‘I can’t stand her,’ Ally says after swallowing a large mouthful of apple pie. ‘I think she’s atrocious.’
Ernest grins at his sister from the other end of the table and rolls his eyes. ‘You’re just saying that because she’s a woman and you think it makes you sound interesting, being dead set against a fellow female.’
‘A fellow female!’ Ally lets out a laugh of contempt, but her expression is playful. She and her brother do this often. I sometimes join in, but not today. ‘I don’t remember ever accusing you of being deliberately critical of our previous PM simply because he was a man.’ She hiccups loudly and then helps herself to another spoonful of pie. I wonder how many glasses of wine have passed her lips since I was last sitting here.
‘I simply disagreed with him on certain social stances in the manifesto. His gender had nothing to do with it.’
‘My dislike of the Ice Queen has nothing to do with her gender …’
‘And I certainly didn’t resort to using names like that,’ Ernest cuts in. ‘A tad tacky, don’t you think?’ He rounds on Ally’s boyfriend now. ‘What would your website make of our prime minister?’
‘Oh, don’t give me that,’ she says before the embarrassed-looking young man next to her can utter a word. ‘Julianne, do you have any thoughts?’
For the second time this evening, Ally seems to expect me to rally to her defence. I just want her to go. I want them all to go. I am regretting my decision to come back downstairs with Louise. Couldn’t my migraine have just exempted me for the rest of the night? Why on earth had I felt compelled to put up with this? I try my best to focus my gaze on Ally.
‘I think I might be out of my depth here. I’m not British.’ It’s rare for me to use my nationality to back out of a debate, but it’s the best I can come up with.
‘You’d be the perfect commentator for that very reason!’ Ally takes another sip of wine, swallows, then turns to Stephen. He’s been sitting looking morose and haunted the whole time I’ve been there. He must be in quiet anguish about what I’ve been doing upstairs, all the while trapped with a drunken Ally and the rest for company. I want to tell him everything’s going to be okay – that I’m on his side. That I haven’t let him down. I take a look at my husband’s face, staring at me across the table, full of concern and kindness. A kindness I can no longer accept.
‘Stephen, tell me,’ Ally slurs, ‘what do you think of our current PM? And before you answer, bear in mind she voted against an equal age of consent and gay adoption.’
I feel a jolt of surprise pulse through me. Although I’ve never regarded my son’s sexuality as taboo or even much of a talking point, this sudden reference disconcerts me. I tell myself she doesn’t mean anything bad by it. She’s just a bit tipsy and keen to get a heated debate going. But Stephen’s face doesn’t make me relax. He looks like a rabbit in the headlights.
‘That’s unfair,’ Ernest says. ‘You’re just quoting bite-size snippets you’ve read from some left-wing broadsheet.’
‘Oh, shut up, Ernest. It’s not you I’m talking to.’ She hits the table with her palm. ‘Come on, Stephen, fight for your people!’
Stephen looks hopelessly bewildered by her behaviour and then I see his eyes, glistening, threatening to overspill.
‘Stephen, honey?’ I say quietly, and go to reach out a hand to him, but he gets up and walks quickly out of the room.
‘Look what you’ve done now,’ Ernest says, looking smugly at his sister. ‘You’ve upset the delicate little flower.’
His words snag on me like barbed wire. I feel my eyelids fly open as I turn to stare at him.
‘What did you say?’ My voice is slightly raspy and I need to clear my throat, but I stay very still and quiet and stare at Ernest’s belligerent, smirking face. Slowly, his expression changes to surprise mingled with irritation.
‘Sorry?’ he says, as if he had simply misheard me.
‘I asked you to repeat what you just said about my son.’ I say the words firmly and clearly. There is an ear-ringing silence. Then James says quietly, ‘Julianne …’
‘I want him to explain what he said.’
‘I don’t think I have to explain it,’ Ernest says. The flicker of a smile is twitching his lips.
‘Ern,’ Louise says now, putting a hand on his arm.
‘Get off me,’ he snaps, pulling his arm away. ‘You’re always pawing at me.’
‘Delicate little flower.’ I almost spit the words at him. I don’t want them to get lost in whatever marital spat he might be about to have. ‘Could you explain your choice of words to me, Ernest?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Julianne. You’re not thick. Your boy’s got no backbone. I know it. James knows it. You know it. Just a weak-willed little queer boy with no drive, no focus, no direction.’
Louise gasps at her husband’s words and Ally knocks over her wineglass. I hear its stem snap as it catches her plate and see the flash of red staining the cream tablecloth. I ignore it. Instead, I look over at James. He has his eyes lowered to the table in front of him.
‘Wow, some friend you have here,’ I say to him. ‘Are you going to let him talk about your son that way?’
Everyone watches as James raises his head and looks me in the eye. ‘I think we should all calm down,’ he says slowly.
‘I don’t feel very calm,’ I say, staring resolutely back. ‘I’m fucking furious.’
‘I think we better go,’ Louise now says, moving to get up.
‘Stay where you are.’ Ernest puts a hand out to hold her still.
Even though everything is motionless, it feels to me as if the whole room is starting to tremble, like there’s some unstoppable force awakening within the walls. It’s been caged for far too long.
Louise sits down, rubbing her arm. She looks a little dazed, as if her mind is trying to protect her from what’s happening. I look over at her, watching her trying not to cry as she stares down at her half-eaten apple pie.
‘Is that how a guy with backbone acts?’ I say with venom. ‘Manhandling women? Treating them like they’re his property? If that’s your idea of having “drive”, I thank God my son’s nothing like you.’
James stirs again. ‘Julianne, please stop.’
I feel something crack within me, a space between him and me getting wider. I slam my fist on the table and it makes everyone jump. ‘Stop? Did you not hear what he called your son? A “weak-willed little queer boy”. Is that the kind of language you’re going to tolerate? Are you really that pathetic? Does that fucking asshole mean so much to you that you won’t even defend your own kid?’
James doesn’t speak and for a moment I think I’m going to have to endure another bout of silence. Then, to my surprise, Ally turns to her brother and says: ‘You’re a cunt, Ernest.’
That word always shocks me a little and apparently I’m not the only one, as both Louise and Cameron look aghast.
‘It’s true. That’s not the first time he’s said stuff like that about Stephen. You should hear what he’s like behind closed doors. It would be sickening if it weren’t all so fucking hypocritical.’
Ernest stands up and for a second I think he’s going to fly at his sister. Then he stops jerkily and sits back down. In a quiet, dangerous voice he says, ‘I think you’ve had too much wine, Aphrodite.’
‘Don’t call me that. You’re afraid, big bro. Aren’t you? You’re scared the secrets of Ernest Kelman MP will be leaked to the Daily Mail.’ Her eyes turn back to me. ‘I’m sure this has crossed my brother’s mind quite a bit.’ She reaches for her wineglass then, realising it’s broken, grabs her boyfriend’s and drinks the last drops from that.
Ernest is now grinding his nails into the tablecloth, looking at Ally as if he’d like nothing better than to murder her. ‘You really don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t I? Shall I start by recalling a few choice occasions with you and Rupert Ashton when we were teenagers? Or how about someone a bit closer to home?’ She smirks and looks over obviously at James and then back to Ernest. ‘Maybe I should ask James about that?’
The trembling I’m feeling underneath me is now rising in turbulence. I feel my hands shaking so I scrunch them up tight and force myself to speak without shouting. ‘What on earth are you both talking about?’
Ally gives a fake laugh. ‘Oh, come on, Julianne, you must know. Granted, I’ve left off making quite so many digs at Ernest about it over the years, but it’s surely pretty obvious. Ernest used to fuck your husband. I don’t think he still does, don’t worry. No affair has been had. He wouldn’t dare in case the press got wind of it. No, they were just bed-buddies at Eton and I suspect at Oxford, too.’ She’s looking at Ernest instead of me as she says all this, but now turns to James. His face has gone extremely red and he’s still looking at the table. He couldn’t look more guilty. ‘Come on, James. Don’t play dumb. We all knew you guys liked to screw around. There’s nothing wrong with it. At least, there wasn’t until he –’ she jabs a finger at her brother ‘– starts spouting his anti-gay bullshit about a boy who’s worth ten of him. And you, his father, just sit there and let him. Stephen is your son, for fuck’s sake. Have you really not got the courage to stand up for him, or is precious Ernest worth more to you than your own flesh and blood?’
I hold on to the table to keep myself steady. For a second I think I might faint, but manage to keep upright. ‘Is this true, James?’ Everyone is looking at him now, but he won’t move. I have half a mind to throw a plate at him, anything to get a reaction. I am furious. The anger I thought had subsided earlier is coursing through me with such strength I want to scream. ‘James! Answer me. Is it true? What Ally’s saying?’
He doesn’t say anything and Ernest starts speaking. ‘This is all ancient history …’
‘Shut up!’ I scream at him, then turn back to my husband. ‘So what does it mean? Are you gay? Bisexual? Are there any other secrets I’m going to find out today? Because, please, we’re on a fucking roll here.’
That gets a reaction. He looks at me now and in his face is a combination of panic and anger. ‘Stop talking, Julianne.’
I stare right back at him. ‘Don’t you fucking dare tell me what to do. Is this where you tell me everything’s fine and it’s all a mistake? Is this where you try to comfort me and pull the wool over my eyes?’ I’m going somewhere I’m terrified of, but it’s within me and I know it needs to come out. I can’t hide it any longer. It’s not good enough. All my demons are here right next to me – all the insecurities and doubts and fears of the past few hours are rushing to the surface like bile and I can’t stop. I have to keep going. ‘Because men wouldn’t be the only thing you’re into, would it?’ I see his eyes dart around him, like a trapped animal.
‘Julianne, for God’s sake, calm down,’ Ernest says. I’m in the process of standing up, jolting the table as I do so.
‘Calm down? I don’t know what weird shit is going on between you, but I’m sick of it. You’re all the same. You just care about yourselves. You close in and protect the pack. All of you, you’ve always been like that. I’ve always been the outsider, never part of the little club. You act like you’re all goddamn invincible.’
Ernest just looks at me and shakes his head, as if he’s mildly repulsed at what he’s seeing. ‘This kind of hysteria might work in America, Julianne, but here it’s rather tedious. I think it would be better if my wife and I went on our way.’
Louise nods enthusiastically. ‘Yes, I think that’s best.’
‘Sit the fuck down.’ I say it with such emphasis they both obey instantly. ‘You think you’re all so special? Think James here is the best thing since sliced fucking bread? You just wait.’
I run from the room, leaving them gaping at me, and take the stairs two at a time. Stephen comes out of his room on the landing and I’m surprised to find Cassie following behind him. ‘Mum, what’s going on?’
Cassie looks shocked and concerned. ‘I found him crying on the stairs, then I heard shouting. Are you okay, Julianne? Is there anything I can do?’
‘No. I mean yes. Help Stephen pack a bag and get some clothes together. We’re going away for a bit.’
She looks taken aback, and I can’t blame her, but I don’t want to pause to explain.
‘Oh, okay, and James …’
‘Is staying here,’ I say as I walk past them. I stop and look back at Cassie. ‘I’m so sorry to ask, but is there any chance you could take Stephen to my mother’s?’ She’s taken aback, I can see it in her eyes, but I don’t wait for her to respond. ‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. You can call for a car from the place my mother often uses and put it on her account. Please. I just don’t want Stephen here for … for a bit.’ I half-expect him to start talking now, to say he doesn’t need to be sheltered, but he doesn’t. He just stands there.
‘Of course,’ Cassie says. ‘Anything I can do, I’m here.’ She turns to Stephen. ‘Come on, let’s get some overnight things sorted.’ It’s like he’s a child and she’s getting ready for him to go on holiday. For a second I think about going over to hug him, but instead I continue towards my room, flinging the door open so it bangs against the wall. I want to show them. I want to fucking show them and watch them implode – their circle of trust will disintegrate when they realise what their precious James is really like. I can’t believe I ever swallowed his preposterous lies. I almost laugh to myself at how easy I am to win over. Grabbing my tablet, I run past Stephen and Cassie, who are still standing and staring. ‘Don’t come down,’ I say. ‘I’ll come up and get you in a sec.’
I run back downstairs, down the corridor, tapping at the home screen, shoving in the USB, awkwardly clutching it tightly in my left hand, and go back into the lounge. Ernest and Louise are standing again, as if about to flee. ‘I told you to fucking sit!’ I snap at them.
‘We aren’t used to being treated like this,’ Ernest says pompously.
‘Julianne, please, just sit down. I think you’re just having a bad day.’ Louise has her kind voice back on, but it’s tinged with panic.
I laugh, probably sounding slightly hysterical. ‘You want to see a bad day? You wait.’ I drop the device roughly beside the plates, wedging it up against a dish of half-eaten apple pie, and lean across it, zooming in on the girl’s face, her name, her details. Part of me expects James to stop me, but he’s still sitting and I can see him shaking, as if trembling from the cold.
‘This is a young woman named Ashley Brooks and I believe, in four weeks’ time, my husband – your precious James – is going to rape her.’ I flick through the files. ‘And this is Carly Gale. She’s booked in for February. These are drug addicts, by the way. Prostitutes. People on benefits. People with mental health issues. People with no support, no family to help them, no friends, no job. And children. Children from care homes. Children without parents. Children who have probably known nothing but abuse and trauma. This is what he does. He subscribes to some sick company who procure these people for him. This is the type of man he is.’
I see Louise’s face has drained of colour as she falls back down into her chair. Ernest shows no sign of emotion, but after a few moments he walks past me calmly and clicks the lock button on the side of the tablet.
‘Enough,’ he says simply. He then sits back down next to his wife so it’s only me left standing. I feel slightly disarmed and exposed and so, at a loss as to what else to do, I sit down, too.
‘What is the point of all this?’ Ernest says, still talking quietly and calmly. ‘What do you expect to get from it? To shame your husband? To see him prosecuted? To get back at me? If so, I have to say, going to the police would be a pretty strange move from you of all people.’
His words confuse me, but I latch on to one of them. Police. Yes, that’s it. I think I always knew it would come to that, deep down, but only now am I really thinking about how it would work.
‘Julianne, can you hear me?’
I nod. ‘Yes, I can. And yes, I will be going to the police. I don’t know what good it will do, but I know it’s the right thing.’
He looks pensive as he nods. ‘I see. And how much will you tell them?’
I take a deep breath. ‘Everything. Every single bit of it. Every single sick little secret. I mean it,’ I say.
I see a flash of something in Ernest’s eyes after I say this and it scares me slightly, shaking my resolve, so I look away. James, who is still trembling, his face now in his hands, looks like a wreck of a man. Someone I don’t know. A complete stranger.
Ernest’s voice takes my gaze away from my husband.
‘Julianne, please listen to me.’ His tone is low and commanding and he fixes upon me with an intense, hard gaze. ‘It won’t make a difference.’
I look at him in consternation. What is he talking about? I try to ask this out loud, but my jaw is aching from all my shouting and I just manage a ‘Whha’ sound.
‘I’m telling you, Julianne. This is bigger than your husband banging a few worthless drug addicts. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’
I don’t understand. Either that, or I don’t want to. ‘I don’t care how big it is. The police won’t turn me away. They’ll confiscate his stuff, trace the files, arrest him.’ I nod my head in the direction of James, unable to say his name. ‘Hopefully arrest whatever sick fuck sent them to him, too.’
‘Julianne, please stop.’ He is still talking maddeningly slowly, still looking me in the eye. It is as if he’s trying to tell me something without actually saying it out loud. ‘The police won’t turn you away, but they won’t get very far.’
I make a sound of disbelief. ‘Sure they will. They can do all kinds of things with computer forensics …’ I know I’m out of my depth here, but I’m also not prepared to believe what he’s saying.
Ernest sighs. ‘Do I have to spell it out for you? The police investigation will fail. They will be polite, say they will look into it, perhaps launch an official investigation, but if they do it will either be for show or it will fail at the first hurdle. No arrests will be made. No names will be released to the public.’
I glance over at Louise, but she’s looking away. Ally has her eyes fixed on her brother, but isn’t saying anything. Cameron, meanwhile, is staring around, apparently unsure whether to be excited or appalled by what is happening.
‘There is a market for this sort of thing, Julianne,’ Ernest continues, ‘and I’m not talking about your husband indulging himself every month or so. Acting out his fantasies. Having other people pick up the pieces, sort out his mess. I’m talking about a market worth billions, where people will pay a premium to do whatever they want and the circles in which they move will protect them. Always.’
His words aren’t hitting home. I look over at James, hoping Ernest’s little speech will get some kind of reaction from him, but he still just sits there, his hands pressed into his face, apparently in a great deal of distress, like a scared child. ‘What circles?’ I ask. ‘Do you mean you and your gang of privileged jerks? Lawmakers are not above the law. This is England.’
‘Spoken like a true American.’ Ernest’s smug tone is threatening to return. ‘Julianne, you’re not naive. You’ve seen the news stories. There have been investigations, very high-profile ones, in the past about similar things. Things of a rather niche nature. Things it is within the public interest to keep swept under the carpet. Nobody wants to live in a nation run by paedophiles, sadists and perverts. Such words, after all, are part of a discourse put forward by those who don’t truly understand. Wouldn’t it be better if we just allowed the best people to reach the top without having their sexual preferences judged by those who have no right to judge? Look at your son, for example. Wouldn’t it be a tragedy for him if his tastes became the subject of an inquiry? They would have been, you know, not too long ago. But society moved on. And it will again.’
It’s not confusion that grips my words now. It’s anger. ‘It’s not the same,’ I hiss, my gritted teeth slightly obscuring the words. ‘It is not the same.’
Ernest smiles the winning vote-for-me, I’m just like you smile he uses on the public when approaching election day. ‘You keep telling yourself that, Julianne.’
I look at him with disgust. ‘You’re vile. James is going to prison. And if you’re involved in this, so will you.’
He just sits there and laughs. ‘I’m sorry to say it, but you are being blind. You have been manipulated by your government, your press and your husband. Although two out of these three are of course not technically “yours”. Your adopted government, I should say.’
‘People do get found out. People do have to answer for stuff like this. Just look at the news. It happens all the time.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘That’s because the media thrives on sex, gossip and middle-class outrage. It’s just a question of where you shine a light and how much you give them. Why do you think it’s only been film producers, TV presenters and film stars who have been the main focus? Have you ever stopped to wonder why everyone gets so hot and bothered about them but conveniently forget about the real people in power? These public outings have been a smokescreen. Everyone thought they were going to open up the floodgates – flush out the perverts and bring us forward into a more transparent time. But their purpose was the opposite. Give the public just enough to satisfy their appetite for a revolution but not enough to bring the walls crumbling down.’
This is all too much for me to handle. I let my head sink into my hands, mirroring my husband.
‘He’s right, you know,’ Ally says softly, causing me to look back up and meet her eyes; her usually expressive face blank, her expression now cold, not giving anything away. The drunken, loose-cannon vibe she was giving off earlier is now extinguished.
‘What?’ I snap at her, feeling the anger rising again. ‘You’re defending this? As a woman, you think it’s okay that people – real, living and breathing women, men, girls, boys – can be abused just for the sake of vile individuals getting their fucked-up kicks? Are you seriously telling me, Ally, that the thought of that doesn’t make you feel ill?’
Ally doesn’t answer, but Ernest does. ‘Don’t use that phrase,’ he says. ‘As a woman. I hate that. It immediately takes away any credibility you might have had.’
‘Credibility? That’s exactly what it gives me. I know what it’s like. What it’s like to be a woman confronted constantly by men who persistently try to make you feel weak or stupid or insignificant. The snide comments, the wolf whistles, the offers of sex from random strangers in the street. All of these things exist at the start of a long and disturbing road that ends with the likes of him.’ I jab my finger in the direction of my husband.
Ernest raises his eyebrows. ‘Goodness, James, it’s a wonder your wife doesn’t go into politics. With this level of self-righteous hysteria, she could give the PM a run for her money.’
Ally makes a strange noise, as if inhaling breath in short bursts, desperate to take in the oxygen but afraid of the sound. ‘Ernest isn’t very self-aware,’ she says quietly. A small part of the heavy, uneasy feeling I’m experiencing is somehow tied up with Ally. Having spent a large part of my life in the company of this big personality, the larger-than-life posh girl who’s never minded saying things like ‘oh golly gosh!’ in her loud, resonant voice in public, it is weirdly devastating to now hear her speak in little more than a whisper. ‘Julianne,’ she continues quietly, ‘I think you should talk to your husband. We’ll all go and leave you both in peace.’
Again, Louise looks up hopefully, and even Cameron stirs, as if ready to make a move, but Ernest once again raises his hand. ‘Just one moment. I think we need to get a few things settled first.’ He’s looking at me as he says this, and there’s an edge of venom in his voice, though he, too, is now talking quietly. ‘I presume we’ve put to bed the ludicrous notion of going to the police about this.’ He waves his hand at the tablet, still leaning against the dishes, the glossy surface of the screen reflecting the warm lights up above.
‘I don’t think we have,’ I cut in.
‘We have, Julianne. You need to understand that. No good will come of it, only anxiety for you and probably the destruction of your marriage.’ He glances at James.
‘I don’t care what you say, I’m not going to stand by …’
‘However,’ Ernest carries on, slightly louder, ‘forgive me for being, shall we say, slightly concerned at your mention of our other little delicacy.’
‘What delicacy?’ I say, confused.
‘Don’t feign ignorance, Julianne. I think we both know what’s underpinning all this.’
At this, I see Ally look up sharply. As if on cue she stands and this time her brother doesn’t try to stop her. ‘Come on, Cameron.’
Her boyfriend looks slightly shell-shocked as he stands up and I see him give the tablet in the centre of the table a fearful glance.
I can’t let Ally go. Half-tempted to stand in front of her to block her exit, I instead try to make eye contact but she’s not looking my way. ‘Ally, you’ll back me up, won’t you?’ It sounds desperate and pleading, but it’s all I can offer her.
My friend pauses on her way to the dining-room door, Cameron stopping behind her abruptly so as not to bump into her.
‘Ally, please. Tell him you’ll come with me to the police.’ My voice rises and cracks, like someone begging for mercy, but it’s my last hope. ‘And Cameron. You saw those files. I promise you, this isn’t nothing. Please. I need you to …’
‘I think Ally and Cameron know what’s good for them. And my sister’s very good at turning a blind eye when it suits her. I think she knows this is one of those moments when her discretion is required.’ Ernest speaks now in a dangerous voice that has a real element of threat to it. ‘Cameron and I understand each other, too, don’t we, Cameron?’ I see the young man look over at Ernest. He’s out of his depth. You and me both, I want to say to him, but it’s clear that, unlike me, he’s not willing to fight. He nods eventually and Ernest nods and smiles in return.
He and Ally exit the room in silence. She doesn’t even look at me as she leaves. I’m astonished. I’ve always had problems with her, always been slightly irritated by her larger-than-life characteristics and direct way of putting things, but I have genuinely counted her as a friend. But here she is, passing me by in my hour of need, obeying her bullying brother rather than coming to my aid. She’s a coward, I think, as she disappears out of sight down the corridor.
‘Ernest, let’s go, please, let’s just go.’ Louise sounds almost as desperate as I am now, reaching for her husband’s arm then flinching when he pulls himself away from her. ‘I don’t think … I’m really not able …’
‘Fine, go back to the house,’ he says. ‘I’m staying here, but you can go. And don’t wait up.’
Louise flinches slightly as he spits this final sentence, then scurries out of the room.
Just us three now. Me, Ernest and the silently crying, trembling man I used to proudly and lovingly call my husband. He used to put his hand over mine if I cried. Rub it slightly with his thumbs in a circle. And, very occasionally, when he cried, I would do the same to him. I can’t imagine comforting him now. I can’t imagine ever touching him again.
Ernest waits until he hears the slam of the front door before starting up again. ‘Julianne. I’m waiting for some assurance you’re not going to do something stupid. Please don’t think you can play me. This isn’t the time for digging up the past. You of all people should know that.’
I try to breathe but it’s as if my airways are shrinking. ‘I don’t know what you’re implying …’
‘I’m talking about Holly Rowe.’
The name hits me like a bullet. ‘What?’ I whisper, staring back at him.
‘Holly Rowe. And I’m really not in the mood for your faux-ignorance right now.’
Ernest’s face is distorting out of proportion. I can’t focus on anything. I go to stand up. ‘I need you to leave. I’m done.’
‘Sit down,’ Ernest says.
‘Do you know,’ I say, struggling to keep the strength in my voice, ‘I’m getting so fucking sick of you telling people what to do in my house.’
‘Noted. But all the same, I need you to sit.’
I look at the two of them seated there, at one end of the large table, then sink back into my seat. ‘I’m not talking about Holly Rowe and I don’t know why you’re bringing her up now,’ I say to my dinner plate. ‘I’m really tired, Ernest. James and I have a lot of talking to do. You probably think bringing up Holly now is some easy way to upset me, but—’
‘So you do remember her after all? We can stop pretending then?’ Ernest says.
This isn’t happening. There’s nothing to talk about here.
‘I told you, I’m not talking about her. Or any of it. James made a mistake. A stupid mistake when he was nineteen. He’s never been unfaithful since. It has … no relevance.’ I can’t stop the tears from slipping out now.
‘Are you at least fooling yourself? Because you’re really not convincing me, Julianne. My patience is being tested.’
‘Your patience! Fucking hell, you dare to talk to me like that after you’ve done God knows what damage to my family.’
‘You said,’ he carries on, almost shouting, too, ‘that you were going to tell the police everything. You said that word, everything.’
‘Yes, and I am.’
‘So I presume you are also talking about Holly Rowe. And if you are, I feel it my responsibility to offer you some advice on the matter.’
I raise my hands to my head, feeling a dull, throbbing pain in my temples. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ernest.’
‘I think you do. I’ve wondered for years whether one day you’d play your little trump card. Give yourself a moment in the limelight. I looked out for the slightest crack in your marriage, waiting for it to come, but you seemed so intoxicated with James – or, rather, with his money – I didn’t really have to worry about that. But now it’s come up, forgive me for not being keen to walk out of here without getting a few things absolutely clear. I’m not a big fan of uncertainty – I have enough of it in my professional life.’
I make a move to get up, but feel myself wobble and sit back down. If I didn’t feel so disoriented I would hit him, lash out, smash his head into the remnants of his apple pie. ‘I don’t know what—’ I begin to say, but he grabs my arm, tight. Very tight.
‘You sat with her, Julianne. You sat with her all night afterwards. You listened to her talk. And then you said we would never speak about it again.’
I feel like I’m breaking. My world is cracking apart at the seams and, if I don’t run, I’ll be swallowed by the darkness underneath. I want to leave, but he’s got me so tight, and James is just sitting there, looking like he’s about to be sick, his face stained with tears.
‘Fuck you,’ I say back through gritted teeth. ‘This is a separate issue …’
‘Are you sure about that? Are you sure you’ve had quite the perfect married life you’ve always made out? Are you sure he’s never got a bit heavy-handed with you when the urge gets too strong?’
‘You’re sick. You’re fucking sick. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m not going to stand for it. I don’t know what you think a silly little affair James had at uni has to do with any of this. And I am still,’ I say, pointing to the tablet, ‘taking that to the police tomorrow.’
‘And when they learn you helped cover up a rape, Julianne? What then?’
My vision distorts. The whole room tilts suddenly. I can’t bear it. ‘No … I didn’t …’ I gasp. I’m struggling to hold myself upright. My head’s made of lead and I’m convinced I’m about to vomit, but nothing comes up.
‘You sat there, holding the hand of a girl your boyfriend had just raped, repeatedly, and you did nothing. You forgave him. You told him you would move on. And then you fucking married him. I had my doubts about it at the time. Personally I was hoping you’d fuck off back to America, but James insisted you’d keep quiet. And you did keep quiet, for twenty-nine years.’
I look down at my hands and for a moment think I can see another hand holding on to mine. A young woman’s hand. A girl’s hand. Fingernails slightly jagged, as if she bites them, and her palm strangely soft. Marks on her arm. Red marks. The beginnings of a bruise.
I start to cry. Long and hard, as if I’ll cry for ever.
‘I’m glad it’s finally hit home,’ Ernest says. He might have started to say something more, but his voice floats away. I’m losing my grip on reality. I can’t hold on. I let go. Everything is slow, soft darkness.