Guilt

by Amanda Robson

  ‘Did you report it?’ she asks, her voice serrated with anger.

  ‘Of course not.’

  Her eyebrows rise. ‘Why do you say of course not?’

  ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? I didn’t want Zara to be hurt by what happened.’ My voice sounds sulky. Teenage. Petulant.

  ‘You could make a complaint and keep your identity secret.’ There is a pause. ‘It isn’t too late to report it.’

  Her words cut into me, and I feel the knots beginning to curdle in my stomach.

  ‘Even with my identity secret, Zara would have been hurt.’ I pause. ‘She’s vulnerable. She needs protecting, not exposing.’

  Jill leans forwards, blue eyes darkening. ‘If he’s dangerous, she’ll be hurt in the end, no matter what. You could be protecting her by telling her.’

  The knots are twisting and burning. ‘I don’t see it like that. If he hurts her in the end, she’ll gradually realise what a bastard he is, and then she’ll cope. If everything crashes now she’ll go under, I know.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  I clench my fingers into a fist. ‘That bastard’s not taking me down.’

  110

  Miranda

  ‘Sebastian, do you fancy lunch?’ I ask.

  A Jack Nicholson grin. My stomach tightens. ‘I always fancy lunch with you.’

  I fantasise about punching him in the face. I hear the crunch of his nose as it breaks. I feel the wetness of his blood.

  But Sebastian and I stroll out of the office together, looking to the world like old friends going for a break. No one else will realise that my emotion towards him is fixed solid with hate. Not just when I am with him. I carry it everywhere, deep inside me.

  ‘This is an honour, Miranda,’ he says. ‘Let’s have a change. Can I entice you to Coffee Bombe? It’s only around the corner. They do good sandwiches,’ he says.

  I nod and manage to muster a tentative smile.

  Coffee Bombe. A typical Bristolian coffee shop: quirky, individualistic, fashionable. Painted bright blue and orange on opposing walls. Wrought-iron tables and chairs bolstered up with blue and orange cushions. Blue and orange pansies in the centre of every table. The waitress has dreadlocks and a nose piercing. Pink Floyd hums in the background.

  ‘What do you think?’ Sebastian asks.

  ‘Nice change from Harrison Goddard,’ I say politely, but I know that my voice sounds tight.

  The waitress takes our order.

  Sebastian leans back in his chair. ‘Well Miranda, to what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘I’m worried about Zara.’

  He raises his eyes to the ceiling. ‘You only ever want to spend time with me when you’re worried about Zara.’ A pause. ‘Worried how?’

  ‘You know how.’

  A pirate’s grin. ‘Come on Miranda. Spell it out.’

  My mouth flatlines. ‘I love my sister. As you know I really, really, don’t want her to know what happened between us.’

  ‘I love her too. But I am different to you. I have a conscience. I think for the sake of our relationship, she deserves honesty.’

  His pirate’s grin widens. Maybe I’m getting a window here. At least he says he loves you.

  I take a deep breath. ‘But it will only hurt her unnecessarily. There’s nothing real, nothing permanent between us. If you tell her, you’re only telling her to make yourself feel better. If you really love her you must think about her.’

  ‘Do you really think that’s how it works?’

  ‘Yes Sebastian, I do.’

  The waitress interrupts with our coffee and sandwiches. Flat white, with beef on rye, for me. BLT and cappuccino, with a chocolate heart dusted on top of it for the young lovebird in front of me. The young lovebird with a twisted grin.

  He takes a sip from his cappuccino, eyes slicing into mine. ‘Thing is Miranda, I’m just an honest guy.’

  ‘Who exactly are you honest with? Yourself? Your relationships?’

  He licks some chocolate powder dust from his mouth. ‘What are you accusing me of, Miranda?’

  And I know I cannot cope with him. I do not know what to say to him. I feel as if I am about to fall off a precipice. Zara, what do you see in him? What do you see in this prig? I close my eyes and yet again I remember. The doorway to my bedroom. He is pulling me into his arms and kissing me. His grin is leering at me. I am sweating and trembling.

  ‘Sebastian, all I’m concerned about is the wellbeing of my sister.’

  ‘Is that what you were concerned about when you were climaxing?’

  His words stab into me. But I stay calm. I repeat, ‘Sebastian, all I’m concerned about is the wellbeing of my sister.’

  The Jack Nicholson grin again. ‘That’s all I’m concerned about too.’

  ‘Then leave it alone, please. It’ll only hurt her. And I can’t bear for her to hate me. Can you bear her to hate you?’

  ‘Miranda Cunningham, I can bear anything for you. Especially when you beg.’

  111

  Sebastian

  Jude, it’s time to finally fragment the twins’ relationship. Watch carefully now. It’s about to begin.

  112

  Zara

  Miranda and Sebastian are home from work. Sebastian only just cheerful enough: a slightly deflated version of himself when you are around. And you, Miranda, pinch-faced and miserable. I hate seeing you both like this. I know I have to find out about Sebastian’s family. Is that what all this sulking is about, Miranda? Do you know something that I don’t, and you can’t bring yourself to tell me?

  ‘I’ve made spinach and ricotta lasagne,’ I announce.

  I am trying to hold the atmosphere in this flat together. I decided to take a leaf out of your book and hope some home cooking would help. The lasagne has taken all afternoon to prepare. Cutting stems off spinach. Crushing pine nuts with a pestle and mortar. You do not reply. You take no notice of my catering achievement. Haven’t you even noticed the scent of garlic and pesto wafting around the flat?

  You walk through the kitchen area and sink into the sofa. You sit staring out of the window. What are you looking at? Passers-by? Weeds growing in the cracks between paving stones? Sebastian and I exchange a glance. He shrugs his shoulders. It is his I told you she was difficult shoulder shrug.

  ‘I’ll lay the table,’ he says.

  He proceeds to bang cutlery, mats and glasses noisily onto the table. Every time something bangs you raise your shoulders and wince, letting us know the noise he is making annoys you. We exchange another glance.

  She’s becoming impossible.

  I try to appease you. ‘After supper, would you like to go out for a drink? Just the two of us?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  I’m so sorry we are annoying you so much, Miranda. Soon Sebastian will have introduced me to his parents, and he and I will move out. Is that what you need? Your flat back to yourself? We’re almost there. Sebastian has nearly saved enough for a deposit on a house.

  113

  Miranda

  Jill’s eyes are calm as a lake in winter, glacial and pale. She sits looking at me, hands together in her lap.

  ‘That bastard’s not coming between my sister and me. If he tells her we’ve made love I’ll deny it,’ I tell her.

  Jill’s eyes darken a little. Her fingers curl together. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ she replies.

  Deny. Deny. Deny. A denial so deep the lie will become the truth in my mind.

  The lie will be the truth in my mind.

  The lie will be the truth in my mind.

  THE PRESENT

  114

  Theo Gregson has come to visit her. They sit opposite one another in the conference room, separated by a grey plastic table, a difficult shade of grey that always looks dirty, however much it is scrubbed and cleaned. The prison heating has gone wrong. It’s in overdrive. The thermostat must be broken. The heat is tropical.

  ‘How are you?’ Theo asks.

  ‘Hot.’


  He laughs. ‘I know that.’ There is a pause. ‘We all are.’

  Sweat pools above his upper lip. She wants to lean across and wipe it away. He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs, eyes melting towards hers. He is wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a leather jacket slung over the back of his chair. The T-shirt is white and has holes in. He really doesn’t look like a barrister. He looks like a student. A student to hold hands with. To walk along Harbourside with. To walk to the pub with. In another life.

  ‘How’s it going – are you choosing to do anything educational now?’ Theo asks.

  ‘No.’ I pause. ‘I suppose I could if I asked. But just at the moment I can’t concentrate.’

  ‘You’ve got to hold it together. You’ll soon be back to normal.’

  ‘Yeah right.’ She pauses. ‘After a very constructive gap year?’

  Another smile looking directly into her eyes. Not so fragmented this time – just full of sadness.

  She pulls away from his smile by looking at the ground. She doesn’t want his pity.

  ‘Things are moving fast,’ he says. She looks up. ‘The trial’s been set down for mid-February at Bristol Crown Court. I decided to deliver the letter in person.’

  He bends to his side and opens his briefcase. He pulls out an envelope and hands it to her. Their fingers briefly touch. She feels his touch, like an electric current. The intensity surprises her.

  She pulls her fingers away to open the letter and quickly scan it. The current that was pulsing through her, making her feel energised for a change, quickly fades. The notification of the dates of her trial. The actuality of the legal juggernaut about to crush her at last. Who will decide her fate? Who will determine her guilt? Her innocence? People who don’t know her. People who’ve never met her. She feels like a piece of flotsam with no control of her life. Theo is watching her; she doesn’t want his pity, but she is getting it. She knows it. She feels it. He leans across the table and he takes her hand in his.

  ‘It’ll be all right, I promise.’

  The touch of his hand makes her feel warm inside. No electricity this time. Only reassurance.

  ‘My mother used to say don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ she says with a sad smile. ‘It is not something that lies in your power to promise.’

  ‘I mean it. I really do think that in the end everything will be all right.’

  ‘If it’s not all right it’s not the end, sort of thing?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  They sit in silence. Comfortable silence. They are still holding hands, but it feels so right maybe they haven’t noticed. After a while Theo cuts through the silence.

  ‘I need to talk to you about your relationship with Sebastian. I need to show you something.’

  Theo brings his briefcase and moves to sit next to her. He lifts his computer out and switches it on, then opens a file marked Sebastian. Two naked people appear on the screen, twisted together, making love. A leonine muscled man. With horror, she realises that the woman is her. The camera pans in to show her face contorted with ecstasy. She knows the man is Sebastian. She cannot watch any more. She sits with her head in her hands, eyes closed.

  ‘Switch it off please,’ she begs.

  She does not want to look at Theo. She does not want to look anyone in the eye ever again. She remains sitting, head in her hands, trying to pretend she is in a safe place, in the dark, alone. That is all she wants – to be alone. He must have stopped the recording. The heavy-breathing soundtrack has gone.

  ‘It was sent to me anonymously.’

  There is a pause.

  ‘Open your eyes, look at me.’

  Another pause.

  ‘This happens. More than you think. Open your eyes. We can deal with it.’

  She removes her hands from her face, and opens her eyes.

  ‘I don’t think I can,’ she says. ‘Why would he want to film this?’

  He puts his arm around her shoulders. ‘You can. We will.’

  His face is so gentle. So kind.

  ‘We found a camera in your bedroom ceiling – and your sister’s too.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘We don’t know that yet. What do you think he was playing at?’

  Heat bubbles beneath her skin. ‘He …’ Her words skid to a halt. Then: ‘I don’t know what he was playing at.’

  Theo Gregson is looking at her, totally unperturbed. As if they had been talking about football scores or the weather. Runny honey eyes soak into hers.

  ‘I came here today to tell you that in court you must be honest about your relationship with Sebastian. So far you’ve brushed over what happened between you in your statements to the police. The jury are far more likely to understand the situation if you’re honest.’

  ‘I don’t understand the situation, so how can I expect them to?’

  ‘They need to try and understand. But without the facts, they can’t.’

  THE PAST

  115

  Zara

  A day off work for Sebastian. A day off college for me. A day to ourselves. Early summer, gentle warmth floating in the air.

  I wake early, before Sebastian, and lie listening to the rhythm of his breath. I hear the thud of the shower pump. Miranda, you are getting ready for another day at Harrison Goddard. You never use up your leave. You are rattling about in the kitchen. The front door clicks as you leave. Sebastian stirs. I kiss his forehead. He opens his eyes and my eyes fall into them. Dark, bottomless eyes.

  ‘Zara, I love you.’

  ‘I love you too, Sebastian.’

  ‘I will never love anyone as I love you.’

  He kisses me. Then he pulls away from me a little and we lie on our sides facing one another, eyes locked.

  ‘I want our relationship to be completely honest. Completely open, always. What do you think?’

  ‘You know I want that too. You know I’ll be relieved when I find out more about your parents.’

  He moves towards me and kisses me on the lips urgently. But I am getting wise to his moves. I think he is doing this to distract me. I close my mouth and pull away.

  ‘Honesty should be the staple of any relationship. I completely agree,’ I continue.

  He grimaces. His face looks strange, unrecognisable.

  ‘I’m not sure your sister would agree with that.’ His voice and face are grey and stony.

  ‘What’s it got to do with my sister?’ I ask.

  ‘Quite a lot actually.’

  I frown inside. What does he mean? What is he talking about?

  ‘I’ve slept with your sister.’

  I’ve slept with your sister. His words stab me like a sword.

  ‘No.’

  I can’t have heard him right. He is joking. In a second he will grin and his eyes will convulse with laughter.

  ‘No.’

  But his lips don’t move. His eyes are like granite. No. He doesn’t love me, he loves you.

  ‘Your sister seduced me.’

  He doesn’t love me, he loves you.

  ‘No. Miranda wouldn’t do that,’ I say above the screaming that has started in my head.

  ‘Don’t you believe me? I’ll show you. I’ve got it on tape.’

  The screaming in my head increases. What has happened to my Sebastian? Where has he gone?

  ‘Seduced you? What do you mean you’ve got it on tape?’ I pause for breath. ‘How did you manage to let her seduce you?’

  ‘Let me explain.’

  I am sitting on the bed next to him, head in my hands. He puts his arm across my naked back. I stiffen at his touch. My insides wince. My mind is rotating. I see you, Miranda, naked, moving towards him, smiling. He takes your hand. You lead him to your bed. He is on top of you and you are opening your legs. It doesn’t take long. You don’t waste any time with foreplay. He is inside you. He is thrusting. Your head is back. I see your ecstasy. I see you climaxing and then I realise.

  This is what you’ve always wanted. To steal my m
an. To destroy me.

  116

  Miranda

  I am at my desk, trying to clear my mind. Sebastian is away today. A day off? A course? It is peaceful without him anyway. The new tax assessment I am working on needs to be submitted in a week, but I can’t concentrate on compiling the facts. Now I know what you went through with A levels, Zara. Hellish, isn’t it? I hope I was supportive enough.

  I need to leave here. I need to get away from Bristol so much. The knot I have tangled in my mind is unwinding. I will look for a sponsored job in Hong Kong, where I can earn lots of money, and leave you with him. You will be all right. You are thirty years old. You’ve stopped cutting. You can look after yourself. Something snaps inside me. I feel free at last. Counselling has helped. I am strong again now. I can live my own life.

  117

  Zara

  I feel the pain as intensely as if I have been sliced down my body with a knife. As if we were conjoined and you have been severed from me. All my nerve endings ache. Despite the severity of the pain, I feel weak and empty. Time stops. Everything stops. It will never start again.

  ‘Leave. Right now. I never want to see you again.’

  ‘You don’t mean that, Zara.’

  ‘I can assure you I do.’

  His right hand strokes my back. I push it away and jerk away from him, still sitting on the bed.

  ‘I love you, Zara,’ he says. His words trip from his tongue, shallow and meaningless. I will never trust him again.

  ‘I meant what I said. I want you to leave. I never want to see you again.’ I am shouting, almost screeching. My words are high-pitched, uneven.

  ‘But Zara … I just wanted to be honest.’

  ‘Honest? There’s no honesty in you.’ My lips and chin are trembling. ‘I don’t know anything about you, or your family. Please Sebastian,’ I beg.‘Pack your things. Go away.’