A Version of the Truth
Page 27
‘Have you been to Northern Ireland before?’ I ask.
‘Never. Nor the Republic. Nor Scotland or Wales. Three decades spent living in the UK, and I’ve only seen one tiny corner of it. It’s mad, I know.’
It takes us a while to get on to the subject that has brought her here. We chat a little about the Irish weather and how she’s tired of London and is thinking of moving. Then she finally broaches the subject. ‘Stephen, my son. He’s in America now. At university. Brown.’ I nod, knowing she’s not bragging. She’s looking serious now and I understand what she’s saying.
‘Ernest threatened him, didn’t he?’ I say. ‘Is that why you finally decided?’
I see Julianne’s eyes start to shine a little. She nods. ‘I wanted him out of the country. I don’t know how safe he’ll be out there. I don’t really know what I’m dealing with. I just knew I wanted him away from everything that was going on.’ She takes a sip of her tea, looking as if she is trying to choose her words carefully. ‘When James died in the car accident last year, Stephen was in the middle of trying to get into Oxford. After all that happened, both he and I decided something different would be best. And I knew I’d want him to be at a distance if I was going to do what … what we’re doing now.’
I nod. I’d had the same thought, too, when Julianne first made contact and laid out her plan.
‘Does your daughter know?’ She asks this quietly, mindful of the fact I’ve skirted around the subject in our emails.
‘Yes,’ I say, nodding slowly. ‘It was … it was a difficult conversation. Of course, she’s a bit older than your son. I said to her that the last thing I wanted was to put her in danger. She just said if anyone tried to hurt her she’d show them how tough Irish women can be.’
Julianne looks serious. ‘And what did you say to that?’
I laugh. ‘Well, first and foremost, I reminded her she’s technically English. But I also said I’d be more comfortable if she went into hiding. Mind you, then I thought it’s probably no use anyway. If they want to find her, they’ll find her. Tell you the truth, I’ve been having mixed thoughts about the whole thing as each day goes by. On some days I’ve got nerves of steel. I’m determined to beat them. But on the other hand, I don’t want to put my little girl in harm’s way.
‘And her father? Are you still in touch?’
‘Yes, he moved over here to be with me and Abigail. Not as a couple. We’re not together. Never have been, really. But he’s been a bit of a dream, to be honest. He sells ice cream in a little shop in the nearby town. It’s not much, but he owns the business and it does well. I think he’s just happy to be close to his daughter.’
‘He doesn’t know? About the rest of it?’
I falter slightly before I speak again. ‘I’ve told him bits. But never the complete story. I’ve made it quite clear I’d rather not speak of it. It’s not possible to forget it, but at the same time I don’t think he needs to know all the details. But I suppose I’ll have to rethink that position if … well, if what we’re going to do pays off. I told most of the story of Oxford to Abigail, though. Once I’d made up my mind. She told me if I didn’t come forward, she’d go to the press herself. I’m not sure if they’d listen, but she was so determined. She said I needed to do it, not just for myself, but for every woman those men have harmed since that … that terrible night.’
Julianne nods, and blows on her tea, allowing me a moment to dab at my eyes with a tissue. Then she says, ‘They could be empty threats, you know. Ernest likes to talk about himself in such a grand way. He may be exaggerating.’
I agree with her, but we both know we’re playing with fire. Gambling the lives of our most loved, most precious children for the sake of justice. But that’s what I think has united us, above everything else. The horror, the shame, the feeling of being wronged: it’s reached such an apex now, in both our lives, that we can’t continue being victims of the damage it’s doing to us. To the damage it’s doing to men, women and children across the country, maybe even across the globe.
A minute passes in silence before Julianne speaks again. ‘When my nerve wavers – and it does, sometimes – I think to myself, what if it were my son or daughter or sister or someone close to me being offered up to those monsters? And someone had known and done nothing about it? I don’t know what I’d do. But I do know I don’t want to be that person. The person who does nothing.’
I feel a tear slide down my cheek. I can’t help it, though I’ve tried to fight the compulsion to cry since she stepped through the door. I don’t brush it aside. I just let it fall. ‘Myanna’s good,’ I say. ‘She really is. I thought, when she had to put the project on pause to work on her ISIS documentary, that my chance had gone and she wouldn’t get back in touch. But she kept her promise. And she really knows her stuff.’
I pick up my phone and tap on the web browser icon. Once I’ve found the page I’m after I pass it to Julianne. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d heard of the programme, Insight? I expect you googled her before you came.’
‘I haven’t watched it, but I know of it. It’s terrible of me, but I’ve never watched many current affairs programmes or exposé documentaries.’
She looks down at my phone and scrolls through Myanna’s profile on the production company’s website.
‘It’s like a competitor to Panorama,’ I say. ‘Myanna is one of their lead researchers. There’s a list on there of the investigations she’s covered. She’s convinced we’ve got something. She understands what we’re dealing with and thinks we’ve both got what’s needed to bring it out into the open.’
After a few seconds, Julianne passes the phone back to me. I glance at the long list of projects, news stories and incidents Myanna’s worked on. I must have read the page a hundred times, but each time I do, the feeling of confidence inside me grows a little more.
Expenses scandal, 2008
News of the World phone-hacking scandal, 2011
Midwives undercover – child deaths at Cherringford Hospital, 2011
East London slaves – unlawful slavery operations in Barking and Dagenham, 2012
‘The list is extensive,’ Julianne says, sounding impressed. ‘And she broke all these stories?’
I shake my head. ‘Not all of them. Some she followed up after they’d already gone large. Others she reignited after everyone thought there wasn’t anything more to find. I knew she was the right person. There are hundreds of other people like her I could have picked, but for some reason I immediately felt I could trust her. After I’d spoken to her the first time, I knew I didn’t want anyone else. I felt she’d have the bravery and strength needed. The courage to fight.’
Julianne’s face looks sombre as she nods towards the phone in my hand. ‘It was the 2013 one that caught my eye.’
I look down, even though I already know which one she’s referring to.
Operation Yewtree.
I look up at Julianne and meet her eye. ‘As you can see, she knows what she’s dealing with here. She’s on our side. And what’s more, she knows this is going on. Now I come to think of it, I must have sat through a dozen news reports describing the very thing we’re talking about. It’s all going to come out at some point. They must know that. And they – the people who have been hurt, the lives that have been destroyed by them – need our help to make that happen.’
She holds my gaze for a few seconds, then smiles. ‘Thank you.’
It takes me aback. ‘For what?’
‘For being so strong. For being brave. For trying to convince me to meet Myanna again. For not letting sleeping dogs lie. That would have been the easy option.’
Something in her phrasing makes me pause before I reply. And then I ask her the question I’ve been wanting to voice for nearly thirty years. ‘Did you know?’ I say quietly.
Although I’ve spoken softly, I can see I’ve alarmed her.
‘About what?’
‘What they did to me. That night you held my hand. Did you kn
ow what had happened?’
She gets up and goes over to stand by the window. The sunlight starts to stream into the kitchen, turning everything a shining shade of yellow.
‘Please,’ I say. ‘Just tell me. Yes or no.’
She raises a hand to her cheek, perhaps to dab away a tear. ‘I’m sorry. I wish I could give you an answer. You deserve one. But it isn’t that simple.’
I feel the heat of the sun on my hand as it starts to warm my skin. Some of the tension I’ve been holding within me since Julianne’s first email arrived in my inbox, maybe even since that night in Oxford in 1991, seems to finally be subsiding. Floating away slowly, turning into air before my eyes. Eventually, I look up and see that Julianne has returned to the table. She reaches across and puts her hand over mine.
‘Okay,’ she says, looking straight at me. I see the resolve in her eyes. ‘I’ll talk to her. Properly, this time.’ She gives me a little nod. ‘I’m ready.’
Acknowledgements
Writing this book has been such a rollercoaster and made possible by so many people it’s hard to know where to begin. It makes sense to start with my family. After I finished university, my parents generously gave me the space and time to try to pursue writing and have been with me every step of the way. Their continued support has been the best thing in the whole world. Thanks to my sisters, Molly and Amy, for our many fun-filled Siblings Book Club meetings. A total joy.
I’d like to say a massive thank you to my wonderful agent Joanna Swainson at Hardman & Swainson who saw potential in an early draft of my novel and has been amazing through its journey to publication. Huge thanks to my utterly brilliant editor Phoebe Morgan – her tremendous help and support has made the whole process a dream come true. A big thankyou to everyone in the Avon HarperCollins team for welcoming me into such a great family.
I would also like to thank all of the Faber Academy class of Autumn 2016 and author/tutor extraordinaire Rowan Coleman. I don’t think I could have done this without her kindness and encouragement. A big thankyou also to all the other authors and people in the world of books who have given me invaluable advice along the way and the courage to keep going, especially Tig Wallace, Ruth Ware, Clare Mackintosh, A.J. Finn, Hannah Bright, Jojo Moyes, Isabelle Broom, David Nicholls, Tineke Mollemans, Erin Kelly, Joseph Knox, Cathy Rentzenbrink and Leigh Bardugo.
A huge thankyou to my dear friend and dream of a ‘first tester reader’ Rebecca Bedding. One of the very best people in the world. Massive thankyous must go to all first-readers and friends who have been a consistent source of support. Special thanks to Lucy Clayton, Emma Ruttley, Meg Wallace, Thomas Bedding, Corinne Gurr, Alice Johnston, Rachael Bull, George Doel and Timothy Blore.
I would like to thank Will Rycroft and all my colleagues at Waterstones for their support and generous enthusiasm. I will be eternally grateful to them for making it possible for me to juggle being a full time social media person and pursue a writing career.
Last, but not least, I’m always keen to promote the importance of teachers – a group that seems to do one of the toughest jobs for the least amount of praise. I’d like to give thanks to every teacher and educational professional throughout my life who has encouraged creativity and perseverance, especially the staff of the Film Studies department of the University of Southampton, and the English department of The Billericay School.
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About the Author
B P Walter was born and raised in Essex. After spending his childhood and teenage years reading compulsively, he worked in bookshops then went to the University of Southampton to study Film and English followed by an MA in Film & Cultural Management. He is an alumni of the Faber Academy and currently works in social media coordination at Waterstones in London.
You can follow B P Walter on Twitter @BarnabyWalter
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