The Girl I Used to Be

by Mary Torjussen

  I heard my dad in the kitchen, pulling open drawers, swearing under his breath, and then he was uncurling my fists and I could feel the rough rasp of a paper bag in my hands. He knelt in front of me, his eyes fixed on mine.

  “Breathe into it, pet,” he said, and then I remembered him saying that all those years before and tears streamed down my cheeks. “Breathe in and let’s count. One, two, three, four. That’s right. Now breathe out. Come on, blow hard. As hard as you can. And look at me. Look at me!” He counted again and I watched his face intently. “You can do it. Come on, let’s count again.”

  My mum was hovering in the background, trying to reassure Rory and Evie that I was okay. She made Rory pull out the plug of the paddling pool with the promise of a spa night later if he was good now, then sent him off to find the biscuit tin for both of them.

  “I knew we shouldn’t have talked about it,” she kept saying. “It’s my fault. You never get over that sort of thing. I shouldn’t have asked her questions.”

  I could see my dad didn’t know what she was talking about, but then something in him recalled this from the past, where he’d had to help me to breathe to cope with what happened. There was anger in his eyes, not at my mum or me, but fury that something that had happened to me, his only daughter, was still hurting me even fifteen years later.

  Slowly, my eyes fixed on my dad’s, my breathing returned to normal. My mum was inside now with Rory, having packed Evie off home. When the panic attack was finally over, my dad got up and pulled up a chair next to mine.

  “We’ll talk about it, Gem,” he said, “but not now. Have a rest and we’ll get Rory to bed. And if you’re not up to it tonight, don’t worry. You’re here for a few days. There’s plenty of time.”

  My iPad had turned itself off while I was away from it. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing that picture again, but at the same time I panicked in case I might lose it. I asked my dad to go and check that Rory was okay, and in the couple of minutes he was gone, I e-mailed it to myself on my private e-mail.

  When my e-mail alert sounded, I knew it was safe.

  * * *

  * * *

  THAT NIGHT I went to bed early, exhausted from the day. The tiredness I felt then seemed like the result of having to hold myself in for fifteen years.

  I couldn’t risk looking at the photo again. There was no one I could speak to except Rachel, and she was running her own gauntlet at the moment. I heard my mum downstairs, talking to Joe on the phone. She’d told him I was having an early night, but I’d made her promise not to tell him about my panic attack.

  Why was David at the party? This thought raced around my mind for hours. What was he doing there? Rachel had said he and Alex were best friends, but that party had only been for people from school. I remember him saying that at school, when a girl asked him if she could bring a friend.

  “It’s just for us,” he’d said. “I don’t want anyone else there, just us lot. It’s the last time we’ll all get together.”

  And I’d been there from the beginning and I hadn’t seen David. I would have noticed him simply because he wasn’t someone I’d met before. Everywhere I’d looked that night there were people I’d known for two years. Even if someone took completely different subjects than me, I had still seen them in the canteen or in the library or on the school bus. And he was a good-looking man, too, but that was the thing—all of the other students, well, they were more like boys to me. We called them boys, not men. David looked older than us and would have stuck out a mile.

  I picked up my phone and sent a Facebook message to Jack Howard, the guy who’d taken the photos, and asked him to call me whenever he was free for a quick chat. Within a few minutes, my phone rang.

  “Hi,” I said. “Sorry it’s late.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “What is it?” His voice was deeper than I remembered, but I knew I would have recognized it. He sounded friendly and I realized again how cut off I’d been from my old school friends.

  “Thanks for sending the photos,” I said. “There’s one that I wanted to ask you about. It’s a photo of Lauren.”

  “Which one?” he said drily. “I took tons of her.”

  I laughed. “You liked her, didn’t you?”

  “I was crazy about her. Took me a while to get over her. Still, that’s a long time ago.”

  I remembered his Facebook status. “You’re married now?”

  “Yes; we’re having a baby in a few months.”

  “Oh that’s lovely,” I said. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. So the photo—which one was it?”

  “It’s the one where Lauren’s in the kitchen, sitting on Tom’s knee.”

  “Just a second, I’ll have a look at it on my laptop.” I waited a few seconds, then he said, “Oh that one. Yeah, I was a bit of a masochist, wasn’t I?”

  “You see that guy in the background? Do you know him?”

  “That’s weird. I never noticed him standing there. He wasn’t in our school, was he?”

  “No, he wasn’t.”

  “What was he doing there?” he said. “It was just meant to be us, wasn’t it? I remember I had to tell some guys they couldn’t bring their girlfriends because they weren’t from our school. Alex’s mum and dad were really strict about that.”

  “I heard Alex tell someone that, too,” I said.

  “I have seen him before, though. He looks older than the rest of us, doesn’t he?” He was quiet for a while, and then he said, “Oh, yeah, I know who he is.”

  I held my breath.

  “I met him once or twice when he played hockey for All Saints School. We’d play against him sometimes. Alex went to All Saints until he was sixteen, when he came to our school.” There was a pause. “I remember now. He went to Glastonbury with Alex.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, just the two of them went. The rest of us couldn’t afford it. I heard all about it when Alex got back. He’d had a great time.”

  “Do you know his name?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I would have known it then. I’ll get back to you if I remember.”

  “Thanks. You’ve been a great help.”

  “Gemma, is this something to do with what happened that night?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I just don’t know.”

  “I just couldn’t believe Alex had done that. I thought I knew him pretty well.” I said nothing and he went on, “I’m not saying you were lying. Honestly I’m not. It’s just . . . well, he was one of the last people I would’ve thought was capable of rape.”

  I ended the call without another word and found that my face was drenched with tears. I wanted Joe. I wanted him to hug me and tell me everything would be all right. I knew he’d be out with Mike but sent him a message:

  I love you, Joe. I miss you. I’ll be home soon xx

  Immediately my phone beeped.

  I miss you too, sweetheart. It’s not the same without you here. I love you. I’ll call tomorrow xx

  I smiled and sent him a photo that my mum had taken in the garden. I had my arms around Rory, my face next to his.

  When I heard my phone beep a second later I expected it to be a quick reply from Joe, but it was a message from Jack.

  I’m sorry if I upset you, he wrote. I feel awful about that. It’s just that he was one of my best friends. About that guy—I’ve just found my old hockey fixtures. His name is David Henderson.

  I felt a flash of victory at discovering David’s real name. I replied immediately: Did you see him at the party? I know he’s in the photo, but did you notice him there?

  No, he replied. I didn’t notice him there at all. I would have wondered why he was there and said something to Alex.

  If he had, none of this might have happened.

  Desperate to speak
to Rachel, but knowing she couldn’t receive a call from me at home, I sent her an e-mail she’d get at work the next day.

  Rachel, I need to talk to you. Can you call me as soon as you get this? Make sure nobody can overhear you.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  GEMMA

  Thursday, August 17

  I DIDN’T SLEEP that night. How could I? I had a long bath to try to calm myself down, but hours later, my heart was still pounding.

  I didn’t get out of bed until nine A.M. the following morning. I was expecting Rachel to call me, but my phone was quiet. I had a quick shower, taking my phone into the bathroom with me, but she didn’t call. I tried to rationalize it: She’d call when things were quiet. They’d be having the morning meeting, and then she’d say she was going out to view a property and she’d call me from her car, I knew it.

  I looked terrible that morning and my mum wanted me to stay in bed, but I was too agitated for that. Instead she said she and my dad would take Rory out for the day.

  “Unless you want us to stay with you?” she asked. “I think one of us should. What do you think?”

  I needed to have that conversation with Rachel in private, so I refused.

  “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I’ll catch up on a box set or something and just stay on the sofa all day.”

  Eventually they left, with worried glances at me as they drove off. I breathed a sigh of relief. As soon as their car had disappeared, I was on the phone to the office.

  “Hey, Gemma,” said Lucy. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Okay, thanks. It’s nice to be with my mum and dad.”

  “I bet. It’s good for you to have a rest. But you’re missing out on something here,” she said. “That postman—you know, the surfer guy—has only gone and asked Sophie on a date.”

  Despite myself, I laughed. “Oh, I wish I’d been there. I bet she’s bouncing off the ceiling, isn’t she?”

  “She hasn’t shut up about it,” she said. “He only asked her half an hour ago and I’ve already got a headache.” She lowered her voice. “Are you all right? You sounded upset the other day.”

  “I’m fine, thanks. I just got so tired and I thought if I went to my mum’s she’d look after me.”

  She laughed. “I bet she’s thrilled you’re there.”

  “Yes, she is. Lucy, I need to talk to Rachel. Is she there?”

  “She’s chasing a mortgage offer for Mrs. Davies at the moment, but I’ll get her to call you as soon as she’s free.”

  * * *

  * * *

  IT WAS HALF an hour later before Rachel called back. She sounded subdued. I could hear traffic in the background and guessed she was in the car park, out of sight of the office.

  “It’s me,” she said. “Is everything okay?”

  “I need to talk to you. Do you have time now?”

  “Not really,” she said. “I’ve got Mrs. Johnson coming by in ten minutes and I need to make a phone call before then.”

  I couldn’t tell her then. I just couldn’t. I dithered, not knowing what to do. She needed to know David was at the party, but how was I going to tell her when she was either at work or at home with him?

  “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  “I’ve decided to sell my mum’s house. I can’t use our office to sell it, though. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course. Of course you can’t do that. Don’t even think about that. I didn’t realize you hadn’t sold it.” I hesitated. “How long has it been empty?”

  “About ten months. My mum died last October. I’ve not been there since. I went away to France with David for a month after she died—it was our honeymoon—and then I moved to Chester.”

  “It’ll be a lot of work, won’t it, sorting everything out? We can help you, Rachel,” I said. “Me and the girls in the office. You don’t have to deal with it on your own.”

  She gave a strangled “Thanks,” then said, “I have to go,” and the call ended.

  * * *

  * * *

  LATER THAT MORNING I got an e-mail from Rachel.

  Sorry. Mrs Johnson was walking toward me so I had to go.

  Instantly I replied:

  I need to talk to you. Something’s come up. It’s really important.

  Within ten minutes my mobile rang.

  “It’s me, Rachel. I’m having an early lunch break. What’s happened?”

  “You might be better going outside to talk about this,” I said. “Can you do that?”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m in the car and I’ve parked somewhere quiet. What is it?”

  “I should be telling you this face-to-face, Rachel. I’m sorry.”

  “What?” she said. “What’s up? You’re frightening me.”

  “David was at the party.”

  There was silence, and then she said, “What did you say?”

  “The party. Where . . .”

  “Yes, I know which party. But he wasn’t there. It was just for people from Alex’s school. David was at All Saints.”

  “I know that’s what it was meant to be, but he was there. I have a photo of him. Hold on a second.” I pulled my iPad to me and sent her the photo. “Check your messages.”

  There was silence as she opened my message, and then she gasped.

  “But how do you know this was the party?”

  “See that girl in front of him? She was my best friend.” I didn’t say Lauren’s name, not wanting Rachel to realize she was the one who’d yelled at Alex in the pub, the one who made him go back to Oxford a couple of days before he died. “We went there together. She bought that dress the same day. I was with her when she bought it.”

  “Yes, but . . .” She was flailing around now. “But it might have been another night.”

  “There was another party in your house after that one?”

  There was silence.

  “He never told me he was there. And his name wasn’t on the guest list. Alex had to write it up for the police. He had to ask the school for a list of all the students in his year and use that as a guide.” Her voice faltered. “I’ve seen it. It’s still at my mum’s house. David’s name isn’t on it.”

  “Maybe he just heard of it and thought he’d turn up. Who knows? But, Rachel, he was there.”

  “Alex didn’t know he was there,” she said, sounding puzzled. “He couldn’t have known.”

  “Maybe he was in the garden when David arrived. A lot of people were outside. It was a really hot night.” I paused; I had something to tell her and I was scared to say it. “You know I identified Alex because of his T-shirt.”

  “Yes, the Glastonbury T-shirt. The Coral.”

  I said nothing. I closed my eyes and waited for it to dawn on her.

  When it did, her voice was unsteady. “David’s wearing a Coral T-shirt in the photo.”

  And I waited again for her to make that connection.

  “Does . . . Oh God. Does this mean it might have been David who . . .” I could hear the tears and the fury in her voice. “Are you telling me now that it was David who raped you?”

  FIFTY-NINE

  GEMMA

  I COULDN’T SPEAK. What could I say? I’d accused her brother of rape. He’d died as a result of my accusation, and her mother had died because she’d lost her son. Now I was saying it was her husband who’d done it.

  “So you were lying?” she screamed. “If you weren’t sure, why didn’t you say so?”

  I couldn’t answer. I sat with my head bowed, my phone clamped to my ear, listening to her outrage.

  “Say something!” she yelled. “All this has happened because of you!”

  And suddenly I was sick of it. Sick of taking the blame for something that had been done to me so many years before. “It hasn’t happened because of me,” I shouted back.
“I was asleep on Alex’s bed and someone raped me. I looked up and saw someone of Alex’s height, Alex’s build, with Alex’s T-shirt on leaving the room. What was I meant to think?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  We sat in silence for a while, both too upset to speak. I could hear her crying, then blowing her nose. She said, “Where did you get the photo from?”

  “Jack Howard. He was a boy from school who was there that night.”

  “I used to know him. He was one of Alex’s friends,” she said. “He played hockey with him. We gave him a lift to matches sometimes.”

  “He’s the one who showed me the photos,” I said. “He took hundreds of photos that night and David was in this one. He knew David. Well, he’d met him a few times. He was taking a photo of my friend—he was crazy about her—and he didn’t notice anyone in the background. But I talked to him last night. I asked him if he recognized the person behind my friend and he said it was David.” I hesitated. “David Henderson. That’s his name?”

  “Yes, it is.” She was quiet for a few moments, then said, “I remember Alex and David going to Glastonbury. They loved The Coral. Even now . . . even now David plays their songs. I don’t like it; it reminds me of that summer when Alex would play them and he’d dance with me.” She started to laugh but I could hear the tears there. “And you’re sure this is the night of the party? Absolutely certain?”

  “Yes. There’s no doubt, Rachel.”

  “So Alex didn’t do it,” she said. “I knew he didn’t.”

  We said nothing for a minute or two. I was looking at the photo on my iPad and I knew she was looking at it, too.

  “I think we should go to the police,” I said. “We should both go to the police together.”

  “I thought that, too,” she said. “But do you know what, Gemma?”

  “What?”

  “I’d rather tackle him ourselves.”

  I started to say, “We can’t do that,” but the line was dead.