One Minute Later

by Susan Lewis

  Gina had nodded, looked at Gil and, as though sensing his support, nodded again.

  So now here they were on their way to Deerwood, Gil driving with Gina beside him and Vivi in the back. Vivi gazed out of the car window, barely registering the countryside that she and Josh had passed through the day before.

  It felt like a lifetime ago.

  ‘My mother would like to meet yours,’ she’d told him when he’d called this morning. ‘Can we come today?’

  He’d laughed in surprise. ‘Of course. I’ll tell her.’

  Because she had to, she said, ‘It’s not going to be easy, I’m afraid. It concerns your father.’

  He fell silent, clearly bewildered and waiting for her to explain.

  ‘There’s a history,’ Vivi said, thanking God that he knew nothing of the terrible suspicion that had driven her into an insane attempt last night to stop herself facing it. ‘Gil’s coming too. It would be good if we could talk somewhere we won’t be interrupted.’

  To disguise how badly she’d injured herself on the rocks as she’d run, she was wearing long sleeves and ankle-length jeans. Josh might notice her fingers, scratched and swollen, but she’d try to keep them hidden inside the cuffs of her shirt. The exhaustion she felt, the swirling light-headness and raw ache in her chest was making everything seem slightly surreal, yet she knew with clarity that if he felt he couldn’t love her after this she would understand – and then she would want to run and run again …

  When they arrived at Deerwood, pulling up beside his Land Rover in the farmyard, the place was teeming with activity. Teenagers seemed to be everywhere, working with the pigs and goats, clearing the barn, leading ponies into a field, piling boxes onto a forklift, or pushing wheelbarrows along a track signed to the vegetable gardens. No one paid them any particular attention, until Ellie came to greet them, followed by Josh.

  In spite of looking perplexed and worried, he shook hands warmly with Gil and told Gina he was glad to meet her at last. When he looked at Vivi a shadow darkened his eyes, telling her he was aware she wasn’t herself, that he was worried, but he only said, ‘My mother’s inside. The kitchen is always busy, so she’s in the far sitting room.’

  They found Shelley standing with her back to the large empty fireplace, her lovely face anxious and bewildered as she looked from Vivienne to Gina and back again, though her natural warmth made her greet them kindly.

  When they were seated, Shelley on one sofa, Gina between Vivienne and Gil on another, Josh closed the door and went to stand where his mother had been when they’d come in. Vivi was glad to know that he’d be there for his mother when this was over; she would need him then.

  Gil began, his solemn gaze moving between Josh and Shelley as he explained that Gina wanted to tell them what had happened the night Jack had died.

  Though Shelley’s eyes widened with shock, she said nothing, simply turned her gaze to Gina and waited for her to begin.

  GINA

  Autumn 1989

  Gina was sitting in her car watching people spilling out of the pub laughing, promising to see one another soon, and shouting playful insults as they drove off into the night. Though she was certain she knew no one, she kept her head down in case someone recognized her. She couldn’t seem to think straight. She had no idea now why she’d come. She wished she’d never called him, had never met him, could wipe away the summer as though it had never happened.

  Her foot tapped up and down so fast it was like a drill; she began biting her nails, and muttering to herself. She didn’t want to see him. She hated and despised him in a way she’d never even known it was possible to hate and despise anyone, apart from herself. That was what he had done to her; his sneering, cold-hearted cruelty, his rich-boy disdain had made it almost impossible for her to live her life. Last year she’d loved being at uni, she’d had dozens of friends, a social life that was fun, bordering on wild, but everyone was doing it so why shouldn’t she? Now, she could hardly make herself go out at all.

  OK, little slut, time to fuck off home and have a good life.

  She was here, she reminded herself, because she needed him to take those words back, to understand that she was a decent person, from a loving family, not a nobody who deserved no respect.

  She felt so confused and agitated that she couldn’t make herself think straight. She was afraid, and suddenly knew that she had to get out of here. She should never have come. All she had to do was start the car and drive away. He’d never know she’d turned up, and she wouldn’t ever need to speak to him again.

  She turned the keys in the ignition, but suddenly the back doors of her car were wrenched open by unseen hands at the same time as he, Charlie Bleasdale, slipped into the passenger seat.

  ‘Good girl,’ he drawled proudly, and she felt sickened to her soul by the reminder of that unforgettable goodbye.

  She had no idea who the others were, getting in behind her. She couldn’t see their faces in the darkness, could only hear them laughing and snorting, telling one another to ‘fuck off’, or ‘suck my balls’. Their voices were like his, plummy and guttural, and he slapped his thighs in mirth as his companions’ comments became cruder and drunker. She was suddenly so certain they were going to rape her, that he had told them she was easy, was theirs as many times as they wanted that night, that she started to scramble from the car.

  ‘No, don’t go,’ he laughed, dragging her back, and grabbing her by the jaw he turned her to face him.

  ‘Get out,’ she muttered. ‘You …’

  ‘Oh, now don’t be like that,’ he admonished. ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.’

  ‘I – please,’ she stammered. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘Sure, when we’re done you can go wherever you like. First, though, we’re going for a little drive. It shouldn’t take long. All you have to do is what you’re told, and everyone will be happy.’

  The others seemed to think that was hilarious, and so did he.

  She was shaking so violently she couldn’t even speak.

  ‘OK, start her up,’ he instructed.

  She tried to push open her door again, to throw herself onto the tarmac, but someone grabbed her from the back and locked an arm round her throat as he growled, ‘Drive,’ in her ear.

  Bleasdale leaned across her, turned the engine on, and gestured for her to move the car forward. With her head still pinned to the headrest it was hard to reach the pedals, but she made herself, telling herself that she could drive into town, stop at the police station, or even a traffic light, and scream.

  She could barely see where they were going as she was directed along narrow, winding roads, so dark it was hard to make out anything beyond the hedgerows and one or two signs. Crawley Common; Footpath; Kesterly-on-Sea; Deerwood Farm.

  Bleasdale half turned to the others. ‘One of you’ll have to stay in the car with her,’ he said. ‘M J, you come with me.’

  ‘Why him and not me?’ the other protested.

  ‘Because you’re an arse,’ Charlie retorted, and they all howled with laughter.

  ‘Tell me again what I’ve got to do,’ someone said.

  ‘Just follow me,’ Charlie answered. ‘We’ll be in and out of there faster than you can say the bastard had it coming.’

  ‘So who is he? I know you told me, but I was stoned at the time so you’ll have to give it up again.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. He’s just someone who owes my family, so we’re collecting.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t have any cash in the place?’

  ‘For God’s sake, M J. All we have to do is grab something he’ll know is his, then we get out of there. He’ll piss his shitty pants when we send him photos and he realizes we’ve been in his house while his wife and kids were sleeping. He’ll think if we can do it once, we can do it again.’

  ‘But he’s not going to know it’s us, is he?’

  ‘He’ll know, but he won’t be able to prove it. OK, whatever your name is,’ he said to G
ina, ‘there’s a gate up ahead, on the right. Pull in there and turn off the engine.’

  She did as she was told, still in a headlock and rigid with fear, but taking some heart from what she’d overheard. It seemed raping her wasn’t what they were about – at least not yet.

  Bleasdale was becoming more hyper by the second, practically leaping up and down in his seat as they passed around a bottle, burping and panting as they downed the neat vodka.

  It was pitch-dark all around them, no cars were passing, and as far as Gina could make out there was no sign of a house or any other building.

  If she could get out and run, maybe hide in a hedge …

  ‘OK, little slut,’ Bleasdale murmured, ‘just so we’re clear. You’re the driver tonight. If there’s any trouble, if anyone sees a car it’s going to be yours, so you’ll be the one with the explaining to do.’

  She didn’t answer, couldn’t. She had no idea what he was talking about and she was still being held so tightly she was struggling to breathe.

  He got out, leaving the passenger door open, and cold air rushed in, followed by more as someone clambered out of the back. She was still unable to turn her head; her legs were trapped by the steering wheel.

  Charlie said, ‘If you want some sport with her while we’re gone, be my guest, just make sure you’re here when we get back.’

  Blind terror slaked through her as he closed the door, leaving her to the mercy of the man who wouldn’t let her go.

  Several excruciating moments followed. She could hear him breathing close to her ear; she could smell him, sweat, aftershave and booze.

  ‘Give me the keys,’ he growled.

  She couldn’t make herself move.

  ‘Get the keys,’ he barked, and grabbing her hair he shoved her forward.

  She took them from the ignition and put them into the hand he was holding out.

  As he closed his fist around them he let her go, and the next instant he was at the driver’s door, locking her in. Then he was around the other side getting in next to her.

  ‘No, please,’ she begged, pressing herself to the door and fumbling for the handle. ‘Pease don’t hurt me,’ she sobbed.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said, sounding bored with her now. ‘I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a fucking rapist. So just keep quiet, be a good girl, and before you know it we’ll be on our way home.’ He looked her up and down. ‘You’re not my type anyway,’ he grunted, and tipping back his head he emptied the vodka bottle into his throat.

  Gina had no idea how much time passed before the others came back. It felt like hours, but maybe it was only minutes. She heard an owl, saw a fox cross the road and turn back again. Their breath fogged the windows, she shivered with cold and fear, tried to think how to persuade him to let her go, but then he was saying, ‘Here they are,’ and giving her the keys he told her to start the car.

  As the headlights came on she saw two figures leaping over the gate. They tore open the back doors and Bleasdale was shouting, ‘Drive, fucking drive.’

  In a panic she stalled the engine.

  ‘Fucking drive,’ he yelled, thumping the roof.

  As she steered jerkily onto the road, someone growled, ‘What the fuck happened?’

  Silence.

  ‘Charlie! What happened?’

  ‘You were there,’ Bleasdale growled.

  ‘Yah, and you fucking killed him.’

  ‘Don’t be a moron,’ Bleasdale spat, grabbing his throat. ‘Don’t ever fucking say that, all right?’ He let him go, pushed him back and clasped his hands to his head. ‘You don’t know he’s dead,’ he hissed. ‘You don’t know …’

  ‘I’m telling you, he’s fucking dead.’

  Gina kept driving, following the passengers’ directions, praying they’d let her go as soon as they were ready to be dropped off.

  A horrible silence dragged on. She didn’t dare to glance in the rear-view mirror, she didn’t want Bleasdale or anyone to catch her looking at them. She just wanted them to forget she was there.

  Eventually she was told to stop and she realized they were outside the lodge at Dean Manor. As the others got out, Bleasdale leaned forward and thrust something hard and heavy into her hands.

  ‘What – what is it?’ she gulped, trying to drop it.

  ‘Call it a memento,’ he snarled. ‘Your fingerprints are on it now. If anyone asks we’ll say it was you who took us to the farmhouse, because you wanted to pull a train with us and Jack Raynor. You’re that kind of a girl, aren’t you? One who pulls trains. We’ll tell them you’ve been shagging Raynor since the night he threw us off his land.’

  She was shaking her head violently. She didn’t understand. ‘But I don’t …’

  ‘Shut up, shut up.’ He stared at the object in her hands, but she could tell he wasn’t seeing it. ‘He might not be dead,’ he said raggedly, ‘but whether he is or isn’t, you need to keep your mouth shut about tonight and for fuck’s sake hide that away. If you don’t, it won’t be us who suffers, it’ll be you. Do you get that? You, and your family, and anyone you care for, because you go talking about this, I’ll come for you and you don’t want that, slut girl, I promise you, you really don’t want it.’

  By the time Gina got home she’d wet herself in fear. Her face was so ravaged by terror and tears that she knew she couldn’t let her parents see her. Thankfully, they were asleep in bed and didn’t hear her stumble and creep past their door into her room. She was still carrying the heavy object he’d thrust at her, and turning on the bedside light she made herself check it for blood, certain she’d find some, that this was what he’d used … But there was none. It was a dark, solid, unstained bronze. She sank down on the bed, shaking with a horror she wasn’t even close to controlling.

  You fucking killed him.

  You don’t know he’s dead.

  We’ll tell everyone it was your idea …

  Hours passed, or maybe it was minutes, before she was able to peel off her soiled clothes, wrap herself in a robe and get into bed. She pulled the covers over her head as if total darkness and near-suffocation could somehow obliterate the nightmare. She was too traumatized even to cry.

  She stayed in bed all the next day and the next. She couldn’t go back to uni, she couldn’t face the world; she couldn’t even leave her room. Her mother wanted to call the doctor, but Gina begged her not to.

  ‘I’ll be fine, Mum, honestly, please don’t fuss.’

  She made herself listen to the radio and when she heard the news that Jack Raynor had died in a tragic accident at his home she almost screamed out loud. It couldn’t be true, she didn’t want it to be true, but it was.

  There was no mention of a break-in, or a fight, or a bronze sculpture going missing …

  But the sculpture was here, in her room, wrapped in a towel and stuffed to the back of the wardrobe.

  Jack Raynor was dead.

  She was tormented by thoughts of his wife and children, of what they must be going through, of all they didn’t know … She told herself she had to speak up, to make clear what had happened, but she didn’t know for certain what had, because she hadn’t been there, and they were saying it was a freak accident, and if she went to the police Charlie Bleasdale would tell them things about her and Jack Raynor that weren’t true, but Jack Raynor was no longer alive to confirm or deny it. It would be her word against Bleasdale’s and his friends.

  As the days passed and Gina still wouldn’t or couldn’t get out of bed, and continued to refuse to see a doctor, her mother called one anyway.

  By the time he arrived Gina had slipped out of the house. She’d been planning to go anyway – not planning exactly, she just knew that she had to go to Jack Raynor’s funeral. She needed to speak to his wife, to explain that it hadn’t been an accident. She would give back the bronze and tell her about Charlie Bleasdale. It wasn’t until she got to the crematorium that she realized she’d forgotten, in her distraught state, to bring it with her.


  She parked a long way from the entrance gates and walked along a narrow track to get to the far side of the gardens. She stood in the sunlight, next to a child’s memorial stone, and watched the mourners who were there for Jack Raynor. She didn’t know any of them; she could barely make out their faces from where she was standing. Then she saw Charlie Bleasdale, dressed in black, and she was so terrified of him spotting her that she ran back to her car and drove and drove until eventually she arrived home.

  A week or more went by and she was still too afraid to leave her room. Her parents called the doctor again, and after he’d examined her Gina sat shivering at the top of the stairs listening to what he told them. She didn’t understand post-trauma stress, hadn’t really heard of it before, but he was certain that she was bottling up a bad experience and needed some help to make her let it go.

  Jack Raynor hadn’t deserved to die and she didn’t deserve to live. That was all she knew, and she’d never be able to let that go.

  ‘Gina,’ her mother said softly one morning, ‘you know you can’t go on like this. You’re wasting away, look at you, and Dad and I are worried out of our minds … Please tell me what’s happened. Let us help you.’

  Gina said, ‘I’m pregnant,’ and as the words left her lips she started to sob and sob and couldn’t make herself stop.

  Holding her close, soothing her as best she could, her mother said, ‘Yes, I know that, sweetheart, so now tell me …’ She took a breath. ‘Gina, did someone force themselves on you? Is that why you’re so scared?’

  Gina couldn’t answer. She could only cling to her mother as if she’d drown without her.

  ‘If someone attacked you we can go to the police.’

  ‘No! No one forced me,’ Gina choked. ‘I didn’t … He …’

  Her mother waited a moment, then said, ‘Is it someone we know?’

  Gina shook her head.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘So whoever it is, have you told him? Is that what’s wrong? You told him and he doesn’t want to know?’

  ‘I don’t want him ever to know,’ Gina cried. ‘I never want to see him again. He’s … He’s …’