Just as I’ll always remember the icy mist that shrouded Highfield on that night, I won’t forget the death rattle of the rain that flings itself onto my office window this morning. I take in the full force of the attack when Ronan calls to tell me it’s not going to be OK.
“Are you alone?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Look,” he says, “I’m sorry.”
The bare arms of the beech tree outside my window swing recklessly in the wind.
“I’ll go through everything, so don’t panic,” he says, though I can hear the strain in his voice. “Highfield are going to defend the claim…”
“Oh god.”
“… so it looks like we’re going to have to go to court.”
The rain slams against the window and my heart tightens into a hard knot.
“But you said they had eight days. It’s only been three.”
I’d been planning a trip to Highfield first thing on Monday. I wanted to spend the weekend perfecting my pitch.
“I said they had to respond within eight days. They’ve clearly anticipated this and must have already planned to respond as aggressively as possible.”
“No,” I say. “I can’t do it.”
“Lou, I know this is a shock, but I want you to take some time to think about it. Your testimony will make all the difference for Josh, especially when it is corroborated by Shauna.”
I realize with a jolt that this means I will get to see her and it fills me with equal parts thrill and terror.
“Will I get to discuss that beforehand? With Shauna?”
“No, sorry. But I will be able to advise you.”
I’m enclosed on so many sides I can’t see a way forward.
“I don’t know, Ronan. There’s so much at stake.”
“You know that’s what they’re relying on? That Josh or any of our witnesses will crumble at the thought of taking the stand.”
I see him now, a smirk curled across that arrogant mustache, so confident that none of us had that sort of courage.
“How can they do this?” I say. “I mean, I could understand if it was still the nuns in charge, but surely there are parents on the board of management now?”
“It’s a political move, a calculated one by their legal team, I’m sure. Unfortunately, we have no material proof of any of the abuse.”
There was proof once, the photo that could have saved us all. But I never found out what happened to that.
“All we have is sworn testimony and psychological reports,” continues Ronan. “I really did think that would be enough to make them go quietly, but they’ve come out all guns blazing. They know our case could open the door for a long line of victims and they’re sending out the message that they will fight anyone who takes them on. And sadly, that means most victims won’t even try.”
I want to be able to save Josh and all the other kids who still need to be saved, no matter what’s at stake. But I need to find the courage that was stolen from me all those years ago. And if I don’t do it now, I’ll spend the rest of my life living in the shadow of Maurice McQueen.
THE LEADEN BEAT OF THE RAIN FILLS MY office, drowning out thoughts of the deluge that awaits, at home, in my phone. There will be no escape from any of it. My name, my involvement, my testimony, all fair game now. Ronan’s warned me to expect the worst, that Highfield’s defense team will tell the press anything they think might smear our story. That theirs is a media campaign as much as a legal one.
Before I talk to Alex or Katie or anyone here, there is someone I need to confront. I open the email from Liam Kelly and read the line that could end me: If you testify, I’ll tell them everything.
He’ll know soon enough that I’ve given a statement, that I’ll be called as a witness now. My mind races through the list of possible culprits and I wonder if Damien Corrigan himself would risk it. And I think of McQueen and his supporters, that dark cloud that followed me for so many years after. I need to solicit more information, anything that could bring me closer to Liam and his motive.
Dear Liam,
You’ve probably heard that Highfield are going to defend the case and I will be compelled to testify. Please explain what you want from me.
Lou
I press send and close my laptop. And then I sit with the furious rhythm of the rain until I’ve summoned the nerve to step outside my office.
JUDY IS FIRST ON THE scene, powering down the corridor as I leave my second-year tutorial.
“Do you have a minute, Lou?”
We walk in strained silence to her office, neither of us pretending this is anything other than the obvious.
“I’ve just had a journalist call me on my personal mobile,” she says as we take position on opposing sides of her desk. “A Mick Craddock. Do you know him?”
“Ah, yes. Sorry about that.” I’ve ignored his calls all morning.
“And I’ve only looked at a fraction of the comments on Twitter, but Jesus Christ, Lou, you could have said something.”
Attention whores, lying cunts, dried-up old dykes. Is that what she wanted me to say?
“Look, I’m sorry, Judy. I just found out myself.”
It’s only been a couple of hours but already I’ve seen death and rape threats, the deconstruction of my looks, my writing and my sanity. I should know better than to read them and you’d think I’d be mature enough not to let the words fester, but they hold a power greater than their intentions. It’s not the most vicious that cut the deepest, it’s phrases like “talentless hack” and “fame-hungry failure” alongside quotes from my publications and, worst of all, the insinuation that I was the real predator all along: She failed to destroy one man’s reputation so now she’s going after another? Did he turn her down too?
It’s the internet sleuths who never bought my story first time around, the true-crime junkies with their alternative facts dressed up as critical thinking. And a new generation who still think a powerful man’s career is worth more than his victim’s life.
“Lou, I don’t think you are fully aware of the seriousness of this situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” She sighs. “You’re going to have to think about taking time off while all of this is ongoing.”
I’m sure this isn’t a disciplinary matter, but I know what a tough opponent Judy is and I just don’t have the energy.
“So you’re suspending me?”
“Of course not. But I am worried about you and, I’m not going to lie, I’m worried about the effect on the department too. I’ll recommend you for some extra annual leave, just until this blows over.”
I don’t bother to reply. I just get up and leave her office, heavy with the weight of yet another situation I’ll have to explain to Alex. This trial is already infecting my home, my work and my sanity. I still have the ammunition to put a stop to it, but I can no longer leave anything to chance. I’m going to need some help.
THIS CONVERSATION IS VERY DIFFERENT to the last. Mick Craddock’s voice gushes down the phone, his excitement palpable.
“So you’re telling me your source can confirm that Damien Corrigan has had sex with underage boys?”
“I have evidence that he has solicited and paid for it, yes.”
The rain clips the side of my face as I shelter in the archway of the campanile in Trinity’s front square.
“Can you share this evidence with me?”
“You publish the allegation on Monday and I will share everything I have with you if Highfield don’t settle by close of business on Tuesday.”
Craddock’s laughter rumbles through the phone like a gust of wind.
“I like your style,” he says. “But how do I know you’re telling the truth if you won’t show me what you’ve got?”
“If you don’t want it, there are plenty of tabloids who do.”
While I’m sure this is true, I don’t know how many of them would take it on without more substantial proof. But Craddock, I already know he has a casual relationship with the truth.
“Now, I didn’t say that,” he says. “But you’re asking me to publish a serious allegation and I have no way of knowing if it’s true or not.”
“You didn’t seem too worried about facts when you wrote about me last week. I haven’t seen Shauna Power in thirty years yet you had us in a room together conspiring against Highfield.”
There’s a pause and I know I’m in with a chance. It’s all about margins of probability to him and I just need to tip the balance in my favor.
“Look,” I say, “the allegations are already out there in sworn testimony so you’re not saying anything new. And Corrigan hasn’t been proven innocent. He’s not going to open up that can of worms.”
“It’s not Corrigan I’m worried about.”
“I doubt Highfield care too much for him either. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s quietly let go once our case is over. It’s not him they’re defending, it’s their own reputation, going back decades. They’re doing this to prevent any more court cases, so they’re not going to go looking for one. Especially one they know they can’t win.”
Students sprint across the cobblestones, laughing as they try to outrun the rain.
“You’re a persuasive woman, Louise,” he says. “You’ve got yourself a deal. On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“If they do settle, then you and I will have a chat about how you came across this information. You know, just point me in the right direction and I’ll do my own investigating. That way, it won’t link directly back to you.”
I was hoping he’d say that.