‘Please!’ Megan begged. ‘I’ll go to a clinic when I get home, I’ll make sure I’m okay. Believe me, I can put this behind me. My future is set out. I won’t let this take it from me!’
‘I still think you’re wrong.’ Joanne dropped onto the sofa beside her. ‘But, if that’s what you want, Megan, then yes, I promise.’ She leaned forward, and laid her hand on top of Beth and Megan’s entwined fingers.
Beth, her hand sandwiched between those of her friends, felt the warm air from Megan’s sigh of relief brush her cheek as Megan’s head drooped to rest on her shoulder.
They stayed silent for a long time, at a loss for any words that made sense or offered comfort. Slowly, the hand under Beth’s turned. She could feel Megan’s fingers stretching and reaching, desperate to clasp both of their hands in hers, her fingers tightening, vice-like, as she started to cry as if determined, despite her tears, to hold them to their promise.
6
2020
It was Megan’s favourite time of the day. She stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of the penthouse apartment as she watched dusk blur the edges of the city and then waited for that brief moment of dullness before it pinged to life again. Streetlights, neon signs, undefined pinpoints of light, apartment windows shining. London, day or night, she loved it. Her eyes drifted to the reflection of the woman who stood unmoving behind her. Megan closed her eyes briefly and turned.
‘I wish you’d say something,’ she said quietly, taking another sip of the chilled Chardonnay. It was New Year’s Day. They’d partied until four a.m. and returned home for a few hours’ sleep before having breakfast with some friends in the apartment below. After that, it was a late lunch in the city with a group of work colleagues and friends. Someone, and she’d no idea who, had chosen a trendy and loud Russian restaurant with food that, in her estimation, was well below average. Annoyingly too, lunch went on for far longer than she’d expected and she was beyond bored with shop talk by the time they managed to wish everyone well and get away.
All she had wanted to do afterwards was to kick off her heels, unzip and peel herself out of the uncomfortably tight dress she should never have bought, and slip on the cashmere robe Trudy had bought her for Christmas. But she’d been waiting for the right moment to speak to her partner, ever since her unexpected proposal on Christmas Eve. Stunned into silence, she had listened as Trudy had gone on and on about their honest relationship, the complete and utter trust there was between them, and how their lives were intrinsically linked through their mutual respect and love. With every word, Megan loved her more but, with every mention of honesty and trust, her secret twisted inside her.
She’d said yes, of course she had, she loved Trudy, had from the first day they’d met eight incredibly quick years before. But as soon as the word was out of her mouth, Megan knew she had to tell her the truth. She wasn’t going to marry the woman she loved with a secret hovering in the background. It would have been better to have told her straight away, with the next breath after that ecstatic yes. It would have been far better, and she would have done it, if Trudy hadn’t insisted they ring everyone, there and then, to tell them their happy news. And it was happy glorious news and, caught up in the excitement, in the absolute and utter wonder of it all, Megan had put it off, waiting for the right moment.
It hadn’t come in the excitement of Christmas Day with Trudy’s family joining in the double celebration with bottle after bottle of champagne, each popping cork accompanied by toasts made to their happy future together. Perhaps, Megan should have made time on Boxing Day, before Trudy insisted that they go to a jewellery shop to pick out engagement rings, a square diamond cluster for her, a solitaire for Trudy, the diamonds glinting in the light of the wine bar they’d gone to afterwards to celebrate with more champagne toasts and starry-eyed looks. No, the right moment just hadn’t come.
Nor had it come in the days that followed, lost as they were in parties and entertaining. Every time she saw the ring on her left hand, with every twinkle as it caught the light, her heart dropped and she swore she’d find the right moment… soon. She wasn’t sure why she was so reluctant; surely Trudy would understand and appreciate her honesty. Telling her would be a weight off Megan’s chest and once it was gone, once she was free of a lie that had simmered inside for over twenty years, she could enjoy planning their wedding.
So, when the right moment eventually came, only one hour before, when they’d stood hand in hand looking out over the city for the first peaceful moment in days, she knew it was time to speak. They had to start the new year and their new life together in the honesty that Trudy believed was already there.
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ Megan had said, her eyes fixed on the city below, her fingers tightening on the hand she held. But the words she’d practised in her head in the intervening days, the calm orderly clear words of explanation, were forgotten. Instead, she blurted out the chaotic garbled truth about the secret she’d lived with for all those years. Lost as she was in the past, she wasn’t aware that, somewhere in the middle of her story, Trudy had pulled her hand away, and at the end, in the silence, Megan stood isolated. She looked at Trudy now, this beautiful woman that she adored, and silently pleaded for understanding.
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Trudy’s barely audible words seemed to hang in the air. ‘Such a lie… it’s staggering… beyond belief.’ She took another step backwards and shut her eyes as if unable to bear looking at Megan any longer. ‘How could you?’ Her voice cracked, and, without another word, she turned and left the room.
Watching her go, knowing there was no point in going after her, Megan took another sip of her wine and moved to the sofa. She sat, crossed her legs and tried to believe it would all be okay. The secret had been rattling around her head for a long time; she couldn’t expect Trudy to take it in, in just a few minutes, she’d need time to process it all.
Twenty years. Megan put the glass down on the side table and rubbed her eyes. It was hard to believe so many years had passed. She tried never to think about that night. Sometimes, it was as if it had happened to someone else. But, every now and then, usually in the wee hours when all that worried her was written in white chalk on the darkness of the night, the secret gnawed painfully.
Twenty years. She’d been a different person then. Gauche, confused. Even her appearance was different. She cringed now when she looked at old photos of her university days; what a mess she had been. It had taken Joanne’s bluntly said words to make her see reality. When her parents had insisted on buying her a gift for obtaining the first at university, she’d known exactly what she’d wanted. To look the best she could. Thanks to a year of sometimes painful and uncomfortable orthodontic work, her teeth were now neither crooked nor prominent. Laser treatment to her eyes had taken away the need for glasses, and a better diet, along with a horrendously expensive personal trainer, had shifted the wheel of fat from around her middle. She’d never be a beauty like Trudy but, on a good day, she looked in the mirror and was content.
The only thing that hadn’t changed in all the years was the focus on her career. She hadn’t wanted anything to stand in her way. And nothing had, she’d made sure of that, and now she was where she’d always wanted to be, working for the Crown Prosecution Service – her dream come true.
Picking up her glass again, a frown creased her brow. She’d been right to finally tell Trudy the whole truth, but she wouldn’t have had to if Beth hadn’t got drunk at that party three years before. She was a sloppy drunk, becoming loose-lipped as soon as she’d had one too many and, that night, she’d had more than one. Megan, trapped in a corner by Trudy’s pleasant but garrulous father, Alex, had looked across the crowded room and watched in dismay as Trudy filled Beth’s glass again.
Shrugging, hoping her friend wouldn’t say or do anything inappropriate, Megan had brought her attention back to Alex, answering a complicated question he’d asked her about a point of law. It wasn’t the place to give free
legal advice but she liked the man and really didn’t mind.
It was a couple of minutes before her eyes drifted across the room with an unconscious need to catch her lover’s eye, her smile fading as she saw that Beth had cornered her and was standing with her mouth close to Trudy’s ear. There was no ignoring the wide eyes, the down-turned mouth and sudden pallor. With a sinking feeling, Megan knew Trudy was being told a secret that wasn’t Beth’s to tell.
Quickly introducing Alex to a couple chatting nearby, she’d squeezed through the crowd to their side with a forced smile. If there was any doubt as to what Beth had told her, it was dispelled immediately by Trudy’s terse, ‘Is it true?’
‘Don’t believe what Beth says when she’s had too much to drink,’ Megan had said with a laugh, giving her friend a none-too-kindly thump on the shoulder before leading Trudy away. ‘She’s drunk,’ Megan had insisted, trying to brush away what Beth had said. But, for all her fragile looks, Trudy was like a bull terrier when she got hold of something so, reluctantly, she’d confirmed what Beth had told her and explained her desire to keep the rape a secret. ‘I’ve put it behind me,’ she had insisted. ‘That’s why I didn’t tell you. It’s in the past. It’s where it should have stayed.’
With a gulp, she remembered that Trudy had cried for the horrific ordeal Megan had been through. She’d wanted to talk about it and had encouraged her to go for counselling, said she was certain that Megan must have buried the pain of the rape deep in her subconscious where it would fester. It had taken several weeks to persuade Trudy that she had put it all behind her. After that, it was never spoken of again. Until now.
Restless and uncomfortable in her tight dress, she finished her wine, put the glass down, and stood. There was no sound from the bedrooms. Whatever Trudy was doing, at least she wasn’t sobbing. The door to the bedroom they shared was open but a glance around the spacious room told Megan she wasn’t there. Crossing to the spare bedroom, she put an ear to the door. There was no sound from within. Perhaps she was sleeping or resting on the bed, staring at the ceiling trying to make sense of what she’d told her. She should go in and beg for her forgiveness. Her hand hovered over the door handle before she withdrew it, convinced it would be best to leave Trudy alone for a while to think.
Inside their bedroom, she swapped her dress for the red cashmere robe Trudy had bought her. It was the first time she’d had a chance to wear it, she wanted to show her just how lovely it was but after lingering again by the spare bedroom door, hearing nothing but silence from the other side, she turned away.
With her wine glass refilled, she switched on the TV, flicked through the channels and found a movie she hadn’t seen before. She tried to concentrate on it but all she could think about was the consequences of what she’d told Trudy. Perhaps, after all, it would have been better to have said nothing, to have continued to live with the secret she’d kept for over twenty years.
When the movie ended, almost two hours later, Megan switched off the TV and sat in silence. She couldn’t remember the apartment ever being so quiet; usually, Trudy would be chirruping about something or other, or humming as she cooked a meal or tidied up. Even in the middle of the night, she wasn’t completely quiet. Megan smiled, remembering Trudy’s horrified look when she told her, rushing to reassure her that she didn’t snore as such, it was more a gentle snuffle.
Her smile faded; she hoped a night’s sleep would put everything into perspective. She refused to give headspace to the terrifying question, What if it didn’t? Leaving the glass where it was, she headed to their room. They had spent many nights apart; Trudy, an award-winning architect, was often required to travel to various parts of the UK, and legal conferences frequently took Megan away. There were days, weeks sometimes, when they wouldn’t see one another, evenings when they spent an hour on the phone talking, as one or the other was away in some forgettable hotel in another city. Days, when the only contact was a brief text to tell their beloved that they were alive and couldn’t wait to be together again. But as she slid between the sheets on the king-sized bed, her hand sliding over the wide cold emptiness at her side, Megan had never felt quite so lonely.
She didn’t think she’d sleep, assumed she’d toss and turn going over everything in her head but, for a change, she slept through till morning, blinking awake when a shaft of light slipped through the not-quite-shut curtains. Moving out of its way, she lay staring at the ceiling for a long time before throwing the duvet back and swinging her feet to the floor.
After a quick shower, she pulled on jeans and a fine-knit navy jumper, ran a brush through her dark bob and took stock of herself in the mirror. Not bad for forty-two, she decided, smoothing moisturiser over her olive skin. A flick of mascara over her eyelashes, her favourite Tom Ford red lipstick on her lips, and that was as much as she was doing that morning. The door to the spare bedroom was still shut, but when she held her ear close, she could hear the faint hum of the electric shower from the en suite bathroom. It was only a hint of normality but she grabbed hold of it.
It was a lovely morning; blue skies and winter sunshine. She took a moment to admire the view before organising breakfast. Toast and coffee. It didn’t require a lot of skill. The living space of the apartment was spacious; as well as a full-size dining table that would easily sit eight, there was a small bistro table and two chairs next to the window which they preferred to use when there was just the two of them. She set out plates, mugs, and cutlery, her eyes constantly flicking to the hallway for any sign of Trudy.
Toast was standing in a rack and a cafetière was filling the room with the aroma of good coffee before she heard the familiar squeaking sound of the guest bedroom door opening. She turned in her chair and waited, her heart sinking when she saw Trudy’s pale woebegone face with its swollen eyes and down-turned mouth. There was a slump to her shoulders too, as if the weight of what she had told her was too much of a burden to carry. Megan wanted to leap to her feet and run to her side, take her in her arms and beg her forgiveness, but something in the rigid sadness of Trudy’s expression kept Megan from moving.
Trudy took the seat opposite without a word; her eyes lowered. The face of an angel, Megan thought, as she had so many times before. She reached over and poured coffee, adding the dash of milk she knew Trudy liked. Now was the time to wait patiently. Under the table, resting in her lap, one of her hands gripped and kneaded the other.
Picking up the coffee, Trudy took a sip and put it down again, staring into it. Quietly, the words barely above a whisper, she said, ‘You’ve never told Beth or Joanne the truth?’
Megan shook her head. ‘I told you, no, they don’t know. They believe the story I told them.’
Trudy’s head whipped up then, eyes glinting with sudden anger. ‘The lie you told them. The lie you told me–’
‘I wouldn’t have had to tell you anything,’ Megan interrupted her quickly, ‘if it hadn’t been for Beth and her drunken antics. I never wanted anyone to know.’
Trudy looked at her with her top lip curling in disgust. ‘Oh please, there’s no point in blaming Beth for any of this. You confirmed what she told me when you should have told me the truth. You stayed silent even as I wept to think of what you’d gone through. Wept!’ she cried, pushing back from the table, her head shaking in disbelief at the memory. ‘All these years!’ She stood and paced the floor, running a hand through her shoulder-length curly hair. ‘God, I even begged you to go for counselling. And all this time…’
Megan hung her head. There was nothing she could say that justified what she had told her but she had to try. ‘The story… okay, lie,’ she said quickly, seeing the glint in Trudy’s eyes, ‘was so set in my head I had almost begun to believe it really happened. It seemed easier to stick to the same story. To be consistent.’
‘Listen to yourself, Megan! To be consistent.’ Trudy sat, looked at her and wiped away a tear. ‘I don’t know if I can forgive you for this,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s against everything I believed ab
out you, about us.’
Megan stretched a hand across the table, knocking against the toast rack, sending slices falling to the floor. Ignoring the mess, she pleaded, ‘I’m the same person you fell in love with, Trudy. I made a mistake twenty years ago. Twenty years. A lifetime ago. I’m not the naïve stupid young woman I was then.’ She kept her hand outstretched, long after she’d given up hoping it would be taken.
Trudy narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. ‘O… kay,’ she said, dragging the word out. ‘You told me the truth because you didn’t want us to marry with this lie in your past, but telling me is only a small part of putting it behind you.’
Megan blinked, pulled her hand away, and wished she could turn the clock back to the minute before she’d told her. That precious moment when they’d been holding hands, talking about their future. A shiver slid down her backbone. Had she, with her stupid decision to confess, destroyed everything?
‘If you really want to put it all behind you and to go forward in honesty, you need to tell Beth and Joanne the truth too. You need to tell them that twenty years ago, despite what you’d let them believe that night, you were not raped by that man.’
7
Detective Inspector Beth Anderson was already late when she ran down the steps of the police station, her mind on the evening ahead. She’d promised Graham, her long-suffering partner of almost six years, that for once she’d be home on time but, yet again, she was late. The Rape and Serious Sexual Offences Unit where she worked was always understaffed and overworked, and she could count on one hand the number of times she’d left the station at a reasonable hour. She hoped he’d understand. Amazingly, he usually did. Not for the first time, she thought how lucky she was.
The Three Women Page 4