‘Everything OK over there?’ asked Jeb.
‘Fine, yes.’ Of course it’s not fine, he thought, as he hobbled gingerly around to the back of the building in search of privacy.
‘So, it’s not great news, I’m afraid, but don’t worry. Nothing we can’t deal with.’
‘What happened?’ A couple of scabrous dogs were nosing through piles of rubbish and an exhausted-looking woman in a waitress’s tunic was leaning against the back door of the cafeteria, smoking. She avoided his eye.
‘So first of all, Jane Butterfield has gone to the police with a new accusation against you.’
Ralph did not reply, but edged over to the rusting fence, where an outcrop of rock offered a place to sit. Lowering himself on to the sun-warmed stone, he crushed some pink, autumnal cyclamen growing directly out of the grey surface as if by a miracle.
‘I wouldn’t have worried so much about this,’ continued Jeb. ‘After all, we know Jane dislikes you. It’s supposedly referring to a one-off occasion when she was fifteen. Says she lost her virginity with you. But still, one might argue for a “reasonable mistake”. Also, the police are so annoyed with Daphne for letting them down that they’re wary of having anything to do with her or her friends. She’s on their blacklist since she made her evidence unusable – wasting police time and all that. Apparently, she just took off on holiday to Greece.’
Ralph shuddered. A curse on mobile phones. He was tempted to cut off the call and throw the device away. ‘I don’t think we have to take this seriously, do we?’ As he spoke, Ralph pictured the pink-skinned girl and their perfunctory business on Daphne’s bedroom floor. Surely she’d been sixteen? Not that those details mattered so much then. A great giraffe of a girl. So long ago, he’d almost forgotten the whole incident. It was not something that had ever preoccupied him; filed away in a distant backroom of his mind. Now, however, the memory caught him as though someone had grabbed his throat. What the hell had he been thinking? He didn’t even like ‘Big Fish’, who at best was a useful co-conspirator and excuse for Daphne’s absences from home. He had not considered her feelings or even been kind to her. They had both betrayed Daphne, but his actions now provoked revulsion. Perhaps this is what makes a monster, he thought. Someone who has no idea of the damage they are wreaking. It was perplexing and horrifying that he had managed to avoid seeing this for so long. Nearby, a couple of greasy-feathered crows hopped about with tentative watchfulness, jabbing at something on the ground.
‘The thing is,’ said Jeb, ‘there’s more. Do the names Ber Schneider and Rasmus Lepik mean anything to you?’
‘No,’ Ralph answered without giving it much thought. ‘Who the hell are they?’
‘They’re two teenagers – a German and an Estonian. They came forward after the press stories, saying something about an “episode” with you in Tallinn. A concert you were conducting in 2012. They were in the orchestra – a…’ He paused as if checking something. ‘A French horn player and a trumpeter. They allege they were fifteen and sixteen. They’re now eighteen and nineteen. I’ve checked the dates. Annoyingly, you were there.’
The image clicked into Ralph’s mind like a picture on a screen – Ras and Ber. Of course. The raging, almost painful laughter as they lay on the floor in the boys’ shared hotel room. How they’d pulled off his trousers so efficiently, one leg each. The silver ampoules and coloured balloons. They’d all been so happy – boys together. Pure fun. Why on earth would they do this? His chest hurt and sweat trickled down his face like liquefied fear.
‘They’re saying it was abuse of your position of authority as their teacher and conductor. There was some mention of drugs too – nitrous oxide? But, Ralph, remember, don’t tell me anything I shouldn’t know, OK? You need to think before you answer. We probably shouldn’t discuss any details at this point.’
Ralph gave a wretched grunt of acknowledgement.
‘The police haven’t asked to see you yet and they certainly haven’t decided whether to press charges. The Daphne debacle has burned them. But if they do want a little chat, it’ll be better to come back willingly for a day or so. Otherwise, you’ll force them to charge you. And then you’ll be nicked by the Greek police and extradited straight back to Blighty. And we don’t need that at this stage in the game.’
‘OK. Thanks, Jeb,’ he croaked. His heart was hammering, the pain had become excruciating, and he did not wait for an answer before flinging his phone on to the scrubby grass. It was unbearable to see himself as Jeb must – someone who abused young people, who raped and groped and lied. At the time, he had loved it that the Tallinn boys were naughtier than him. It had been so simple to think of these episodes as fun. They were the ones feeding him laughing gas and ripping off his clothes. But it now looked abysmally different: seedy, dirty, illegal and wrong. He was responsible for them and they were only boys.
His arms ached and throbbed and the burning weight on his chest was like a gorilla sitting on him. Perhaps this is it, he thought. We rarely choose the place we end up in. So mine is alone on a rock in some anonymous, arse-end roadside in Greece, surrounded by rubbish, scavengers and black-feathered auguries of death. It became like a loud noise – an overwhelming wave of agony that swept everything else away, its majesty almost cleansing. Even the scale of his crimes was diminished. The prospect of death was no longer horrifying. He was ready.
20
DAPHNE
The half-term trip started out very promisingly. When they landed at Athens airport and stepped out into the lilac light of late afternoon, Daphne’s body was buoyant as if she had set down a heavy load. Ralph’s apology allowed her anger to subside almost as mysteriously as it had arrived.
The train sped past giant billboards that had once been garish with adverts but were now blank spaces splattered with graffiti. Vasanizomai, declared one persistent person with a spray can, over and over. ‘I’m suffering.’
They got out at Maroussi and wheeled their cases up the suburban hill as the skies turned to indigo ink. The evening air was so sweetly warm, Daphne felt she could taste it. Her mother’s three sisters all lived in a small apartment block built on the site where their old family house had been. There was still a bit of garden that she remembered playing in as a child, and the same stone-pillared gateway through which Pappou’s coffin was carried out to the hearse. Now in their early eighties, both Georgia and Katy had middle-aged children who had moved back in with them, along with their own offspring, after losing jobs or being unable to afford their rent. Only Aunt Athena had space for Daphne and Libby, living alone on the top floor since her husband had died some years earlier.
It had taken a long time to re-establish trust with her three aunts and numerous cousins after the years when everything she touched went wrong. They had seen the reality of her life with Constantine – they visited the absurdly swanky villa in Kifissia and were dragged into the mess when it all ended. She had used them, lied to them and borrowed money she never paid back. Not that anyone would have guessed that from the way the clan gathered at Athena’s place almost immediately after their arrival. Each familial group brought a new flurry of kissing, exclamations about Libby’s charms, and a rush to exchange news and comment on physical changes. They gave no sign that they were wary of Daphne. Aunt Athena brought out cakes and cherry brandy and toasts of welcome were made. There was constant movement as people wandered into the kitchen to make coffee, or went back down the stairs to their own apartments to fetch something. Libby looked thrilled to be taken out for a walk with her slightly older cousins, Pavlos and Alexis, and they trooped off with expressions of innocent mischief. At least that’s what Daphne hoped she witnessed.