The Party

by Lisa Hall

  ‘Shit, Rachel, you scared me.’ He holds one hand to his chest and I can imagine that, yes, I did scare him, sitting here in silence, in the dark. ‘Jesus, you look awful.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I am fully aware that I look dreadful – a glance in the hallway mirror as I made my way downstairs confirmed that for me. My hair is wild and frizzy, thanks to my falling asleep with it still wet after my bath, and my eyes are ringed with dark circles despite my nap. Now, I am sure, they are red-rimmed and puffy, as I’ve tried and failed to stop the tears that seem to leak in a constant stream, every time my thoughts turn to the previous evening. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘I went for a drink. With Neil.’ He shuffles past Thor’s sleeping body and slips onto to the couch beside me. ‘I needed to get out for a bit … I had a lot to think about, you know?’ He takes a deep breath in, before he speaks again. ‘I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier.’

  I lean down to stroke the dog, using him as the perfect excuse not to look at Gareth, just for a moment. I don’t know what to say in response, so I don’t say anything, not yet. Gareth fumbles for my hand, pulling it away from Thor and tucking it into his lap.

  ‘I spoke to Neil … asked him about last night. He told me that you stayed in their spare room. On your own.’ So, he can believe Neil, but not me. I squash the thought down, pushing it away to deal with it later. ‘So … I’m sorry. It’s just hard, you know? After everything that’s happened this year.’ He huffs a tiny puff of laughter, and I think I see a tear shining in the corner of his eye. ‘Last year. You know what I mean. After all the stuff with Ted, and us … I’m just finding it hard to trust you, and when you didn’t come home …’

  ‘Gareth, I need to tell you something.’ I talk over his words, not wanting to hear how he doesn’t believe me, not when I am about to tell him something that I desperately need him to believe, that I desperately need him to listen to, without questioning whether I’m being honest or not. ‘It’s important, I need you to listen to me.’

  He stops talking and frowns at me, his hand tightening on mine, a warm comfortable squeeze that reminds me of the way he used to hold my hand, before we were married.

  ‘Gareth, last night … something happened. I think …’ I pause, my throat thickening so much that for a moment I struggle to get a breath and the sharp, bitter taste of panic floods my mouth. ‘I think someone raped me.’

  As soon as I say the words hysteria washes over me, and I want to laugh at Gareth’s reaction. His mouth drops open and the blood drains from his face, leaving his skin pale and washed out.

  ‘What?’ He manages to force the words out, and as the hysteria leaves me I find that I am crying again. ‘Rachel … what do you mean? Someone … Jesus. Are you sure?’ Dropping my hand, he gets to his feet and starts pacing the living room floor, shoving his hand repeatedly through his hair. Thor squeaks indignantly as Gareth trips over his back half, before scuttling over to his basket to stay out of the way. I stand, drawing my dressing gown tightly around me until it digs into my waist, and step into the middle of the rug, hoping to stop Gareth’s frantic pacing. As he reaches me, I grab both of his hands in mine, pressing my palms against his skin.

  ‘No, I’m not sure. I think so. I don’t … Gareth, please listen to me.’

  ‘What happened, Rachel? Is this why you didn’t come home? Who did this to you?’

  I shake my head, trying to deflect the torrent of questions. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know? Oh, Rach.’ Gareth pulls me towards him, wrapping his arms around me and I wince, aware that my wrists are sore too, I just didn’t realize earlier thanks to the heavier bruising on my upper arms. Tired, I rest my cheek against his chest for a moment, letting him hold me, before I look up at him. He smooths the hair away from my face. ‘What do you mean you don’t know? How can you not know? I don’t understand.’

  I pull away, rubbing at my wrists and sit back down on the couch, my legs feeling strangely jelly-like.

  ‘I just … don’t know. I don’t remember. I remember getting to the party, Liz opening the door. Maybe having a glass of red wine?’ I look up at him and he gives a small nod, his face pale and his mouth pinched into a tight line. ‘Then I woke up in the spare room at the Greenes’ house, feeling like shit. Like, the worst hangover I’ve ever had. I don’t even know how I got home this morning, I felt so awful.’ I choke back a sob at the memory of coming to in Liz’s spare room.

  ‘But you think someone raped you?’ He kneels in front of me, the scent of stale beer on his breath wafting up as he speaks, making me feel sick. I smell a faint whiff of smoke on him, and know that he’s smoked a sneaky cigar with Neil.

  ‘Yes. My … I hurt. My thighs, at the top and … inside.’ Taking a deep breath, I slide the dressing gown off my shoulders to reveal the bruising at the top of my arms, the delicate skin underneath so purple, it’s almost black. ‘And I wouldn’t have done that to you, Gareth, not willingly, not after all we’ve been through.’

  ‘Fucking hell, Rachel.’ His gaze sliding away from my bruises, Gareth breathes out hard through his nose and I see the skin across his knuckles whiten as he clenches his fists. ‘And you have no idea who did this? No memory of it at all?’

  I shake my head, fat drops hitting my knees and leaving wide, dark patches on the fabric of the dressing gown.

  ‘Nothing. It’s just black, like it’s been wiped from my brain. A black hole. I’ve tried and tried to think, to remember anything about the party, anyone that might have done this but I don’t know. I don’t know anything.’ I can barely swallow, my throat is so thick with tears and I am powerless to stop them from pouring down my cheeks, scalding as they drip from the end of my chin.

  ‘Oh God, Rachel, come here.’ Gareth pulls me to my feet and into his chest again, his arms tightening around me. The crush of his chest against mine takes my breath away, and for a moment I enjoy the sensation of not being able to draw breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I’m so fucking sorry that I left you there alone, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to protect you. I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have left you there on your own. I should have made you leave with me.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ I mutter into his chest, despite feeling that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t left me there, if I hadn’t been so stubborn, apparently, about staying. ‘I don’t know what to do, Gareth. I don’t know how to deal with this.’ Fear rises up and I pull away slightly, fighting to catch my breath, black spots dancing at the corner of my vision, panic making my heart beat frantically in my chest like a caged bird.

  ‘We’re going to the police,’ his voice is firm, ‘and we’re going to let them catch the bastard that did this.’

  5

  I stare blankly out of the car window, as the rain that hasn’t stopped since yesterday evening lashes against the glass. Every now and again Gareth reaches over from the driving seat to pat my knee or squeeze my hand but I don’t give him any response. I feel numb, unable to return his gestures, just wanting to get the whole thing over and done with. Last night, when he said he wanted to call the police, I felt my breath freeze in my lungs, the thought of having to tell people – people who aren’t Gareth, people who have no idea who I really am – what actually happened, making panic swarm in my belly like a thousand angry bees.

  ‘No, I can’t,’ I’d said, backing away from him and tying the dressing gown cord so tightly that I felt it cut into my waist.

  ‘Rachel, you have to, you can’t let whoever did this get away with it.’ He’d reached for me, but I had flinched from him and he’d stared at me, hurt and confused. ‘I’m going to call them, they need to know.’

  ‘No, Gareth, please, I don’t want them to know … I can’t …’ The words died in my throat as he reached for the phone and I shoved past him, headed for the safety of the bedroom. He hadn’t phoned them, not then, but this morning when I woke up from a fitful sleep he was standing over me, phone in han
d, ready to make the call. Now, I find myself sullen and angry, slumped in the passenger seat on the way to meet a police officer at the Kingsnorth rape suite.

  ‘We’re here.’ Gareth rests his hand gently on mine, before switching the ignition off and I ignore him, still gazing out of the window as the rain makes the puddles leap and dance with splashes. ‘Rachel? Come on, I’ll be with you the whole time. I won’t let you do this on your own, I promise.’

  I turn to face him, exhaustion making my movements slow and clumsy, but I don’t have the words to say how I’m feeling. Instead, I silently turn back and fumble for the door handle, pretending that I don’t hear his little exhalation of relief that I am finally doing as I am told.

  The building that houses the police station is a sprawling, double storey structure masked from the outside world by a short driveway lined with trees, quaint compared to the usual expectation of a police station. As I step out of the car and look towards the road, I realize I have driven past it hundreds of times on my way to drop Robbie off at school, without ever considering what goes on inside. I wait, scuffing the gravel with the toe of my shoe as the rain soaks my hair, for Gareth to lock the car unwilling to move even a step towards the building on my own.

  ‘OK?’ Gareth’s eyes search my face, as he tucks the slip of paper he wrote the police station address on into his back pocket, before reaching for my hand. I give a small nod, lying again, as I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready for this. We walk slowly up the path together towards the door over which hangs a sign for reception. I stumble at the threshold, almost as though my feet don’t want to carry me over, but I force myself onwards, following Gareth to the front desk. He speaks in a low voice to the woman there, her eyes drifting towards me as he talks, and I turn away, not wanting to see pity on her face. It’s not long before a slightly built blonde woman appears in my eye line, a small smile on her face showing off the gap between her two front teeth.

  ‘Rachel?’ She asks, and I nod. ‘I’m Carrie – do you want to follow me?’ I get slowly to my feet, casting a panicked look back at Gareth. ‘Oh, your husband can come too, if that’s what you’d like?’ I nod again and take Gareth’s hand gratefully, his palm warm against my cold skin, as he stands to follow Carrie though a set of double doors and along the corridor to a small room with a low couch either side of a coffee table with a fake vase of flowers standing on it. It feels homely and it throws me for a second – I somehow thought I would have to give a statement, be questioned or whatever, in an interview room.

  ‘Have a seat.’ Carrie sinks down onto one couch and Gareth and I follow suit, leaning in to one another on the opposite couch. ‘Now, Rachel, I’m what they call a SOLO – sexual offence liaison officer – I’m specially trained to help you with what you’ve experienced, OK? I know you’re frightened, but I’m here to do the very best that I can to help you.’

  ‘OK.’ I let out a shaky breath that I didn’t realize I was holding and wiggle my toes in the ends of my shoes, pressing them into the beige carpet tiles.

  ‘I’ll take a statement from you, and if it’s OK we’ll do a medical examination. Trust me, Rachel, we will do everything we can to make this as less stressful as we can for you.’ Carrie reaches over and pats my hand and I find I am already fighting back tears before I even begin to make the statement. ‘Can you take me through that evening – the evening of December thirty-first?’

  ‘I don’t remember very much. Only arriving at the party, maybe having a drink or two? It was hot in there. Busy.’ I glance at Gareth who is chewing on the inside of his lip.

  ‘Would you rather do this on your own, Rachel?’ Carrie sees my glance and follows my gaze over to Gareth.

  ‘No,’ I say hastily, not wanting to be alone with her, afraid of the questions that she might ask me. ‘It’s fine. I just can’t remember anything about that night. Not past the first hour or so of the party.’

  ‘Do you think there’s a possibility that something could have been put into your drink?’ Carrie asks, her pen scratching away at the notepad in front of her.

  ‘I … maybe. I don’t know.’

  ‘How did you feel when you woke up?’ Carrie asks me gently, and Gareth gives my knee a tiny squeeze, letting me know he’s still there.

  ‘Rough. Really, really poorly. Like the worst hangover I’d ever had. Everything was a bit foggy … I was sick and dizzy, a bit unsteady on my feet.’

  ‘And when did you first start to think that perhaps you had been raped?’ Carrie’s voice is kind, her tone soft and it makes tears jump to my eyes. I was so frightened that they wouldn’t believe me, that they’d think that I was just a woman who’d drunk too much and stayed out all night and needed to concoct a story for her husband, that the fact Carrie seems to believe what I’m saying makes me feel almost faint with gratitude.

  ‘Not until last night, not properly. It’s not the kind of thing that you think will happen to you, you know? When I woke up the morning after the party … my whole body was sore, and there was bruising to my thighs and my upper arms. Also, I was sore, you know …’ I gesture downwards towards my lap. ‘I was trying to think of a reason why I would feel like that, but I know I wouldn’t have … not, you know. I wouldn’t have wanted to.’

  ‘Is there anybody who you think might have … had something to do with this?’ Carrie asks gently.

  ‘What? I don’t …’ The words won’t come and I grip Gareth’s hand tightly, my whole body starting to shake.

  ‘It’s OK, Rachel, I don’t mean to upset or confuse you,’ Carrie says, with an anxious glance at Gareth,‘what I meant is, is there anyone who has upset you lately, anyone who might have a grudge against you? Have you fallen out with anyone? Friends or colleagues? Basically, anyone you might think would have a reason to want to hurt you. The reason I ask, Rachel, is that acquaintance or date rape is much more common than stranger rape, do you understand what I mean?’

  ‘No … not that I can think of. I don’t have any colleagues – I’m an aromatherapist. I work from home.’ I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My brain is foggy and I can’t think straight.

  ‘There’s nobody that would want to hurt Rachel,’ Gareth’s voice is strained and he runs his hand through his hair again, like some sort of nervous tic, ‘she gets on with everybody. There were lots of people at that party – every room was crowded. There were lots of people that we knew there, but also lots of people that we didn’t know. Presumably friends and acquaintances of Liz and Neil.’

  ‘Rachel?’ Carrie gives a brief nod to Gareth, but clearly wants to hear it from me. ‘Nobody at all?’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘There isn’t anyone that I can think of who would ever do something as awful as this.’

  The interview, the statement, whatever you want to call it goes on and on, Carrie asking me questions about every little aspect of the party. Who else was there? I have to tell her that I don’t know, I only remember seeing Neil and Liz, although I know other people were there. What time did I think the party finished? I don’t know, I can’t remember anything past the first hour. Did anyone see me spending time with anyone in particular? At this I utter the same words for the hundredth time, I don’t know, tears of frustration streaming down my cheeks. If only I could just remember something, anything, that could give Carrie a lead. Eventually I manage to stop the tears, my eyes feeling raw, and Carrie apologizes for causing me any distress. As she leaves the room to fetch tea, I turn to Gareth.

  ‘Please, can we just go now?’ Exhaustion is tugging at my bones and all I want to do is go to sleep. ‘I’ve done what you wanted, I’ve reported it.’

  ‘Not quite done yet, sorry, Rachel.’ Carrie appears in the doorway, obviously overhearing, and replies before Gareth gets the chance to. ‘I’d really like to get the doctor to give you a quick medical examination, and to take some photos of that nasty bruising, if that’s OK with you. We’ll also do some tests for STDs and a pregnancy test.’

  God, I want t
o weep, the thought of someone pulling at me, inspecting the deepest parts of me, makes me want to throw up. I can’t even entertain the thought that whoever he is might have given me something else as well.

  ‘Rachel, please,’ desperation leaches into Gareth’s voice, ‘you’ve been really brave. Please just do this one thing; whoever did this needs to be caught.’ Fighting back the panic that seems to have been simmering under my skin since the night of the party I agree to the medical, despite feeling as though I might faint at the touch of someone I don’t know. Gareth is right – whoever did this needs to be caught, and if it means I need to do this, then I need to do it. Gareth kisses my temple, and then I follow Carrie along a corridor towards the back of the police station, and realize that this must be the rape suite – a block of three rooms, one for examination, another room similar to the one I have spent the morning in, and a bathroom, complete with shower. Carrie explains that after the medical, I can have a shower and she’ll give me clean clothes to wear home, if I want them.

  ‘Where are the clothes you wore that night, Rachel?’ she asks, as another officer photographs the bruises that stain the skin on my arms.

  ‘At home,’ I whisper, ‘in the laundry basket. I haven’t washed them yet.’ Carrie tells me she’ll come and collect them, that I don’t need to worry, just put them in a bag and she’ll drive over tomorrow to pick them up. She leads me into the examination room and I start to slowly slide my clothes off behind the paper screen, my heart thumping double time in my chest. Even the realization that the doctor examining me is a woman doesn’t stop the fear from clogging my throat, and I lie on the examination table, my muscles so tense they hurt. Finally, endlessly, it is over and I slide from the table, wrapping the paper gown Carrie has left out tightly around my body and dress in my own comfortable, familiar clothes, ignoring the jogging pants and sweatshirt provided by the staff. Back in the room, Carrie perches on the end of the coffee table, talking to Gareth, both of them looking up startled when I appear in the doorway.