Die of Shame (31 page)

Heather follows Tony into the kitchen, stands and watches him make his fancy coffee. She waits to see if he’s going to offer her one, but right now he doesn’t seem keen to say anything. Like he’s building up to something. He’s making her nervous and she guesses that now might not be a good time to move up behind him, wrap her arms around his waist.

Anyway, is his wife not around somewhere?

She’s still trying to process what happened, the reactions to her story and why the session ended so early. She knows perfectly well that what she said in the circle was shocking: how could it not be? She had not been expecting that silence though, the weight of it and such desperation to get away. Like they might catch something. What Chris did afterwards was hideous, no…
humiliating
, but at least there’s a simple enough explanation. People that high are capable of anything and how can she, of all people, not forgive a junkie?

The others, though? And now, Tony’s being weird and when he finally turns round to look at her, it’s obvious the one person she was hoping to get some support from isn’t in a very supportive mood.

‘That wasn’t very… cool,’ he says. ‘In the session.’

‘Cool?’

‘What you said.’

Heather steps towards him and doesn’t miss the fact that he takes half a step back. She feels like she’s back at school, being told off for something that wasn’t her fault. The unfairness of it starts to burn and bubble up. She says, ‘Have you got any idea what it took for me to tell everyone that? I’m still shaking —’

‘Not your story.’

She blinks. ‘What, then?’

‘Before, when you asked me to let Chris stay.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Which was a huge mistake. For him as much as anyone.’

‘I wanted him there to hear it,’ Heather says. ‘It must have been obvious how important that was to me.’

‘It was the way you asked.’ He looks at her, as though she should know exactly what he means. He sighs when she fails to respond. ‘It wasn’t just you asking me as a therapist, you know? You were appealing to something else, to… whatever’s between us. It was like you were trying to twist my arm because of what happened the other night, like that should be a reason for me to let you get what you wanted. Like you expected it.’

‘I needed Chris to be there.’ Heather is trying to sound calm, rational; someone who would never dream of using the emotional blackmail Tony seems to be accusing her of. ‘I mean yeah, I hoped you’d care enough to see that.’

‘You persuaded me to act against my professional judgement.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, and now she knows that touching him, trying to, is probably not a good idea. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

He nods, and just for a second or two Heather thinks that’s the end of it. That the teacher’s just going to let her off with a warning.

‘We can’t see each other again,’ he says. ‘And it’s probably a good idea if you find another therapist.’

She stares at him.

‘I can help with that… recommend someone.’

‘Because I asked you for something?’

He looks away, then half turns to reach for his coffee. He picks it up, puts it down. ‘Because I love my wife.’

She can’t do anything about the laugh that bursts from her like a cough, or the taste it leaves in her mouth. ‘Oh… right. Yeah. That was pretty obvious the other night when you had your fingers in my knickers.’

‘Don’t —’

‘It was just what I was thinking, when I was on my knees and you were moaning and groaning. Christ, this bloke really loves his wife, I thought. Only reason I didn’t say anything at the time was because I had my mouth full.’

‘It was a mistake, all right?’

‘No,’ she says. ‘
This
is a mistake.’

‘Please, Heather…’

She steps back then starts to walk slowly round the island, stabbing a finger against the granite. ‘You really think you can do what you did and just trot back to your missus? I mean, for real? You think that now you’ve got into my pants you can just stand there and talk about your shitting wife and tell me to find another therapist? Like we’re not quite… hitting it off or something?’

‘It’s the best thing for both of us, I really think that.’

‘Because you’re the therapist and I’m just the stupid ex-junkie who let you pull her into that alley?’

‘You didn’t need pulling anywhere.’

‘Well, sorry, but you don’t get to do that. I think you need to seriously reconsider, because the last thing you want is me telling your wife about what happened. A quick phone call, maybe, or an email. Actually, it would be far better in person… is she here now? No, course she isn’t, or you wouldn’t be brave enough to do any of this.’

‘Have you finished?’

‘Maybe I’ll take her there.’ Heather nods, pleased, like it’s a stroke of genius. ‘You know, show her the scene of the crime. Maybe I’ll tell her how much you pestered me and pawed at me and how eventually, when I told you to leave me alone, you got rough and did what you wanted anyway.’

‘Hold on —’

Heather isn’t listening. ‘Maybe I’ll show her that nice metal door you pushed me against,
forced
me against while you were trying to rip my knickers off, even when I was telling you to stop. Begging you to. Even when you were really hurting me.’ She stops pacing and sits down on one of the leather barstools. She reaches for the lever to adjust the height, then waves at him, like someone spotting an old friend across a room. ‘How’s that sound?’

Tony nods, as though weighing it up, and the nod becomes more confident. The assessment of someone who prides himself on his ability to read people; to empathise when it really matters. He says, ‘I don’t believe you.’

Heather jumps to her feet and jabs a finger towards the conservatory. ‘Were you not
listening
in there? I wasn’t making that up for anyone’s fucking amusement.’

Tony pales, reaches behind to wrap fingers around the edge of the worktop. ‘You’d seriously do that? You’d make something up to destroy my marriage? You’d ruin my career?’

‘You do not get to do this to me.’

‘You’re not that person,’ Tony says.

‘I
deal
with shit like this.’

‘I don’t… believe you’re that person any more.’

Heather says, ‘Fair enough,’ and starts walking towards the kitchen door. Tony can’t see the smile when she hears him sigh with what sounds like relief, so she glances back over her shoulder to give him a good look. Then she closes the kitchen door and leans back against it. She takes off her jacket and lays it across a table near the door.

Tony takes a few small steps towards her. He holds out his arms. He says, ‘For God’s sake, Heather. My wife will be back at some point. My daughter.’

‘Obviously,’ she says. ‘They live here.’

‘Please…’

Heather doesn’t move.

It’s busy in the pub and their usual table is taken, but they’ve managed to snag a spot in a corner near the toilets. They’re pushed a little closer together than they would otherwise have been, but the huddle suits them; the conspiratorial air of it. Though all three seemed lost for words only fifteen minutes before, they suddenly have plenty to say.

Now, they are fighting one another to be heard.

‘Well, that changes everything, I’d say.’ Caroline looks meaningfully at Robin. ‘In terms of what she clearly is and isn’t capable of, if you see what I’m saying.’

‘I know,’ Robin says.

Diana looks from one to the other. ‘What?’

‘Looks like Heather’s now clear favourite on the blackmail front.’

Diana looks shocked, but not for very long. ‘I never thought of that.’ She sips her mineral water. ‘Makes perfect sense.’

‘She’s gambling again,’ Caroline says.

‘Ah…’

‘Back on the scratch cards.’

‘I got a second letter,’ Robin says.

They look at him.

‘A couple of days ago.’ He nods, slowly. ‘The price has gone up.’

‘You’ve got to do something.’ Diana puts a hand on his arm. ‘You need to confront her.’

‘I will,’ Robin says, but it looks as though he is still thinking about the story they have all so recently heard. ‘It’s the false accusation I can’t get over though,’ he says. ‘What happened afterwards sounds almost like a horrible accident, as though it couldn’t be helped… but to say a man has raped you just to get some sort of stupid revenge…’

‘It’s unforgivable,’ Diana says.

‘You can call it an accident all you like,’ Caroline says.

‘It’s not what I would call it.’

‘It still wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t made the story up.’

‘She
wanted
it to happen.’

‘That was the plan.’

‘I mean why tell him otherwise?’ Diana looks at the others as though it’s obvious. ‘She said it herself, didn’t she? She “pressed the button”.’

‘I’ve done some bad things myself.’ Robin is swirling orange juice around in his glass, staring into it. ‘We all have… but nothing like
that
.’

‘God, no,’ Caroline says.

Diana puts a hand on Robin’s arm. ‘You did the things you’re talking about
after
you started taking drugs.’

‘Right,’ Caroline says.

‘Absolutely,’ Diana says. ‘She had no excuse.’

‘To be that… vindictive, though?’ Robin’s voice is low; that angry rolled ‘r’ coming out. ‘To ruin lives like that.’

‘You thought I was being harsh, didn’t you?’ Diana looks at Caroline. ‘Talking about women with those sorts of morals. Women who target married men and their families.’

‘Maybe a bit,’ Caroline says.

‘Yes, well. Now you see the damage they can do.’

Caroline nods.

Diana says, ‘Vile,’ and when she reaches for her water again, it’s as though she needs it to take away the taste of something foul.

‘Oh, here we go.’ Caroline raises a hand, as if to hide behind it, and the others turn to see Chris coming across to the table.

Robin stands up.

‘No, it’s fine,’ Diana says. ‘He’s got every right to be here. Tony’s not turning his back on him, so we shouldn’t either.’

Robin sits down again.

‘Besides, back there, when she’d finished… he only did what I’d wished I was brave enough to do.’ Diana waves at Chris. ‘I’d have spat in her face though.’

When Chris gets close, he grabs an empty chair from an adjoining table, pulls it across even when a man at the table tells him the chair is taken. Squeezing it in, Chris sits down next to Robin, and when the man comes over to remonstrate, Robin says, ‘I’m sorry, but my friend’s not feeling well.’

The man says, ‘What?’

‘This is my chair,’ Chris says.

Robin raises a hand. ‘Look, I’m a doctor and I promise you he needs to sit down.’

When the man has gone back to his table, Chris turns to Robin. ‘Am I really your friend?’ he asks.

‘I hope so,’ Robin says.

Caroline leans towards Chris. ‘It’s going to be all right.’

‘You start again,’ Diana says. ‘Right?’ She looks at the others who nod their support. ‘You come back to the group next week and we’ll all be there to help.’

‘Not her though.’ Chris jabs a finger, as though an invisible Heather is sitting among them.

Diana looks at Robin, who shrugs. ‘Well, maybe we can talk to Tony about that.’

‘It’s all her fault.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Caroline says.

‘I was doing really well, you know? Sorting myself out. I was going to get a flat and everything.’ Chris makes a fist and hits himself on the side of the head. ‘She’s so good at
persuading
people… making them do things to keep her happy, and then they do them and everything falls apart.’

‘It’s OK,’ Caroline says.

‘She made me talk about my dad and then after I called Woody she set the police on me.’

Caroline says, ‘I know,’ though she really doesn’t.

‘You’ve got no idea what she’s like.’

‘Oh, I think we do,’ Diana says.

‘I was doing really well.’ Chris is trying to look at each of them, struggling to focus. ‘You know?’ He seems pleased with their reactions, then confused when Diana, Robin and Caroline suddenly lean away from him at the same time. He’s still struggling to formulate his next sentence when he feels the hand on his shoulder and hears Heather’s voice.

‘Chris… I’m really glad you’re here,’ she says. ‘Can we go somewhere and talk?’

It’s like a surge of voltage shooting through him, and he’s pushing back his chair and shouting almost immediately; glasses clattering and those around the table moving quickly to avoid the spillage.

‘What, so you can tell me what a great thing I did again… telling my bedtime story? Some more crap about how my pain isn’t shameful? What about
this
pain?’

‘Chris —’

‘No, shut up.’ He lurches again and another glass falls and rolls off the table. ‘I hope tomorrow you wake up feeling like I did… when you think about what you said tonight. Your stupid… non-existent rape or whatever. I hope you feel empty and shit-scared and go scrounging around for some gear again. Come and talk to me then, OK? Because I’ll happily jack you up myself…’

By this time, one of the bar staff has come hurrying across. He has hands on Chris, trying to pull him away from the table as Diana and Robin apologise and gather bar towels to wipe away the mess.

‘You need to get on your way, mate.’

‘She put you up to this, did she?’ Chris struggles to lunge at Heather. ‘You grass me up again?’

‘Come on, mate —’

‘I’m
going
…’

They all watch Chris stagger away and out through the door, his phone already in his hand. Before he leaves, the barman asks if everyone is OK, but it’s clearly as much of a warning as anything, and, when those at nearby tables have stopped gawping, Heather is left staring down at the empty chair. She moves to take it, then hesitates when she clocks the faces of the other three. Instead, she lifts an arm and uses her sleeve to wipe away the tears.

‘Happy?’ Diana asks.

Heather stares at her. Her mouth falls open.

‘What kept you?’ Caroline shakes her head, disgusted. ‘Like I can’t guess.’

Heather closes her eyes for a few seconds and her features tense as she struggles to contain what might be a scream or a sob. When she opens her eyes again, she manages to say, ‘Any reason why I shouldn’t sit down?’

‘It depends,’ Diana says. ‘If you’re looking for support, it’s probably not a good idea. You know, if you’re waiting for us all to tell you how brave you were this evening. How…
inspirational
.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Oh, for pity’s sake.’

‘You and I do need to talk though,’ Robin says. ‘I really didn’t want to think it was you, but now I feel rather stupid for ever thinking it wasn’t.’

‘Wasn’t what?’

‘It’s a bit late to play the innocent,’ Diana says. ‘Don’t you think?’

When Heather looks from one to the other, the hostility on their faces is evident enough to force her away from the table. She pulls her bag up on to her shoulder and clutches it. When she says, ‘Sorry,’ a second or two before turning for the door, it’s cracked and whispery.

Robin, Diana and Caroline watch her leave and Diana says, ‘It’s not us she should be saying sorry to,’ and they don’t bother to acknowledge the man from the adjacent table, when he steps across to take his chair back.

‘Fucking junkies,’ he says.