Her Name Was Rose

by Claire Allan

  ‘I really don’t think … I’m not sure people would understand. Not so soon after Rose died.’

  ‘Cian’s allowed to have friends,’ Ingrid said. ‘People would understand that.’

  I realised that it was what I had told her when we first met. If she suspected any different, and I think she did, she was goading me now. All this talk of friends in need being friends indeed. Did she want me to tell her it was more? Did she want Cian to say it? Did I want Cian to say it? I knew that to the public, it would look bad for him. Still, it stung that I couldn’t put her in her place – especially as she looked so cosy beside him.

  ‘I think having someone tell us he had an alibi for that night, on the record, it would really shift public opinion – any that wasn’t already in his corner anyway.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said, also thinking of Owen’s order that none of us talk to the press – his stating that we would get fired. But then again, did I owe Owen any loyalty? Especially if he was the monster Cian said he was. ‘I need time to think.’

  Ingrid sat straight up, followed by Cian. ‘That’s the thing,’ Ingrid said. ‘We might not have a lot of time to wait. If the police arrest and charge Cian, my hands are tied. Things become sub judice – no newspaper or media outlet in the world would touch him. Not until after a trial anyway.’

  ‘But if he’s innocent? Surely getting the truth out is all that matters?’ I said, my stomach twisting at the thought of him being arrested. Paraded in handcuffs. Sent to jail. And what about Jack? Rose’s family would claim him for their own and God only knows if they would let him have any access if they believed he had hurt their daughter.

  ‘The law is the law,’ Ingrid said. ‘Even if I wrote the piece, there is no way my editor would publish it. We’d be hauled before the courts ourselves on contempt charges. To be honest, we’re probably sailing close to the wind as it is, with a live investigation under way. My editor was only persuaded because of Cian’s profile.’

  Cian leant forward, put his head in his hands. ‘This is a nightmare. It’s all a fucking nightmare.’

  I reached forward and touched his knee. ‘We can get through this, Cian.’

  ‘I’m going to lose everything. I’ve already lost Rose and now I’m going to lose everything else. My reputation. My freedom. My son. I can’t lose him.’

  I noticed Ingrid sit forward too, touch his other knee and I pulled back. ‘I’m going to do everything I can Cian. I promise,’ she said. He looked up at her and thanked her while I sat feeling like a third wheel.

  The beep of the drier saved me. ‘I imagine those are my clothes,’ I said, getting up to walk to the utility room. As I left I heard Ingrid say she had better be on her way – a story to file and all. She called a cheery goodbye to me, as I pulled off the dressing gown and dressed in my still-warm clothes. I called my goodbyes, never so glad as to see someone leave. Perhaps now Cian and I could talk properly.

  When I walked back into the room, Cian had just returned from where, I presumed, he had seen Ingrid to the door. ‘She’s a decent sort,’ he said, gesturing to me to fill the spot she had left on the sofa. ‘Where did you say you knew her from again?’

  ‘I don’t think I did,’ I said, sipping from my wine glass to give myself time to think. I was hardly likely to tell him she had blackmailed me over my troubled past. ‘She did a story on a friend of mine a couple of years back. My friend always spoke highly of her. Said she was a good journalist.’ I hoped he didn’t see the blush on my cheeks, or if he did he put it down to being close to him.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you gave me her details. She’s about the only thing I have going for me at the moment. DS Bradley pulled no punches when he was here earlier. Said he would find out whatever I was hiding.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, shifting closer to him – feeling a need to be as close to him as I could possibly be. ‘You know what they say, if you’ve nothing to hide …’

  Feeling emboldened by Ingrid’s leaving, and the half-glass of wine I’d had – on an empty stomach – I pulled as close to him as I could, before standing up, turning and straddling him where he sat. ‘And you have nothing to hide, so you have nothing to worry about,’ I said, bending my head towards his, pressing my lips to his full mouth – waiting for him to kiss me back, to finish what he had started upstairs. But instead of a hot, passionate kiss he pulled back. Putting his hand to my cheek, he rubbed his thumb over my lips. I closed my eyes, tried to savour the moment as his hand moved from my cheek to the back of my neck. I felt him move closer – his breath hot on my neck, his hand twisting my hair until he tugged it, forcing my head back, my eyes springing open in shock and pain. Then his mouth, warm at my ear, the sensation of his teeth biting, tugging. Strong enough to make me wince, instinctively try to pull away. ‘Poor naive girl,’ he said, his other arm pulling me tighter to him, pushing himself, hard, against me. ‘Don’t you realise, once people want you, they will get you whatever it takes?’

  *

  It was passion. Lust. That’s what I told myself when I woke the next morning, in my own bed, my head spinning from what had happened. He’d had a tough day – his nerves were on edge. And I had come on to him – strongly. I mean, I had straddled him, kissed him. He’d just responded, passionately. He had warned me earlier that I could make him lose control of himself. It was just that I wasn’t expecting that. What he did. How he did it. I felt the sting at the skin on my neck, the skin wasn’t quite broken but it still smarted. My breasts ached from where he had pulled and kneaded them, my arms ached from where he had held them behind me, made me powerless in front of him. The top of my thighs were tender from where he had driven himself into me, hard, fast, animalistic, primal. I’d expected some of the tenderness we had shared a few nights before – the way we had sought comfort in each other.

  Lust. It had to be lust.

  After, he had shown me some tenderness. He had stroked my back as I lay, stunned, across his chest. He had kissed my hair. He had told me I was beautiful. That I was perfect in his eyes. That I was his saviour. I would help him find his way through this nightmare.

  My eyes had been heavy with sleep when he had shifted below me. ‘You should probably head for home before it gets much later,’ he had said. I’d blinked up at him, confused. I wanted to sleep there, with him. I needed to feel comfort from him. I needed to not be alone.

  ‘You’ve work in the morning – you probably don’t want to be late,’ he had said, sitting up and pulling on his jeans.

  I could have argued, I supposed, but he was right. I did have work in the morning – and it was going to be tough enough as it was without adding being late to the mix.

  ‘What will I tell them when they ask why the police came to see me?’ I’d asked him.

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I won’t tell you want to say, Emily. That’s up to you.’

  As I had started to dress, feeling very self-conscious, I looked at him. ‘If I told them we were together?’ I offered.

  He’d stilled for a moment, looked directly at me in a way that made me want to cross my arms over my chest – hide myself a little. Then, again as if a switch had been flicked, he had moved towards me and kissed the top of my head. ‘If you want to tell them that, it’s okay with me.’ He’d pulled me to standing, then wrapped his arms warmly around me in a hug that pressed my head against his still bare chest. ‘Because we are together, aren’t we, Emily? We’re in this together.’

  So I found myself driving home, through the still pouring rain, at close to midnight feeling uneasy about everything that happened that day. I noticed I had a missed Skype call from Maud, and I was tempted to call her back. She would be home from work, probably getting her dinner or getting ready to go to some fancy Manhattan bar and sip cocktails with friends. But I knew she would stall her plans to talk to me. I knew I could rely on her. Rely on her to listen and to advise. Yet, something held me back. Pride perhaps. She had told me to be careful and now I was in over my head. Falling i
n love with a man who had recently lost his wife. Lying for him – because I believed, deep down, in his innocence.

  Didn’t I?

  *

  I figured if I acted like there was nothing unsettling about the police calling to speak to me – everything would be fine. So I took a few deep breaths, pushed open the door to Scott’s and walked in with my head held high.

  ‘Morning,’ I said to Tori. ‘I’ll be out in five. Just let me grab a coffee.’

  She nodded, and I ignored the look of confusion on her face. As I walked on she called that she was glad I was feeling better. The staff room was, thankfully, empty so I made my coffee in peace, locked my bag and coat in my locker and downed my drink while trying not to look at the picture of Rose. Although I knew if she was the person everyone said she was, she would have wanted Cian to be happy and she would have moved heaven and earth to make sure Jack was okay.

  Still I probably finished my coffee quicker than I normally would to escape from under her gaze. I took my seat beside Tori with no comment. Looked up the appointment list for the day and called our first client through to see Sarah. I then focused directly on my screen, catching up on orders, appointments and referrals. I kept my head down, tried to avoid any unnecessary conversation. Each time Tori tried to speak to me, I would lift the phone and fake a very important call, or suddenly remember that I promised to get a glass of water for someone, or send an email with information about our cosmetic procedures. I managed to avoid any conversation about anything non-work related until just before 11am when the phone on my desk buzzed to life, and the call came from Owen’s surgery. I answered and asked him if he was ready for his next client while I clicked into the system to see who to call.

  ‘Emily, could you come in and see me for a minute?’ he asked.

  Of course I had to. I couldn’t say no. So I stood up and, trying to ignore the thumping of my heart, reminded myself again that I had done nothing wrong. Nothing that Owen knew about anyway. With my best professional smile on my face, I knocked on his door and waited for him to call ‘Come in’.

  He was sat by his workbench and he gestured to me to sit down on the stool opposite him.

  ‘I think we need to talk,’ he said softly.

  ‘Is there something wrong with my work?’ I asked, taking my seat. If I made this about work, it would be harder for Owen to talk about anything else.

  ‘No. Not at all. You’ve settled in remarkably well. You’ve become a valued member of staff.’

  I couldn’t help but smile. ‘That’s good,’ I said, straightening my tunic and brushing my hair back behind my ears, before remembering that I had been trying to hide the bruising from the night before. I brushed it forward again and looked at Owen.

  ‘Look, this is a bit awkward and I’m not quite sure where to start …’ He shifted on his seat. He looked uncertain of himself.

  ‘At the very beginning?’ I said, forcing my voice to remain calm, my tone light. Act normal and it will be normal, I told myself.

  ‘You’ll be aware Detective Bradley was here again yesterday,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I know. I believe the police are asking a lot of questions. Of a lot of people,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, they are. It’s heartening to see them take it all so seriously. It’s beyond comprehension, you know. That they think someone hurt her on purpose. That someone could be capable of hurting a person like Rose.’

  I nodded but inside I was getting a little heartsore of hearing about Saint Rose. People like Rose, good people, had bad things happen to them all the time. It wasn’t that unbelievable.

  ‘Look, Emily. I know the police were looking to ask you questions about your relationship with Cian Grahame. They asked me whether you’d ever mentioned that you and Cian were close.’

  I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. I just stared at him while my brain tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make things more uncomfortable.

  ‘We’ve not known each other long,’ I said, ‘just since the first time he called in here.’

  ‘Look … I know it’s none of my business who you keep company with outside of work and maybe I’m crossing a line here but Emily, I like you. You seem like a nice person. A decent person. And I think you should think about what you’re getting yourself into.’

  ‘I know he is grieving for Rose – and Jack is too. We talk about that a lot, you know. About Rose and her life.’ I met his eyes with mine. Looked him straight in the face as I told him – hoping that he would understand from what I was saying that I knew a lot about Rose. About things that had hurt Rose. About men who had been obsessed with her – who had made her perfect life hell.

  He moved again, looked down to his hands and back at me. ‘Emily, Cian Grahame isn’t all he portrays himself to be. That article yesterday? The follow-up today? That’s not the real Cian.’

  It dawned on me that I hadn’t seen today’s piece yet, but I knew how Ingrid would have written about him. From what I had seen the night before she was besotted with him.

  ‘From what I know of him, they show him exactly as he is,’ I said defensively. ‘A man who feels hounded after his wife was murdered. A man who has to deal with others being jealous of what he has achieved – so much so that it prevents them from showing him an ounce of human decency.’

  To my surprise Owen laughed. A short, brittle laugh. Then he shook his head. ‘He’s done a number on you, hasn’t he?’ he asked. ‘He is just so good at creating fiction, I’ll give him that.’

  I felt myself bristle at his response. He – who had bullied Rose – who had threatened her. Who, for all I knew, had been the one responsible for her death. I wouldn’t have thought it possible when I first met him. But now it felt like he was showing himself to be everything Cian had warned me he was.

  ‘He told me you would do everything you could to blacken his name,’ I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

  ‘Cian Grahame needs no help blackening his name,’ Owen said. ‘Have you never wondered why he doesn’t have a stream of friends battering down his door to help him in his hour of need? Why his own family aren’t around? He’s not a nice person, Emily.’

  ‘I take people as I find them,’ I said defensively. ‘People don’t understand Cian. They want to bring him down.’

  ‘Oh, the patented “feel sorry for me, Cian Grahame” speech,’ he said. ‘He hasn’t grown out of it, then?’

  I stood up. ‘Owen, I appreciate your concern, if that’s what it is, but if you are happy with me and my work then I don’t think we have anything more to discuss here. So, as you know, we are very busy today and I’d like to get back to doing my job well, which is the only thing that should concern you about me.’

  I got up and turned to walk to the door. I wasn’t even halfway across the room when I felt him grab my arm – tightly, so much so that it hurt – before spinning me round towards him.

  ‘You don’t seem to understand, Emily,’ he said, as I squirmed to get out of his grip.

  ‘You’re hurting me,’ I said as he spoke, his grip pulling on my already sore and tired muscles. ‘Please let go.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘Not until you understand exactly the kind of man you’re getting dangerously close to.’

  I shrugged as hard as I could but he held on. ‘The only dangerous man I’m near is you, Owen.’

  He let go as if my words had burned him and I immediately started to rub my arm.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, reaching out to rub my arm too but I pulled away. ‘I’m so sorry. Look Emily, you don’t understand. He’s not what he seems. What he put Rose through … you need to listen.’

  ‘No!’ I said, backing away from him. ‘He told me you would say all this. He told me you would lie about him. You would do everything to hurt him because he had the one thing you wanted but couldn’t have. He told me you made her life miserable!’ I started to cry – my voice started to break and I willed myself to be able to keep talking without losing
it all together. ‘I didn’t want to believe him, Owen, but look at you! Look how you’re acting!’

  ‘It’s because I don’t want him destroying someone else like he did her,’ he said.

  ‘He didn’t destroy her!’ I shouted. ‘He had nothing to do with her death.’

  I watched as he laughed again. Actually laughed, then cried. ‘Rose was dead a long time before she stepped in front of that car, Emily. And it was everything – every little thing – to do with Cian.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Rose

  2017

  Rose Grahame: has a secret smile :)

  I knew I was playing with fire updating my status like that, but I had to let a little something out.

  I did have a secret smile. I was excited after a long time of not really being excited about anything. After a long time of not really allowing myself to feel anything. For months after Jack’s birth I felt like I was plodding through mud, or fog or something that made me feel nothing like me. Nothing at all. I wondered if I even know who I was any more.

  Cian, I suppose, did his best at first. Or he tried. He did seem to try and change like he said he would. He would let me sleep. Tell me to rest up and heal. He would tell me he loved me. Loved our son.

  That kept me going in those early days. Gave me faith that the old him was back – that all he had promised would come to pass.

  But it seemed the old him was just a passing visitor. His patience wore thin. His compassion ran out. His deadline approached and it was not the done thing to have a wife lying down under the pressure of new motherhood. He wanted me to get back to the ‘old me’ – and in the end he tried to drag me there kicking and screaming.

  He wanted a better mother for his son.

  A better wife for him.

  A glitzier trophy on his arm. ‘You used to be so beautiful – so vibrant. Where did that go?’

  Someone who loved him more – loved him enough to be everything for him whenever he wanted it. However he wanted it.