Die of Shame

by Mark Billingham

  Now, they are fighting one another to be heard.

  ‘Well, that changes everything, I’d say.’ Caroline looks meaningfully at Robin. ‘In terms of what she clearly is and isn’t capable of, if you see what I’m saying.’

  ‘I know,’ Robin says.

  Diana looks from one to the other. ‘What?’

  ‘Looks like Heather’s now clear favourite on the blackmail front.’

  Diana looks shocked, but not for very long. ‘I never thought of that.’ She sips her mineral water. ‘Makes perfect sense.’

  ‘She’s gambling again,’ Caroline says.

  ‘Ah…’

  ‘Back on the scratch cards.’

  ‘I got a second letter,’ Robin says.

  They look at him.

  ‘A couple of days ago.’ He nods, slowly. ‘The price has gone up.’

  ‘You’ve got to do something.’ Diana puts a hand on his arm. ‘You need to confront her.’

  ‘I will,’ Robin says, but it looks as though he is still thinking about the story they have all so recently heard. ‘It’s the false accusation I can’t get over though,’ he says. ‘What happened afterwards sounds almost like a horrible accident, as though it couldn’t be helped… but to say a man has raped you just to get some sort of stupid revenge…’

  ‘It’s unforgivable,’ Diana says.

  ‘You can call it an accident all you like,’ Caroline says.

  ‘It’s not what I would call it.’

  ‘It still wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t made the story up.’

  ‘She wanted it to happen.’

  ‘That was the plan.’

  ‘I mean why tell him otherwise?’ Diana looks at the others as though it’s obvious. ‘She said it herself, didn’t she? She “pressed the button”.’

  ‘I’ve done some bad things myself.’ Robin is swirling orange juice around in his glass, staring into it. ‘We all have… but nothing like that.’

  ‘God, no,’ Caroline says.

  Diana puts a hand on Robin’s arm. ‘You did the things you’re talking about after you started taking drugs.’

  ‘Right,’ Caroline says.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Diana says. ‘She had no excuse.’

  ‘To be that… vindictive, though?’ Robin’s voice is low; that angry rolled ‘r’ coming out. ‘To ruin lives like that.’

  ‘You thought I was being harsh, didn’t you?’ Diana looks at Caroline. ‘Talking about women with those sorts of morals. Women who target married men and their families.’

  ‘Maybe a bit,’ Caroline says.

  ‘Yes, well. Now you see the damage they can do.’

  Caroline nods.

  Diana says, ‘Vile,’ and when she reaches for her water again, it’s as though she needs it to take away the taste of something foul.

  ‘Oh, here we go.’ Caroline raises a hand, as if to hide behind it, and the others turn to see Chris coming across to the table.

  Robin stands up.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Diana says. ‘He’s got every right to be here. Tony’s not turning his back on him, so we shouldn’t either.’

  Robin sits down again.

  ‘Besides, back there, when she’d finished… he only did what I’d wished I was brave enough to do.’ Diana waves at Chris. ‘I’d have spat in her face though.’

  When Chris gets close, he grabs an empty chair from an adjoining table, pulls it across even when a man at the table tells him the chair is taken. Squeezing it in, Chris sits down next to Robin, and when the man comes over to remonstrate, Robin says, ‘I’m sorry, but my friend’s not feeling well.’

  The man says, ‘What?’

  ‘This is my chair,’ Chris says.

  Robin raises a hand. ‘Look, I’m a doctor and I promise you he needs to sit down.’

  When the man has gone back to his table, Chris turns to Robin. ‘Am I really your friend?’ he asks.

  ‘I hope so,’ Robin says.

  Caroline leans towards Chris. ‘It’s going to be all right.’

  ‘You start again,’ Diana says. ‘Right?’ She looks at the others who nod their support. ‘You come back to the group next week and we’ll all be there to help.’

  ‘Not her though.’ Chris jabs a finger, as though an invisible Heather is sitting among them.

  Diana looks at Robin, who shrugs. ‘Well, maybe we can talk to Tony about that.’

  ‘It’s all her fault.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Caroline says.

  ‘I was doing really well, you know? Sorting myself out. I was going to get a flat and everything.’ Chris makes a fist and hits himself on the side of the head. ‘She’s so good at persuading people… making them do things to keep her happy, and then they do them and everything falls apart.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Caroline says.

  ‘She made me talk about my dad and then after I called Woody she set the police on me.’

  Caroline says, ‘I know,’ though she really doesn’t.

  ‘You’ve got no idea what she’s like.’

  ‘Oh, I think we do,’ Diana says.

  ‘I was doing really well.’ Chris is trying to look at each of them, struggling to focus. ‘You know?’ He seems pleased with their reactions, then confused when Diana, Robin and Caroline suddenly lean away from him at the same time. He’s still struggling to formulate his next sentence when he feels the hand on his shoulder and hears Heather’s voice.

  ‘Chris… I’m really glad you’re here,’ she says. ‘Can we go somewhere and talk?’

  It’s like a surge of voltage shooting through him, and he’s pushing back his chair and shouting almost immediately; glasses clattering and those around the table moving quickly to avoid the spillage.

  ‘What, so you can tell me what a great thing I did again… telling my bedtime story? Some more crap about how my pain isn’t shameful? What about this pain?’

  ‘Chris —’

  ‘No, shut up.’ He lurches again and another glass falls and rolls off the table. ‘I hope tomorrow you wake up feeling like I did… when you think about what you said tonight. Your stupid… non-existent rape or whatever. I hope you feel empty and shit-scared and go scrounging around for some gear again. Come and talk to me then, OK? Because I’ll happily jack you up myself…’

  By this time, one of the bar staff has come hurrying across. He has hands on Chris, trying to pull him away from the table as Diana and Robin apologise and gather bar towels to wipe away the mess.

  ‘You need to get on your way, mate.’

  ‘She put you up to this, did she?’ Chris struggles to lunge at Heather. ‘You grass me up again?’

  ‘Come on, mate —’

  ‘I’m going…’

  They all watch Chris stagger away and out through the door, his phone already in his hand. Before he leaves, the barman asks if everyone is OK, but it’s clearly as much of a warning as anything, and, when those at nearby tables have stopped gawping, Heather is left staring down at the empty chair. She moves to take it, then hesitates when she clocks the faces of the other three. Instead, she lifts an arm and uses her sleeve to wipe away the tears.

  ‘Happy?’ Diana asks.

  Heather stares at her. Her mouth falls open.

  ‘What kept you?’ Caroline shakes her head, disgusted. ‘Like I can’t guess.’

  Heather closes her eyes for a few seconds and her features tense as she struggles to contain what might be a scream or a sob. When she opens her eyes again, she manages to say, ‘Any reason why I shouldn’t sit down?’

  ‘It depends,’ Diana says. ‘If you’re looking for support, it’s probably not a good idea. You know, if you’re waiting for us all to tell you how brave you were this evening. How… inspirational.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake.’

  ‘You and I do need to talk though,’ Robin says. ‘I really didn’t want to think it was you, but now I feel rather stupid for ever thinking it wasn’t.’
<
br />   ‘Wasn’t what?’

  ‘It’s a bit late to play the innocent,’ Diana says. ‘Don’t you think?’

  When Heather looks from one to the other, the hostility on their faces is evident enough to force her away from the table. She pulls her bag up on to her shoulder and clutches it. When she says, ‘Sorry,’ a second or two before turning for the door, it’s cracked and whispery.

  Robin, Diana and Caroline watch her leave and Diana says, ‘It’s not us she should be saying sorry to,’ and they don’t bother to acknowledge the man from the adjacent table, when he steps across to take his chair back.

  ‘Fucking junkies,’ he says.

  … THEN

  Group Session: March 22nd

  An unfortunate start to the session when Chris arrived, clearly under the influence of drugs. Asked him to leave but was persuaded to let him stay by Heather on condition that he did not speak. Rest of the group agreed, though this was certainly against my better judgement.

  Heather told her shame story and I can’t recall a reaction as profound from the others in the group. A truly shocking confession involving a false accusation of rape which unfortunately led to the murder of a man with whom she’d been involved and the subsequent imprisonment of his killer.

  The session ended prematurely after Chris exhibited what could easily be interpreted as threatening behaviour towards Heather. Diana, Robin and Caroline seemed happy to leave early.

  In light of events at the session, I must consider whether I should now advise Heather to seek out a different therapist. Her story seems to have alienated others in the group and I will definitely need to focus on Chris in forthcoming weeks if his relapse is not to be long term. Heather has been an important member of the group, but her continued presence may be counter-productive from this point on.

  A shame, but I believe that such action is justified and would be in the best interests of the group as a whole.

  Tony closes the file on his computer then sits and thinks for a few minutes. He looks at his watch, then checks his phone to see if Nina has sent a message.

  Nothing.

  He walks slowly downstairs, stopping at the bottom to glance towards the kitchen – as though he’s afraid that Heather might still be there – before trudging into the empty sitting room. He drops on to one of the deep cushions and lies back.

  There’s an open fashion magazine on the coffee table in front of him, an empty cup and a pair of Nina’s glasses. He reaches for the glasses and starts cleaning them with the bottom of his T-shirt.

  You think… you can just stand there and talk about your shitting wife…

  Heather had stood there for no more than ten minutes in the end. Staring at him from the kitchen door and saying nothing, like some silent, bunny-boiling… harbinger. Like she was just happy to watch him suffer and let it sink in.

  The threat, the solemn promise to tear his life apart.

  It wasn’t until several minutes after that, when Tony had closed the office door behind him and begun writing his notes, that he had finally stopped shaking.

  He puts the glasses back on the table, wondering how difficult it would be to pull out of the tour he has lined up in a few months’ time. Yes, the rock star will probably throw his toys out of the pram and sulk for a while, but he’ll get over it and all Tony can think about is how good it would be to take Nina away somewhere instead. Maybe Nina and Emma, if his daughter wants to come of course and if the dates work with school. They need to spend some time together as a family, they need to reconnect.

  On second thoughts, it might be better if it was just the two of them. He wants to show Nina that she’s far more important to him than any of his clients. He wants to do something which will signal a fresh start, usher in a new chapter, whatever.

  He wants… her. He knows now that, above all else, he wants his wife and his daughter. He wants his house and his car and his job.

  Assuming Heather Finlay lets him keep them.

  He’d told her that he didn’t believe she’d go through with it. He’d faced her down and told her she wasn’t the same person any more, the person who’d done such terrible things all those years ago. He knows he’d been trying to convince himself as much as her that she’d abandoned that rage a long time ago.

  Now, he’s not quite so confident.

  Could the feelings she once clearly had for him turn into something else that quickly? His own had, after all; on a sixpence. It was only a few nights since he’d been lying in bed with Nina, surreptitiously bringing his hand up from beneath the sheets to sniff his fingers.

  Christ…

  What had she said when she’d been telling her story? Like a switch had been turned off.

  He stretches his legs out in front of him then kicks the empty cup from the table. He shouts in frustration as it rolls, unbroken, across the floor. He had wanted it to smash, but now he can’t quite bring himself to pick it up and throw it.

  I went another way, she had said.

  Tony knows that, as things stand, Heather can do anything she wants and that short of telling Nina himself, he’s completely helpless.

  He’s rigid with fear and with fury. His hands are balled tight into fists at his side.

  He reaches for his phone and sends Nina a text message.

  Asks her if she knows what time she’ll be home.

  … THEN

  Heather paces her flat.

  She moves from bedroom to living room and back, smacking her hand against the walls, talking to herself. She walks to the window and lays her forehead against the cool pane, but the headache continues to build; the pressure. She turns and grabs a chair, stands on it and reaches up to tear down the HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner that has been there since the party.

  The party she threw for them.

  It’s such a strange feeling, being so angry and so sad at the same time. Being this confused…

  She’s upset that Chris blames her for relapsing, for the state he’s got himself in, but she understands it, at least. She knows that he’s just lashing out and that when he’s sorted himself out he’ll realise that none of it is her fault. The Chris who spat on her, who flew at her in the pub, is not the Chris she knows. The pearly queen she loves.

  The others, though?

  Diana doesn’t need much excuse to get on her high horse. Heather had half expected it, had seen the reaction – the pursed lips and the icy stare – as soon as she’d mentioned the married man. Caroline is just tagging along because she doesn’t want to feel left out and because she’s clearly pissed off because of what had happened with Tony. The business with Robin is still a mystery, though. She’s been racking her brains since she walked out of the pub and it’s driving her mad.

  What the hell is she supposed to have done?

  She can’t get the picture out of her head, the way the three of them had looked up at her, back there in the pub. Judging and passing sentence. Wiping their hands of her, like all those things they’d shared and been through together were worth nothing.

  Like she was worth nothing.

  She’s as furious with herself, of course, as she is with any of them. Tony had only done what she’d known he would do, even while she was with him in that alley. She’s been stupid, simple as that, and though she knows she had every right to react angrily, she’s horrified and ashamed at the things she said to him after the session. That stuff about his wife, for heaven’s sake.

  She’s not that person any more, Tony was bang on about that, at least.

  She’ll call him, she decides, when she’s calmed down a little. She’ll call and tell him she’s sorry, that she didn’t mean any of it.

  She’s standing in her kitchen and the screwed-up mess of kitchen towel in her hand is getting soggier by the minute. She’s not even sure why she’s crying any more, or who for.

  She walks across to where the three clip-frames are fixed on the wall near the door. All those stars and smiley faces. She looks at them, then reaches up and takes d
own the middle one.

  You are not alone.

  It’s ridiculous, she decides, thinking something like that – writing the words out, nice and neat and putting it on the wall so she can look at it – can help. It’s just childish, when the people who really should be helping can be so cruel.

  She’s never felt so alone.

  She carries the frame across to the bin, but can’t quite bring herself to drop it in, and she has just hung it back on its wonky nail when the doorbell rings. She reaches up to straighten it, but the bell rings again, so she hurries towards the door instead, pressing the kitchen towel to her eyes.

  Making the effort.

  The tears come again when she sees who it is; as she says, ‘I’m really glad you’ve come.’

  Before she can open it fully, the door is pushed into her and she struggles to stay on her feet as Chris rushes past her.

  Raging, roaring, out of it.

  … NOW

  ‘Having looked through everything you’ve put together, Nic, on balance I think you’re probably right. It could well be down to one of the Monday night lot.’

  Tanner had worked with Martin Ditchburn long enough to know there was a major ‘but’ coming. She’d known from the moment he’d called her into his office having reviewed the case file. It wasn’t as if she’d been expecting him to uncork a bottle, but like most coppers – even the ones occupying the senior ranks – he normally allowed himself a moment or two to relish a good result.

  When they had one.

  The ‘probably’ didn’t sound good for a start.

  ‘Here’s the thing though…’ Ditchburn said.

  So, not a ‘but’. A ‘here’s the thing’. At least he was doling out the disappointment in fresh and interesting ways.

  ‘If it is someone in that therapy group, and I’m including the therapist in this, I really wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to start.’ He opened the file in front of him. ‘No shortage of possible motives, I’ll grant you that.’

  Tanner said, ‘Sir.’