"Yeah," Becky said again, then fell silent.
Julia sighed. "Becky, what I'm trying to say is this. We simply cannot allow Rob to have this power over us. Over you, I mean. It's not fair. It's not right. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," Becky said a third time. Then she looked up.
"How'd you know about 'em anyway?"
"About what?"
"About the photos."
Julia was confused. "Well, I was there..." She stopped, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"How do you know about the photos Rob took?"
"I was... What photos are you talking about, Becky?"
"You know... Those photos. The ones he took..." Becky looked away. "In bed." She studied the top of the table for a while.
"Well, not all in bed. There were some in the shower, too."
Oh God, Julia thought. She pressed a hand against her forehead.
"I don’t know about those photos, Becky. Well, I didn’t. But I'm not talking about them. The problem is, Rob wasn't talking about those photos either."
Becky looked back at Julia.
"What?"
"I'm talking about the ones from the accident. That's what Rob was talking about. That's what he was threatening you with."
"Was it?" Becky replied. She seemed to think for a moment. "I suppose so. It might have been."
For the briefest of moments it occurred to Julia that she might be the one who was wrong. Maybe he hadn't been talking about the images from the accident. Maybe he had even deleted them as he’d promised. If that was the case then she had nothing to fear. But then she remembered what kind of a boy Rob was. What boys like Rob always were. Her resolve stiffened.
"Did he delete that last image, Becky?" Julia asked, her voice urgent. "After I paid the money?"
Becky chewed on the inside of her lip. She didn't seem to want to answer.
"Did he, Becky?"
Eventually she shook her head. A tear fell from her eye.
"No. He kept it. He kept all the others too, the ones he deleted in front of you. He already had them backed up."
A spasm passed through Julia's body. Fear at the thought of the images still existing, but much more than that, it felt good to be proved right. Everything Julia had suspected had been right. She was vindicated.
"Well, we definitely need to do something about it then," she said.
The little kitchen had a small window that looked out over the back of the house – a kind of courtyard, but open to the sky, which was filled with clouds that promised rain. It looked dark and threatening. By contrast, the little kitchen felt almost cheery and light. Julia poured out the rest of Becky’s wine, and wondered about pulling her own bottle from her bag.
"There's more in the fridge," Becky said, as if reading her thoughts. "I've got good girlfriends." Becky looked up at Julia, her eyes dark.
"I only sent them away because I said I had to meet someone important." She smiled weakly at Julia, then pulled the loose strands of her hair and tucked them behind her ear. She looked so sad, and so vulnerable. It made Julia forget for a moment what she had come here to say.
"I really am so sorry, Becky,” she said. “I never..." Julia hesitated, then decided to share a confidence. "You know, when I was your age, I never really knew boys like Rob," she said. She didn't go on to say she hadn't met many since then either. "But I knew boys like that." She gave a little laugh.
“Oh yeah. I knew plenty like him. Only interested in one thing, and once they stop getting it..." Julia rolled her eyes. When she looked back at Becky the girl had pressed herself back in her chair, and in doing so her pyjama top was pulled tight against her breasts, clearly outlining her nipples. Julia gave a distracted laugh and ran her fingers through her hair. Reluctantly, she looked back up at Becky’s face.
"I suppose what I'm trying to say is, you can't trust them. Men like that. Even when you think you can. So we have to work together now. Do you see?"
Becky blinked at her. She gave the lightest shake of her head.
"I mean he's got these images of you..." Julia's eyes were drawn back to Becky's nipples. "I don't know, naked?” For a second she hesitated, hoping Becky would confirm this, but then she rushed to continue speaking.
“Or whatever – that’s not the point – and he's got those images of me. What I mean is it gives him power over us. So we need to get some power over him."
Julia was both relieved when Becky changed her position again, so that her pyjama top loosened and stopped defining her breasts so clearly, and somehow disappointed too. She decided she needed to get to the point quickly.
"He's directly threatening you, Becky, with those images. So we need to neutralise that. Okay?"
Becky nodded.
"So, I had an idea."
Twenty-Five
"What idea?" Becky said. She looked miserable. Julia leaned forward.
"Okay. I've given this a little bit of thought. I don't know what silly ideas Rob might have planned, but presumably he thinks he can use the images in a way that means he doesn’t end up hurting himself. Do you see?"
Becky looked blank. "No."
Julia went on as if she hadn’t heard. "Okay. We know that I'm in them – the images from the accident – and presumably you're in some of them too, but obviously he isn't, because he took them. So he's suggesting he could get you into trouble with the police, by handing them over anonymously?"
Becky didn't answer at once. But then she shrugged, and sniffed.
"Yeah."
"And in the process, he could harm me." Julia considered adding how he might damage her literary career too, but she sensed that wouldn't help her cause at the moment. No point over-egging the pudding.
"And while that's not his aim, he doesn't much worry about it either. Because that's the kind of man he is."
Becky began to cry. A few mournful sobs. Julia waited until she had finished then went on.
"So we need to work together."
Julia stopped to take a long gulp of the wine, then seeing her glass was empty she went to the fridge and found another bottle. Luckily it had a twist-off cap.
"I don't really understand," Becky said, when Julia had sat back down.
"We need to come to an agreement. That's what I'm saying. If he releases those images, as he's threatening to do, then we both need to have the same story, when the police ask us."
Becky thought for a moment.
"The police?"
"Yes. Because that's what will happen. We'll be facing very serious charges. That's why it's so important we have our stories straight. Do you understand?"
Becky shrugged, and then in response to Julia’s frustrated look she nodded as well.
"Good. Now, we can't very well deny that we were there, the photographs will prove that we were. But if we both say that it was Rob driving, then it'll be two against one. Our word against his. And with no other witnesses, the police will believe us. Why would two people lie? And it makes more sense that Rob was driving anyway. He'd have been driving faster, plus he would have been able to force us to help him cover it up. Because of his strength." The more Julia said it, the more it made sense to her.
"Why would Rob be driving your car?"
Julia had an answer for that one.
"Because he has an interest in cars. Look at that old van he drives around in. What is it?"
"It's a mark two VW Transporter," Becky replied at once.
"Okay. Becky, would you say you're an enthusiast of classic motor cars?" Julia asked. She had slipped into the tone of a court barrister.
Becky screwed up her nose. "No."
"Yet you’re able to tell me it's a mark two VW Transporter? How do you know that?"
She shrugged. "Because he's always going on about it."
"Exactly!” Julia snapped her fingers. “Which demonstrates that he has an interest in classic cars. So that's what we'll say. When I gave you a lift, we'll say that he asked if he could drive, because he'd always wanted to driv
e a Morris Minor. And we'll say I let him. I mean, obviously I shouldn't have, because he wouldn't have been insured, but that's not the worst crime in the world. Not as bad as running someone over and driving away. We'll say I was tired after the party, exhausted even, so we thought it would be safer that way. But then we'll say he started driving really fast. And you and I were telling him to slow down, but he wouldn't." Julia was speaking fast. She stopped and glanced at Becky.
"Becky? Are you listening? We'll say it was Rob that ran over the woman. And that he was the one who insisted on driving away. If we stick together then we back each other up. While he's on his own. Do you understand?"
Julia looked closely at Becky. She seemed to be crying again.
"Becky?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I get it."
"Do you want to... I don't know, have a practice or something?"
Becky shook her head. She was still sobbing. Julia wasn't the most comfortable when giving solace, but she moved her chair around the table so that it was alongside Becky's, and awkwardly she wrapped her arms around the younger woman.
"There, there." She patted her on the shoulder. She could smell shampoo on Becky's hair. "Look, I know you're a bit cut up at the moment. But this is important. In case Rob does something really stupid."
"I don't think he will," Becky managed.
"No." Julia released her grip slightly and prayed silently that this was the case. "No, you're probably right. But we still have to be protected. We'll still have awkward questions to answer. It'll still be a scandal. If we stick together it'll be him that gets into trouble. Into real trouble, I mean."
Julia squeezed again, tipping her head back and looking up at the ceiling. Within her arms, she felt Becky sobbing, and heard her cries too. She had no words, so simply kept her arms wrapped around Becky and held her tight. But it seemed to be what the girl wanted, and after a while she stopped crying. Julia noticed a box of tissues on the table, and released her grip to hand her one. Becky took it, and blew her nose.
"Thank you," she said, and Julia smiled.
Becky blew her nose a second time, louder this time, and then she folded the tissue and wiped her eyes. She smiled at Julia, a weak and fragile gesture, like a tiny flower. Julia held out her arms again, and Becky – perhaps not quite as enthusiastically this time – allowed herself to be enveloped in Julia's sympathy a third time. But this time as they came together Becky had changed position, so that when Julia leaned in her hand landed upon the side of Becky's breast. Becky, who had her head now pressed into Julia's shoulder, didn't seem to notice. After a few seconds, it felt uncomfortable to Julia to try and keep her hand from lying naturally where it had fallen, so she simply relaxed it.
Through the soft, thin material of Becky's pyjama top, Julia's fingers felt where the smoothness of Becky's skin was interrupted by the roughness around her nipple. For reasons Julia didn't fully grasp, the sensation of her fingers pressing against Becky swelled in importance. It became – over the course of mere seconds – almost the only thing Julia was aware of. She put more pressure on her hand, as if to deepen her hug – but in doing so she squeezed her hand harder over Becky's breast, and slid her hand around so that it was no longer against the side, but directly over the top of her breast. Julia heard her own breath. She began, softly, to let each of her fingers play gently over Becky's nipple.
Suddenly Julia realised Becky had stiffened, and then the girl tried to pull away. Julia let her go at once. Becky glanced up at her with eyes that were filled with confusion. Neither woman spoke. Then Julia smiled.
"It's all right," she said and she laughed to cover the fact that she was just as confused about what had just happened. But then she stopped. Becky was still staring at her, and Julia stared back. Becky's eyes were huge. Her lips were parted. They looked so soft. So inviting. For Julia it was like she was being pulled towards the younger woman by some invisible force. Invisible, yet absolutely irresistible. Julia knew they were going to kiss, and as she leaned in – her entire body crying out for the contact – she closed her eyes.
"Julia! What are you doing?"
Her eyes snapped open and she jerked away, as if scalded.
"Nothing," Julia said, and stood up. She walked the few steps the little kitchen allowed her. Thoughts were flying through her head. She saw the kettle in front of her, which she had shunned in place of wine.
"I think I will have a tea after all," she said, and she fumbled as she tried to turn it on.
"What were you doing? Just then?" Becky said, not willing to let it go. "Were you trying to...?"
"Nothing. No. Just..." Julia couldn't think of any words. Horror was rapidly filling the vacuum left in her mind, from which desire had so recently fled. "I... Nothing."
She turned and fixed a smile on her face. "I just hate to see you so upset. That's all. That bloody Rob, and... everything he's done to you." She shook her head. Wishing the black horror would dissipate.
Becky seemed confused still, but at least distracted by the explanation. And Julia, who was now wondering if a moment of utter madness might have undone all her good work, seized upon this to return to their earlier conversation.
"So do you agree? What we're going to say if Rob is ever stupid enough to use the pictures.”
Becky looked away at once, but then she glanced back and, just enough for Julia to see, nodded.
"Yeah."
Twenty-Six
Julia left soon afterwards. There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Instead of braving the long drive back to London she decided she would head out to the cottage for the night, and then drive back the next day.
As she drove she sat in silence, letting the countryside slip into darkness beside her as she sped along the little lanes. She realised she had missed it. The emptiness. The space.
The cottage, when she got there, felt cold and damp, but the advantage of that was the bottle of wine she had left on the microwave was as chilled as if it had been in the fridge. She put the boiler on and lit a fire in the wood burner. Then she drank all the wine on her old sofa with her favourite blanket on her knees. It hadn't made the move to London; she hadn't thought she would need blankets there. For the first time in a long time she felt at home. As she went to sleep, her Dramadol nightcap eased the shameful thought of how Becky's nipple had felt beneath her fingers.
She slept badly; her old bed felt lumpy, compared to the new mattress she was now used to. But when she got up she forced herself to feel better. The main problem, she reasoned, was solved. The threat that Rob posed may not have been entirely neutralised – that was impossible – but it was now limited. If he did the unthinkable, which she still thought was unlikely, she had a final line of defence. If Rob released the photographs, then the police would prosecute him for the death of the old woman. Julia wouldn't escape entirely without damage – but surely most people would see her as another victim? At least she would escape prison. And perhaps, she let herself hope, it might even help with the book sales problem that Marion had mentioned, and emailed about several times now. What was it they said about publicity? There was no bad publicity? Well, perhaps, except from it coming out that she had driven drunk and killed a poor innocent old lady.
And the thought that Rob would be bringing it upon himself – well there would be a certain poetic justice in that too.
As for whatever had happened with Becky, or nearly happened – well that was just a misunderstanding. Although that wasn’t entirely true. Julia felt certain that for Becky too there were a few moments when it was anything but a misunderstanding. The look in her eyes had been unmistakable, especially when Julia's fingers had been oh-so-gently pressing at Becky's nipple. The thought of what might have happened next once again invaded Julia's mind. The thought of Becky pulling her pyjama top over her head. Of kissing those soft...
Stop it!
Julia slammed her palm against the kitchen worktop. It wasn't as well made as the one in her new penthouse, and the coffee pot actually b
ounced into the air. Still, it focused her mind. She poured herself a cup, and felt slightly better.
"Work," she said out loud. "That's what I need to do. I need to start work on a new project."
The idea, and the thought of losing herself within the hidden valleys and soaring mountains of a new book, was suddenly all-consuming. She wished she had her computer in the cottage, but of course that was back in London. She brushed away the issue. She had paper and, presumably, somewhere she would be able to dig out a pencil. And she was a writer. That was all she needed – that and the infinite power of her imagination.
She topped up her coffee and cleared everything from the table top in the kitchen. She placed a small pile of clean white paper in the centre, and rummaged around in a drawer for a pencil. When she found one she calmly sharpened it, thrilled at what might flow from its pointed tip. The possibilities seemed tantalisingly vast.
She sat down. She took a deep breath and gripped the pencil. She was ready to begin. Except she didn’t have a single idea how to start.
Moments later she put down the pencil and drank more coffee. She drummed her fingers on the table. She picked up the pencil. Turned it in her fingers. Spun it around on the table. She placed it down again. Then quickly she picked it back up and wrote a word:
The
It wasn't right, so she crossed it out, but that left a mess on the paper, so she turned the pencil around and tried to use the eraser on the other end to rub it out. But that made a horrible grey smear across the paper, and didn't even remove the word – it was still clearly visible. It looked so horrible that she peeled away the paper and scrunched it up into a ball. With another deep breath, she tried again.
Half an hour later, the balls of scrunched-up paper had multiplied, and she still had no idea what she was going to write. She cast her mind around – flitting from items in the kitchen to what she had done yesterday. No. Not that. Anything but that.
The Glass Tower Page 14