by Lisa Hall
‘Maybe it’s time to start thinking about going back to work?’ Gareth says, breaking the silence that has accompanied us on the journey so far. I indicate to move across in to the left-hand lane, ready to turn on to the M23 towards Gatwick, my pulse fluttering at his words. ‘You could always come in and give me a hand for a few days, if you don’t fancy having clients at home just yet. Just to get you out of the house.’
‘Back to the office?’ I feel sick at the thought of it, especially as Aaron flits in and out of there all day from what I can gather. He’s worked his way up over the past few months to become Gareth’s right-hand man, the bond that has forged between them something I can’t understand. Especially now. Now I know Liz saw Aaron at the party, even if he is denying it. ‘I don’t think … I mean, you have Aaron …’ My mouth feels dry and gritty, my throat sticking as I swallow. I don’t want to go back there and have to come face to face with Aaron every day. The very thought of it makes my ears ring, as though I am about to faint.
‘It doesn’t have to be the office,’ Gareth replies, ‘it doesn’t even have to be your aromatherapy, not if you feel uncomfortable … I was thinking something along the lines of counselling – remember you wanted to do that course? Maybe that would help.’
‘Help? How will that help?’ I keep my eyes fixed on the road. ‘You don’t just go on a course and what happened miraculously goes away, Gareth. You know that, right?’
‘I didn’t mean … oh, for God’s sake.’ He swears under his breath and twists in his seat to face me, tugging the seatbelt away from his neck. ‘All I meant was maybe you need something to help take your mind off … all of this. That maybe being closeted away in a log cabin at the bottom of the garden, on your own with clients who you don’t necessarily know, isn’t the best thing for you right now.’ He sighs. ‘I found your notes, Rachel.’
My notes. Every scrap of information I’ve found about that night, like Ted trying to help me home, I’ve scribbled down in an old notepad that I hide under my pillow. Writing things down helps me keep things straight in my head, and I figure if the police are scaling down the investigation then it’s up to me to find out who did this, and why.
‘They’re private,’ is all I say to Gareth, still keeping my eyes on the road, prickly with irritation at him going through my things. A white van tries to cut me up at the roundabout and I hang back, letting him push in. ‘They’re just notes, that’s all.’
‘I’m worried you’re getting obsessed. The police said things were slowing down for a reason, Rachel. Whatever happened that night, there just isn’t enough evidence for them to go on. Please, I know this is hard for you but can’t we … maybe we can try to move on?’
Are you fucking kidding me? I bite back the words and yank on the handbrake as I pull into the dedicated drop-off zone, trying not to show Gareth how angry I am. How can he want to move on without finding out the truth? At least the police have lack of evidence as their excuse – what’s Gareth’s? I push away the other thought that rises to the surface, the one that says he doesn’t believe anything really happened that night, at least, not the way I said it did.
‘You’d better go, you’ll miss your flight.’ I pop the boot and stare out of the window, not wanting to see his traitorous, unsupportive face. He leans over and grasps my wrist, where my hand lies on the steering wheel, tugging it towards him.
‘You’ve got the phone I got you?’ Gareth asks, and I point towards the glove box. My mobile still hasn’t turned up, so Gareth bought me a cheap supermarket phone until I can get a new one. He squeezes my wrist lightly. ‘Please, Rachel. I know it’s hard, but just think about it all, OK? I want …’ he breaks off, sighing again, lacing his fingers through mine. ‘I want everything between us to be all right. I know I haven’t been … I know things have been difficult, but we can put all of this behind us, can’t we? Please, maybe just think about the counselling course?’
He’s obviously not going to leave until I agree, and much as I don’t want him to go and leave me alone in the house (with Robbie, not that that makes much difference) I want him to miss his flight even less.
‘OK, fine. Whatever. I’ll drop it. Just go, you’re going to miss your flight.’ I let him kiss me on the cheek, and he gets out, only to lean back in again.
‘Call me if you need me?’
I nod, and the minute he slams the boot shut I pull away, glancing in the rear-view mirror to see him standing watching me leave. I’ve told him what he wants to hear, but I have no intention of letting things go. I’ll find out what happened to me that night, and who was involved, even if it kills me – there’s no way I’m giving up.
Pulling on to the drive way an hour later, I have calmed down a little and resolve to be nothing but sweetness and light to Gareth tonight when he calls. I’ll hide the notebook and tell him I’ve got rid of it, and I’ll just have to be super careful about snooping around. What’s one more lie among the mountain of them that exist between us already?
I get out of the car, relieved that I seem to have found a way to keep us both happy, and raise a hand in greeting to Mrs Gregory next door as she peers out between her net curtains. I am halfway up the path to the front door when I see it. A flash of silver caught by a weak ray of sun, a quick trick of the light that I could have so easily missed. Frowning, unsure if I even saw it at all, I crouch down in front of the driver’s side of my car, a Mini Clubman, distinctive by the red stripes that race along the bonnet and the sides, clashing wildly with the black paint. There, etched carefully into the polished black exterior is the word ‘SLUT’.
‘Shit.’ I press one hand to my mouth, the other to the cold concrete path to stop myself from falling. Taking a deep breath, my heart hammering hard enough in my chest to hurt, I press my fingertips lightly to the roughened edges of the metal. Someone has taken great care to make sure the word is not only legible, but it is scored so deeply into the car door that the only way I’ll get rid of it is to replace the door completely.
‘Are you OK down there, lovey?’ Mrs Gregory is standing over me, wringing her hands together. ‘Only I saw you crouch down there and you look a little bit upset.’ She peers over my shoulder, at the ragged letters scratched into the door panel.
‘Oooh,’ she breathes, her breath whistling through her false teeth, as I stand upright, fighting back tears. ‘That looks nasty.’
‘It’s fine, Mrs Gregory. I’m fine, I mean.’ I angle my body against the car to try and hide the damage, even though I know it’s too late, she’s already seen it. ‘Gareth will sort it out.’ A thought strikes me – Mrs Gregory must spend ninety per cent of her day peering out of her front window. ‘I don’t suppose you saw anything, did you? Anybody on the drive, perhaps, while I was out?’
‘Oh no, dear,’ she says, shaking her head, grey curls immobile from the hairspray she uses. ‘I just got back from the hairdresser’s, only a few minutes before you, that’s why I saw you from the front window.’ A likely story – she can’t help herself from spying on all of us that live in the close, we’re her daily entertainment. Something I’m conscious of every time Gareth and I have a row.
‘OK. Thank you anyway.’ She makes no effort to leave, so I turn away on shaking legs and start to walk towards the front door, when she calls out to me.
‘It’s probably got something to do with that article on the Internet today.’
I stop, my mouth suddenly dry. ‘What article on the Internet? Are you sure?’
‘I might be old, dear, but I do know about the Facebook, you know,’ Mrs Gregory sniffs indignantly, ‘it’s on the Marsham Echo website. There’s an article all about you.’ ‘Thank you for coming over.’ I usher Ted inside quickly before Mrs Gregory can spy him, although chances are it’s already too late. ‘Have you seen it? The article?’ I haven’t been able to bring myself to open up my laptop. Not yet. I feel too sick at the idea of the entire village talking about me.
‘Yes, but … have you seen your car?’ Bewil
dered, Ted is glancing over his shoulder as I pull him roughly inside.
‘That’s why I called you and asked you to come over. I came home and found that word scratched into the side of my car, and Mrs Gregory said it must have something to do with an article the Echo has posted online today. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but it’s all over social media apparently.’ I am jittery, my words tumbling out over one another.
Too frightened to leave the house, and with Robbie nowhere to be seen, I called Amy to ask her to come over, to quite literally hold my hand as I read what has been written about me, but her mobile just rang out and went to voicemail. The only other person I could think to call was Ted, only now he’s here I’m not sure I made the right decision – and I’m pretty sure Mrs Gregory will have seen him arriving and will report back to Gareth. Ted follows me through into the kitchen where I shove a mug of coffee at him and open up my laptop. I sign in and search for the Marsham Echo page. There it is, the most commented on article.
WOMAN ASSAULTED AT NEW YEAR’S EVE PARTY
I feel sick. The gist of the article is that a woman (namely me) claims to have been sexually assaulted after Liz’s party, and that the police have no evidence to back up my claims. The article digresses into a long discussion on the failure of rape victims to be believed, and contrasts this with evidence of cases of men being falsely accused of rape. At the bottom of the article a ‘source close to the victim’ claims to have been at the party, and says that no one else there saw anything. The by-line is Helen Faulkner, and although she doesn’t mention any names, my name is offered up repeatedly by people commenting on the post – people I don’t even know, so God only knows how my name has got out there.
‘Oh my God.’ I cover my face with my hands. ‘Why would she do this? Why would she write this crap? Surely, it’s not allowed? Can’t I sue them or something? And all those people giving my name in the comments! Can’t I report them?’
Ted puts his arm around me, pulling me firmly into his shoulder.
‘Look, I don’t know if there’s anything you can do but …’ He stops as the slam of the front door makes us both jump and he quickly slides his arm away. Robbie and Sean tumble into the room, both shedding coats and scarves as the warmth of the central heating hits them. At the sight of us, me tearstained and puffy, the smile slides from Sean’s face and he frowns slightly as he sees his Dad next to me, as though not expecting him to be here. He looks at Robbie, who is headed towards me, concern etched on his face.
‘Mum? Are you OK?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I sniff, wiping at the end of my nose with my sleeve, ‘just this stupid newspaper article that’s been posted online. It upset me a bit, that’s all.’
‘That, and the fact your mum’s car has been vandalised,’Ted says. ‘I don’t suppose you two have seen anything, have you?’
‘What newspaper article? Vandalised?’ Robbie looks horrified. ‘Vandalised how?’
Pushing the laptop towards him, I watch quietly as his eyes scan the page, his mouth a grim line across his face. When he’s done reading, before he can speak, I tell him about the graffiti scored into the metal and his nostrils flare, his fists clenching at his sides, before he demands to see the damage. Ted lays a hand on my arm as I get to my feet, my legs still shaky.
‘I’ll go,’ he says, and I watch with quiet relief as they head back outside leaving Sean and I alone together in the kitchen. I don’t want to look at the ugly word carved into the metal, not if I don’t have to.
‘We didn’t see anything when we went out earlier,’ Sean says, his feet shuffling slightly on the tiles, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else than alone in the room with me.
‘No, whoever did it was clever and made sure no one else was around.’ I try to smile, but it wobbles across my face and won’t settle. ‘It’s only words, anyway.’
Maybe if I try and shrug it off it won’t seem so threatening.
‘I guess worse has happened,’ Sean says, his face contorting in horror as he realizes what he’s said. ‘Oh I didn’t mean … I’m sorry.’ He blushes a bright red and this time I manage to paste the smile on properly.
‘It’s OK, Sean. Everyone knows what happened to me now, thanks to the Echo today. Whether they choose to believe it or not is another matter.’
‘Have the police said anything else? Do they have any ideas about who did it?’ he asks, as he fiddles with the rope bracelet around his thin wrist.
‘No. I think they’ve pretty much given up, to be honest – no evidence, they’ve said. They’ve told me that they’re still looking into it; they just haven’t got a lot to go on, apparently.’
‘Right.’ Sean nods seriously, and before he can speak again Robbie and Ted clatter back into the kitchen, Robbie calmer now, thank goodness, and the two teenagers disappear upstairs. Moments later we hear the thud of music from above and Ted turns to me with a smile.
‘Robbie is furious, but I think I’ve convinced him not to go off half-cocked at anybody.’ His face grows serious. ‘Listen, Rachel, I’ve remembered something else from the party.’
‘Oh?’ I frown, trying not to let my emotions show as I feel my nerves fray a little more around the edges. I am eager to hear what Ted has to say, and terrified of what Ted has to say, both in equal measure. Taking a deep breath in order to calm myself, I wait for Ted to speak.
‘It’s about Jason – the Greenes’ gardener?’ The guy with the tattoos. The memory of him staring at me as I left Liz’s house that day, leaning on his shovel, his blank, dark eyes following my steps up the path. The unnerving feeling that accompanied me as I left. ‘I saw him earlier, on the way here. I was turning into your street, and it looked as though his van was parked across the road from here. When he saw me coming he drove off. It reminded me that I saw him. That night, at the party.’
‘Jason?’ I blink rapidly, and the skin on the back of my neck prickles. ‘He was at the party? But no one said anything about seeing him there. Why would he be there anyway? I can’t see that Liz would have invited him – you know what she’s like. She’s funny about things like that – and saying that, I can’t see that Jason would want to spend the evening with any of us.’
‘Ideas above her station, eh? I did think it a bit odd to see him there, like you say, why would he want to spend time with Liz outside of working hours, especially on New Year’s Eve?’ Ted pours me another mug of coffee and adds a heaped teaspoon of sugar. ‘Here. Drink this. You look a bit pale.’
I sip at it gratefully, glad to hold on tight to the warm mug as I feel my hands starting to shake.
‘I forgot I even saw him, to be honest,’ Ted says, ‘I’d had a few drinks, and I didn’t really pay much attention to him. It was only when I saw him outside earlier that it jogged my memory. When I came outside to take the phone call from Angela he was in the garden, by the rose bushes. It didn’t even register, the fact that he probably shouldn’t have been there.’
I don’t know what to think. ‘Should I tell the police, do you think? No one else has said anything about him being there, so maybe you were the only one who saw him. And if Liz didn’t invite him then he won’t be on the guest list she gave to the police.’ Fumbling in my cardigan pocket for my cheap, plasticky phone, I almost send the coffee mug flying, and Ted puts out a hand to still me.
‘Wait, Rachel. It’s probably better if I call them, don’t you think? After all, I am the one who saw him.’
‘Yes. Yes, that’s probably for the best.’ I feel as though the police already think I am some hysterical time-waster, so it probably is best coming from Ted.
‘Look, I have to get going. Angela is skyping me to talk about the divorce in half an hour, so I’ll call the police as soon as I finish speaking with her. Will you be OK?’
I tell him I’ll be fine, and show him out, making him promise to tell me what the police say as soon as he’s spoken to them. As I close the door, something catches my eye. Heart thumping, with the thought of
‘please, not more, not today’ ringing in my ears, I bend down to pick it up. The square, white corner of a card peeps out from underneath the doormat, possibly pushed under there in error by the postman. I didn’t notice it earlier, the state I was in. There is a tiny love heart in the corner, and my name on the front. There is no stamp or postmark on it, meaning it must have been hand delivered, not left by the postman as I first thought. Frowning, I flip it over but there is nothing on the back, just blank white space.
‘Mum? What’s that?’ Robbie bounds down the stairs to peer over my shoulder.
‘I don’t know. Some sort of card. Where’s Sean?’ Distracted, I turn the envelope back over and try to see if I can recognize the writing.
‘Oh, he left a little while ago. His mum is going to Skype apparently and he wanted to talk to her for a bit before his dad does. Something about the summer. Maybe that’s an early Valentine’s card from Dad.’ He gestures towards the envelope, before he squeezes past me into the kitchen, on the hunt for food, no doubt. I slide my finger under the flap and ease the card out. It’s clearly homemade, a heart on the front made with pink wool, silver glitter showering the carpet. Frowning, I wait a moment before I open it up to read the message. Gareth wouldn’t have time to make a Valentine’s card – come to think of it; I’m lucky if I even get a bought card. A finger of cold ripples down my spine and there is a sour taste in my mouth as I open the card to reveal the message inside.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Rest assured, Rachel
I’M WATCHING YOU