Fran pulled her feet back under her chair, retracting from him. Harry kept his head down; it was the only way he was going to be able to get through this.
‘So you lied about Jess’s whereabouts that night?’ The moderator.
‘Yes. We lied. I did tell the police.’
‘Go on.’
‘We drove to the party.’
‘Straight there?’ the woman asked.
‘No, we called in at The Railway on the way.’ They waited. ‘I bought a round. Me and Jake had a beer, Tish had a vodka and lemonade and Jess had a cider. We stayed for about an hour. Then we went on to Alice’s house.’
‘Why did you drive, if you knew you were going to drink?’ Fran’s voice.
He’d rehearsed this with Jim. ‘Because I knew I wasn’t going to have more than one or two. I had football in the morning.’ Was supposed to have football – that had all gone.
‘So you knowingly drank alcohol at the pub and at the party, and then drove. With other people in the car. With Jess in the car,’ Fran pushed.
‘Yes.’
‘How much did you drink?’
It had been a light night. Or what would have been a light night in the dim, distant, pre-accident past. Everyone else had drunk far more. Harry chose not to say that out loud, because it was irrelevant. He was the driver. He should’ve known better. He did know better. But there were reasons why he’d had another drink. Reasons that didn’t bear examining.
‘Harry?’ They were all waiting.
‘A beer at the pub, then a bit more later.’ Even that truth was complicated. ‘I shared a drink with someone, at the party. Vodka and lime.’
The room went quiet as they listened to him confess what they already knew. His blood alcohol levels had been quoted as part of the evidence against him. Percentage proof that he’d not given a fuck. But he had. He did.
‘Do you regret that now?’ The woman again, asking the blindingly obvious.
‘Yes. Of course. Of course I regret it. Every single day.’ He risked another glance up at Fran. Her eyes were closed.
‘Tell us about the party?’ the moderator prompted.
Confessing about the drinking had been the easy part – comparatively. Now he was into more difficult territory. The untold story of the night. He moved his feet, making sure that his toes were exactly level. Across from him he heard Fran take a series of rapid, shaky breaths, as if she was about to say something. He desperately wanted her to tell him how to control all the emotions smashing through him, how to behave, what to say – like she used to when he was a child. But she didn’t. There was a bleak, stony silence. He was going to have to get through this on his own. ‘It was busy. There were loads of people from college there, along with some of Alice’s mates from work. People were just chilling out, talking, catching up. Everyone was having a good time. We were having a good time.’
They had been. It had been relaxed. A good vibe, everyone glad it was the weekend. A release from all the pressure of college work and uni applications, and jobs and relationships, and parents planning their lives out for them. Too much of a release, in hindsight. As always, Jake was the life and soul of the party, making everyone laugh – at least to start with – before his jokes got unfunny and his dancing more and more irritating.
Tish’s eyes had tracked them both, flicking from Jake to Harry, making clear the comparison – and the winner. After a while she’d worked her way around the room to Harry, eyes locked on his, smiling, reminding him, provoking him. She’d raised her glass to him, beckoned him over. He’d gone. She’d sipped her drink, passed it to him. He’d hesitated, but not for long. A few sips couldn’t do any harm. He’d tasted her lipstick on the rim of the glass. They’d passed the drink back and forth, a silent exchange that was loaded with meaning. The next thing he knew, they were dancing. Her fingernails tracing a line down his biceps, her hips connecting with his, her attention focused on him. Her shoulders bare. Her jeans tight. Muscle-memory stirred.
And where was Jess? Off somewhere else, as usual. When they were out, they made a point of not spending too much time together. It was an unspoken rule. Neither of them wanted anything getting back to their parents. They had agreed to keep their relationship secret, because that was the way it had started – out of the blue, in the dark, when no one else was looking, surprising and slightly embarrassing them both. The secrecy was part of what kept it special. It was also supposed to keep it simple. But because they always acted like they were just old friends when they were around other people, Harry sometimes felt that it might as well be true. It had all become a bit of a mess, but it was a mess that he couldn’t be bothered unravelling – not on Friday night with the music loud and no one else giving a fuck. God, Tish smelt good.
He broke away from her, abruptly, without an explanation, knowing he should stay away from her, and went in search of Jess.
He found her in the kitchen, holding court, oblivious. He could have left the party and she wouldn’t have noticed. She was getting serious about some political shit – again. Climate change, probably. That’s what it was, most days. How they were killing the earth with consumerism, and how everything was going to be washed away by the rising seas. Seas that were full of harmful plastic. It was choke-or-drown time, before-the-end-of-the-weekend, judging by her passion. Her face was flushed, her hands weaving and jabbing in the air – ‘off on one’. Her nerdy, tree-hugging mates lapping it up. Her idea of fun. Not his.
He remembered standing in the doorway, watching her, and being swamped by a sense of separateness from Jess and everything she was interested in, and feeling tired with having to make an effort – all the time. They were not right together. They were too different.
He headed back into the main room.
The party was heating up. People were paired up or dancing. And there was Tish, leaning against the far wall, watching him. Harry made his way over to her. She smiled. He smiled.
‘Look at me! No one else. Just me,’ she’d commanded, and he had.
‘Look at me!’ It was Fran giving the commands now. ‘You’re here because you’re supposed to be prepared to tell the truth. Are you, Harry? Are you going to tell me what really happened that night or are you simply going to sit there?’ They all waited. Fran continued to stare at him, refusing to let him off the hook.
He had to get it all out in one gush. ‘I behaved like a total prick. I got it on with Tish. At the party. Mo filmed it. He didn’t mean to, didn’t realise that he had. Still doesn’t. He just happened to catch us at it. Jess saw the video on his phone, when we were in McDonald’s. Then it all turned to shit. It was all my fault.’
‘Harry! Please can you be a little more mindful of your language,’ the woman complained.
But Fran was still staring at him, her expression a stiff mixture of anger and pain. ‘I’m not bothered what words he uses. Go on.’ Her impatience was sharp and unforgiving.
The moderator looked from Fran to Harry and back again, aware that the temperature in the room had sky-rocketed. ‘Can you walk it back for us, Harry? Are you saying that Jess and you were in a relationship, and that she caught you…’ she struggled to find the right words, ‘flirting with Tish?’
Harry made himself hold Fran’s gaze. ‘I’d been sleeping with Tish, on and off, all the time I was with Jess.’ Because he was dumb.
‘This is Tish, Jess’s friend, who was with Jake? Your best friend?’ Fran hammered home his crapness.
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re claiming that you and Jess were in a relationship of some description?’ Fran said it as if the thought disgusted her.
This part he had to get right. ‘I’m not claiming it, Fran. I was. We were together. We had been for months.’ Fran drew herself up in her seat. Unconsciously he did the same. His relationship with Jess was the one thing he was proud of; not how he’d behaved, but that she had loved him – had thought him worth loving. ‘It just happened. Neither of us planned it. One night it all
changed between us.’ Be honest. Tell them why. ‘I was upset. I’d had another bust-up with my dad, and Jess came round. We talked, for a long time. And she was so kind. Because that’s the way she was.’ It was Jess who’d leant over and kissed him and, though he pulled back at first, confused by her coming on to him, he hadn’t had to think about it for too long, because he realised she wasn’t simply a girl he knew; she was the girl – in fact the only person – who knew him better than anyone else.
Although he could see how Fran might struggle with that, because of their history, and because of how efficiently and effectively they’d lied to her – and everyone else – for more than a year. ‘We didn’t tell anyone at first, because we weren’t sure what it was. And we didn’t want it to cause any upset. Then it became a habit, keeping it secret.’ And if he was truly honest, it had suited him. While he and Jess were a secret, his life could go on as before. Cricket, football, nights out with his mates. And yes, he had to admit to himself, looking ‘girlfriend-free’ had had one other advantage. Tish.
The woman shifted her focus to Fran. ‘Do you want to take a break, Fran?’
She shook her head vehemently. It was only then that it consciously struck Harry that Fran was on her own. No Marcus. This realisation was a shock. Harry couldn’t work out what it signified. Marcus with his nerdy hobbies and passions, and his cheery willingness to do stuff for other people, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Jess’s dad. A decent bloke. Happy to bowl endless overs on the beach and drop easy catches to stop a seven-year-old having a meltdown because he was out. Why wasn’t he here? Could he not stand the thought of being in the same room as Harry?
‘No. I want him to keep going. Go back to the party. I want to hear it all. In order. Why did you leave when you did? What happened with Mo?’ Fran asked.
He had suddenly wanted to leave the party and get away from all of them: Tish’s demanding availability, Jess’s indifference, Jake’s pissed-up prat-routine. ‘I realised that I was behaving like a dick, so I left Tish and went out into the back garden to get some fresh air.’
‘To sober up?’
He didn’t rise to it. ‘To get some fresh air. After a while, Jess came out and we just sat there.’ Looking at the stars. He had felt bad and she’d picked up on his sad vibe. She’d lifted his arm and wriggled underneath it, wanting a cuddle. Not a grope, or a snog, but a cuddle. And he’d obliged. Because one of the things he had learnt from Jess was that no-strings-attached affection was good. ‘Mo came out and sat with us, and we talked about…normal stuff. Then I suggested that we go home.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’d had enough. I didn’t want to stay late. Cos of the match in the morning.’ Another disbelieving noise from Fran. ‘We went back inside the house to tell Jake, and Tish. But Jake wouldn’t come. He was having too much of a good time.’
‘He was drunk?’
‘Yeah.’
‘There was a scene?’
‘Not really. I just said if he wasn’t gonna come with us, he’d have to get himself home.’
‘Witnesses said you lost your temper.’
‘Nah. Jake is irritating when he’s had a few. It was no different that night.’ Except it was, because Tish’s eyes had been on him, blazing with questions. In all honesty, Jake’s pratting about – banging into people and calling him a party pooper – had got on Harry’s nerves more than usual. His stupidity and gullibility were bloody annoying. Happy-go-lucky Jake, his best buddy, for ever, blind to what was going on right in front of his beer, schnapps and weed-goggled eyes. ‘Jess and I left. Tish must have said something that got through to Jake, because they followed us out to the car.’
‘And then you drove, knowing that you were over the limit?’
He nodded. He couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t defend it.
The woman chipped in. ‘Can you confirm who was in the car at this point.’
‘Me and Jess in the front. Tish, Jake and Mo in the back. Mo in the middle.’
‘And you drove where?’
‘We set off to come home, but on the ring road Jake saw McDonald’s and started banging on about wanting something to eat.’ They’d all started chanting, ‘Burger! Burger!’ Post-drinking munchies. ‘We pulled in and went inside to order.’
‘All of you?’ The woman again, wanting to get the facts straight. Though they knew all this. Harry saying it aloud wasn’t going to change anything.
‘Yes.’
‘What about Jess?’ Fran asked.
‘Yeah, her as well.’
‘No!’ she snapped. ‘I meant: tell me about Jess. How was she? I want you to tell me everything you can remember about that last hour.’
Harry didn’t want to answer that. Couldn’t bring himself to. He could still see and hear her, laughing, happy, unaware of the tension between him and Tish, just wanting her veggie burger and fries. ‘She was fine. Happy. A bit giddy. She went to sit down with Mo, while we put in the order.’ He should have kept his eyes on them. If only he’d seen Mo pass Jess his phone and her start scrolling through it, looking at the pictures from the party. But no, even then he couldn’t have realised that his world was about to explode, because he hadn’t known what was on Mo’s phone. No one did at that point.
Harry went back to concentrating on his trainers. Shame itched at his neck and spread up into his hair, tightening his scalp. ‘We waited for our order at the counter. When it came, we went over to the table. That’s when I noticed that Jess was quiet, not touching her food. It was like someone had let the air out of her.’ Tish had noticed as well, and in contrast she’d got louder, more hyper, more animated. Jake was oblivious, stuffing fries in his mouth and singing snatches of some unidentifiable tune. Mo, maybe sensing the new tension, had gone to the loo. ‘Something Tish did upset Jess.’ Way to go: blame Tish.
‘What?’ they all asked in unison.
‘She came and sat on my knee.’ Knowing full well that it was provocative. Tish was mad with him. He could tell by the set of her mouth and the defiance in her eyes. ‘Jess reacted. She stood up, grabbed the car keys and Mo’s phone and ran out.’ And he’d sat there for a few seconds with Tish’s arse anchored against his crotch, shocked, but unmoving. ‘I turfed Tish off my knee and ran after Jess.’
The woman spoke again, and this time her tone was softer, almost kind. ‘Harry, I’m sorry, but it’s very difficult for us to hear what you’re saying when you’ve got your head down like that. Could you look up, please?’
He chose the window ledge to the left of Fran’s head and fixed his eyes on that. He continued, ‘By the time I got outside, she was in the car.’ Her face turned away from him.
‘How could you?’ Jess had said fiercely.
‘How could I “what”?’ he’d asked. But Harry knew – screwing around with your best mate’s girlfriend behind your own girlfriend’s back, with one of her best mates.
‘You and Tish. Tish!’ Jess’s voice rose and cracked. ‘Well?’ She was swallowing down tears as well as anger.
‘It meant nothing.’
She shook her head.
What to say next? How much should he confess to? Harry had weighed it up. Not wanting to hurt Jess, or himself, more than necessary. Not wanting to be found out and look bad. Not wanting her to dump him. Not wanting to be the one in the wrong.
Someone had left a Perspex lunch box on the windowsill. Inside it he could see a banana that was going brown. The thought of it made him feel queasy. He could feel them waiting for the rest of the story. ‘Jess was upset. She’d seen me and Tish kissing in the video Mo had filmed at the party.’
‘Did you deny it?’ Fran.
‘No.’
Jess had passed him the phone. He’d clicked the arrow on the screen and the video had played. And there – in shaky high-res – was the evidence that damned him. Alice’s front room, a sea of bodies, the pulsing disco lights and Jake looming up close to the camera, a big, stupid grin on his face. Just another night out. It
could have been any house, any party, any weekend, any group of friends anywhere. The tunes coming through the phone speaker into the dead night air of the car park had sounded tiny, distant. As he watched, Harry spotted a couple, strobed by the lights, leaning against the back wall, not dancing or talking or drinking. A fine-looking couple; the girl in a sparkly top, the lad in a tight T-shirt. A couple who were all over each other.
‘No. I didn’t deny it.’ Because he couldn’t, and because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to lie to Jess, not to her face. He’d never actually lied to her – he’d just not told her the truth. What he did with Tish, occasionally, when one or both of them were drunk or horny or bored, was nothing to do with how he felt about Jess. That was separate. She was never meant to find out – would never have found out – if it hadn’t been for Mo.
He went back to the story, wanting to get the telling of it over and done with. ‘The others appeared.’ Running towards them across the car park. And he’d lost it. Mad at himself, he’d let fly at Mo. ‘Mo and I had a row. I blamed him. Unfairly.’ Mo. The only one of his ‘friends’ who’d come to see him in prison and kept coming, despite the cost and the inconvenience. Mo, one of the nicest people Harry knew, and the one who had started it all. ‘There was a scuffle.’
‘A fight?’ The woman asked.
‘No. I never hit him.’ But he had wanted to.
‘Then what happened?’
‘Tish started yelling at me.’
‘Yelling what?’
‘To stop.’
‘And did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you still threw Mohir’s phone across the car park.’ The woman. A stickler for correct details.
One Split Second: A thought-provoking novel about the limits of love and our astonishing capacity to heal Page 25