And yet . . . Holly grounded Jules whenever things with Rowan got rocky. Without Holly, Jules would be alone next time Rowan had one of his outbursts. Holly was the only person Jules could turn to when Rowan got angry. She didn’t want the rest of the village to know the darker side of her affable husband whom everybody loved. Only Holly knew about it. Holly understood that it was a tender part of Rowan that occasionally got inflamed. It was not his core. Holly had always reminded Jules of this, whenever she’d been on the verge of giving up on him. Jules had sometimes wondered over the years who she needed more, her husband or her friend. Now, though, she knew the things that were said in Holly’s office meant she was at risk of losing her forever.
Jules had been so busy turning these thoughts over in her mind, she finished her run almost without noticing it, and looked around. She had her barcode scanned, dropped her finish tab in the bucket and went to grab a bottle of water from the cafe. Tess was there with her daughters, Gemma and Daniela. Rowan’s words about Saffie rang in her ears: She could do with losing a little weight. How was it some people found parenting so effortless? Gemma and Daniela were happy to continue to do the park run with their mum even now they were thirteen and fifteen. They were the stars in every school concert or play; they got A grades in every exam; they were both naturally beautiful.
‘Hi, Jules,’ Gemma cried out now. ‘How did you do?’
And they were nice with it.
Jules thought of Saffie spending all those hours practising in the mirror with her make-up and hair straighteners. Her daughter had no confidence in her own natural beauty. She felt tears rise again, anguish at what Saffie was going through as she became a woman. Had her daughter been courting the attention of boys? In which case could Saul be blamed for believing she was flirting with him? Of course it didn’t excuse what he’d done. But did she need to give Saffie a talking-to about messages she might inadvertently be giving out? It was all so difficult. Was it her and Rowan’s fault, after all, that Saffie thought it OK to dress as she did? With those short skirts she’d taken to wearing to school and her shirt buttons undone? Saffie did dress sexily, but it was hard in a way not to with her figure. Jules had been the same. Rowan had always admired Jules’s buxom, hourglass figure. And as a young girl, Jules had enjoyed the attention it seemed to afford her. She’d liked wearing tight-fitting T-shirts and skimpy dresses and getting appreciative looks from men. She still did. It was a woman’s right to dress as she pleased. But it would be so much easier to have daughters like Tess’s who were happy in their own skin, who didn’t bother with make-up or balcony bras. Who were more interested in their personal bests and their piano exams than in how they looked.
Jules felt fury sear through her at what Saul had done to her daughter, but also to her, to her confidence in her parenting skills. She wished she’d gone over when she’d spotted him earlier on his bike. She imagined taking him by the shoulders and shaking him. Telling him he was lucky Saffie didn’t want anyone to know. Shouting into his vacant, glazed face. She wanted him to know that she knew what he had done, even if no one else did, and that she had the power to take it further. And yet, Jules thought, watching Tess, who was so carefree, while she was having to grapple alone with Saffie’s rape claim, Holly and Saul, who had caused all this, had so far suffered no repercussions.
She paid for her bottle of water at the counter and sat down with Tess.
‘You look exhausted,’ Tess said. ‘Are you OK, Jules?’
‘Things on my mind,’ Jules said. ‘Thought the run might perk me up a bit.’
‘Before I forget – I was wondering if you’re still OK to donate some children’s clothes to the Auction of Promises?’
‘Sure,’ Jules said. ‘Yes. I was going to donate some stock from the shop.’
‘Where’s Saffie?’ Gemma asked, arriving at their table. ‘She wasn’t at school yesterday.’
‘She’s had a bug. A gastric thing. She’s having a lie-in.’
‘Shame. It was a good morning for a run.’
‘You do look a bit pale, Jules. I hope you’re not sickening for it. Do you need something sweet after your run?’ Tess asked. ‘I’ve got some Nãkd bars in my bag.’
‘I’m fine. A little preoccupied but fine.’
Jules was going to tell Rowan, she decided. Not about the possible pregnancy – that would be one piece of information too far – but about the rape. Because Rowan would know how to deal with it. He would express what Jules really felt. He would do what she really wanted to do. Which was to question Saul about what had gone on and make him and Holly suffer at least some of the anguish she and Saffie were experiencing. The run had clarified things for her. Rowan needed to know, whether Saffie liked it or not, because Rowan wouldn’t just let it wash over him. He would channel all the confusion and hurt and indignation Jules felt, and he would take action.
*
Rowan was up and dressed in black sweatpants, a navy polo shirt and white trainers when Jules got in.
‘Jules,’ he said, taking mugs from the shelf, ‘I was thinking, we should have a big bonfire party in November. We could invite everyone, kids included, get some mega fireworks in, do a few vats of soup, light a brazier. What do you think? If we start planning now, we could have a really big bash. Ask the whole village.’
‘Sounds like an idea,’ Jules said, her heart thumping.
‘Saffie would love it. Get some sparklers, stick some gazebos out there. Ask all her friends. Invite all ours.’
Rowan whistled as he ground coffee in the enormous espresso machine he’d invested in once they’d done the kitchen. Jules was loath to spoil his good mood, but she couldn’t carry the turmoil around alone any longer.
‘Rowan, is Saff still asleep?’
‘Yup. Out for the count when I looked in a while ago.’
‘There’s something I need to tell you.’ Jules found herself speaking before she could stop herself. ‘Saffie asked me not to, but I did some thinking while I was running and I’ve decided you have to know. I’ve given it careful thought. We have a joint responsibility to deal with this.’ She sat down on a bar stool.
Rowan turned round and handed her a coffee.
‘Not yet,’ she said, pushing it away. ‘I’ll shower first, thanks. Ro, you have to hear me out.’
‘Fire away,’ he said, banging the tin jug on the counter so he could pour froth on his cappuccino.
‘Don’t fly off the handle, though. We need to deal with this calmly and reasonably if we’re to get to the bottom of it and take appropriate measures. A couple of weeks ago, while you were away and I was out with my friends, Saul came round. He wanted to use the internet, so I left him here with Saffie.’
‘Bloody Nora!’
She glanced at him, but he was joking. He thought that was it. That Jules felt bad just for letting Saul come round to their house. He had no idea what she was about to land on him.
‘No, Rowan, that’s not it. That’s not all.’
‘Really?’ His expression changed, creases deepening across his forehead. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said. His cheerful look vanished. ‘Don’t tell me he offered Saffie some weed?’
‘No, Rowan. It’s . . . Well, it’s worse than that.’
Jules was in too deep to retreat now. She could feel the heat off her husband, could sense his anger brewing. She should have thought about this more carefully. Waited until her response to seeing Saul on his bike just now, followed by Tess’s perfect, untroubled daughters, had subsided. Yes, they needed to take some action, but just how far would Rowan want to go? He hadn’t had one of his outbursts for quite some time now. He had calmed down a lot since he hit his fortieth birthday. But this was different; this would not elicit a rational response.
‘Get it out, then,’ Rowan said.
‘He . . .’ She shut her eyes. ‘Saff didn’t want me to tell you. They had sex. Well, she didn’t have sex. He did. He . . .’ She couldn’t turn back. ‘He . . . Well, she says . . . Saffie say
s he raped her.’
Jules didn’t know why she put it this way. Why she didn’t say, ‘Saul raped her,’ instead of sounding as if there was some question about it. But telling Rowan now felt so precarious. Something about Saul infuriated him at the best of times. She was afraid she was unleashing something more damaging even than what had already happened, and so she injected an element of doubt into the story.
Rowan put his coffee down on the counter. He turned to face Jules. He balled his hands. His neck began to turn red, and the colour rose slowly, slowly up to his face. Jules drew back. She shouldn’t have told him. Saffie hadn’t wanted her to. She should have predicted this reaction. As Saffie had done.
‘Tell me this isn’t true.’ Rowan’s irises were like pale stones, the pupils retracted to dots.
‘Saffie says it is. But we need to be adult about it, Rowan . . .’
‘Saffie didn’t want you to tell me? Why the hell not?’
‘I think because she’s ashamed. She thinks . . . Well, girls in these cases often think it’s – partly – their fault.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ He began to walk around the kitchen tugging at his hair. ‘I am going to get that clueless fucker Saul and beat the shit out of him. I’ll cut his balls off. He’s going to suffer for this. Oh my Lord, this can’t be true.’
‘Hang on, Rowan.’ Jules’s heart was racing. ‘I am as upset as you are, and I agree we have to make Saul face the consequences, but we need to approach it carefully. We don’t know for sure what happened.’
‘We have to tell the police.’
‘Saffie doesn’t want to involve them.’
‘What?’
‘Rowan, she’s really frightened. She thinks they’ll quiz her, examine her even – and I think we’ve got to get her through this one step at a time. She’s overwhelmed at the moment.’ Jules didn’t mention the late period. ‘And we shouldn’t add to that by pressing her to do something she really doesn’t want. It’s traumatic enough as it is, and humiliating. She particularly asked me not to report it, and I do think we should respect her wish. For now.’
‘Have you told the school? The school should know one of their pupils is a sexual predator.’
‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea, Rowan. Really, I think it’s best we sort this out between ourselves.’ Jules was still thinking of Saffie, her plea that Jules told no one. Again she wondered if she was doing the right thing in agreeing not to report it.
Rowan finished circling the kitchen island and came to rest on one of the tall stools, his legs wide apart, his face hidden in his hands. Jules spoke gently to him: ‘Saffie doesn’t want anyone to know. I’m wondering whether it might be better to approach an independent support centre. Rape Crisis or something. Seek some advice from them.’
Rowan took his hands away from his face. ‘Rape fucking Crisis? Holly’s hobby-horse organization?’
‘It isn’t. Not anymore. Holly only volunteered for them years ago when she was a student.’
‘Fuck that. I’m not having a load of hairy feminazis poking their nose into my daughter’s business. How is she?’ he asked. ‘Did he hurt her? Is she bruised? Is she bleeding? Oh, my poor baby!’ He sat down and put his head back in his hands. Was he crying?
Jules moved over to him and put her hand gently on his neck. It felt clammy.
‘She’s OK,’ Jules said. ‘She isn’t too bad. She’s upset, of course, but she’s carrying on as normal.’
‘And what has Holly said to Saul?’ Rowan asked.
‘I don’t know if she’s talked to Saul yet, but—’
‘Hang on a minute.’ Rowan took his hands away from his face. His pale eyes glittered with tears. ‘You’re telling me Saul has got off without even a word from his mother?’
‘Yes. Well, maybe. I don’t know.’ Holly’s anguished face in her study came back to Jules. Her words. Saul’s not in any state at the moment to have things like this levelled at him. Jules was pretty certain, too, from Saul’s relaxed bearing that morning in the park that Holly hadn’t spoken to him about it.
‘While Saffie has had her childhood snatched from her? Right. I’m going round there now.’
‘Rowan, please.’
‘I’ll beat the living daylights out of him.’
‘Really, that’s not the way to deal with it.’
‘I’m going to show Holly. All her highfalutin feminist ideals, all that bellyaching about women’s rights and she’s produced a rapist for a son.’ He made a sound that was half laugh, half snort. ‘I’m going to punch his lights out. And then I’ll deal with Holly.’
‘Ro, you need to let yourself simmer down. Remember anger management?’
There was a silence. They rarely referred to the anger management course Rowan had been on several years ago now as a result of punching someone – putting him in hospital – for making a pass at Jules in a pub. Rowan had been cautioned by the police and advised to go on the course. Since then he hadn’t had an outburst, though he’d come close a couple of times. Jules remembered the guy who’d said something suggestive about Saffie recently and how angry Rowan had been. She’d been stupid to tell him about Saul, who had done something so much worse, and not predict this reaction.
‘I need to talk to Saffie.’
‘She didn’t want you to know. I don’t want her to know I’ve told you . . . Ro!’
‘She’s my daughter,’ he said. ‘I’ll deal with this as I choose.’
‘She’s probably still asleep. Please be gentle. She’s frightened. She’s traumatized. She mustn’t be made to feel she’s to blame.’ She could be pregnant. The unspoken words were loud in her ears. Jules had a sense of everything unravelling. She’d promised Saffie she wouldn’t tell Rowan and had done precisely that. Saffie would feel betrayed, and as for Rowan – God knows what he might do now he knew.
‘Make her feel to blame?’ Rowan said. He turned to her. ‘It’s not the girl who’s to blame in these circumstances. As Holly is so quick to point out in the papers. Saffie’s been the victim of a sexual assault. I want to tell Saul he’s not going near her again. Near any girl if I have my way.’
There was silence for a moment. Then Rowan said he needed a walk to clear his head and that he’d be back later and he went out, slamming the door behind him. The image of the man Rowan had assaulted in the pub for making a lewd comment about her came to Jules’s mind again. He’d ended up with a black eye and a broken jaw.
In a panic, Jules picked up the phone and rang Holly.
‘Have you spoken to Saul?’ she asked. Then, when Holly answered in the negative, ‘Please do. Because Rowan knows. She’s his daughter, Holly. His thirteen-year-old daughter. Put yourself in his shoes. If you don’t do something about Saul, Rowan’s threatening to beat the living daylights out of him.’
‘That’s mature of him.’
It pained Jules to hear her friend’s gentle voice expressing sarcasm. It was out of character. But when Holly softened, and pleaded with her to discuss this with her as a friend, Jules replied in the voice she usually reserved for suppliers who were late with deliveries or for customers who hadn’t paid her invoices.
‘Talk to Saul now. Ask him what happened that night. Say he has to explain himself. Before Rowan honours his word, or calls the police. It’s all I can do to stop him. He’s not giving up on this. So just do it. And then I suggest you get Saul some psychiatric help. I’m surprised Pete hasn’t suggested it already.’
‘You’re dictating to me how I should deal with my own son?’
Jules paused. She had assumed Holly would, by now, admit she had to confront Saul. Her next words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. ‘I wonder if you’re refusing to face the fact Saul could be a rapist because of what it’ll do to your reputation.’
‘What?’
‘Your reputation, Holly. At work. As the one who protects women from predatory men.’
After Jules put the phone down, she stood for several minutes, not moving. How had
things come to this? She had never, ever spoken to Holly like that. But Rowan’s words still rang through her ears. And wasn’t Rowan right? Holly was the one who advised on sexual consent at her university. It was Holly’s job to establish what her son had done. And to deal with it.
*
‘How could you do that?’
Saffie had come to the doorway of the home gym in her nightie, her hair mussed up, her eyes pink. She must have overheard her parents arguing, and the slam of the door as Rowan went out. Jules was on her tenth hamstring stretch, trying to calm herself. She had one round of abs and glutes to do, and then planned to get into a hot shower.
‘I can’t believe you would tell Dad,’ Saffie said. The dark rings had deepened under her eyes, and her haunted expression hinted that she hadn’t slept well, that she was still suffering the effects of the assault, and the anxiety that she might be pregnant. ‘You promised you wouldn’t. You went behind my back and you . . . you’ve let me down. I wish I’d never told you. I can’t trust you. I . . .’ She was ranting. Her voice reached a hysterical pitch. ‘You should never have told Dad. I wish I’d never told you now.’
Jules flicked off the soundtrack, wiped her brow and sat down on the sofa next to her daughter.
‘Come here, darling. Listen. He’s your father. He cares deeply about you. He has a right to know. You must understand that we both want the best for you. We want to protect you.’
‘And now he wants to tell the police . . . It’s what I was most afraid of. I don’t want the police to know . . . I didn’t want anyone to know. Except you, and I only told you because my period was late. All I want is to go back to normal.’ Saffie was trembling.
‘Darling,’ Jules said, alarmed by Saffie’s level of distress at her father knowing. She seemed even more upset than when she’d first told Jules. ‘Calm down. You don’t need to get so worked up about this.’
‘You promised me.’
Jules sighed. ‘I promised I’d do all I could to look after you. Which, after I’d given it some thought, included telling Dad. If you really don’t want anyone else involved, then I’ll make sure he doesn’t take it further. But you have to let us take care of this. You’re too young to do so yourself.’
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