy and sweaty, before throwing them towards the laundry basket that sits next to the shower. They miss, landing in a heap on the bathroom floor, looking much the same as they did screwed up on the bedroom floor at Liz’s. Sighing, I bend to pick them up, the sudden movement jarring my head and making bile rise in the back of my throat. Shoving the leggings deep down into the basket I have to move quickly to reach the toilet, before the vomit that has been threatening all morning rises up, quickly, urgently, scorching the back of my throat as I throw up the glass of water and anything else that was in my stomach, until finally, I crawl into the bathtub, exhausted and weeping.
I know that something happened last night at Liz’s party … I rotate my arm, brushing away the bubbles that cling to it, in order to inspect the bruise on my bicep. It’s a deep, angry purple colour, sore and tender, clearly the result of someone holding me far too tightly, but who? And what did I do? Did I upset someone? No. I shake my head; despite the way it seems to make my brain roll around inside my skull. My fingers slide into the warm water, smoothing over the skin on my inner thighs. I clear a hole in the bubbles, raising my leg up and out of the water, flinching at the chill air that hits my skin. Peering closely, I can see now that there is more bruising to the inside of my thigh, round greenish-purple dabs, almost like fingerprints, that hurt when I press lightly on them. Jesus.
Sliding my legs back into the water, hiding the bruises from sight, I lay my head back against the cold enamel of the bath, hot tears stinging my eyes. Think, Rachel, you have to remember. Taking a deep breath, I sniff away the tears and try to pull myself together. The only way to deal with this is to try and remember what happened yesterday – then I can decide how best to move forward. Closing my eyes, I let out the breath I’ve been holding and try to concentrate. I remember getting ready…Gareth was in the shower, and I was drying my hair in front of the bedroom mirror, Radio X playing loudly in the background, and I remember feeling annoyed by one flick of a curl that I couldn’t get to lie flat. Gareth came in from the shower, towel wrapped tightly about his waist, smelling of Hugo Boss aftershave and the fresh scent of shaving gel. He had tutted at my singing, as I wailed along to ‘Boys Don’t Cry’ by The Cure, and I remember feeling secretly relieved that he was in a good mood, seeing as he’d spent most of the afternoon complaining that he didn’t want to go to the party.
‘Why are you tutting?’ I had grinned at him in the mirror, while putting the finishing touches to my hair. ‘Don’t you like my singing?’
‘Ha.’ Gareth looked up from buttoning his shirt. ‘Let’s just say … I didn’t marry you for your voice. You have far better talents than that.’
The unexpected compliment had brought tears to my eyes, and I had blinked them away quickly before my mascara could run.
‘I could say the same for you,’ I stood up, pushing the chair away from the mirror, to find Gareth had crossed the room and was standing directly behind me.
‘You look lovely … really beautiful.’ He had looked down at me, brushing that stubborn curl that just wouldn’t lie properly away from my forehead, before giving me a soft kiss on the lips, not even minding my pink lip gloss. ‘Just, please … and I’m begging you, now … don’t sing any more.’
I had swatted him on the arm, laughing, feeling buoyant and as though maybe, just maybe, we could put things behind us. I remember shivering as we crossed the green, on our way to the party, too stubborn to wear a coat, or a jacket, as it would have ruined my outfit and Gareth pulling me into him to keep warm, the huff of his breath on my hair as he laughed at me for being so ridiculous.
So, we were OK, at least when we set off for the party. Tears sting my eyes again, at the difference in Gareth’s tone this morning when I arrived home. Another memory swims into view – the one that came to mind earlier this morning – Liz, pulling the door open and smiling at me, the faint scent of booze on her breath as she leaned in to kiss me on the cheek, Neil’s raucous laugh in the background. That’s all I remember. The rest of the night is just a blank, a darkness so thick and dense that I don’t feel as though I’ll ever see through it. My head feels packed full of cotton wool, fuzzy and blurry, as I wash myself slowly and deliberately, scrubbing every inch of my exposed skin, until I feel raw and sensitive, my usually pale skin shining a vivid pink as I roughly towel myself dry. My fingers skim over my inner thighs again, and I wince, unable to stop myself from pressing down on the bruising that mars the otherwise unblemished skin.
Pulling on clean pyjamas, I climb into bed, embracing the cool of the cotton and the darkness provided by the blackout blinds, trying to think rationally through what I do know. What happened? Did I go upstairs willingly with someone and let them do this to me? No, surely not. Was I angry with Gareth – did we fight? Not that I can remember – I remember feeling happy, as we walked over to the party. I didn’t have that feeling this morning, the one that I’ve woken up to so many times lately – that prickly, miserable feeling that tells me Gareth and I went to bed on an argument. And even if we had argued, I wouldn’t have slept with someone else at the party to get back at him. I wouldn’t have slept with someone else willingly, not after what happened with Ted, and the hurt and upset that caused.
As I try to fall over the edge into sleep I fail miserably, as I attempt to force away the only other answer I can come up with as to what happened at the party last night. The idea clings stubbornly, like a stain that’ll never wash out, which is appropriate really, and every time the words cross my mind I feel that same wave of nausea. Something bad happened. Someone did this to me – someone hurt me, and did things to me against my will. Someone raped me.
3 (#ulink_beb13edd-8411-5a8e-82dc-a102967375f5)
AUGUST – FOUR MONTHS BEFORE THE PARTY
I catch sight of Gareth’s scowling face in the mirror as I lean in to smack my lips together, evening out the pink lipstick that stains them. He is frowning as he buttons up his shirt, his displeasure written across his face, and I sigh.
‘Please, Gareth, I know you’re not keen, but will you try and enjoy today? It’s a barbecue, for heaven’s sake, it’s supposed to be fun.’ Flicking my hair over my shoulders and smoothing the flyaway ends down, I stand, ready to head downstairs and put the finishing touches to the food. It’s our turn to host the cul-de-sac’s annual summer barbecue, much to Gareth’s horror.
‘I’ve got things to sort out – work to finish – this is the last thing I want to do this afternoon. You could have spoken to me before you agreed to it,’ Gareth grumbles, shoving his feet into deck shoes, before marching over to the bedroom door and shouting for Robbie to get a move on.
‘He’s nearly ready.’ I lay a hand gently on his shoulder, wanting to soothe him a little, or at least make him a little less fractious. If we’re going to spend the afternoon and into the evening with the rest of our friends and neighbours on the street, then I want to him to at least be civil, even if he can’t completely shake off the tension that seems to surround him lately. ‘Look, I know it’s not ideal, us hosting the barbecue when you’re so busy with work, but look at it this way – at least it won’t be our turn to host it for a few years after today.’ I give him a smile, but he just rolls his eyes.
‘OK. Let’s get on with it. Hopefully the sooner people get here, the sooner they’ll leave.’ Gareth shrugs my hand off his shoulder and thunders down the stairs, leaving me with a familiar feeling of rejection, one that seems to be all too common at the moment.
The afternoon is warm, the sky a perfect, deep blue, and I’ve made a huge pitcher of sangria that is going down a little too well. I am hot and exhausted by mid-afternoon, having spent much of my time dashing backwards and forwards between the barbecue area and the kitchen, and topping up everybody’s drinks. Gareth has spent the afternoon hunched over the grill, flipping burgers and shouting instructions to me every five minutes, somehow managing to avoid too much interaction with our guests. I’m pretty sure that none of them have picked up on the tension between us, but Lord knows I could do with a drink. Satisfied that everyone is happy for a moment, I double check Gareth has a drink before sliding into the garden chair next to Amy, my best friend. She smiles as she looks up and holds her glass out for me to top up from the jug I’ve brought out from the kitchen.
‘Hey. How’s things?’ She glances over to where Gareth now stands with Neil at the barbecue, beer in hand and seemingly in a better mood, and raises her eyebrows at me.
‘Hmmm. Could be better.’ I take a large sip of the sangria, wincing slightly at the burn of the brandy on my tongue, still feeling raw and ever so slightly hurt by the way Gareth spoke to me before people arrived. We haven’t had an opportunity to speak at all since people got here, apart from his barking instructions at me, and last time I looked he’d still got that frown on his face. ‘He’s got the arse because he doesn’t want to be hosting today.’
‘He seemed OK when I arrived? Well, not miserable anyway.’ Amy looks at me quizzically and I sigh inwardly. Gareth has this knack of turning on the charm when it suits him. No one would believe that he doesn’t actually want any of them to be here, or that we’d had a disagreement before they arrived, he hides it so well, coming across as good old Gareth, so friendly and charming. What a guy.
‘Believe me, he doesn’t want the neighbours to be here. He said he’s got things he should be doing – work, you know,’ I roll my eyes, ‘but it’s our turn. We argued about it before everyone arrived – he said that I shouldn’t have agreed to host, not without discussing it with him first, but what was I supposed to say? We couldn’t very well just say we weren’t doing it, not after everyone else has hosted.’
‘So things are still a bit difficult?’
‘So fucking difficult at times. It’s like a rollercoaster – sometimes he’s just … brilliant. The Gareth I married – funny, kind, the old Gareth, you know? He’ll do something unexpected, something that makes me think, oh, that’s why I love you. And then other times …’ I resist the urge to lay my head on Amy’s shoulder and cry. ‘Other times he’s just … impossible. Constantly in a foul temper, but when I ask him he tells me it’s none of my business, or that nothing is wrong. Either that or he just completely ignores me – literally, he just blanks me when I speak to him, just carries on staring at his phone. And then when he does speak to me, all we do is row. It’s awful for me – it must be hell for Robbie.’ I look over to where Robbie stands with his primary school best friend, Sean, and his father. There’s no sign of Angela, Sean’s mother. The West Marsham rumour mill has it that Ted and Angela are on the verge of splitting up – apparently, she’s been getting friendly with her yoga teacher – and the fact that she doesn’t seem to be spending much time with Ted at the moment is only fuelling the gossip. Robbie says something and they all laugh, Ted – Sean’s father – clapping Robbie on the arm. Ted obviously doesn’t seem to be too bothered by the rumours. Either that, or he has utter faith in Angela’s fidelity. Across from them, Gareth stands alone at the grill, his mouth set in a grim line. I incline my head towards him and Amy follows my gaze.
‘Ahhh. I see what you mean. I don’t know what to suggest – if he won’t talk to you properly, have you tried suggesting counselling?’
I drain my glass, letting out a bark of laughter.
‘Are you kidding? If he won’t talk to me, there’s no way he’ll even consider counselling. To be honest, Amy, Rob’s old enough now … sometimes I think it would be easier to leave him and just start again.’ Abruptly I get to my feet, under the pretence of finding a fresh pitcher of sangria, but in reality, it’s so Amy doesn’t see the tears that spring to my eyes.
‘Rachel!’ Gareth’s voice cuts through my thoughts. ‘Little help here, please!’
I walk over, trying to keep a smile on my face as our guests look on, the empty pitcher dangling from one hand.
‘Can you get rid of these things, please?’ Gareth forces a smile, but you could cut the tension between us with a knife. He leans in close. ‘You did say you’d take the empty trays in to leave me some space.’
‘I was busy,’ I hiss, anxious not to let our guests overhear, ‘I’ve been trying to keep people entertained.’ I snatch up the trays, trying to balance them and the empty glass jug without anything crashing to the floor. Walking away, I don’t wait for Gareth to reply, knowing that whatever I say today won’t help things.
‘Here, let me.’ A voice stops me, and a warm hand lands on my wrist. I look up to see Ted. ‘You look like you’re about to overbalance.’
‘Thank you.’ I smile up at him, letting him take the top two trays and the jug. He walks away, towards the kitchen and I glance over to see if Gareth has noticed. He hasn’t.
I manage to relax a little after that, the tautness of my nerves loosening as the drink flows and the afternoon cools into early evening. Gareth also seems to be more like his old self, putting away the scowl that’s permanently fixed to his face lately and actually engaging with people, now that the food is cooked and he doesn’t have the excuse of the barbecue to hide behind. He still doesn’t speak to me, though, and before long I stop worrying about what he is doing and whether he is making an effort, and try to enjoy the party.
Robbie disappears after a little while, telling me he’s going to meet Courtney, a girl I know he has his eye on. I wish him luck and tell him to make sure he has a door key, before settling back in to conversation with Liz, Amy and Natalie, all of us gossiping and swapping stories. It is dusk when Jonno and Melody, the neighbours from two doors down arrive, Melody greeting me with a hug and Jonno greeting Gareth with a hearty clap on the back, a fug of alcohol already surrounding them as they squeeze into the circle of friends and neighbours that sit around the small bonfire Robbie lit before he left.
Staggering slightly as I get to my feet, the sangria I’ve been steadily drinking hitting me as I stand, I wander towards the kitchen intent on getting drinks for the new arrivals, as Liz greets them with boozy kisses and Neil forages under the cover of the grill to find them a leftover burger. I am humming slightly under my breath as I peer into the wine rack for another bottle of red, the alcohol firing a warm buzz through my veins, when someone grips me tightly by the arm. Shocked, I drop the glass I’m holding and it shatters across the kitchen floor.
‘Shit.’ I pull away, rubbing at my arm as Gareth appears beside me. ‘What the hell did you grab me for?’ Scowling, I open the cupboard under the sink and start rummaging around for a dustpan and brush.
‘Party’s over.’ Gareth pulls at my arm again as I stand, dustpan in hand. ‘Come on, it’s time to wrap it up. You’ve had enough to drink.’
‘What? No, the party isn’t over – Mel and Jonno have only just arrived! I need to clean this mess up. And I’m not drunk.’ I bend and start to sweep clumsily at the glass on the floor, but Gareth shifts so that he blocks my way. ‘Gareth, move, please. Someone could cut themselves.’
‘I said leave it. The party is over. You need to come out and help me tell everyone it’s time to go. Now.’ He leans down and pulls me upright, almost knocking me off balance into the broken glass, as I put out a hand to steady myself.
‘And I said no. Everyone is out there having a good time – everyone apart from you! I don’t know what the problem is Gareth, but I’ve just about had enough – do you realize that?’ My voice is raised, my throat thickening with tears of anger. ‘You’re unbearable at the moment, I don’t know what’s going on but …’
‘Keep your bloody voice down. There’s nothing going on. These people have had our hospitality all day – I said the party is finished, so let’s go out there and wrap it up.’ He grips my upper arm again and I tug away violently, alcohol and the slight buzz of fear making my stomach clench.
‘No. No, I’m not telling people to leave, it’s far too early.’ My palm throbs, and I look down to see a thin line of blood welling up.
‘Fine. If what these people think is more important to you than I am, that’s fine. You do what you want.’ With that he storms towards the front door, leaving me shocked and confused by his outburst, with no idea what has brought all of this on, before shouting after him.
‘Fuck you, Gareth!’
There is a light tap on the bathroom door as I lean over the sink, splashing cold water over my puffy, tear-stained face. I’ve picked a shard of glass out of my hand and managed to stop the bleeding, before dissolving into tears at the thought of Gareth storming out and having to deal with his bad mood when he decides to come back. Thinking it’s Amy checking up on me, I call out a soft, ‘Come in,’ before burying my wet face in a towel.
‘Are you OK?’ The voice isn’t the one I’m expecting to hear, and as I lower the towel I see Ted’s face peering round the doorframe at me, concern in his eyes.
‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Hanging the towel over the edge of the bath I turn back to the mirror, avoiding Ted’s gaze as I fuss at my fringe.
‘I didn’t mean to … barge in on you or anything. I just, well I overheard you and Gareth in the kitchen and I wanted to make sure you were OK. It looked like you’d cut yourself.’ Ted steps fully into the bathroom and gently pushes the door closed.
‘I did. I mean, it’s fine, just a scratch. Oh God, I’m sorry.’ Covering my face with my hands I swipe quickly at the tears that spring easily to my eyes, the way they do when you’ve been on a crying jag, made worse by Ted’s kindness and concern. ‘I’m so embarrassed, I didn’t realize anyone overheard us.’
‘Hey, shhh,’ Ted crosses the room in one easy stride and yanks a length of tissue paper from the holder, handing it to me as I start to sob.
‘I’m sorry,’ I hiccup again, scrubbing at my face with the tissue, but Ted pulls my hand away, his fingers closing easily around my wrist as he pulls me towards him. ‘Oh, God, I have to go out there and tell everyone they need to leave.’
‘I can do that. I’ll tell them that you’ve got a migraine and Gareth is looking after you. Don’t worry.’
I let out another hiccup-y sob at his kindness. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry, I can’t seem to …’
‘It’s OK, Rachel, you can cry if you want to.’ I bury my face in his shirt, inhaling the cool, fresh scent of his aftershave, something sharp and citrusy that makes me think of Italy, and a holiday we spent staying on a lemon grove. I stay there for a long moment, feeling the thud of my heart against his chest, as he breathes in and out, before I look up to see him staring down at me. Without thinking, without even trying to stop myself, I reach up on my tiptoes, planting my lips firmly against his. Holding my breath, I wait for him to pull away but he doesn’t, instead just moves his mouth against mine. I feel light-headed, the booze and the intoxicating smell of Ted’s aftershave making the room spin lightly and I hold tight to his shirt in a wave of dizziness.
‘What about Angela?’ I breathe, pulling back, my heart pounding in my chest. What about Gareth? Yes, I know it’s wrong, and I know that I am probably going to regret this in the morning when I wake up with a raging hangover, my head thumping and my mouth sour, but it’s been so long since Gareth has been anywhere near me that my skin is aflame by Ted’s touch, and I’m not sure what I’ll do if he stops.
‘She’s left. Angela and I aren’t together any more.’ Ted mutters, pulling me back towards him. Our mouths crush together and I can taste beer and cigarettes on his breath. It was just a kiss – at least, that’s what I try to tell myself after, when I wake the next morning feeling sick with shame. One drunken, unexpected kiss when I was feeling low, that eventually leads to so much more. That’s how it starts. That’s how I end up tangled in a dirty, sordid – and if I’m brutally honest – intoxicating, exciting, enjoyable affair with Ted Durand.
4 (#ulink_450d121b-4dbc-596a-99ad-075107322621)
JANUARY – NEW YEAR’S DAY
A dip in the mattress as somebody’s weight leans against the back of my leg pulls me from the uneasy doze I’ve fallen into. I’ve slept for a while – the light is almost gone, the bedroom swathed in darkness with just a faint orange glow from the streetlights outside – but it’s not been a restful sleep; dark images and shadowy thoughts exaggerated in my dreams. Turning from where I lay on my side, I roll over to see Robbie perched on the side of the bed. He leans over to switch on the bedside lamp and I squint slightly as the yellow warmth chases the last of the shadows from the room.
‘How are you feeling?’ He hands me a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol as I struggle my way into a sitting position, the duvet tangled around my legs.
‘Better,’ I lie, swallowing the pills with two huge gulps of water. The insistent thumping in my head starts up again as my brain protests at being upright, but the nausea seems to have subsided a little, so I’m not completely lying. ‘Where’s Dad?’
There is only silence from downstairs.
‘He’s gone out. He said you were up here sleeping it off, but when you didn’t come down for dinner I thought I’d just better check that you were OK.’
‘Dinner?’ I look at the clock on the bedside table, squinting at the numbers in the dim light. ‘Oh Rob, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late. Did you eat? I can get up now and make you something.’
‘No, Mum, it’s fine, honestly. Dad made a curry earlier – he said you always like a curry when you’re hungover. We saved you some.’ I give him a grateful smile, even though the thought of food makes my stomach roll.
‘And now Dad’s gone out?’ I frown, the chalky aftertaste of the pills thick on my tongue. ‘Did he take Thor for a walk?’ Thor, our ancient beagle, and possibly the most inappropriately named dog in England. A splatter of rain hits the bedroom window and I frown again, knowing how Thor hates to go out in the rain, and hates to go out in the dark even more.
‘No, I don’t think so. He just said he was going out. Look, Mum, are you OK? You look really pale.’
‘I’m fine, honestly. Just a little bit hungover, like Dad said.’ I can’t tell him the truth – not yet, anyway – that deep-seated maternal urge to protect my child from knowledge that will hurt him is in full swing. I smile to make the lie seem more like the truth, but my mind is whirring away in overdrive.
It’s New Year’s Day – where on earth would Gareth have gone? Surely everything is closed, it’s not like he’s got shopping to do. There is a little tickle at the back of my mind, a familiar one from the summer – the voice that whispered to me that maybe the reason why Gareth was so unbearable – snappy, irritable and secretive – was because he was having an affair. Then that makes me think about Ted, and the party, and what could have happened last night – no, not what could have, what did. My stomach turns over, and I have to swallow down the saliva that spurts into my mouth.
‘I could make you some tea?’ Robbie says tentatively, looking like a small boy again, and I wonder exactly what Gareth has told him about last night. Judging by Rob’s reaction to me, he thinks I’ve just overdone it on the wine and I’ve got a raging hangover.
‘That would be lovely. I’ll be down in a minute.’ Robbie leaves the room, thundering down the stairs like a baby elephant and I lie back on the cool pillows for a moment, before I force myself from the safety of the bed, the comfort of the bedroom, downstairs.
It’s almost midnight before Gareth comes home. Our roles are reversed, and this time it’s me sitting in the dark, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea, with Thor snoring at my feet. Robbie asked me if I minded him spending the night at Sean’s again tonight, and I told him to go, secretly relieved that he wouldn’t be home when Gareth came in, wouldn’t be there to hear what I have to say. My head feels less foggy now after my sleep, and the more I think about things the more I am convinced that whatever happened to me last night happened against my will. I wouldn’t have done that to Gareth – not after Ted, despite what people may think about me now, the thought of an affair never crossed my mind before Ted – and the fact that I can’t remember anything past the start of the evening fills me with terror, especially as I don’t think I drank that much. I hear the front door close, the lock engaging with a snick, and a few seconds later Gareth stealthily creeps into the living room, where I sit, waiting. He gasps as I flick the lamp on, clearly expecting me to be upstairs sleeping.
‘Shit, Rachel, you scared me.’ He holds one hand to his chest and I can imagine that, yes, I did scare him, sitting here in silence, in the dark. ‘Jesus, you look awful.’
‘Thanks.’ I am fully aware that I look dreadful – a glance in the hallway mirror as I made my way downstairs confirmed that for me. My hair is wild and frizzy, thanks to my falling asleep with it still wet after my bath, and my eyes are ringed with dark circles despite my nap. Now, I am sure, they are red-rimmed and puffy, as I’ve tried and failed to stop the tears that seem to leak in a constant stream, every time my thoughts turn to the previous evening. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I went for a drink. With Neil.’ He shuffles past Thor’s sleeping body and slips onto to the couch beside me. ‘I needed to get out for a bit … I had a lot to think about, you know?’ He takes a deep breath in, before he speaks again. ‘I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier.’
I lean down to stroke the dog, using him as the perfect excuse not to look at Gareth, just for a moment. I don’t know what to say in response, so I don’t say anything, not yet. Gareth fumbles for my hand, pulling it away from Thor and tucking it into his lap.
‘I spoke to Neil … asked him about last night. He told me that you stayed in their spare room. On your own.’ So, he can believe Neil, but not me. I squash the thought down, pushing it away to deal with it later. ‘So … I’m sorry. It’s just hard, you know? After everything that’s happened this year.’ He huffs a tiny puff of laughter, and I think I see a tear shining in the corner of his eye. ‘Last year. You know what I mean. After all the stuff with Ted, and us … I’m just finding it hard to trust you, and when you didn’t come home …’
‘Gareth, I need to tell you something.’ I talk over his words, not wanting to hear how he doesn’t believe me, not when I am about to tell him something that I desperately need him to believe, that I desperately need him to listen to, without questioning whether I’m being honest or not. ‘It’s important, I need you to listen to me.’
He stops talking and frowns at me, his hand tightening on mine, a warm comfortable squeeze that reminds me of the way he used to hold my hand, before we were married.
‘Gareth, last night … something happened. I think …’ I pause, my throat thickening so much that for a moment I struggle to get a breath and the sharp, bitter taste of panic floods my mouth. ‘I think someone raped me.’
As soon as I say the words hysteria washes over me, and I want to laugh at Gareth’s reaction. His mouth drops open and the blood drains from his face, leaving his skin pale and washed out.
‘What?’ He manages to force the words out, and as the hysteria leaves me I find that I am crying again. ‘Rachel … what do you mean? Someone … Jesus. Are you sure?’ Dropping my hand, he gets to his feet and starts pacing the living room floor, shoving his hand repeatedly through his hair. Thor squeaks indignantly as Gareth trips over his back half, before scuttling over to his basket to stay out of the way. I stand, drawing my dressing gown tightly around me until it digs into my waist, and step into the middle of the rug, hoping to stop Gareth’s frantic pacing. As he reaches me, I grab both of his hands in mine, pressing my palms against his skin.
‘No, I’m not sure. I think so. I don’t … Gareth, please listen to me.’
‘What happened, Rachel? Is this why you didn’t come home? Who did this to you?’
I shake my head, trying to deflect the torrent of questions. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know? Oh, Rach.’ Gareth pulls me towards him, wrapping his arms around me and I wince, aware that my wrists are sore too, I just didn’t realize earlier thanks to the heavier bruising on my upper arms. Tired, I rest my cheek against his chest for a moment, letting him hold me, before I look up at him. He smooths the hair away from my face. ‘What do you mean you don’t know? How can you not know? I don’t understand.’
I pull away, rubbing at my wrists and sit back down on the couch, my legs feeling strangely jelly-like.
‘I just … don’t know. I don’t remember. I remember getting to the party, Liz opening the door. Maybe having a glass of red wine?’ I look up at him and he gives a small nod, his face pale and his mouth pinched into a tight line. ‘Then I woke up in the spare room at the Greenes’ house, feeling like shit. Like, the worst hangover I’ve ever had. I don’t even know how I got home this morning, I felt so awful.’ I choke back a sob at the memory of coming to in Liz’s spare room.
‘But you think someone raped you?’ He kneels in front of me, the scent of stale beer on his breath wafting up as he speaks, making me feel sick. I smell a faint whiff of smoke on him, and know that he’s smoked a sneaky cigar with Neil.
‘Yes. My … I hurt. My thighs, at the top and … inside.’ Taking a deep breath, I slide the dressing gown off my shoulders to reveal the bruising at the top of my arms, the delicate skin underneath so purple, it’s almost black. ‘And I wouldn’t have done that to you, Gareth, not willingly, not after all we’ve been through.’
‘Fucking hell, Rachel.’ His gaze sliding away from my bruises, Gareth breathes out hard through his nose and I see the skin across his knuckles whiten as he clenches his fists. ‘And you have no idea who did this? No memory of it at all?’
I shake my head, fat drops hitting my knees and leaving wide, dark patches on the fabric of the dressing gown.
‘Nothing. It’s just black, like it’s been wiped from my brain. A black hole. I’ve tried and tried to think, to remember anything about the party, anyone that might have done this but I don’t know. I don’t know anything.’ I can barely swallow, my throat is so thick with tears and I am powerless to stop them from pouring down my cheeks, scalding as they drip from the end of my chin.
‘Oh God, Rachel, come here.’ Gareth pulls me to my feet and into his chest again, his arms tightening around me. The crush of his chest against mine takes my breath away, and for a moment I enjoy the sensation of not being able to draw breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I’m so fucking sorry that I left you there alone, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to protect you. I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have left you there on your own. I should have made you leave with me.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I mutter into his chest, despite feeling that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t left me there, if I hadn’t been so stubborn, apparently, about staying. ‘I don’t know what to do, Gareth. I don’t know how to deal with this.’ Fear rises up and I pull away slightly, fighting to catch my breath, black spots dancing at the corner of my vision, panic making my heart beat frantically in my chest like a caged bird.
‘We’re going to the police,’ his voice is firm, ‘and we’re going to let them catch the bastard that did this.’
5 (#ulink_14e20136-a8b2-58ee-8bab-31165dc845b1)
I stare blankly out of the car window, as the rain that hasn’t stopped since yesterday evening lashes against the glass. Every now and again Gareth reaches over from the driving seat to pat my knee or squeeze my hand but I don’t give him any response. I feel numb, unable to return his gestures, just wanting to get the whole thing over and done with. Last night, when he said he wanted to call the police, I felt my breath freeze in my lungs, the thought of having to tell people – people who aren’t Gareth, people who have no idea who I really am – what actually happened, making panic swarm in my belly like a thousand angry bees.
‘No, I can’t,’ I’d said, backing away from him and tying the dressing gown cord so tightly that I felt it cut into my waist.
‘Rachel, you have to, you can’t let whoever did this get away with it.’ He’d reached for me, but I had flinched from him and he’d stared at me, hurt and confused. ‘I’m going to call them, they need to know.’
‘No, Gareth, please, I don’t want them to know … I can’t …’ The words died in my throat as he reached for the phone and I shoved past him, headed for the safety of the bedroom. He hadn’t phoned them, not then, but this morning when I woke up from a fitful sleep he was standing over me, phone in hand, ready to make the call. Now, I find myself sullen and angry, slumped in the passenger seat on the way to meet a police officer at the Kingsnorth rape suite.
‘We’re here.’ Gareth rests his hand gently on mine, before switching the ignition off and I ignore him, still gazing out of the window as the rain makes the puddles leap and dance with splashes. ‘Rachel? Come on, I’ll be with you the whole time. I won’t let you do this on your own, I promise.’
I turn to face him, exhaustion making my movements slow and clumsy, but I don’t have the words to say how I’m feeling. Instead, I silently turn back and fumble for the door handle, pretending that I don’t hear his little exhalation of relief that I am finally doing as I am told.
The building that houses the police station is a sprawling, double storey structure masked from the outside world by a short driveway lined with trees, quaint compared to the usual expectation of a police station. As I step out of the car and look towards the road, I realize I have driven past it hundreds of times on my way to drop Robbie off at school, without ever considering what goes on inside. I wait, scuffing the gravel with the toe of my shoe as the rain soaks my hair, for Gareth to lock the car unwilling to move even a step towards the building on my own.
‘OK?’ Gareth’s eyes search my face, as he tucks the slip of paper he wrote the police station address on into his back pocket, before reaching for my hand. I give a small nod, lying again, as I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready for this. We walk slowly up the path together towards the door over which hangs a sign for reception. I stumble at the threshold, almost as though my feet don’t want to carry me over, but I force myself onwards, following Gareth to the front desk. He speaks in a low voice to the woman there, her eyes drifting towards me as he talks, and I turn away, not wanting to see pity on her face. It’s not long before a slightly built blonde woman appears in my eye line, a small smile on her face showing off the gap between her two front teeth.
‘Rachel?’ She asks, and I nod. ‘I’m Carrie – do you want to follow me?’ I get slowly to my feet, casting a panicked look back at Gareth. ‘Oh, your husband can come too, if that’s what you’d like?’ I nod again and take Gareth’s hand gratefully, his palm warm against my cold skin, as he stands to follow Carrie though a set of double doors and along the corridor to a small room with a low couch either side of a coffee table with a fake vase of flowers standing on it. It feels homely and it throws me for a second – I somehow thought I would have to give a statement, be questioned or whatever, in an interview room.
‘Have a seat.’ Carrie sinks down onto one couch and Gareth and I follow suit, leaning in to one another on the opposite couch. ‘Now, Rachel, I’m what they call a SOLO – sexual offence liaison officer – I’m specially trained to help you with what you’ve experienced, OK? I know you’re frightened, but I’m here to do the very best that I can to help you.’
‘OK.’ I let out a shaky breath that I didn’t realize I was holding and wiggle my toes in the ends of my shoes, pressing them into the beige carpet tiles.
‘I’ll take a statement from you, and if it’s OK we’ll do a medical examination. Trust me, Rachel, we will do everything we can to make this as less stressful as we can for you.’ Carrie reaches over and pats my hand and I find I am already fighting back tears before I even begin to make the statement. ‘Can you take me through that evening – the evening of December thirty-first?’
‘I don’t remember very much. Only arriving at the party, maybe having a drink or two? It was hot in there. Busy.’ I glance at Gareth who is chewing on the inside of his lip.
‘Would you rather do this on your own, Rachel?’ Carrie sees my glance and follows my gaze over to Gareth.
‘No,’ I say hastily, not wanting to be alone with her, afraid of the questions that she might ask me. ‘It’s fine. I just can’t remember anything about that night. Not past the first hour or so of the party.’
‘Do you think there’s a possibility that something could have been put into your drink?’ Carrie asks, her pen scratching away at the notepad in front of her.
‘I … maybe. I don’t know.’
‘How did you feel when you woke up?’ Carrie asks me gently, and Gareth gives my knee a tiny squeeze, letting me know he’s still there.
‘Rough. Really, really poorly. Like the worst hangover I’d ever had. Everything was a bit foggy … I was sick and dizzy, a bit unsteady on my feet.’
‘And when did you first start to think that perhaps you had been raped?’ Carrie’s voice is kind, her tone soft and it makes tears jump to my eyes. I was so frightened that they wouldn’t believe me, that they’d think that I was just a woman who’d drunk too much and stayed out all night and needed to concoct a story for her husband, that the fact Carrie seems to believe what I’m saying makes me feel almost faint with gratitude.
‘Not until last night, not properly. It’s not the kind of thing that you think will happen to you, you know? When I woke up the morning after the party … my whole body was sore, and there was bruising to my thighs and my upper arms. Also, I was sore, you know …’ I gesture downwards towards my lap. ‘I was trying to think of a reason why I would feel like that, but I know I wouldn’t have … not, you know. I wouldn’t have wanted to.’
‘Is there anybody who you think might have … had something to do with this?’ Carrie asks gently.
‘What? I don’t …’ The words won’t come and I grip Gareth’s hand tightly, my whole body starting to shake.
‘It’s OK, Rachel, I don’t mean to upset or confuse you,’ Carrie says, with an anxious glance at Gareth,‘what I meant is, is there anyone who has upset you lately, anyone who might have a grudge against you? Have you fallen out with anyone? Friends or colleagues? Basically, anyone you might think would have a reason to want to hurt you. The reason I ask, Rachel, is that acquaintance or date rape is much more common than stranger rape, do you understand what I mean?’
‘No … not that I can think of. I don’t have any colleagues – I’m an aromatherapist. I work from home.’ I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My brain is foggy and I can’t think straight.
‘There’s nobody that would want to hurt Rachel,’ Gareth’s voice is strained and he runs his hand through his hair again, like some sort of nervous tic, ‘she gets on with everybody. There were lots of people at that party – every room was crowded. There were lots of people that we knew there, but also lots of people that we didn’t know. Presumably friends and acquaintances of Liz and Neil.’
‘Rachel?’ Carrie gives a brief nod to Gareth, but clearly wants to hear it from me. ‘Nobody at all?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘There isn’t anyone that I can think of who would ever do something as awful as this.’
The interview, the statement, whatever you want to call it goes on and on, Carrie asking me questions about every little aspect of the party. Who else was there? I have to tell her that I don’t know, I only remember seeing Neil and Liz, although I know other people were there. What time did I think the party finished? I don’t know, I can’t remember anything past the first hour. Did anyone see me spending time with anyone in particular? At this I utter the same words for the hundredth time, I don’t know, tears of frustration streaming down my cheeks. If only I could just remember something, anything, that could give Carrie a lead. Eventually I manage to stop the tears, my eyes feeling raw, and Carrie apologizes for causing me any distress. As she leaves the room to fetch tea, I turn to Gareth.
‘Please, can we just go now?’ Exhaustion is tugging at my bones and all I want to do is go to sleep. ‘I’ve done what you wanted, I’ve reported it.’
‘Not quite done yet, sorry, Rachel.’ Carrie appears in the doorway, obviously overhearing, and replies before Gareth gets the chance to. ‘I’d really like to get the doctor to give you a quick medical examination, and to take some photos of that nasty bruising, if that’s OK with you. We’ll also do some tests for STDs and a pregnancy test.’
God, I want to weep, the thought of someone pulling at me, inspecting the deepest parts of me, makes me want to throw up. I can’t even entertain the thought that whoever he is might have given me something else as well.
‘Rachel, please,’ desperation leaches into Gareth’s voice, ‘you’ve been really brave. Please just do this one thing; whoever did this needs to be caught.’ Fighting back the panic that seems to have been simmering under my skin since the night of the party I agree to the medical, despite feeling as though I might faint at the touch of someone I don’t know. Gareth is right – whoever did this needs to be caught, and if it means I need to do this, then I need to do it. Gareth kisses my temple, and then I follow Carrie along a corridor towards the back of the police station, and realize that this must be the rape suite – a block of three rooms, one for examination, another room similar to the one I have spent the morning in, and a bathroom, complete with shower. Carrie explains that after the medical, I can have a shower and she’ll give me clean clothes to wear home, if I want them.
‘Where are the clothes you wore that night, Rachel?’ she asks, as another officer photographs the bruises that stain the skin on my arms.
‘At home,’ I whisper, ‘in the laundry basket. I haven’t washed them yet.’ Carrie tells me she’ll come and collect them, that I don’t need to worry, just put them in a bag and she’ll drive over tomorrow to pick them up. She leads me into the examination room and I start to slowly slide my clothes off behind the paper screen, my heart thumping double time in my chest. Even the realization that the doctor examining me is a woman doesn’t stop the fear from clogging my throat, and I lie on the examination table, my muscles so tense they hurt. Finally, endlessly, it is over and I slide from the table, wrapping the paper gown Carrie has left out tightly around my body and dress in my own comfortable, familiar clothes, ignoring the jogging pants and sweatshirt provided by the staff. Back in the room, Carrie perches on the end of the coffee table, talking to Gareth, both of them looking up startled when I appear in the doorway.
‘All done?’ Carrie smiles and gets to her feet, moving towards the door. ‘Rachel, you’ve been fantastic – really helpful. I’ll be over tomorrow to collect the clothing, and as soon as I have any further information for you I’ll be in touch. Here’s my number, you can call me any time, OK?’ She presses a business card into my hand and I whisper my thanks. I don’t want her to come over tomorrow. I don’t want to have to call her. I just want this to never have happened.
We drive home in silence, the claustrophobic kind that you could cut with a knife. I have no words left to say, and after a few feeble attempts at starting a conversation, it seems that Gareth has run out of sympathetic phrases, something that I’m more than a little relieved about. Once back home indoors, he offers to take Thor for a walk, somehow sensing that I don’t want to leave the house, and he grabs the lead from where it hangs by the back door.
‘Will you be OK if I take the dog out? I won’t be long.’ He doesn’t look at me as he fusses with the lead, not quite managing to clip it in even though Thor isn’t moving.
‘What were you talking to Carrie about when I was in the examination room?’ I didn’t want to ask, but the look on his face when I re-entered the room puzzled me, and I want to know what was said. He sighs and ruffles a hand through his hair before he answers.
‘I asked her if it made a difference, the fact that you’d had a bath as soon as you got home that morning.’
‘And what did she say?’ My heart starts hammering in my chest and my mouth goes dry. I twist my fingers together to hide their shaking, but I already know what the answer will be, I knew straight away when I saw her face when I answered the question.
‘She said it probably did. That it will have massively reduced the chances of them recovering any useable DNA.’ He stands and clicking his tongue at Thor strides towards the back door, slamming it closed behind him. I stare after him, my breath coming in frantic huffs as I fight back tears, at the realization that despite seeming so supportive on the surface, perhaps my husband doesn’t really believe me.
6 (#ulink_f1dcbdce-0b27-56dd-9ed9-8c1ca72aa3a9)
LATE AUGUST – THREE AND A HALF MONTHS BEFORE THE PARTY
Ted slides a warm hand up my thigh under the table and I push him away half-heartedly, feeling guilty at the little thrill that runs through my veins at his touch.
‘Don’t, Ted. What if someone sees?’ I look over my shoulder but the people at the other occupied tables are engrossed in their own lives, no one is paying any attention to us. We are sitting in the beer garden of a pub twenty miles outside of West Marsham, chosen for its tucked away location. Over the past two weeks things have escalated between Ted and myself, starting when he called me two days after the barbecue, seemingly to check how my hand was. We’ve met for coffee twice, just to chat, and now … now, we’re sitting in a pub, tucked away from prying eyes, and Ted’s hand is on my thigh. I have cancelled this afternoon’s clients, a risk in itself, in order to be able to meet Ted and I have butterflies in my stomach at the idea that something more might happen, alongside shredded nerves.
‘That’s why we picked this place, isn’t it? Because it’s little known and secluded, so no one would see us?’ Ted turns his blue-eyed gaze on me and stares intently. I look away, feeling suddenly shy. Feeling noticed. My stomach flips as I breathe in the scent of his aftershave and for a brief second, I long to feel his mouth on mine again, before I pull away, reaching for my wine glass.
‘We can never be too careful.’ Smiling, I tip my glass towards him before taking a sip of the cold, crisp white wine, perfect for the warm summer afternoon. Despite the buzz of spending time with Ted, there is always the niggle of fear that someone will spot us at the back of my mind. ‘Where is Angela today?’
‘Apparently she’s at work. But she took her yoga mat and she was wearing her leggings, so I strongly doubt that that’s the case, unless she’s going in after her “class”.’ A shadow crosses his face briefly, as Ted makes air quotes around the word, convinced as he is that Angela isn’t going to yoga so often to work on her flexibility. Despite the rumours, and what Ted told me that day in the bathroom, Angela is still living at the family home. ‘What about Gareth?’
I shrug and bury my face in my glass to buy myself a few seconds. Who knows where Gareth is today? He’s stopped telling me anything about the business, dealing with all the properties himself, and now that he’s taken on an actual, proper secretary he doesn’t even need me to do his paperwork any more, all under the guise of leaving me ‘more time for your aromatherapy’.
‘I don’t know where he is,’ I confess, draining the last of my wine. ‘He’s always either out somewhere, or closeted away in his office at home.’ Even when he’s only in his office, the emotional barrier he’s put up between us means he might as well be a million miles away.
‘So, things haven’t improved much between you recently?’ Ted asks, his hand moving from my thigh to rest lightly on the table, a respectable distance away from my fingers.
‘Not really. They’re worse, if anything. I mean, we’ve barely spoken since the night of the barbecue.’ I flush a hot red at the thought of that night, the night this … thing between Ted and I started. ‘Every time I try to talk to him he tells me he’s too busy and he’ll speak to me later.’ Of course, later never comes. I quite often have clients come to me after they finish work, meaning that I spend most of the evening in the log cabin at the end of the garden that serves as my treatment room, and then I’m usually asleep by the time he comes up to bed, if he even comes to bed at all, and he’s gone by the time I wake up in the morning.
‘You don’t have to put up with it, you know, Rachel.’
‘The same way you don’t have to put up with Angela sleeping with her yoga teacher?’ Immediately the words leave my mouth I feel like a bitch, even more so at the way Ted’s face crumples slightly. He pulls it back quickly though, I’ll give him that, and the look is gone before I’m even really sure I saw it in the first place.
‘Rachel, I know that my marriage with Angela is over. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think that. I wouldn’t have let anything happen at the barbecue if I wasn’t sure that Angela was about to leave me.’ Ted’s voice is quiet, and deadly serious. His forehead creases in a deep frown as he speaks, as if it hurts him to say the words out loud. I wish I had another drink that I could nurse, a barrier that I could hold between us, so things don’t feel quite so intense. ‘Angela is sleeping with Devon, or Cornwall, or whatever the bloody hell his name is. I’ve found the evidence – she’s not exactly tried to hide it – and much as it pains me to admit it, she’s going to leave me … the signs are all there.’ I want to ask him what the signs are, what should I be looking for in Gareth, but he carries on speaking, his voice breaking slightly. ‘That’s the reason why I put up with it all – because when she does leave, when I am left behind, telling Sean that life as he knows it is changing, then I can’t be blamed. It won’t be me that my son can’t stand to be around. I might not have Angela, but I’ll still have Sean. Do you see?’ His eyes search mine and my heart flutters under his intense gaze.
‘Yes, I do see.’ I look away, my right hand moving to fiddle with my wedding ring. It sits fast on my finger, metal snug against skin. ‘It’s different for me though, Ted – do you see? I do love Gareth – I want things to work with him, but I am so sick of being pushed aside, ignored … treated like I’m nothing.’ I raise my eyes to meet his. ‘I’m lonely, Ted, but when I’m with you, I’m not. I feel like you notice me. Gareth … he doesn’t even know I’m alive sometimes, but he’s my husband, and deep down he is still that man I married. I love him and I want us to get back to the way things were, but I also want this, here, with you. For now, anyway. Does that make me a bitch?’
‘Some would say so,’ Ted laughs, before reaching over and brushing his hand through my hair, in that way that makes me forget about Gareth and his cold, brittle demeanour, and I force away the feeling of self-loathing that bubbles under my skin.
I should leave, I know that. But sitting in the sunshine with Ted, enjoying the alcohol, the sun beating down on my bare shoulders, the feeling of actually being listened to for the first time in I don’t know how long, I can’t resist staying for one more drink before I head back to real life.
‘Another beer?’ I get to my feet, swinging one leg over the seat of the picnic bench, and picking up my empty wine glass.
‘Wouldn’t say no … but don’t you have to get back?’Ted flicks his wrist to glance at his watch. Another thing I like about him – he’s just as aware of where I need to be and when I need to leave as I am, although that might be fear of being found out that makes him so conscious.
‘One more drink can’t hurt, can it?’ I smile down at him. ‘And it’s like you said, it’s not as if there’s anyone we know here.’ Stepping my other foot over the seat of the bench Ted brushes his fingers across my ankle, sending a shot of desire straight through me. I’m not sure I’ll be able to go straight home after this drink.
The inside of the pub is dark after the bright sunshine of the beer garden, and I squint slightly as I enter, willing my eyes to adjust. It’s busier in here now, and glancing at the clock behind the bar I see it’s almost six o’clock. Not that I have anything to rush back for, Gareth won’t be home until goodness knows when, and Robbie will be out with Sean. I jostle next to a couple of men in suits at the bar as I wait to be served; the speedy service of this afternoon gone now as people stop in on their way home from work to enjoy a drink in the evening sunshine. Definitely best to make this the last drink before I get Ted to drop me somewhere close enough to the house to walk the rest of the way, but far enough out that we don’t get spotted.
As I wait, the pub getting busier and busier, I feel less and less confident about staying. What are you doing, Rachel? Are you really going to risk everything with Gareth for a fling with Ted? Just as the guilty feeling that sits heavy in my stomach becomes unbearable and I finally make the decision to leave it, to go home to Gareth and forget about seeing Ted again, I catch the bartender’s attention and he mouths, ‘Same again?’ I waver for too long, and then it’s too late – he pours a beer for Ted and another glass of wine for me. Turning, my hands full, I am startled by a man standing right behind me, almost too close. Beer slops over my hand and I yelp, holding the glass away from me to avoid it spilling down my skirt.
‘Shit, I’m sorry …’ He raises a hand to steady me before he squints at me over the top of his glasses, recognition dawning on his face. ‘Rachel? What are you doing here?’
Fuuuuck. This is the last thing I need. I knew we should have left while it was still quiet, less chance of being spotted. Now it seems like I’ve blown everything. Keep cool, Rachel, he doesn’t know anything.
‘Aaron.’ I keep my tone deliberately on the icy side, hoping that he doesn’t want to stop and chat. ‘I haven’t seen you for years.’
‘It’s been a while,’ he smiles, crinkling his eyes at me, ‘so, is Gareth here? It would be good to catch up over a drink, if you guys have time.’ He looks pointedly at my full hands, both carrying fresh drinks, and my heart sinks down to my sandals.
‘Ermmm, no.’ I manage to force the words out through my dry mouth. The urge to sip at the wine in my hands is overwhelming. ‘Gareth isn’t here, I’m just … having a quick drink with a friend, that’s all.’
‘Ah. Shame.’ Aaron looks me up and down, and I remember how he used to make my skin crawl when he first started working for Gareth. Aaron and I had been at the same university together but had never really been friends, he’d just known some of the people that I had hung around with. I hadn’t seen him since graduation, not until his CV landed on Gareth’s desk. I didn’t remember him being creepy at uni, but when he started working for us he had this … unsettling air about him. Intense – to the point of making me feel quite uncomfortable.
‘We’ll have to catch up though, really soon,’ he’s saying, ‘I’ve just moved back over this way. I split up with Harriet, so I’m renting a place over in West Marsham, not far from you guys actually.’ Oh Jesus, I’m not sure things could get any worse.
‘Yes. Yes, of course. We’ll arrange something. If you’ll excuse me?’ Heart thundering so hard I swear Aaron can see my pulse jumping in my throat, I lift the full glasses and nod towards the door into the garden.
‘Nice to see you.’ Aaron stands to one side and I walk as casually as I can towards the beer garden, feeling his eyes on my back until I’m out of his sight.
‘Here.’ I thrust the not quite full pint at Ted and take a healthy slug of the rapidly warming white wine in my glass.
‘Easy tiger, what’s the rush?’Ted looks at me in amusement as I swallow, not even waiting to sit back down on the bench. ‘I thought we said one more drink would be OK.’
‘That was before.’
‘Before what?’Ted pats the bench next to him, but I shake my head and move to the opposite side, sitting to face him.
‘Before I saw someone I know. Someone who knows Gareth.’ I scan my eyes quickly over the garden, but I don’t see Aaron anywhere yet. Hopefully he’s decided that it’s too hot outside and taken a seat at the bar.
‘Shit,’ Ted swears, but still doesn’t seem fazed – he’s certainly not as worried as I am. ‘Don’t panic, Rachel.’
‘Don’t panic? Ted, we have to go – I don’t want us to be seen together!’ I start collecting up my cardigan and bag, tucking the strap under my arm, but Ted lays a hand over it.
‘Wait. If we rush off together it looks like we’re up to something …’
‘We are!’
‘… but if we just have a drink, talk and don’t panic, we look innocent, OK? Plenty of people go out for a drink completely innocently.’ He holds my gaze in a calm, steady look and I let myself take a deep breath. ‘Now, who is this person?’
‘Aaron. He used to work for Gareth, God … it must be five or six years ago now.’ Calmer now, I take another sip of wine. ‘He’s moved back here after he split up with his girlfriend apparently. He’s a creep.’ I suppress a shudder and peep over my shoulder, still anxious that he’ll come out into the garden at any moment and spot us.
‘Is he likely to tell Gareth that he saw you?’
‘I don’t know … maybe. I don’t know why he’s back, or what his plans are. I don’t know if he’s made any plans to see Gareth, although he did say it would be good to catch up. I was so rattled to see him that I forgot to ask.’
‘OK. If anyone asks … or more importantly, if Gareth asks, we were meeting to discuss a job opportunity.’
‘A job opportunity?’ I’m not quite sure where Ted is going with this, or how he’s going to make this convincing. ‘Ted, you’re a salesman. I don’t even know what it is that you sell. What job could you possibly have for me?’
‘I don’t know … part-time admin assistant at our offices? You used to do Gareth’s paperwork so I asked you to meet with me to discuss it. You turned me down. Too busy with your aromatherapy business. Honestly, Rachel, keep it simple and it’ll work, that’s if we even need it to.’ Ted’s hand covers mine, and I pull my hand away, too unnerved by Aaron’s appearance to even think of letting Ted near me.
‘OK. Oh God, what was I thinking, Ted? This is all wrong, I shouldn’t be here.’ Panic makes my heart stutter in my chest, and the burden of guilt sits heavily on my shoulders. ‘Please Ted, can you just take me home?’
Ted drops me a couple of streets away, behind the High Street that will still be busy even though it’s past seven o’clock. Digging in my bag for my key as I approach the front door my phone bleeps in my bag, but I ignore it, intent on getting indoors and into my usual slouchy outfit, one that I wear around the house, before Gareth gets home. Thankfully, there is an undisturbed air as I let myself in, telling me that I’ve beaten both Gareth and Robbie home.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I head upstairs, kicking my sandals to the back of the wardrobe and brushing my teeth to rid my mouth of the sour taste of the wine I’ve drunk. I tell myself that’s the reason – but deep down I know it’s so that Gareth doesn’t smell it on me and then question why I’ve been drinking in the afternoon. As I brush, I berate myself for being so stupid – how could I have let myself stay so long? Someone was bound to see us. And if Gareth finds out … well, it’s not just the two of us who will be affected. Am I really ready to jeopardize my marriage, to potentially lose Robbie who will no doubt take his father’s side, all for a quick fling? I spit out the toothpaste, eyeing myself critically in the mirror as I wipe my mouth. Stupid. Stupid and reckless, that’s what today was.
Comfortable now in yoga pants (I think of adulterous Angela when I pull them on) and an old Suede T-shirt I grab a glass of water and slump on the couch in front of the TV, wishing I’d just worked as originally planned. Tired from the stress of the afternoon and with a mild headache starting behind my eyes thanks to the wine, I huff in irritation as my phone bleeps again in my bag, before I get back up and grab it. A text from Gareth telling me not to wait up (no surprises there – my guilt lessens slightly as I read it), and a notification from Facebook telling me I have a friend request. Sighing, I text Gareth back, before opening the Facebook app and tapping the requests button. My heart sinks as I read the words on the screen.
‘Aaron Power has sent you a Friend Request.’
7 (#ulink_4ca48da1-f5e0-5ebd-a325-4c034e78c85f)
JANUARY – TWO DAYS AFTER THE PARTY
‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’ Gareth pauses from where he’s stuffing paperwork into his laptop bag, running his eyes over me. He looks pale, washed-out, with dark circles like bruises under his eyes. I can only imagine how I must look – better than I feel, hopefully.
‘I’ll be fine. I know you’re busy.’ Too busy. The words hang in the thick silence between us. It’s the first proper working day back after the Christmas holidays and I know that Gareth is itching to get back to the office. In a way, I’m happy that he’s going for the day. I can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t quite believe my story about what happened at the party; something about the way he looked at me when he told me Carrie said I had probably destroyed all the evidence. Almost as though he thought I’d done it on purpose. It’s hard enough trying to process it all, without feeling as though I have to convince him to believe me.
‘If you need me I can come home. You know that.’ I nod as he crosses the small gap between us, pulling me close for a quick hug before he lets me go again. ‘Or I can stay – if you want me to, I’ll cancel the meetings.’ He pulls the laptop bag over his shoulder and reaches for his travel mug of coffee, saying the words, but not really meaning them.
I shake my head, playing my part to perfection. ‘It’s fine, honestly. I’m sure Robbie will be home before too long, and I have Carrie’s number.’ Not that I’ll call her. ‘I’ll take the dog out for some fresh air and then maybe I’ll … I don’t know. I’ll find something to do.’ I force out a smile, shooing him towards the door and he scurries off down the drive, giving me a brief wave as he reverses the car out and heads towards West Marsham.
I sit at the kitchen table, hugging my mug of tea for warmth. I don’t seem to have been able to get warm since I woke up in that stifling, stuffy room in Liz’s house, the morning after the party. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back and try my hardest to remember something, anything, about that night. I’m tired of not knowing what happened, tired of the fear that hovers every time I try to fill in the blanks. Music.That’s something that floats into my mind as I try and think – I remember as we walked in there was Christmas music playing, something old, maybe from the 80s, playing loudly, the bass line thudding in my chest. I remember Gareth rolling his eyes, laughing at me, as I started to dance my way into the house, grabbing at his hand to pull him along behind me. I still thought that I could jolly him into having a good time, that once he’d had a beer or two he’d loosen up and start enjoying himself. Did he, though? I can’t remember. Liz said she didn’t think we argued, but who knows? I should maybe start to think about talking to some of the others at the party, maybe they would know?
The shrill ring of the doorbell startles me, and I jump, slopping cold tea down the front of my dressing gown. Shit. I dab at it pathetically as the doorbell rings again, before giving in and getting to my feet.
‘Rachel. Hi. How are you doing?’ I open the front door to find Carrie on the doorstep. True to her word she is here, just as she said she would be. She looks me up and down quickly, as if she’s trying to assess me without me noticing. I notice.
‘I thought you would have called first. I’ve just got up.’ I feel as though I have to justify why it’s nearly ten o’clock in the morning and I’m still in a scruffy dressing gown.
‘I’m sorry, I was passing and I thought I’d pop in now, instead of having to drop back later. Is it OK to come in?’ She already has one foot on the threshold so I pull the door fully open to allow her to come in. She moves aside to let me lead the way and I take her through to the living room, aware that I haven’t tidied the kitchen after last night’s dinner.
‘Here,’ I gesture towards the couch for her to take a seat. ‘Would you like tea?’
‘No, thank you.’ Carrie sits, and digs in her bag for her notebook and pen. ‘I’m going to be your dedicated officer, Rachel. That means that I’ll be the one keeping you informed of everything that takes place during our investigation. I know you gave us a statement yesterday, but do you think I could ask you a couple more questions?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I draw in a shaky breath. ‘Sorry. It’s difficult to keep talking about it, you know?’ Picking at the threads on my dressing gown, my stomach flips with nerves at the thought of having to talk it all through again.
‘I know, I do understand and I’m sorry that I need to ask you more. I just want to check and make sure that you haven’t remembered anything else, anything that might be significant.’ I shake my head, fighting back the wave of frustration that rises up in me at the thought of the black hole in my memory.
‘Just that there was music. There was music playing really loudly when we walked in. That’s it, there’s nothing else. What have you done so far?’ The question blurts out before I think. ‘I mean … how are you investigating this? What are you doing to find out who did this to me?’ The words tumble out and I raise my hand to my mouth to try to stop them. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry … I just …’
Carrie leans forward and lays her hand on mine, squeezing in some gesture of reassurance.
‘Rachel, I promise we’re doing everything we can to get as much information as possible. We’ve spoken to the party host and asked for a complete list of guests. We’ll be talking to every guest individually, asking them questions to see what they can tell us. Sometimes people see things that they don’t even realize are relevant. Any information can be useful.’
‘OK,’ I nod, already feeling a little calmer, now I know that even if Gareth doesn’t necessarily believe me, Carrie does. ‘And you’ll speak to everybody that is on the list?’
‘Of course, we will.’ Carrie makes a point of writing in her notebook, almost as if to prove to me that she’ll do what she says she will. ‘Once we have the results of your medical examination I’ll be able to give you more information, but the truth is …’ Carrie breaks off for a moment and I feel a swell of horror, as I know what she’s going to say. She swallows hard, as if finding it difficult to speak. ‘The fact that you had a bath won’t have helped … it might make it difficult for us to pick up any DNA.’
‘I had to! I had to have a bath … I felt …’ the words stick in my throat,‘I felt filthy. And anyway … I didn’t know, not at first. I thought … I don’t know what I thought; I just didn’t think it was that. Everything was so … confused, blurry. Things like that don’t happen to people like me.’ I break off, the words unable to force their way out past the lump in my throat.
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Lisa Hall
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 26.07.2024
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