I go back to the address in Putney at the crack of dawn on Sunday and install myself in a nearby café in the hope of intercepting your aggressor. I sit at a table by the window checking every passer-by. In the course of the morning I consume six espressos and the ‘Mega All-Day Breakfast Combo’. I get nothing for my efforts apart from indigestion and a searing headache. I can’t be sure who You met last night though the apartment building looks rather modest and functional for someone who drives a red Ferrari.
I repeat the exercise every morning the following week with no success. I have to know. By Saturday I am cranky and tired and two kilograms heavier. I feel like I’m wasting my time.
It turns out I’m not wasting my time though, because just as I am settling my bill, here comes that man from the cinema approaching along the pavement dressed in a suit and dragging a small black suitcase. So, your new man is not the driver of the red Ferrari. Cinema man looks tired and worn at the edges today. Has he been away on business? Come in on a transatlantic red-eye? Or was he thrown out of some other woman’s bed? It comes as no surprise to find out that it’s him You were running away from. I never did like the look of that dude.
*
Celeste didn’t want to make a scene while Meghan was working in the cold room, within easy hearing range.
‘What would you like?’ she said with icy calm.
‘You choose,’ he replied. ‘You’re the expert.’
He watched her intently as she selected foliage and stems in dark greens, purples and blues to complement the neutral colour scheme of his flat.
‘I could have reported you to the police, you know… for assault,’ he said. Celeste kept her eyes down as she placed the flowers in an aesthetically pleasing bouquet in her left hand. Steve spoke very quietly as she worked in silence. He seemed to be captivated by the graceful movements of her fingers and the enticing fragrance of the blooms. It created an intensity between them. He didn’t seem to want to embarrass her either. ‘If this was anyone else, I’d delete her number and move on – but it’s not someone else. It’s you. I can’t just turn my feelings off. I like you. Even after the way you behaved on Saturday night. I can’t walk away. I thought we had a good thing.’
Celeste snipped the ends of the cord and placed the flowers on the counter.
‘No, we didn’t,’ she said. ‘It’s not going to work, Steve. Trust me. I can’t be with you.’
‘Why? Why? How can you be so cold?’ he said passionately. ‘What made you panic? I’ve been going over and over it in my head. Did I say or do something to offend you?’
‘What do you want from me?’ said Celeste in exasperation.
‘The truth,’ replied Steve. ‘What are you hiding? Is there someone else?’
Suddenly she’d had enough. She didn’t owe this man any explanations. If she had to hurt his feelings to get rid of him, so be it. Forgetting about Meghan, she raised her voice.
‘Yes, there is someone else,’ said Celeste. ‘There always has been and there always will be. Whatever happens, whatever I do, he’ll always be here inside my head.’ She tapped her fingertips against her temple. ‘Do you understand? Now, can you leave me in peace?’
‘I understand perfectly,’ he said grimly. ‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before you put your profile up on Tinder.’
He slapped a twenty-pound note down on to the counter, picked up the flowers and opened the door.
‘Keep the change,’ he said.
There was a metal wastepaper bin screwed to a lamppost a little further along the pavement. Through the glass frontage of the shop, Celeste watched him shove the bouquet into it as he walked briskly away.
*
‘What’s going on?’ said Meghan as she came into the shop front carrying a bucket full of closed daffodils that she had divided up into bunches of ten. ‘Wasn’t that the guy you’ve been dating?’
‘It’s over,’ said Celeste.
She had thought she didn’t care but suddenly she was choking back her tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Meghan.
‘It’s OK,’ said Celeste. ‘It never really started.’
Tears were streaming down her face.
Meghan walked over to the door, turned the lock and flipped the sign to read ‘CLOSED’.
‘You need a break,’ she said. ‘I’m going to make you a cup of tea.’
*
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ said Meghan. Celeste had calmed herself down and they were sitting together in the office sipping mugs of tea.
‘It was like I was there, Meghan, a waking nightmare, the old PTSD coming back. I was OK with what we were doing, until that damn song started playing… then I was back there, down in the mud, with “him” on top of me, and smoke and flames all around, burning, burning… and I was fighting to get free and suffocating and screaming to break away.’
Meghan looked at her with concern. ‘Did he put you under pressure…’ She nodded towards the shop front. ‘Try to force you?’
‘No,’ said Celeste ruefully. ‘Steve was a perfect gentleman. I was the one who was out of order. Oh God, Meghan, I just can’t do it. It was good… and then it wasn’t… His hands on me felt… I can’t be with another man… He’s still here… that bastard… He’s still in my hair, in my skin, in my hands, in my head. I can see him… I can taste him. I can’t get rid of him. How am I ever supposed to be with someone else? Just that song, playing on his CD, and suddenly I’m shaking and gagging and fighting to get away.’
‘It’s not going to be easy,’ said Meghan, clearly not wanting to say too much. ‘After what you lived through… the trauma you have suffered… You’re going to find it hard to trust someone ever again. But if you take it slowly… one step at a time…’
‘No,’ said Celeste. ‘I’ll never get over it because I don’t want to get over it. I can never forgive myself for what happened that night. It is my fault. I was so weak; I always gave in to that bully. His word was my command. I should never have gone to the party. I should never have let him ply me with alcohol and drugs. I should never have let him treat me like a whore.’
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ said Meghan. ‘You are not to blame. You were a child… Just seventeen years old. It was a tragic accident.’
‘I was the one who locked the door, Meghan!’ cried Celeste. ‘I was the one who turned the key… How can I ever forgive myself for that?’
‘Things don’t happen in a vacuum. Let’s call this out. That boy subjected you to mental abuse. There’s a term for it now – coercive control – months and years of it when you were both teenagers and at a time when you were particularly vulnerable and impressionable because, let’s face it, you were living in a broken home. If anyone is to blame, it’s Ben. Why should you suffer all your life for what happened that night? You shouldn’t be torturing yourself like this.’
Meghan took Celeste’s hands and looked into her eyes.
‘Ben’s the one who deserves to be punished!’