“DON ARE YOU sure you don't want me to stay at home with you today? Because I can if you want. I’ll just call and take it as holiday. It’s not that busy now with half the country off on their annual breaks.”
“No don't worry. I’ll be fine.”
“But Don. You’re not fine. You’re….well you seem depressed.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive.”
“But Don….”
“Look. I’m all right,” he said firmly, the furthest she’d seen him to being anything other than charming to her as he always was. “Please just go to work.”
“So. Can we talk later?” she said in a small voice.
“I expect so.” He walked off to his study and shut the door.
They hadn't known each other well for very long. Grace hadn't thought he was subject to moods and sulks. Even over the Emma-Luke issue, she’d been able to jolly him along. But now he seemed completely closed to her. It worried her a lot. She tried not to cry as she put her car in gear and set off. He wouldn't even discuss her attempts to contact Luke and he’d been evasive about giving her Emma’s email address or mobile number. Well, she would continue to try to contact Luke. If they could get Emma on the telephone to the police in England, maybe that would solve it.
But perhaps the police wouldn't be satisfied with a call from France. She didn't want to wreck their holiday which was apparently going so well. But it was only Tuesday. They’d only been gone since Thursday night. It would be another nine days or so before they’d come back. She thought about it all the way to work and decided on balance that she should not bother Luke any more. He and his young girlfriend were entitled to a holiday without parents pestering them. If Luke did call, she’d have to make something up about an apparent panic. He’d received a letter from Northampton university yesterday. She’d open it and tell him it was about that. She hoped it would be good news for him. Something at least to justify a load of calls to his mobile and apparently urgent emails.
And she’d have to hope that Don came out of his black mood.
AFTER GRACE LEFT for work, Don mooched about for a time but found that he didn't feel like doing anything. He didn't feel like eating breakfast. His work, which usually seemed so urgent and which normally beckoned him irresistibly to his office, especially after nearly a whole day off as he’d had yesterday, had lost any sense of urgency. It hardly seemed to matter.
He hadn't slept very well so he decided to take a couple more paracetamol and go upstairs and lie down. He diverted the calls to his mobile and took that up with him. He drew the curtains in his bedroom and lay down. He couldn't disguise the fact that he felt terribly grim. Those two men who had turned up yesterday blithely threatening him with arrest and a search warrant had done something to him. They had pierced the veneer with which most of us cloak ourselves which enables us to think that we have some control over our lives, that our lives are orderly, secure and reasonably predictable. Don found that his veneer was dissolving away around him so that he could see the chaos lurking beneath threatening to take hold and get the upper hand.
Even during the long years of caring for Carol and Emma, carrying on of necessity his semi-nocturnal existence, having almost no life outside this house, he had been, he realised, happy. He’d been able to make sense of everything and he’d been in control of his destiny, or had certainly felt that he was. Like millions of others, he had worked hard and behaved well and paid his taxes; he had kept out of the way of the authorities and had not asked the state for help. He had expected in return to be left alone by the powers that be, not to be harassed or interfered with, certainly not to be threatened with arrest, detention, search warrants, accused of appalling acts of abuse towards his own daughter.
It was a sort of covenant with society. Or an equation. You accepted the minuses and expected to be rewarded with the pluses. However when it came down to it, none of the minuses, the hard work, the sacrifice, the restrained behaviour, seemed to matter. He might as well have spent his life on benefits, constantly knocking at the door of social services, having unseemly Eastender-style scenes in the streets, his name and circumstances on the registers of many authorities. It took just one little report by some person unknown, backed up by apparently another report of a wholly nebulous and flimsy nature, to bring the whole structure of his life crashing down like the tissue of impressions and illusions that it must actually be, none of it concrete or solid.
He was reminded again of what Martin had said at the lunch those weeks ago; that the pendulum had swung the other way. Don had assumed at the time that this pendulum would affect other people, not him. But it appeared to have swung unerringly in his direction hitting him squarely on the chin and he was left reeling from the blow.
And the ignominy of having his private relations picked over, his private bodily fluids collected and subjected to examination. The physical products of his pure love for Grace treated as merely laboratory specimens and subjected to analysis by strangers. To him it was both despicable and literally heart-breaking and tears started to form at the corners of his eyes.
Further, a man who had been his client but whom he hardly really knew was now aware of intimate details about him, things that should be kept entirely private between those you knew and actively chose to share them with.
What was more heart-breaking however was that the pure love was fading away, or so it felt. The joy he’d experienced of every aspect of his and Grace’s relationship appeared misty and rather foreign now. It had been soured by those men, as a witch might turn milk sour. He couldn't say if the sourness would lift and the joy would ever return. Martin had asked him if he’d met anyone who knew Grace well and he’d had to say that he hadn't, though that was partly because of Greg’s initial threats to torch her brother’s house and therefore also possibly his if he found out where Grace was living. They’d decided they ought to keep a low profile. Nonetheless this was all from what Grace had said. There was no other evidence of it and Greg hadn't actually done anything since he’d known of Grace’s whereabouts. She hadn't been injured. She’d been back to her old home apparently without incident.
Don realised he had to be open to the possibility that he’d invited someone who was unbalanced into his home, that the things Greg had said were true. What was it he’d said? “You’ll regret ever meeting her. She’ll make your life a misery. You won't know whether you’re coming or going in the end. She’ll make things up. Half the time she’ll be lying to you.” Could it possibly be that since Emma left last Thursday that Grace had changed the sheets and doctored Emma’s bed? He hadn't been aware of Grace doing any changing or washing of bedclothes though most of the time he took little notice of the domestic chores unless he was doing them himself. He’d had a belly full of domestic chores in the past; enough to last him a lifetime and beyond. And he often spent hours on end in his study working.
Could Grace have somehow made the allegation to the police or got someone else to do so? Presumably got someone else to do so because the police’s questioning where Grace was involved hadn't had about it any hint that Grace might be the informant. And quite honestly if she had been the informant then for the police to have gone on for all the world as though she was just a third party would have been dishonest. But could you trust the police anyway? In Don’s own days as a criminal lawyer certainly you couldn't. But things had moved on since then. The close media attention to everything now, the scandals that had occurred, the appeal cases had made the police modify their behaviour.
This other person who'd made some claim was a mystery. Two years ago he'd not even met Grace and she hadn't met him. How could she have found someone who might have been in sufficient proximity to him two years ago to be able now to make a claim of sexual assault at that time. However of course he was forgetting that it was made up. Which meant that the person hadn't had access to him. She just might have at that time sufficient to give the police the additional allegation they needed to support an investigation. It didn’t matter that there was no forensic evidence of an attack two years ago. The case was historical. All Grace would have had to do was find someone suitable who was prepared for some reason to tell lies to the police.
Don sighed to himself. Why Grace would do something like that was a moot point but if she was really as Greg said, then quite possibly she might. He often listened to BBC iplayer while working and he recalled a radio programme which included details of an awful case of some poor man who’d had a long relationship with a woman which was on/off more recently and she had suddenly reported him to the police for rape. He had no idea why at the time, but he’d been incarcerated for over a month and the police had apparently made no effort to investigate his whereabouts at the time of the alleged event or look for any alibi evidence. The woman was seemingly simply believed, possibly because she was a lawyer. It turned out he was a great many miles away at the time of the alleged offence and the whole thing ruined his life. This was obviously an example of what Martin had meant by saying that the default position was now for abuse to be given credence and seriously investigated with less regard for the alleged perpetrator's account. If the woman featured in the programme could make a false allegation of rape, then why couldn't Grace who, if he was honest, he hardly knew, set him up for an investigation for child abuse. An unbalanced person wouldn’t need a reason to do such a thing.
These thoughts turned around in his head. Then he groaned. Of course if he hadn't been so stupid and driven Emma and Luke out of the country, the allegation would almost certainly not have been made at all. If Emma had been available, she could simply have been asked if she’d been abused and she’d have said no. And there wouldn't have been any bruising. Presumably. Unless of course it was all or partly her doing and she’d played a part in orchestrating the allegation, had told someone that her father had abused her, had caused her own bruises. She may even have known the other accuser, apparently a young girl. With or without Emma's involvement, it seemed likely that the informant and anyone connected with the informant had taken advantage of Emma’s sudden absence. If Emma was involved, she wouldn't have to face the music for the time being. If she wasn't, then whoever was doing it could feel safe to initiate some turmoil for Don if only on a temporary basis.
And what about Luke. He essentially wanted his mother to go back to his father. Of course he did. He may have lied about his father’s efforts to stop him going to art college to disguise his true loyalties to his father. He may have given his father a key to get into the house and plant evidence. Presumably this would have been on Sunday when he and Grace were both at church.
Martin had hinted that the informant was probably a member of his household. Martin was an impartial outsider. His opinion was to be respected. However Don turned the facts around, they all led to painful conclusions. It all strained his mental faculties, at least for today. He didn't really want to think hard about these things or anything really. And his confidence in himself was shot to bits. That he’d had the temerity to even imagine that he could conduct a successful relationship with a woman at all now seemed like an impudence, especially a beautiful woman like Grace. That a woman like Grace would take an interest in him was ridiculous. He should have crawled into a hole once Carol had died. He should have buried himself and let the rest of his life moulder away. He was on the point of switching off his mobile when it rang insistently on the bedside table next to him. He reached over and made the connection.
“Hello, it’s Martin here. How are you?”
How indeed, Don thought but he made the customary noises.
“Unfortunately I don't think we’re going to be able to get hold of the forensic evidence the police have. As there’s no due process going on, you were at the station voluntarily and also agreed to the forensic team going in. I imagine they’ll wait for Emma to come back and then try to interview her. So that’s probably about it for the moment.”
Don didn't say anything.
“Don? Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Are you OK?”
“I suppose I’ll have to be.”
“Look you’ve gone through a significant ordeal. There are support groups for people in your situation, who’ve been falsely accused. I can email you the details if you like.”
“OK.”
“Are you sure you’re all right? Is anyone with you?”
“No.”
“Er, is Grace at work? Do you want me to ring her?”
“No. Definitely not. Thanks Martin. I’ll be all right.”
“Look….”
“I’ll be all right. Thanks for what you’ve done. Just send me the bill. All right?”
“Very well. OK then. Bye for now.”
Don said goodbye.
Martin at the other end contemplated calling Grace anyway. He didn't want a suicide victim for a client. You never knew how people would take things. Don was obviously a somewhat bottled up person in his estimation who’d managed to keep the lid on a pretty hard life up until recently. It was these sorts of people who sometimes cracked when they found out how fragile in fact their world really was. However his client was of full age and so far as he knew mental capacity. In normal circumstances, he couldn't contradict his client’s instructions even for the client’s own perceived benefit. He wasn't a psychologist or a counsellor. You had to keep within the bounds of your professional duties. He sighed and pushed the file to one side.
For Don the damage was done. Whatever the outcome was now, and it appeared that for the time being at least the wheels may have stopped turning, he sensed that his life couldn't be the same again. Don did what he’d intended to do before Martin rang. He switched the `phone off and just lay there.
GRACE LEFT WORK early. She hoped to get back and suggest to Don that they go out for a meal. They didn't do this often but she’d got nothing ready that morning and she hoped that a little treat would be just the thing to get Don out of the doldrums. They could walk to the Duck and Lizard. She’d called the pub and they’d said it wouldn't be necessary to book. She imagined a nice meal, wine, a gentle stroll back, looking over the hedges at the gorgeous view. It was warm enough to eat outside. She was starting to look forward to it very much as she pulled into the drive.
The house was quiet as she opened the back door. She called to Don but there was no answer therefore she went around the house looking for him, first in the kitchen and the sitting room, then in his study. It would be unusual indeed for him to be in bed at this time. He normally appeared to be able to stay up for hours, far longer than she could.
But he had to be upstairs as he was nowhere else. And she found him in their bedroom with the curtains drawn, lying on the bed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. He didn't stir as she entered the room and for one horrible moment, she thought he might be dead. She gasped and then he looked over at her, but a second later he turned again to regard the ceiling above him.
“Oh Don,” she went over to him relieved and, sitting on the edge of the bed, she took his hand. It felt quite cool.
“Don’t worry,” he said without looking at her, “I’m not dead. Have you ever seen a dead person?”
“Well….no.”
“Their faces go sunken. They go ghostly pale. Oh and they evacuate their bladder and bowels.”
“Don stop it.”
“There’s no point pretending.”
“What?”
“That the unpleasant things in life don't exist.”
“Well perhaps you’d feel a little better if we were to go out for a nice meal together tonight. We could….”
“I’m not going out.”
“It’d do you good.”
“I’m not going out.”
“But….”
“I don't want to go.”
“Yes but once you get there you’d….”
“Please stop. I don't feel hungry. I don't want to go anywhere.”
“Have you eaten today at all?”
“Whether I have or not it doesn't make any difference. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Well OK then I’ll make our dinner to have at home as usual. What do you fancy? Can I bring you up a nice glass of wine while I’m doing it? Or will you come downstairs and sit with me in the kitchen and have a glass while I’m cooking?”
“No I don't want anything to eat or drink. I’ll get some water from the bathroom if I feel like it.”
Grace wasn't sure how to cope with all this. Should you feign anger towards the person and tell them to pull themselves together, that there were plenty of people in the world far worse off? Or should you let them have a dark period which hopefully in most cases they’d snap out of in time? Should you get a doctor in? She didn't know. Should you try to get them to talk about the ordeal they’d been through?
“I’ve decided not to try to contact Luke and Emma any more,” she said. “They ought to be able to have a nice holiday without a lot of worry at home.” Don didn't respond. “Have you heard any more from the police?”
“No.”
“Have you thought about who might have made the report to the police?”
“I can't be bothered. What’s the point.”
“Don, please don't give up. A little anger wouldn't be out of place here.”
“Grace. I know you’re only trying to help. But really, what I really want is to be left alone.”
“But,” Grace said in a small voice, “I don't want to be on my own. Can we at least go to bed together?”
“If we must.”
“OK. I’ll just go and lock the doors and clean my teeth.”
This she did and when she got back to the room with a couple of glasses of water for them, Don was undressed in bed but he still wore his T shirt and underpants. She slipped in beside him. She wouldn't cry. After a time she reached for her book that she was reading at the moment. There was enough light to read by without turning on her bedside lamp. The story seemed trivial and banal and very unlikely indeed. She needed badly for Don to love her. She reached over and took his hand but it lay limply in hers. She rolled over and wrapped herself around him but there was no reaction whatsoever. His eyes were closed now and his breathing shallow. She couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep. Gradually she drifted off herself hoping that overnight, proximity would result in habit reasserting itself and that at the very least he’d want to embrace with her again.
“I’M NOT GOING TO work today.”
“Don't be silly.”
“I can't leave you like this.”
“I’ll get up in a minute. Off you go.”
“I think you should see a doctor.”
“Grace. Hasn’t it sunk in yet? I want to be on my own.”
“Don! Please!”
“Don. Please,” he mimicked.
Grace stood next to his side of the bed, fully dressed. She’d got ready for work, hoping that keeping up a normal routine might spur Don into some sort of normal activity himself. It didn't seem to have worked therefore she’d decided not to go in today.
“Would you mind please not hovering over me like that,” said Don. “I really don't like it.”
Grace started to feel angry. As she’d thought last night, maybe one approach that might work would be to remind him that he wasn't unique and moreover that in his particular case, he bore a little of the responsibility for what had happened. It was only incidental but nonetheless he hadn't acted very sensibly.
“Look Don, if you hadn't made such a fuss to Luke about him and Emma, they wouldn't have taken themselves off to France and Emma would have been able to tell the police that the claims were nonsense.”
“Credit me with some sense woman.I think I’ve possibly worked that out for myself.”
“OK, then if Emma had actually been here, the person who made the allegation to the police almost certainly wouldn't have.”
“Yes. The person who made the allegation,” Don said coldly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Read into it what you like.”
“Don. You don't think I did do you? Surely not!”
Don didn't say anything.
“Or Luke?”
Again there was no response.
“Don please say you don't think either of those things.”
Don rolled over and faced the other way.
“I can't believe this. Don,” she said sharply walking round to the other side of the bed so that she could face him again, “how could you? We’re a….a….unit. The four of us were all starting to get on quite well. You and I have been so happy together. This can't be happening.” She sat down on the bed and put her face in her hands. She heard Don say:
“Well if you don't like it, you know what to do about it.” Grace started to cry. Don didn't lift a finger to try to comfort her. After a time she stopped crying, cleaned up her face and left for work.
DON WAS SURPRISED at himself. It had been like another person taking over and doing the talking. He never normally spoke to anyone like that, least of all a woman who until yesterday had been the love of his life.
But the other person was dictating what he said.
And he found he actually enjoyed hurting Grace, causing a reaction and coldly observing it. His own self, his real self was still buried somewhere deep inside but he couldn’t now reach that self. And it was becoming fainter and fainter and less and less accessible by the minute.
AND SO IT WENT on. Day after day. Grace stopped talking to Don for fear of what he might say to her. He did start to get up and spent his time as far as she could tell watching daytime TV. She made meals. He ate a little. He refused alcohol. He refused her occasional attempts to get him to see a doctor. She thought about asking the vicar to come and visit Don, but decided against it. Both she and Don were private people. She didn't want to have to tell anyone about the sordid things Don had been accused of.
She called Martin and told him what was happening including that Don seemed to think that she might be his accuser and that she thought he should see a doctor but he wouldn't. There wasn't much that Martin could say. He gave her the general information that no-one could be forced to have medical attention without actually being certified. He suggested that she bide her time until Emma got back. And so that’s what she did. In fact she counted the days. It seemed like an eternity.
THE WEATHER HAD changed at last. The day Luke and Emma were due to return the sky turned black and a furious thunderstorm erupted. Grace sat in the kitchen and waited for them. Rain was drumming on the windows and lightning periodically lit up the dark clouds. Luke had texted that they’d be back about eight in the evening and he sent her short texts as they got closer. She tried to get Don to come to the kitchen and meet them but he wouldn't. And then suddenly they were there, bursting in heaving their luggage in with them, somewhat rain-soaked but laughing and saying hello. Despite the weather, they brought the sun in with them. Grace was so relieved she of course started to cry and Luke of course thought it was because she had missed him and was happy and he gave her a huge hug.
“Where’s dad?” said Emma and was immediately alarmed at Grace’s worried expression. “Has something happened to him? Where is he?”
Grace shook her head, hardly able to speak. “He’s in the sitting room.” She sniffed and took out her handkerchief.
“Has something happened mum?” said Luke as Emma rushed into the sitting room. She nodded.
“What is it mum?”
“We’d better go in after Emma,” said Grace and they both followed her. Emma was looking at her father in disbelief. He appeared to have aged ten years. His hair and clothes were dishevelled, he was thinner, he had two week’s growth of white beard, and frankly he did smell a bit. Emma was trying to get him to tell her what was wrong. She asked if perhaps it was one of his sisters who was ill, who had died maybe but he wasn't responding. He looked at her briefly, shook his head and then went back to watching a soap on the TV.
Emma started to cry. “Has he had a stroke or something ?” she asked Grace.
“No,” Grace said. She was crying too. She got up and said she’d take them back into the kitchen and explain there what had happened.
“No. I think we should stay in here,” said Luke. He picked up the TV remote and turned the volume down. “Whatever it is, perhaps we can all sort it out together.”
So Grace told them. She had no information what had happened at the police station apart from the very basics given to her by Martin. All she could tell them was that Don had been there most of the Monday after their departure to France being questioned about having sexually abused Emma during her childhood and now.
“Who told the police that?” said Luke.
“We don't know,” said Grace.
Emma had stopped crying and was frowning. She and Luke looked at each other.
“What?” said Grace.
“I think we know who did it,” said Emma. “In fact I’d stake my life on it.”
“I’d bet quite a bit on it too,” said Luke.
“Yeah and you don't know everything,” Emma said to Luke.
“What do you mean, everything?”
“I didn't tell you because I didn't want to upset you. Alex told me that your dad had had an affair with her mother when she was younger until, she said, Greg moved onto another one.” Emma looked at Grace. “Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t worry. It’s no big surprise to me,” said Grace. “But who’s Alex?”
“A girl I work with. Luke knows her too. They were at school together. Anyway, she seemed to have a kind of fixation on Greg. She said he was the nearest thing to a father she’d ever had, that other men her mother had lived with had tried it on with her but that Greg never had. And that she’d kept in touch with Greg. Sorry Luke. I didn't see any reason to tell you.”
“Oh God,” said Luke, “and she was there that night I went round to see dad. I thought, we discussed it didn't we, that she might actually be living there with him although it seemed incredible because of their ages. He’ll have put her up to it. You don't know what my dad’s like.”
Suddenly Don spoke for the first time. To Emma. Looking at her coldly he said, “So did you tell her that I’d abused you?”
“Dad! No of course not. I….no not that. Not at all.”
“So what did you tell her? You told her something, didn't you?”
“It was….it was just that when I first came home from uni and found you two, you know, practically having it off in the kitchen, I mean I didn't like it. Sorry Grace but it was a huge shock. And just having someone I didn't know living in the house. I just told Alex about it and that I didn't like it and she kind of insinuated that I was jealous. She used the word pervy.”
“Was that it?” said Don still looking icy.
“More or less except that after I’d moved to the room downstairs and mentioned that to her too, she said how convenient that’d be. I started to think about what she’d insinuated before and it made me think she was suggesting something going on between me and dad. I mean how sick can you get, but when I challenged her about it she just said she’d meant it would be convenient if I wanted to have friends round.”
“Well thanks for your support,” said Don sarcastically.
“Look,” said Luke, “Emma wasn't to know that Alex and my dad would end up together. And that they’d concoct a complete load of shite and go running to the police with it. Though he probably made her do that. Somehow my dad always gets away with things himself. It’ll be her who gets any come-back.”
“There is something else,” said Emma. “It’s just that Alex had offered that I could go and live in her shared house to get away from here because she said there was a spare room. Then she said I could actually have her room for the last weeks of my summer holiday as she wasn't going to be there. But then she sort of back-tracked about it. I didn't want the room anyway but it made me think that she didn't want me and Luke to think she was living with Greg. You’ve no idea what she’s like. She’s such a slippery customer. I thought that with her upbringing I should feel sorry for her, but if she’s done this, well it’s awful. I don't think I can go back and work in the same place as her next week. But I need the cash so I suppose I’ll have to.
“But dad,” she looked across at Don, “why have you gone like this? Of course it’s awful but you knew it wasn't true and you knew I’d come back and say so, so you don't have to worry any more. Surely.”
“Well actually,” said Grace sadly, “he thought that I was responsible for the information to the police, or me and Luke or Luke and Greg. I don't know about you Emma. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
“As I said before,” said Don to Grace, “if you don't like it, you know what you can do.”
Emma gasped. “Dad!” she said. “You don't mean it!” He looked away.
“My mother,” said Luke angrily, “would never do any such thing.” He went over to where his mother was sitting and put his arm around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “that it’s been such an awful homecoming for you both.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Luke.
“No,” said Emma.
“I’m going upstairs to bed,” said Don and he got up and walked out, though Emma noticed his shoulders were hunched and he was shuffling along like an old man.
“A few weeks ago, I would have been amazed to hear myself say this,” Emma said to Grace after her father’s steps receded up the stairs, “but I do so wish you and dad could go back to how you were when we left for France.”
Grace shook her head. “I don't know. He’s so different. And he doesn't actually want me here. I can't stay here if I’m not wanted.”
“But in a few weeks, I’ll be going back to uni and he’ll be all on his own.”
“That’s what he says he wants. To be left alone. Maybe he’s having a nervous breakdown or has severe depression or both but I can't make him go to see a doctor if he doesn't want to. And I’m not sure I can stand it much longer. I’d happily put up with it until he gets better - hopefully - if he didn't direct this hostility at me. But you heard what he said just now. Actually I had years of abuse from Greg and really it’s much too painful for it to be happening with another man.”
“I’ll try and talk to him,” said Emma, “but tomorrow I’m going to go into town.”
“I DEMAND TO SEE the investigating officer.” Emma had said this so many times her voice was going hoarse. She had been asked to wait, fobbed off, given all manner of excuses. She then had a brain-wave. According to what her father had told her in the past, everyone worried about having complaints being made against them and being sued.
“If I can't see him, I’m going to lodge a formal complaint and also see my father’s Solicitor about making a claim for his detention and the effect it’s had on him.” She had no idea if either of these things was possible or appropriate in this case but it was worth a try. And it worked. Within a couple of minutes the door to the innards of the station was being unlocked and she was being ushered along a corridor into a room where she was asked to wait. At length a middle aged man came in with a younger man behind him, shook her hand and introduced himself as Detective Inspector Norton and the younger man as Detective Sergeant Pearce.
They both sat down and without preamble Emma said:
“What did you do to my father? He’s completely gone to pieces. You can forget as well about any prosecution for abusing me because it didn't happen. Absolutely not. No violence, no abuse. Nothing. We, my boyfriend Luke and I know perfectly well who made the allegation to you. It was Alex Gates wasn't it? I work with her and I would say after due consideration that she’s troubled and needs help. And did you bother to find out that she associates with Greg Bennett who’s the husband of Grace Bennett who’s living with my father? Although for how much longer is debatable. You’ve ruined my father’s life both of you. Do you feel proud of yourselves?”
“An allegation was made. We were duty bound to investigate.”
“Yes but wouldn't it have been sensible to speak to me first? And when you found out I wasn't in the country, why didn't you wait until I got back so that you could speak to me? Instead of going busting in there turning his life upside down. He was happy when we left to go to France. Now he’s severely depressed.”
"A similar allegation was made by another person. With two allegations, as I've said, we were duty bound to investigate."
"What similar allegation? By whom? When for God's sake?"
"We are not at liberty to disclose that information."
Emma shook her head.
"OK then," she said. "You'll presumably be charging him soon. What with two similar allegations."
The police officers looked at each other.
“No,” said Emma, “You won't will you. I can tell that you know you’ve made a cock-up. The other "similar allegation" is just a load of bollocks isn't it! You’ve made no attempt to contact me. You weren't going to were you? You just hoped the dreadful mess you made would disappear. And my room’s been ransacked without my permission.”
“Your father gave his consent.”
“Well did he have any choice? And what about me? My bedclothes have been taken away and someone’s cut a hole in my mattress. My college notes were taken. I want them back.”
Emma sighed. “Alex is a sad little person. I didn't used to think so but now I do. You should have taken the trouble to find out about her. We, that is Luke and me, think she’s living with Greg Bennett. She’s only about twenty and he must be mid-fifties. And she thought of him as a stepfather. She told me in effect that Greg was one of a string of boyfriends her mother had as she was growing up who tried to abuse her, and maybe they did; I don't know! And she seems to have an infatuation with Greg. How reliable is that? Luke thinks that Alex and Greg concocted the whole thing between them. Are you going to prosecute them for attempting to pervert the course of justice?
"And this other person. Have you made any attempt to see if she, presumably it's a she, has any connection with Greg Bennett. I bet if you dig about a bit, you'll find that she does. What about her? Are you going to prosecute her for attempting to pervert the course of justice?"
She’d spent some time on the internet looking up this sort of thing last night before going to bed. Luke had slept on the sofa and she had slept in her old room. She couldn't see things ever going back to normal now this decade at least.
“Well are you? Do you realise you’ve messed up four lives, my dad’s mainly but everything’s changed for me and Luke and Grace too. It’s never going to be the same again!” And she burst into tears.
“We were just trying to protect you,” said DI Norton.
“Well you haven't,” sobbed Emma, “you’ve wrecked my life!”
“If you’d like to leave your contact details, we’ll send you some information about support groups. Though it’s all available on the internet. If you wish I’ll call a squad car to take you home.”
That seemed to be it. She accepted the invitation of a lift home and reflected in the car that her little tirade hadn't got her anywhere. But at least she felt a bit better. She’d had a go at those men and possibly frightened them. She’d have to think seriously about making a complaint because she couldn't imagine anything ever being the same again.