‘Yesh, yesh I do,’ says Brian, leaning forward again, placing both of his elbows on the table to mirror his nemesis in body language.
‘Why?’ asks Number One, his face glowing pink.
‘Why what?’ asks Brian.
‘Why would she lie about everything? What does she gain from making all of this stuff up?’
‘Well that ish one question I can’t answer,’ Brian says.
Number One scoffs, but Brian continues.
‘And I know I can’t answer it because I have had that question running through my mind all through this trial. For weeksh I’ve had that spinning around in my head. And for weeksh I’ve failed to justify an answer.’
It is believed, though it can’t be proven, that in ninety-two per cent of rape cases the claimants are not lying. A massive majority of women who claim they were raped, claim it because they were indeed raped; or certainly believe they were raped. Only a tiny fraction of rape claimants have ulterior motives. Sadly, even though it’s believed that ninety-two per cent of rape claims are genuine, only a pitiful eighteen per cent of rape trials end with a guilty verdict, though those numbers are growing — both the number of rape claims and the percentage of guilty verdicts. Unfortunately the former is growing rapidly, the latter very slowly. This particular trial is the two-hundredth and sixty-sixth rape trial that has taken place in Ireland this year, and yet it is occurring in the first week of July: the half-way point of the calendar year. Last year Ireland saw a significant spike in rape reports. In 2016, five hundred and twelve claims of rape were reported, there were six hundred and fifty-five in 2017. This year there is projected to be over seven hundred and twenty. The graph line is practically pointing north on rape claims throughout the country. But sadly that is not the most alarming statistic when it comes to rape. The most jaw-dropping fact is that these growing numbers only take into consideration rapes that are reported. A vast majority go unreported. It is believed, although impossible to prove, that up to eighty per cent of rapes are never reported to police.
‘She may have just wanted his attention, his money, his fame,’ says Number Eight.
‘Well, she’s not getting any of that is she?’ Number Ten says. ‘She’s been hiding – and rightfully so – behind the name Ms X in the newspapers, she’s not getting any attention, not getting any money, any fame.’
‘I don’t know… I’m just trying to answer the question,’ Number Eight shrugs. ‘Maybe she’s planning on selling her story down the line. I mean, she must try to court attention in some ways, right? She’s a model after all. And if she did do these nude shots, then what sort of attention are you trying to court?’
‘Yeah, but that’s only if you believe she did the nude shots,’ says Number Ten.
20:05
Zach
Every time I mention the two words The and Secret I get hushed. It’s been twenty years since we first labelled it ‘The Secret’, and vowed never to talk about it again; decided to leave what happened in the past exactly there — in the past. But sometimes I wish we could all sit down and talk about it… get it all off our chests.
The three of us stroll towards Aungier Street almost in silence; the fact that I mentioned those two words playing on all three of our minds. I wonder how often Jason and Li think about it; wonder if they think about it more than I do.
I recommended The Swan Bar, felt it would be one of the quietest pubs around. Li can tell us whatever the hell he wants to tell us in there, then we can get on with our night. Have some fun. We’ll probably end up in Copper Face Jacks now that we’re heading in this direction. I know it has a piss-poor reputation, but I love Coppers. It’s rare I’d leave there without scoring some bird. Everyone who goes there is practically out for their hole. I certainly am tonight. I’m sick of the same pussy every night. Ye can’t beat a bit of strange. I genuinely don’t believe in monogamy; think asking a male mammal to stick with one female is asking a bit too much. We’re just not cut out for it.
I didn’t cheat on Tina for the first four months after meeting her. I was kinda proud of that, but four months was my limit. I love sex, certainly sex with strange birds, but it’s more the chattin’ them up that is the drug for me. I just love the back-and-forth of the chase; the flirting, the bullshit. I’m a great bullshitter. I’m pretty sure I could bullshit any bird into bed. If I saw Margot Robbie out in a club, I’d have no hesitation in chatting her up. And I’d probably score her too. When it comes to scoring birds, it’s not about looks – that’s not what they look for in a man. They just want to be charmed, made to laugh. No better man to make a woman laugh than me. I wish that Sabrina bird hadn’t left the Hairy Lemon so quickly. She was definitely a few levels above me when it comes to looks, but I’m pretty sure I could have scored her.
‘Where is this place?’ asks Jason. He doesn’t really know Dublin as well as me and Li. Never really took advantage of the nightlife this city has to offer. Even when he lived here, he stayed in at the weekends. Football always came first for him. Fun comes first for me. Always has. I’m sure some think that’s why he made it over me, but I don’t buy that bollocks for one second. Some of my favourite ever players could handle a few drinks as well as a football career. If Ireland’s greatest ever player – Paul McGrath – could balance a social life and a professional football career, then so could I. I just didn’t get the breaks. No point in wallowing in it now anyway. At least that’s what I tell myself regularly.
‘Just on the next corner,’ I reply, pointing up Aungier Street.
‘Don’t think I’ve been in this place before, is it rough?’ Li asks.
‘Yer ma’s rough!’ I fold my fingers into my palm, hold it out, and take a fist bump from both Li and Jason for the gag.
‘Ah, it’s just a quiet bar. We’ll have one in there, then head up to Harcourt Street, will we?’ I say.
‘Coppers?’ Li asks.
‘Fuck it, why not!’
‘Yeah – fuck it,’ says Jason, laughing.
I swing the door of The Swan open and spot a free table at the front window.
‘Right, big shot,’ I say to Jason, ‘your round, mate. Three Heinekens.’
Li and I take a seat at the table. I stare at him, wonderin’ what the hell he has to tell us. I love this fella to bits, I’d do anything for him. But he can kinda do my head in sometimes. He takes everything too seriously. I don’t know why he feels the need to be formal all the time; don’t know why we all have to be sitting around a quiet table when he has somethin’ to tell us as if we’re havin’ a bloody office meeting. If I had something to say to my two best mates, I’d just bloody say it to them.
It’s too far back for me to remember fully, but when we were kids I’m pretty sure Li was as outgoing as I was. But ever since The Secret, he lost his edge. But maybe he carries more guilt than me and Jason. He was the one driving after all. I can still hear the thump of her hitting the car. I opened the passenger door, stared at her lying on the ground in front of us. It all seemed to happen in slow motion after that. I don’t even recall hearing sounds as Jason got out of the car and ran towards her. Li followed him. I just stayed in my seat, a wave of sobriety splashing me in the face.
‘Get the fuck back in the car,’ I screamed at them when I clicked back to reality. They did. Both of them.
‘She’s breathing,’ Jason said to me, almost hyperventilating as he jumped in the back seat. Li was more composed. In fact, he set The Secret in motion. That’s my memory of it anyway. We probably all have different versions of that night. But seeing as we’ve vowed to never talk about it again, I can’t be entirely sure what their memories of that night are. But I definitely remember Li suggesting we drive off; leave her.
So we did. Li turned the car around, headed back towards Drimnagh. Each of us silent for the whole half-hour drive. We even turned the car radio off. It was the most silent silence I’ve ever heard.
‘Here y’are,’ Jason says, plonking the three pints in front of us.
‘Cheers,’ I say, holding my pint glass up.
We clink. Again.
‘Now,’ Jason says, looking at Li as he sits himself into the chair between us. ‘What’ve ye got to tell us, buddy?’
20:05
Sabrina
I like this guy. He’s polite enough to include me in the conversation, but also loyal enough to his girlfriend to indicate he has no interest in me. We’ve shared a couple of anecdotes, a few laughs. But he’s mentioned his fiancée to me twice already. If he was interested in pursuing me, he’d have kept his relationship schtum. He’s a good guy; cute, honest, funny. His fiancée is a lucky girl.
‘Can I get you one back before we leave?’ he asks.
‘Oh no, thank you. I owed you that for spilling your pint,’ I reply.
He waves his hand.
‘Ah… let me get you one back.’
He motions to the barman.
‘Glass of red for the girl please.’
‘And a couple of pints?’ the barman asks.
‘Nah, sorry — we have to head off now,’ Niall says back to him.
Shit.
‘Are you eh… are you leaving now?’ I say.
‘Yeah – we’ve to meet another mate.’
‘Well, I’m only going to have that one you ordered me if you’re having one,’ I say, finishing off my wine. He looks at his friend, then back at me.
‘G’wan… two pints of Miller as well,’ he shouts over to the bar man.
Great — he’s staying. I’ve got to work harder on him. Everything seems very positive so far, but I don’t have enough information. Not yet anyway.
‘So, what is it you do?’ his friend asks me. ‘Lemme guess, you’re a model?’
I sniff a laugh out through my nose. Quite a few people take that guess with me. Perhaps they’re right in some way, but only if they use the past tense.
My modelling career basically involved multiple meetings, eight five-minute TV appearances, and sixteen catwalks — some of them in front of about eight people. That was it. I spent most of my twenty months as a model being peered at by casting agents and hearing the word ‘no’ over and over again. No wonder I became an introvert. People with positive mindsets certainly don’t work in an industry plagued by rejection. You think I’d have been well prepared for it. I had an older sister who had been through the ringer before me, who could pass on appropriate advice. But Amanda almost seemed embarrassed by the fact that her job wasn’t as glamorous as her younger sister assumed it was. She didn’t want to ruin the fantasy for me. Not once did she ever say anything negative about her work — not to me anyway.
My agent – Anne Ray – was a good confidante . I got lucky there. I’d heard horror stories about other agents. She did her job perfectly and was completely transparent and trustworthy. She always got me in front of the right people. But I couldn’t close the deal. I’d say I was recruited for about two per cent of the jobs I’d present myself for. It was Anne’s idea for me to visit Patrick Clavin. She even paid half of the fee. She felt my commercial face would benefit from his work; that he could put a portfolio together for me that would define what path I should take in the industry. He was a lovely man, Patrick. I felt at ease with him straight away.
Even though he’d shot a thousand models before me, he wasn’t boring company at all. He was personable, asked me about me, not about work. He’d heard of my sister, had never shot her though. He was very sympathetic when I told him of her plight.
‘You are very beautiful, very commercial,’ he told me. ‘But so too are ninety five of the last one hundred girls I’ve shot.’
I’d heard this loads of times and had already begun to realise my looks didn’t really help me at all in this industry. Casting agents aren’t looking for pretty faces, they’re looking for unusual faces.
‘Have you thought about glamour?’
I sighed, almost rudely.
‘It’s been mentioned,’ I said. ‘Anne has said it to me a few times, but I just… it’s just not why I wanted to be a model.’
‘I totally understand,’ said Patrick. ‘Look, the money is good. And it’s all about hotness. In the glamour industry, all that’s required is good looks. You certainly tick that box.’
I chewed on my lip, trying to let on to Patrick that I was thinking about his proposal. But the truth was, I’d already thought about it; already decided glamour modelling wasn’t for me. I couldn’t imagine my dad opening up a magazine to see me smiling back at him, my arms folded under my bare breasts.
Patrick rang Anne, had her on speakerphone for about twenty minutes as the three of us discussed the prospect. Patrick cut a deal with Anne; said he would destroy his negatives, that he’d send digital versions of the photos to her and insisted she would be the only one who held copies. So I agreed. I took off my clothes, changed into some sexy lingerie he had in storage, then let him take some risqué shots – some of them nude. Nothing too graphic. Everything was nicely lit; sexy, classy and I certainly didn’t feel as uncomfortable as I feared I would. But I knew these photos would never see the light of day; that I’d have a conversation with Anne the next time I was speaking to her and tell her I didn’t want them to be sent out to anyone. And she kept her word; took it with her to her grave two years ago. Anne Ray was always honest with me. It’s actually a must-have trait in the fashion industry. Everyone’s honest with everyone. Too honest, I would say. I worked with Patrick again, trying to perfect a commercial portfolio for myself, but it didn’t get me anywhere. There are just too many commercial girls in this world.
I tell Niall and his friend a brief synopsis of the truth. I had been a model — tried it out for a couple of years. Got nowhere. Neither him nor his mate could believe it.
‘But I see models all the time in ads and stuff that aren’t half as good lookin’ as you,’ Niall says.
I thank him for the compliment, touch his arm as I am doing so and pause to see if he will reciprocate my approach.
‘Yeah sure, if it was just about looks, my fiancée cudda been a model too,’ he says. That’s so cute. Too cute in fact. I’m almost feeling a bit neglected here. I would be hurt if rejection wasn’t my actual aim.
I watch Niall drain down the last of his pint of Miller, trying to work out whether or not I had enough information on him. I think I do.
‘Claire, it has been a pleasure meeting you,’ he says, holding out his hand for me to shake. And I do shake it, as if we’re professionals who have just ended a work meeting. Niall has no idea I’m the only one working right now.
‘Yeah – I enjoyed our little chat,’ I say. ‘And you too, Martin.’
I hold my hand out for his mate to shake and suddenly they are on their way, heading for the exit. Before they’ve reached the door, I have the phone to my ear.
‘Hey Sabrina,’ says Lorna answering. ‘Have you completed the job?’
20:10
Jason
‘Three Heinekens,’ I say to the barman as Zach and Li take a seat. I get the sense this could be one of those shitty nights where we let Zach’s mood dictate everything. Though that could all change depending on what Li has to tell us. It can’t be anything to do with The Secret. Li’s been the best at brushing that under the carpet. In fact, I’m pretty sure it plays less on his mind than it does mine and Zach’s. Li’s the nicest bloke I know. But he can be cold and calculated when he needs to be.
‘First round is on us, Jason,’ the barman says after placing the three pints on the bar and winking at me. ‘For that goal against Holland.’
I thank him, almost apologetically, then plonk my arse onto the seat between my two best mates.
‘Slainté,’ Zach says as we clink glasses for about the eighth time tonight. And we’ve only had a couple of drinks. It’s just so rare that the three of us get out these days that we can’t help toasting each other. We’re not toasting much. Just the fact that we’re in a pub. It’s such a rarity these days.
I know it’s
my fault, I’m the one who moved away, who got a career that meant I had to be disciplined — but I don’t think anyone’s complaining. I sometimes wonder how our friendships would have gone if I hadn’t moved to England. Perhaps we’d have all pissed each other off by now. We probably wouldn’t be such good friends if we’d spent every single weekend of the last twenty years doing what we’re doing now: drinking beer and talking shit.
‘Now, what’ve ye got to tell us, buddy?’ I say, turning to Li.
He picks up his mobile phone, scrolls through it then turns the screen towards me and Zach.
‘Fuckin’ hell – yes! Congratulations mate,’ I say after my eyes focus to take in the photo.
‘I’ve ordered it online. It’s gonna arrive next Wednesday.’
‘She’ll be fuckin’ delighted,’ says Zach. ‘How ye gonna do it?’
‘Well, we’re going to Lanzarote next month aren’t we – I’m gonna do it there.’
‘Hold on, you’re gonna get engaged in Lanza-fuckin-rote?’ Zach asks.
‘Y’know, on the beach when the sun goes down or is coming up, or something romantic like that.’
‘Don’t mind him, Li,’ I say pulling my best mate in for a hug. ‘Why would you take tips on romance from this fuckin’ eejit, huh?’
The three of us hold each other in a bit of a huddle. We’re good like that, good at noting milestone moments in each of our lives. When we want to be, we can be right in the moment, all of our stresses and strains miles away; The Secret all but forgotten. But these moments happen way too infrequently these days.
‘And I want you as best man,’ Li says after releasing us from the huddle. ‘And you as groomsman, Zach.’
We don’t answer, not verbally anyway. We just reform the huddle and soak in the moment again.
‘Bottle of champagne,’ I shout out to the barman. ‘Most expensive one you have.’
I walk up to the bar, a smile wide on my face. I’m so happy for Li. And for Niamh. They’re an ideal couple. Perfect for each other. They’re both so headstrong – it makes me a little jealous actually. I don’t think anybody would have thought when we were younger that by the time we all got into our thirties, Li would be the only one who had his shit sorted out.
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