I was twenty years old;
I had been lying to my family since I was fifteen;
The only people, apart from the two of us involved, that knew about my affair with Matthew were Rose, now dead, and possibly Matthew’s wife;
Barring a brief stint of work experience at a solicitor’s office when I was thirteen, I had never spoken to a lawyer;
I was certain that confessing the truth, telling my parents, friends, professors and boyfriend that I had willingly conducted a three-year affair with a man forty-four years older than me was not now, nor ever would be, an option.
Thus, once again, my bedroom door was closed and I was sobbing secret tears of self-pity. Downstairs, my housemates made pots of tea and chatted about choosing dissertation topics; in two hours, I would be due at a seminar on Jessica Hagedorn’s The Gangster of Love; on my computer screen flashed an email from my mum enquiring what my plans were for the Christmas holidays; and beside my bed lay a snapshot of Rob and me taken at a Mets game the second time we were in New York. All around, life was normal and comforting, but in my hand lay a page that seemed to shred my insides. From gallbladder to gut, tiny paper cuts were appearing, slicing my capillaries and dicing my conscience. In itself, this was nothing new: inside, I’d been screaming for months. All across America, in National Parks and Second Cities, I’d peered over my shoulder expecting to see an army of Uncles out for my blood. What was new was that now, on top of all my internal demons, an external and altogether more frightening one was suing me for £35,346.
What did I do? Exactly what I shouldn’t have done, of course. I contacted Matthew. I selected an email at random, hit reply and ranted my own schizophrenic barrage of emails, shouting in capitals that he was a SICK BASTARD WITHOUT A LEG TO STAND ON, then begging in italics that we resolve this and find a way to proceed as friends.
When my tears finally dried and the agitation in my fingertips turned to cramp, I lowered my laptop lid and paced into the bathroom to wash my face. I chatted to Tim in the kitchen as I buttered a slice of toast, then grabbed my bag and slammed the door. I strode down to campus, climbed the stairs to my class and contributed to a discussion about Hagedorn’s depiction of racial dismorphia. That evening, I attended rehearsals for Skylight and spoke excitedly to a guy called David about applying for the new student slot at the local theatre: a week’s run in their studio space, directed and produced by us, any play we wanted, applications due Monday. Then I cycled home, cooked a bowl of pasta, watched two episodes of 24, season three, with Tim, brushed my teeth, and closed my door.
At which point, the thoughts I’d stopped myself from thinking all day finally bullied their way into existence.
24
‘You have two new messages and no saved messages. First new message, received today, 10th November, at 13.42, caller withheld their number: (pause) Look here, Harriet, or whatever your name is, you bitch. This is Meg, maybe you’ve heard of me – Albert’s new girlfriend, as in me new and wanted, you old and unwanted. I don’t know what’s going on or why you keep contacting Albert, but you’re really upsetting him and he needs it about as much as a hole in the head. He doesn’t know I’m ringing you and you better not fucking tell him because I had to hack into his email, but it’s for his own good. So listen here, bitch skank, I’m telling you nicely: LEAVE HIM ALONE! If you don’t believe that’s me telling you nicely, try me! Right next to your phone number, I’ve found your address. Durham’s real nice, isn’t it? I was going to live there too, until you fucked that up by messing Albert around and banishing us to skankbag—
‘Second new message, received today, 10th November, at 13.44, caller withheld their number: (pause) Fucking machine, I’m not done yet. No siree, I’m certainly not done with you yet, I’m just getting started. You better understand that if you don’t listen to me and leave me and Albert the fuck alone, I’ll find a reason to visit Durham and maybe I’ll bring my brother along. He likes sport, you know, especially cricket and golf and other things with bats and clubs. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind bringing some along and demonstrating how they can be used on dirty bitch skanks like you. Now FUCK THE HELL OFF!’
*
From: [email protected]
To: Natalie Lucas
Sent: 15 November 2004, 15:21:38
Subject: Please get in touch
Dear Ms Lucas
My name is William Carson and I am a freelance private detective, formerly an officer of security with the FBI, first in the Criminal Investigative Division and later in the Cyber Division. I am writing to you about a matter that gives me grave cause for concern. I have pleaded with Mr Albert Sumac to give me your postal address and let me contact you directly, but he maintains that your privacy is paramount, even in circumstances like these.
It has come to my attention that you may be the subject of a vicious character attack. An Hispanic woman living in Boston, MA, whom I may legally only refer to as Miss P., has attempted to produce a slur on your character. Her attempts have been stopped for now, but she claims to have found illicit photographs of you on various online websites. My sources suggest she is not responsible for distributing these photographs, but that she has tried to advertise your ‘services’, presumably with the intention of accusing you of solicitation at a later date. Miss P. claims her grievance against you is that you have ‘stolen’ her man (it is unclear if she refers to a husband or boyfriend) and left her child (a three-year-old son) without a father.
It is as Mr Sumac’s employee that I have discovered this much and Mr Sumac has forbidden me any further investigations without your approval. As such, I implore you to contact me and divulge any information you may have in regards to the case. I do not wish to alarm you, but the consequences of such a matter if not dealt with delicately can be grave, and I would not like to see you hurt. I’ve been working in this field for years, absolutely years, and trust me I know what I’m talking about. So please, it is imperative that you speak to me as soon as possible.
You can reach me on 0208 *** ***.
Yours
William Carson
PI
*
From: Michael Hills
To: Natalie Lucas
Sent: 15 November 2004, 16:08:21
Subject: I’ll be in Durham
‘Naughty Natalie’
I saw your ad and can’t get your picture out of my mind. I don’t normally do this, but with you, God, with that picture.. I don’t care if you’re rubbing half the world against your thigh, you dirty slut. I have a business meeting near Durham next week and thought I could get us a hotel.. so make a place between your legs, baby. I’m happy to pay cash.
Ring me: 0777******
Michael xox
*
From: Matthew Wright
To: Natalie Lucas
Sent: 15 November 2004, 19:42:21
Subject: Re: What the fuck?!
When we two parted
In silence and tears
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this …
I don’t know why I expected anything different. That is just like you: I try to protect you, put myself out, use my own money, all because I am concerned about you and your life, a life I am allowed no part of. And this is the thanks I get. You accuse me. You accuse me!
You don’t think it could be your filthy bus driver whom you’ve known all of five minutes? No, much easier to blame me, then you can carry on your casual sex across the globe. I am trying to protect you, Natalie. I can’t do more than that. You won’t let me.
I’ve spoken to William. This woman claims to be your bus driver’s partner, claims to have a child with him. She has also had a sex test and come up positive
for herpes, so I suggest you get checked out because I assume if he wasn’t careful with her, he’s not been careful with you. This Miss P. says he claimed to have had a vasectomy, and then denied the child when she fell pregnant. I only hope you haven’t been so naive.
Do you realise this is your whole life, your whole career on the line? What do you think your universities will say if they see these pictures? William’s shown me some of them, they’re quite explicit. I’ve never seen them before, but they’re definitely you. A shudder comes o’er me. I’ve seen one of you sucking on some saggy bird’s cunt. She has a tattoo. Someone else must have been there to take the picture. Nadiyya perhaps? Or maybe you slutted around in good old NY? Sorry, I’m not trying to offend you, but you need to see reality. I am not the enemy. It is not a big deal if I see these, hell, I’ve seen it all before, but what if your professors find them? What if Rosella is told one of their former pupils is advertising as a prostitute? William can help. But I won’t tell him to do anything without your consent.
You need to trust me. I’m on your side.
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
But with emails like your last, I wonder why I bother, why I ever held you so dear.
… In secret we met –
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.
*
From: [email protected]
To: Natalie Lucas
Sent: 16 November 2004, 10:11:31
Subject: More information
Natalie,
You have not yet replied to my earlier email and I have just got off the phone with Mr Albert Sumac, who tells me you are mistrustful of the information we have approached you with.
I cannot stress strongly enough the importance of you working with us in this matter. I have been researching similar cases for many years. Serial grooming is in fact my specialty. The laws in the US are good at protecting its own citizens, but do little to defend the interests of visitors to the country. As such, there are a number of men around the country – some in almost every state and often known to the federal authorities, though they have little power to prosecute – who make a habit of pursuing young foreign women travelling alone. They befriend these women and form ‘relationships’. While in the United States, these men often appear charming and generous, playing on the tragic aspect of an international love affair and inciting the women to feel passionately.
The aim, however, is to secure an invitation to visit these women in their home countries. Once there, the man’s true colours are suddenly revealed – when the woman has nowhere to run, nowhere to go. At best, the woman can hope to find a sex pervert who forces her to partake in whatever brand of deviancy he subscribes to, often by force, with the intention of returning to the United States before criminal proceedings can be brought forward, or in the hope that the woman will be so ashamed she will feel unable to press charges. Even if she does turn to the police before the predator leaves the country, instances of prosecution are rare because these men are unknown to foreign blood and semen databases.
At worst, though – and here I beseech you to think long and hard about your knowledge of the man you are in a relationship with – the man will have laid a complex sexual and financial trap for the young woman. Reassured by the safety he is granted by being born in the U.S.A. he will most likely have given her a false name and made sure everything she knows about his identity has come solely from him. Then, once in her country, at her house, he will begin to manipulate her and those around her, encouraging or forcing her into situations she would normally avoid. To do so, he will most likely enlist the help of a network of contacts already known in the country, possibly met on a previous visit or even just found through the internet. The crimes they then commit could take the form of identity theft or other financial fraud, but they can also manifest as more disturbing sexual crimes, including gang rape, enforced pornography, and in extreme cases trafficking for prostitution. The most disturbing case I have worked on involved a woman such as yourself disappearing from her home in Surrey days after her Texan ‘boyfriend’ arrived, only to be found six months later being forced to work in a brothel in Thailand.
It is a strange inhumanity that leads people to treat others this way, but sadly it is a truth that it happens all around this world. These men are so dangerous because they spin a web of sin and lay it as a trap for vulnerable women. They are persuasive, but they cannot be trusted. Their manipulations rely on desire, promises and lust, and once they have a woman’s trust they will take away her money, time and dignity if possible. Because of the transient lifestyle suited to these individuals, they often choose work in travel or vehicular transportation, often favouring cross-country routes that give them the widest possible net to seek out victims.
I do not mean to scare you Natalie, but I am concerned for your safety. Mr Sumac contacted me because he fears from past experience that your judgment when it comes to sexual situations is poor. He says you have, in the past, displayed an inability to assess a person’s agenda or even bodily hygiene before it is too late and that you have been coerced into unfavourable sexual situations using alcohol. It is not my place to comment on these matters, but from everything Mr Sumac has told me about your situation – even without the business with the wife and child – I would advise you to think carefully about what you know about your bus driver that you haven’t learned from him. Have you seen his passport or driver’s license? Have you met any immediate family or close friends? Mr Sumac informs me he is 39 years of age. In my experience, it would be strange if a man of that age did not have a wife or ex-wife and a certain amount of baggage to bring to a relationship. If he has not told you about such things, you may need to ask yourself why. The other possibility is that he may be bisexual, which again should raise alarm bells in your mind as male bisexuality is the biggest contributor to the spread of HIV/AIDS in the United States.
As it is, I have taped phone conversations recording your bus driver crudely taunting his wife with your sexual willingness, boasting that you give oral without pressure and will do anything he asks. I am in no way defending the actions of Miss P., but please ask yourself Natalie what kind of man taunts his wife with details about his erotic activities with his mistress? Is there any way, do you think, that he could be involved in the business of the internet photographs and allegations of prostitution against you? Could they relate to a more complex plan he has for his visit in January? Could he be dangerous?
If you find yourself doubting the answer to just one of the questions above, you need my help, Natalie. I have seen too many young women just like yourself be manipulated by these disturbed men to sit back and watch it happen again.
Please get in touch.
William Carson
PI
*
From: [email protected]
To: Natalie Lucas
Sent: 16 November 2004, 11:32:55
Subject: Postscript
Apologies if my previous email disturbed you. My intention was not to scare you, only to make you understand the seriousness of the situation. I am not trying to interfere with your life or tell you what to do; I am merely acting on behalf of your concerned neighbour. Though Mr Sumac tells me you would like us to just leave you alone, you seem to have troubles and I’m worried something bad is going to happen to you, perhaps in your own home.
I realise this must all come as a shock to you. If you would like to talk to a counsellor who could advise you on coping with the psychological impacts of sex pests and grooming, I have a female colleague whom I could arrange to talk with you on MSN via this email address.
Please let me know.
William Carson
PI
*
From: Matthew Wright
To: Natalie Lucas
Sent: 16 November 2004, 14:44:10
Subject: Songs of my experience
Each man is in his SPECTRE’s power, Natalie! But you, you are drowning in your own lake. You cannot see the wood for the trees, you are so blind. Your bus driver is no good. I can see that, your Ma can see that, your housemates can probably see that, everyone but you. And meanwhile, he’s sitting happily in Boston or Chicago or Salt Lake City, wherever his fuck-bus has arrived now, chuckling to himself about his stupid piece of little British ‘ass’. But you, you are stubborn and blind and blame me instead.. Remember, though, mutual fear brings peace, only until the selfish loves increase. I assume you still have the intelligence to work out what that means, but maybe I’m wrong. You are only safe, Natalie, until he comes to collect what he wants. He is a predator. And you are a doe-eyed deer, so stupid you don’t know when to run and when to wave your fluffy white butt like the slut you are.
Once, I worried about you in a spiritual sense. I worried your mind would be enclosed in a narrow circle and your heart sunk into an abyss by those who couldn’t see your worth. But now I realise I was wrong: you are the one who has chosen the circle and the abyss and I wonder why I bother continuing to worry when you refuse to worry about yourself. You won’t listen to me because you are stubborn, but YOU ARE IN DANGER, Natalie. Forget your senses, your perception, your gnosis and the pleasure of stolen joys in a barren but eternal world; forget the ‘unreal’ plain in which we used to live, the dead poets and the lyricism of life: you are in danger in the gross, mucky, mundane world of everyone else. You have dug yourself a hole of pornography, sexual manipulation and jealousy, and you are so far short of being equipped to deal with it that you cannot even see you are in it.
*
From: Matthew Wright
To: Natalie Lucas
Sixteen, Sixty-One Page 23