Authors: Samantha Hayes
‘This is sexual harassment, Gina,’ Paula said without hesitation. ‘There are steps you can take, ways to deal with it.’
The fact is, I didn’t want to deal with it. I felt the tears pooling in my eyes. I couldn’t stop them rolling down my cheeks. My shoulders began to shake as it all came out. I covered my face with my hands.
‘He was so persuasive,’ I said. ‘I’d been working late one evening and it was dark. He walked me to my car. It began with one kiss – and honest to God, it was a brief peck on the cheek from me. But Adrian turned it into something more, something I couldn’t control. Something almost violent that I shouldn’t have enjoyed, but I did. My body wasn’t mine any more. The other times after that, it felt so conditional, though we never actually slept together. If I didn’t do what he wanted, I was terrified he’d tell Rick. It wasn’t exactly like that, and he never said those precise words, but that’s how it felt. What choice did I have? I couldn’t bear to lose my husband.’
Despite my story and the shame it gave me, Paula remained warm and accepting, explaining how sexual harassment and abuse is dependent on a control dynamic.
‘An imbalance of power forms, and it’s often very fast. Enough to sweep you off your feet, literally, when your boundaries are down. It’s smoke and mirrors,’ she said,
‘but with the perpetrator convincing the victim that she is beholden to him, instilling guilt where it’s actually an inappropriate response. The illusion is real for the victim.
‘It’s important for you to separate all this from Rick’s disappearance, Gina. I know you’re searching for answers, but you are looking in the wrong place. We’ll work through all this, the harassment included, and I’ll give you some advice for when you return to the office. You are not responsible for whatever has happened to Rick. And you are not responsible for Adrian’s behaviour either.’
I left feeling slightly better, slightly less wretched. But I still played and replayed the scenario in my mind as I tramped the wet streets home. What had Rick seen that afternoon? What had it looked like from where he was standing? Had it been the point at which Adrian’s lips were sliding across my neck, or had it been when his hands grabbed my hips, lifting my skirt?
What I am certain of, though, is that when I’d shoved Adrian away, when his mouth had loomed large and wet against mine, Rick had gone. He’d never witnessed my fingers digging into the meat of Adrian’s shoulders to make him let go, or known just how terrified I’d become of things getting out of hand. We couldn’t afford for me to lose my job, and I didn’t want to ruin my marriage.
I opened my front gate and let myself into the house. I breathed in deeply, hoping to catch the scent of my husband. As usual, I glanced at the shoe rack, praying there would be a man’s pair sitting next to mine, or his
jacket would be tossed on the stairs. I went into the kitchen and dumped my coat and bag, wondering why, exactly, everyone kept referring to me as a victim.
When I wake, Mum’s not there. I heard her leave earlier with Cooper, though I pretended to be asleep. I was surprised she was up so early considering the time she came in from Susan’s. I lay there listening to her bumping into things, clattering in the bathroom, getting undressed, before falling into bed and mumbling her way into a disturbed sleep.
I swing my legs round on to the floor and go into the bathroom, sitting on the loo. I cradle my head in my hands, seeing an image of Dad coming to the hotel just as Mum has been hoping. They’re running up to each other, falling into each other’s arms . . . But then I drop down to my knees, leaning over the pan.
Surprise!
I stand up and wipe my mouth. The bitter tang of bile burns my throat and nose. I clean my teeth, dry-retching again as the toothbrush reaches round my mouth. There’s a knock at the door as I’m spitting and rinsing. I answer it with a towel pressed over my mouth.
‘I hope it’s not too early,’ Susan says, glancing behind me. She looks as though she’s been up for hours – her hair swept into a stylishly messy up-do. She’s wearing a crisp white shirt over black jeans. Red flats complete her no-nonsense look of authority.
Despite her smile, I can’t help the frown. I’m in no mood to be pleasant and I find myself glancing at my wrist, despite not wearing a watch, just to make a point. ‘No, I’m already up,’ I say with a sort of smile, even though I’m still bundled up in the thick robe. ‘And Mum’s up too, though she’s not here.’ My mouth still tastes of sick.
‘Oh,’ Susan says, not hiding her disappointment. ‘Your mum and I had such a good time last night.’ One hand leans on the door frame.
‘Yes,’ I say, thinking again about the state Mum was in. ‘I don’t think she’s stayed up that late in a while.’
I was going to add
not since Dad last took her out
, but they didn’t go out often. They had an easy-going marriage, happy with their usual routine – quite different to some of my friends’ home lives, by all accounts. I preferred it that way. It helped glue us together in the aftermath of Jacob. If nothing out of the ordinary happened to the three of us ever again, we used to say, it would be too soon.
‘Anyway, I hope we didn’t keep you awake last night,’ Susan says. ‘My living room is right above your bedroom.’ She peers inside, pretending to glance up at the ceiling, when really she’s sweeping a look around at our stuff. The room isn’t very tidy, mostly because of Mum. She
always used to be a bit of a neat freak, but since Dad, she hasn’t really bothered.
‘Don’t worry. I was dead to the world. And I’m sorry I couldn’t stay for food last night.’ I clutch my tummy. ‘I think I’ve picked up a bug or something.’
‘I understand,’ Susan says. She turns to leave, but thinks better of it. ‘My son’s coming home from his trip later. He wasn’t feeling well either,’ she says, as if it’s the biggest coincidence ever. ‘I’ll introduce you. I’m sure you’ll have lots in common.’
‘Thanks,’ I say without much enthusiasm. The last thing I want is to have to make small talk with a guy who I’ll never see again. ‘Though I think Mum and I are going out later.’
I make to close the door, not actually asking what it is she wanted this early on a Sunday. Susan thankfully takes the hint and leaves, and it’s only when I shut the door that I see that wherever it is Mum’s gone, she’s forgotten to take her key card.
‘Damn,’ I said, feeling in my pockets. ‘I’ve left my keys behind.’
Tom gave me a funny look. We’d barely even said hello, with me offering a brief apology for keeping him waiting as I braced myself against him at the bottom of the small incline.
‘I was sorting out other people’s problems,’ I’d said by way of breathy excuse, meaning Karen’s. I’d thought how amazing he looked as I’d broken from a cool-as-anything
amble into an involuntary trot then an unstoppable run as the short-cut slope I’d taken got steeper and steeper. I’d been heading for the water at speed, and beyond that the wooden jetty, which hadn’t looked particularly sturdy as I’d careered towards it.
Fortunately, Tom had been standing between me and the water, and I’d let out a silly laugh as I’d neared him, my hands flapping. He’d reached out and slowed me down, pulling me into his arms. I’d never had that feeling before.
‘Did you leave them in your flat?’ he asked.
I nodded. ‘In my room. I’m so forgetful. It’s amazing I even remember that I’m forgetful.’
‘That’s silly,’ he said, nudging me with his elbow. The nudge turned into an arm-link as we walked around the lake. ‘Did you know, we have one of the greenest campuses in the country?’
We inhaled the scented evening air, the circumstances perhaps making me more aware of the early-autumn chill, and the berry-filled bursts. Midges were going crazy a foot or so above the water.
It was dusk but not dark. Birds were indecisive, flitting between trees, passing low over our heads, not knowing whether to settle down for the night or keep busy searching for grubs. Perhaps our chatter was disturbing them. Apart from us, it was deserted and serene down by the lake – the greeny-black surface broken only by spirals of weed, the waxy slabs of lily pads, and the occasional gulp and ripples from fish.
‘You learn something new every day,’ I said with a giggle, already knowing that bit of campus trivia from the copious amounts of literature I’d pored over before applying. It was one of the top places to study in the country.
For some reason, though, it hadn’t impressed Dad, and neither had the many other appealing facts and statistics. But it had the undergraduate course I wanted with an achievable offer, and so far I was loving it.
‘My parents left it up to me to choose,’ Tom said when I told him how Dad had wanted me to study overseas. ‘Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t as if they didn’t care. They’re both busy and were happy for me to do what I wanted. The engineering department here is one of the best,’ he said proudly, as if he was already devoted to the place.
‘I can’t believe I have a whole three years here.’ I drank in my surroundings. To the left was the beautiful lake, while up ahead and spanning out to my right was the large campus, made up of a mix of sixties- and seventies-style concrete structures as well as more modern glass-fronted buildings. The careful yet natural landscaping flowing throughout softened it, making it easy on the eye. It could almost have been mistaken for a small town, albeit inhabited only by students. It was filled with so much knowledge and talent, I wondered if I actually deserved to be there.
‘Let’s sit,’ Tom said as we approached a bench. There was a plaque on the back of it.
‘In memory of K. D. Walton,’ I read. ‘I wonder who they were.’
‘A benefactor, maybe?’ Tom suggested as we sat down. ‘Or a famous dead alumnus?’
But I was already shaking my head. ‘No. Nothing like that.’ I paused, considering the story brewing inside me. I grinned. ‘I think she was another hapless student stumbling down the bank. She ran so fast she couldn’t stop and she ended up falling into the water and drowning, dying a horrible, waterlogged and lonely death, only to be found months later when they dredged the lake. Her parents were devastated and bought this bench in her name. To this day, K. D. Walton haunts the banks, preventing others from meeting the same sticky end.’
But then I stopped, dead still and silent, processing what I’d just said.
‘You’re bonkers,’ I vaguely heard Tom say. ‘What course are you doing again? Joint honours in fanciful theory and bullshit?’ He play-punched me, a grin on his face.
But I was reeling. Reeling from the odd feeling that I wasn’t about to break down and turn into an emotional wreck, or at the very least make my excuses and dash off at the mention of someone dying, even if I had said it myself.
‘That was weird,’ I said, shrugging, feeling strangely calm.
‘You’re telling me.’ He gave that laugh again – the one that made me melt a little inside.
‘No, really. Take it from me, it was weird.’ I stood up and walked to the water’s edge, almost as if I was
expecting to see the soggy, pale face of K. D. Walton staring, open-eyed, right at me from under the surface.
‘I lost my brother in an accident a few years ago.’
There. I’d said it.
My voice had switched tone, enough to turn Tom’s manner sombre. He listened, leaning forward on his elbows, paying full attention.
‘It was awful. It hit us all hard.’
I had no idea why I was confessing this to him. It could have scared him off. But even from the beginning, it didn’t feel like that with Tom. I felt comfortable, as if there was total honesty from the start.
‘I’m so sorry, Hannah,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine how that must feel.’
‘I’ve never . . . since the accident, I’ve not been able to talk about . . .
death
like that before. Not in such a flippant way.’ My mouth was dry, my thoughts fearful, waiting for the anger and grief to come. But they didn’t.
‘Maybe it’s because you’re away from home.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said, but I knew it wasn’t.
‘Things get pretty intense after A levels. Everything piling down on you.’
I went to sit down again, closer to him this time. Our thighs were touching.
‘Everything’s been intense for a long time,’ I confessed.
We’d all tried to normalise life after Jacob died, but in practice, it hadn’t happened. It was just that no one dared admit it.
‘Mum and Dad never really recovered.’
‘How about you?’ he said, turning to me. ‘How are you doing?’
‘OK,’ I said, reaching down and plucking a long strand of grass that had gone to seed. ‘I still have bad days. This isn’t one of them, though.’ I smiled nervously.
Tom reached out and clasped my hand, crushing the wispy fronds of green between my fingers. ‘You’re a survivor,’ he said. ‘And a compelling mystery, Miss Phone-Finder.’ He briefly leaned towards me, our foreheads virtually touching. It felt as if we’d known each other for ever.
‘I think I just made progress,’ I said, trying to sound wise and grown up even though I felt far from it.
‘This breakthrough moment needs commemorating, then,’ Tom said, standing up. He prised off each of his trainers and bent down to roll up his jeans, hopping about as he did so. ‘Come on.’ He beckoned to me, holding out his hand.
Staring at him, I took it. The smile bloomed as I also kicked off my shoes. Tom led me into the water. It was a shock, sending bolts of icy pain up my ankles, but after a moment or two it felt good. We held each other’s gaze for a while, our hands linked as we sank deeper into the silt. We were laughing, up to our knees in weedy water.
At exactly that moment, I realised that it wasn’t because I was away from home that things felt suddenly different. It wasn’t because of the passage of time, either, that I found myself able to talk about death in a way that hadn’t
induced a panic attack or days of depression. And it wasn’t because of what the counsellors had said, or my mum or my dad or the countless other people who had tried to make things better over the years had done.
No. It was plain and simple. Things were different because I’d met Tom.
Mum is in the dining room eating breakfast, and Susan is sitting at the table with her. I stop in the doorway, watching them. Mum has a smile on her face, while Susan has both wrists resting on the table, either side of a coffee, her hands flicking about in explanation of something. Several of her fingers are laden with expensive-looking rings. Mum glances up and sees me, beckoning me over.