At the lab, she texted Josh asking if he’d like a drink after she finished work. She knew she must tell her family and, though Michael should have been first, there was something about their oldest son’s cool rationality that made her want to confide in him. Perhaps it was their shared belief in science and clear-cut lines of demonstrable truth, where right and wrong are laid out with proof. Josh suggested a pub near his department and when she got there he hugged her warmly. She wondered whether he’d sensed she was upset, but when she returned to their table with two glasses of Guinness, his grin told another story.
‘You look very happy,’ she said and it didn’t take much for him to reveal he had a new girlfriend. ‘Jessica,’ he said. ‘She’s a medic. Still two years to go till she qualifies.’ His eyes shone with the same sharp blue as his father’s. ‘I really want you to meet her.’
After that, she couldn’t launch into her sordid story of violation. It would be like desecrating Josh’s happiness and transforming herself into someone damaged – a victim. Before she arrived at the pub, she had even wondered whether she could discuss the forensic science involved in her case; she loved it when they talked shop. But now, the idea of telling her son about semen-stained shorts was out of the question. She knew it was cowardly, but it felt more important to keep his image of her as a strong and capable mother intact.
‘Bring Jessica over at the weekend,’ she said. ‘If you can. She sounds wonderful.’
She waited to talk to Michael until they were sitting at supper, hoping this would lend an atmosphere of order and civilisation to muffle and contain the explosive device she had already activated on a timer. It was her week for cooking and, overwhelmed by everything else, she had resorted to heating up a ready-made, supermarket vegetable bake in the oven. It was on the poor side of mediocre but Michael didn’t mention it. He had never been fussy.
Foolishly, perhaps, she hadn’t expected him to be so upset.
‘I can’t believe you’ve been holding on to this since you were fifteen. Why didn’t you tell me before? Oh God, Jane. Even recently – all this time you told me about Daphne… And you’d been raped.’ He looked devastated, his eyes pink around the rims and then spilling over. ‘Is that why you wanted to help Daphne report him? But then…’ Michael stopped, unable to speak for a moment, and then cleared his throat. ‘Was there never a time you could have explained it to me? How could you shut me out?’ His bewilderment was as great as his shock. ‘That bastard should have been locked up years ago…’
‘I was ashamed,’ she said simply. ‘I couldn’t face telling you. It was unbearable to admit I was such a poor friend to Daphne, that I had such bad judgement, that I betrayed her. I always disliked Ralph, but I…’ She couldn’t go on and wept too. It felt impossible to explain to Michael that she had wanted to become Daphne, and that she longed to be her. And the closest she came to this inhabiting of her friend was the day when she donned Daphne’s clothes, lay on her bedroom floor and had sex with her secret lover. Even now, she felt mortified – how much easier it had been to let Daphne be the victim of historical child sexual abuse.
Michael stood up and walked over, crouched down before her chair and put his arms around her. They breathed in unison without speaking until they were both calmer.
‘Does Daphne know?’
‘No. Not yet. She’s away in Greece.’
‘And what about the boys? Oh my God.’ He was just starting to realise what the extent of the explosion would be. ‘This is really big for all of us.’
She nodded. ‘I know I need to tell Josh and Toby as soon as I can see them in person. I just couldn’t do it with Josh today.’
Later in bed, she let him hold her, sensing that he was deeply shaken. Now, the trauma was not only hers. He was injured too, and it was clear that, even if only subconsciously, he felt she was partially responsible. She had shut him out of the story for their entire marriage, and then ignored him until the whole thing was official and registered with the police. It was as though their family field of golden buttercups, nurtured for so long, had something dark and stinking seeping up through the ground.
19
RALPH
Take-off was his favourite point in a flight – the weight-defying moment when a vast metal container gently lifted upwards and you left behind whatever your existence had been. Despite decades of travelling for work, he still thrilled as the plane roared its way into the heavens. This time, he knew it was beyond ordinary good luck to be escaping the toytown landscape of boxy houses and fenced-off fields and cutting through the clouds into unblinkered sunshine.
He caught Nina’s anxious glances out of the corner of his eye and gave her a smile he hoped was not too obviously false. They had both been through a lot that week and he hated the idea of making her suffer more than was necessary. That they were on this aeroplane, pointing south towards the Mediterranean, was almost entirely down to her. He drew his mother’s cashmere wrap around his head, hoping it was not this that emitted the mild odour of vomit. His body was dealing with an impressive number of pains and he had already thrown up at the airport. It was hard to prevent the occasional groan, but he hoped the engine’s roar drowned them out.
When Daphne dropped her charges and the poisonous terror started to drain away, it was Nina who suggested they go to Greece. She did not say, ‘for the last time’. Mr Goodlove was against the idea. ‘Risky,’ he said. ‘You can’t predict what might go wrong. I’d recommend a holiday closer to home – and to the hospital.’ There was a certain pleasure in defying the urbane doctor; it reminded him of disobeying the headmaster at school. If I’m dying, he thought, why not do it in Greece? Why expire in London, wired up to machines and perforated by needles?
Nina’s village was a pretty good place to end up. Their three children had spent most summers there when they were young, just as Nina always had. Milies (‘Apple Trees’) was tucked on the steep slopes of Mount Pelion amongst leafy chestnut trees, bubbling streams and marble fountains. It was reputed to be the home of centaurs, and there was always a sense of mystery, as though a mythical creature might indeed dart out from the shadows.
In the past, he had not usually remained there for weeks and months, like his family, but Milies had a comfortable familiarity that allowed him to work well and to relax. The village offered the purity of timelessness – a place to sidestep the grinding cycles of clocks, calendars and centuries. He liked sitting in the coffee house with the unintelligible old men, all bristling moustaches and clacking komboloi beads, who would treat him to a ‘heavy sweet’ coffee or a Metaxa Five Star. Once, he recorded them for a composition and they chuckled sceptically, humouring him. Centaurs used Byzantine hymns as themes and, if you knew what to listen for, there were worry beads and backgammon pieces clicking, the burble of masculine chatter, and the metallic rhythm of Greek coffee being stirred over the charcoal. It had not been a huge success, but the Greek side of the family appreciated the connections.
He pushed a button to summon an air hostess. No, they’re called something else now, he thought. Something irritating and gender neutral, but what? In any case, it was a man (an air host?) who came, crouching down in the aisle beside him and smiling briskly. ‘I’m sorry but I’m feeling nauseous,’ said Ralph. ‘Could I possibly have a brandy and ginger ale?’ This had been a lifetime’s therapy for travel sickness, nerves and much more. In bars, he asked for a Horse’s Neck, and in America they flung in a twist of lemon. A trusty, old-fashioned medicine that usually did the trick.