The Sudden Departure of the Frasers

by Louise Candlish

  ‘I understand your feelings about wanting to keep the baby, really I do. After all that time trying, it’s completely natural, plus you’re still suffering from the shock of the assault. But, as I say, there are other options. And what about the fact that if you don’t go through with this and he gets away scot-free, he could do it again to someone else? What about that poor woman you said he’s just moved in, Pippa? We can only hope she’s moved straight out again the moment the police came calling.’

  We had arrived now at the crux of the dilemma, the very trickiest of all the moral ambiguities we faced: could Jeremy continue to share his life with a woman selfish enough to put other women at risk? Could he collude in that crime?

  He didn’t have an answer for me, not yet. He said he needed to think about it. ‘Try to rest,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you worrying about him any more.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Whatever we do, wherever we go, I will protect you from this monster. That’s a promise.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I whispered.

  I imagined the monster in his flat, sitting in the dark, Pippa surely having fled by now, his life suspended as he faced the prospect of a criminal trial and possible conviction. Did he wonder if his university nightmare would be resurrected, or those blurred lines he’d navigated with Kenny’s colleague – and who knew which others – damningly redrawn? I imagined his thoughts of what jail might be like, a place where perpetrators of sexual assault were shown little mercy.

  Mercy, he’d said to me once, that’s an interesting quality for a child to care about. Do you mean were you hurt?

  Not then, I thought. But now, yes.

  The next day Jeremy went into the office for the first time since we’d moved into the hotel. I stood at the window and watched him walk from the entrance towards the river, to anyone else just another middle-aged man in a business suit with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I imagined him never returning. Contact with his colleagues, with normal people, would bring him to his senses and I would hear from him again only through his solicitor. I would go back to my mother with my tail between my legs and a baby in my womb, no different in the end from her.

  And irrespective of my status as victim, that was, after all, no less than I deserved for my marital betrayal.

  But I should have known better. When he came back that evening, he brought with him the flowers and chocolates and magazines you might take someone in hospital. He held me and kissed me and told me he’d made a decision. He would accept the baby as his own. We would not return to the house or cross paths with any of our Lime Park friends again, but would move far away. He would talk to his partners about taking a six-month sabbatical, or at least working from an office at home, and his team would be briefed to rebuff all enquiries that were not strictly business-related. He would arrange for us both to change our mobile phone numbers and email addresses.

  ‘We’ll put my name on all the medical forms and on the birth certificate. We won’t discuss it with anyone else ever. That has to be our sacred vow.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Quite apart from anything else, we don’t want our child finding out he was the product of rape. We’ll move heaven and earth to prevent him from finding that out.’

  ‘Or her,’ I said, pleased that he was thinking like this, like a parent.

  ‘Agreed?’ he asked.

  ‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘I can convince myself, I know I can. This is a new start.’

  ‘You’re very brave,’ he said.

  ‘No, I’m not. It’s you who’s brave.’ This was quite true. I’d made new starts before, cut off circles of friends, denied selective stretches of history; it was Jeremy who’d had no need to and knew nothing of the emotional disorientation, the mental stamina, that it entailed.

  ‘Rubbish. I don’t want you to suffer any more distress than you’ve already suffered. I’ll phone the police first thing tomorrow morning. Leave everything to me.’

  I could not obey him on this score. It was not a flawless plan even from his perspective and certainly not from mine. Rob was not the kind of man to roll over without a fight (I knew that to my cost). And so, having sent Jeremy out to buy me more toiletries, I did something against all official advice and without telling a soul: I made contact with the perpetrator.

  ‘Rob?’ The phone felt like a grenade I needed to hurl as far from me as possible to survive. I gripped it uncomfortably hard, forced it to my ear.

  ‘Amber, is this you? What the fuck is going on?’ His fury kindled instantly, the spitting heat of it causing my heart to squeeze and stutter.

  ‘Nothing’s going on,’ I said, cool and steady in voice if not in body. I was shaking badly, but reminded myself that he could not see my fear, he could not intimidate me. ‘Not any more. You’ll be pleased to know that I’m going to withdraw my allegation tomorrow morning.’

  There was a horrible pause before anger and relief combusted. ‘Why the hell did you make it in the first place? What are you playing at? Is this some kind of sick game, history repeating?’

  I held my nerve. ‘There’s no need to pretend with me, Rob. I’m not recording this phone call.’

  ‘Pretend? I’m the only one here who isn’t pretending.’

  ‘You know that’s not true. We both know what happened and nothing will change that. I’m withdrawing for reasons of my own, not to save your skin.’

  ‘Reasons of your own? I’ll give you reasons! Do you realize I was led from my house in handcuffs? A fucking squad car in the street outside? I’m on bail and all our neighbours are going wild about it!’

  ‘What?’ I was taken aback by the idea of the neighbours knowing anything – Jeremy had been right, the gossips had flourished. Well, it was no more than he deserved, I thought.

  His voice came again, spitting into my ear. ‘That’s right, word spreads when someone is thought to be a danger to society. When they’re picked up by the police at exactly the same time the kids are leaving for school. It took about two minutes for people to believe your total fiction.’

  ‘It is not fiction,’ I said, as forcefully as I could muster, but he seethed on, his hatred as tangible, as poisonous, as it had been that horrible afternoon.

  ‘Pippa’s left me. Doesn’t fancy prison visits, d’you think? Felicity’s put her flat on the market. A lot can happen in a couple of days when you’re a sex offender, eh? It’s only a matter of time before I get a brick through my window or a mob forcing me out.’

  ‘Well, so be it,’ I said, bravely. ‘That’s nothing to do with me. As I say, I’ll be withdrawing my statement and you’ll have to deal with your guilt however you choose.’

  He gave a bitter, black-hearted laugh. I could hear the ragged sounds of shallow breathing, and his voice when it came again was ominous, almost infernal: ‘Did he find out? Is that why you did this?’

  ‘You know why I did this. You were there.’

  ‘You had an affair, Amber. You were willing every single time. More than willing, you were fucking avid. How can you live with yourself, lying like this?’ The words were not spoken but spewed, vented, leaving me in no doubt that he despised me and always would.

  ‘How can you?’ I countered, losing confidence, terrified to find that he still had power over me. This was how bullies worked, I told myself. They made you believe their truth; they rendered yours worthless.

  ‘You know, my lawyer rang the hotel and they said there was no record of you having had a guest that night. They said you were on your own. How long have you been planning this?’

  ‘There was no plan,’ I told him, sickened by the memory of how naïve and defenceless I’d been that night. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Are you clinically insane all of a sudden? Or maybe you have been all along, Jesus … It’s evil, Amber, what you’ve done. Did you think he’d just forgive you, no questions asked? Did it turn out he wasn’t so indulgent after all? Was he going to throw his little princess out of
her interior-designed tower, back into the gutter where she came from?’

  I did not respond to this storm of abuse, only grateful that we were not face-to-face when he delivered it, for if we had been he would have struck me, spat at me. Degraded me. As it was, his voice in my ear was petrifying enough. I remembered what I’d said to Jeremy – I am strong, I have a reason to stay strong – and it gave me the courage I needed to say what I’d called to say, to bring this exchange to a close. ‘I’ll withdraw the allegation only on the condition that you never contact me again – or Jeremy. We’re moving away and we want to put this behind us. If you try to find me, I’ll contact the police immediately and ask them to reopen the investigation.’

  ‘I wish I’d never laid eyes on you in the first place,’ he hissed. ‘Slut.’

  Don’t listen to him, I told myself. You’re almost there now. He will never hurt you again. ‘So you accept my condition? Will you promise not to come after us?’

  He made a sound of pure revulsion, pure enmity. ‘Just get the police to drop the inquiry and I swear I will never try to see you again as long as there is breath in my body.’

  ‘Thank you. Goodbye, Rob.’

  ‘Fuck you, Amber.’

  By nine-thirty the following morning Jeremy had informed the police that I wished to retract my report of rape. He put the call on speakerphone and I listened with trepidation, fearful of being accused of wasting police time or even warranting a charge myself. There was a horrible moment when DS Graham pointed out that they might still proceed with the investigation without my co-operation. He said they’d interviewed Felicity Boyd the previous afternoon and she had confirmed my evidence about saying ‘You’ll never lay a finger on me again’ and leaving number 38 that afternoon in extreme distress. She would be a very credible witness. There were others too in the process of being located, including the college girlfriend, now living in Newcastle, and other former partners, though it would be several days before formal interviews could take place. But with Jeremy’s urging, he at last admitted that the CPS would almost certainly insist on dropping charges without my central contributing evidence.

  There was nothing else, after all: no physical injuries, no forensic evidence – whatever they’d collected at the scene could only have pointed to sex, which Rob freely admitted to, and not to sexual crime, which he did not. There’d been no restraints used, no torn clothes. And Felicity’s testimony might just as easily be shown to corroborate Rob’s account – that he had ended our affair and I’d reacted badly – as it did mine. We all knew how crucial context was.

  I was required to make an official retraction of my statement and it was agreed this could be done at the station local to the hotel, to avoid any possibility of my running into Rob in Lime Park. I had to declare that I did not wish to pursue a criminal allegation against Mr Robert Whalen of 38 Lime Park Road and that this was my own decision; I had not been persuaded by any other person.

  I was asked if I would reconsider since it was so serious an allegation.

  I said I would not.

  ‘Does it remain true?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said.

  ‘Is it your support you’re withdrawing or the allegation itself?’

  ‘Both. I just can’t do it,’ I said, my voice weak. I felt faint, not myself, the strain of this – or perhaps the pregnancy – depleting me of energy.

  The police said they understood my position and that a letter would follow in due course to confirm that the inquiry had been closed. I imagined the details, the names and dates and times, on that national computer database for an indeterminate period.

  Next, Jeremy spoke to the estate agent and solicitor about putting the house on the market. Profit was our last priority, speed our foremost. We would not hold out for the best price or consider anyone in a chain, but would sell at a realistic figure to the first cash buyer past the post. We would rent in another part of the capital short term while we decided which area to relocate to. No contact details were shared besides Jeremy’s office address and new mobile phone number.

  ‘I can’t rest until I know it’s sold,’ I told Jeremy. Now, in my mind, the house on Lime Park Road became a symbol of the mess I’d created, its rooms, some of which I’d hardly set foot in, the beautiful smooth shell inside which I’d allowed myself to turn bad. ‘I need to know we’re not linked to it legally. I need to forget we ever lived there.’

  ‘It will be done within a month,’ he promised.

  All concerned agreed that whoever the buyers turned out to be, they’d be getting the bargain of their lives.

  Chapter 31

  Christy, October 2013

  The day after she opened the letter from the police, Christy emerged from the Frasers’ state-of-the-art thermostatically hypersensitive rain shower to find Joe still sleeping. She woke him in alarm.

  ‘You’re going to be late for work. Shouldn’t you call in and let them know? Where’s your phone?’

  He flinched at the brightness of her voice, as if at the sudden application of searchlights. ‘I’m not going in.’

  ‘What do you mean? Oh. Rob.’

  When Joe had come home yesterday it had been to a wife who had locked herself in the house for fear of reprisals at the hands of the predator next door. Later, the two of them had spent an hour in conversation with that predator, the upshot of which was that Christy was now expected to accept as final the excellent reasons why the criminal legal system was predicated on the presumption of innocence.

  ‘Imagine if I were him,’ Joe had said, when Rob had gone, but the fact that she could not imagine it only confirmed her belief that the existence of doubt worked both ways.

  ‘Imagine if I were her,’ she replied.

  The truth was that only two people knew what had happened in Rob’s flat on the afternoon of the 15th of January and Christy was not one of them.

  ‘You don’t need to stay at home on my account,’ she told him now. ‘I admit I was a bit hysterical yesterday, but I know he’s hardly likely to do it again so soon after –’

  ‘He didn’t do it the first time,’ Joe interrupted, unequivocal in his support of Rob even as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, the day hardly started. ‘I think that’s been established.’

  ‘It’s been presumed,’ Christy said. ‘And you know what I’m saying. If he did do it then he wouldn’t be likely to do it again, because he’d know this one would stick.’

  ‘I see you’ve continued to embrace the language of the TV cop. Maybe that could be your new line of work. A scriptwriter for a crime series.’

  ‘Maybe it could. I’m open to ideas. But either way, you’re still a lawyer at Jermyn Richards and should go to the office.’

  Making no move to leave the bed, Joe was at least sitting up now. ‘I didn’t mean I’m not going in today,’ he said. ‘I meant I’m not going in ever.’

  Christy gaped. ‘What are you talking about, “ever”?’ She sank onto the edge of the bed, water from her hair turning cold on her bare shoulders. ‘Did something happen when you left yesterday? You told them it was an emergency, didn’t you?’ She’d come to imagine JR as a team of tyrants branding and whipping their slaves, Joe somehow remaining one of the latter group even when he had – nominally, at least – switched sides.

  ‘Something happens every day, Christy,’ he said, ‘it’s called fear and loathing. I’m phoning in sick, I’m getting the doctor to sign me off, and then I’m resigning.’

  Christy could scarcely absorb this. It was, in its way, as shocking, as destabilizing, as yesterday’s news: neither of them working, neither of them earning, a mortgage that sucked at the neck of their bank account with vampiric appetite … ‘Shouldn’t we discuss this properly before you make a decision like that?’

  ‘We’re discussing it now and I’m telling you I can’t go on. Another day of that hell and I’m going to jump under a train. Resign or commit suicide: they’re my choices, and I’m happy to debate them with you if you t
hink there might be pros and cons to weigh up. Me, I’m fairly clear which way I want it to go.’

  As bailiffs and bankruptcy notices began inevitably to surface in front of her eyes, she noticed, to her horror, that Joe had tears spilling from his. She clutched him to her.

  ‘Don’t be upset. Of course you must leave if it’s that bad. At the very least you need time off …’ His frame felt slighter as she held him: he must have lost weight in recent weeks without her having noticed. Nausea rose as she recognized that she had not cared for him as she should have; she had not taken his unhappiness at work seriously enough. There’d been days – weeks – when she had given the man next door more thought than she had the one in her own house. And the tragedy was that still, even at this juncture, the balance was awry.

  When he stopped crying they agreed they would not talk about it for the rest of the day.

  ‘A twenty-four-hour amnesty,’ she said. ‘We need to take stock. What shall we do instead? What do you feel like doing?’

  ‘You really want to know?’ Joe said.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I just want to be alone.’ And he sighed with a yearning so deep it moved her, shamed her afresh. ‘I can’t remember the last time I was alone.’ His glance moved about the bedroom as if its corners were unfamiliar to him. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been on my own in this house.’

  Christy swallowed and nodded simultaneously. ‘OK,’ she said doubtfully. ‘I understand you need time, but I’m not sure it’s the right thing to leave you on your own.’

  He gave a half-grin. ‘Don’t worry, Rob won’t come and get me.’

  ‘You know what I mean. To decide to leave your job’ – she didn’t say career, that would be overstating it (wouldn’t it?) – ‘it’s a traumatic thing, Joe.’

  ‘No, it’s a wonderful thing, believe me.’ And it was true that he looked convincingly contented; the tears had served their purpose. But still, as mood swings went, this was a violent one by anyone’s standards – it was only a matter of minutes since he’d mentioned suicide.