I was so dismayed and angry and shocked that I could barely speak.
'That is just such a travesty,' I said. 'I just… Well, for a start, in no way have I harassed Brendan. I talked to friends of his.'
'The harassment isn't defined in the act,' said Deirdre Walsh in a chilly tone. 'If you believe you are being harassed and a reasonable person, such as a magistrate, agrees, then harassment is proved. I must say that I have never seen a clearer case.'
'Ms Walsh is right,' said Pryor. 'It was my view that the case should proceed. I consider you a possible threat to Mr Block. But he was eager to settle the case informally. If this case reached a criminal court, you would be subject to a restraining order. If it was a civil court it would be a restraining injunction. It doesn't matter. They amount to the same thing. Mr Block is willing to accept a personal commitment from you. If you won't make such a commitment, we'll think again.'
'You mean, you'll arrest me?'
'That's right,' said Pryor.
'This is completely insane,' I said. 'If anything, Brendan is the one who has been stalking me. I was the one who broke off with him and then he insinuated himself into my family, into my life. I should take an injunction out against him.'
There was quite a long, awkward silence.
'You're going about it in an unconventional way,' said Pryor. 'And now I think you might like a few moments with your legal adviser. We'll leave you alone together.'
The three of them stood up and walked past me. I had to stand up to leave space for them. Pryor closed the door behind him, but the inside wall of his office was entirely transparent. I saw them walk across towards the coffee machine, a group, speaking. Deirdre Walsh glanced back and I looked away too late. Polly was staring down at the carpet.
'That isn't exactly what I was expecting,' I said.
She turned to me. Her face was drained of colour.
'I'm not sure if I'm right for this,' she said. 'You may need someone more senior.'
'I just want your advice, Polly.'
She bit her lip.
'Is this true?' she said. 'Did these things happen?'
'They're not exactly false,' I said. 'In themselves. But… I mean, for example, the point about being caught looking through Brendan's bags. He was staying in my parents' house at the time, so it wasn't as if I were breaking and entering. And all those phone calls, it was a matter of A saying phone B, and B saying phone C, and so on. I was just trying to find him. The idea that I was stalking Brendan is grotesque. I think he's dangerous. What was I supposed to do?'
Polly stood up. She seemed reluctant to meet my gaze.
'I shouldn't have agreed to this,' she said. 'We know each other. It's not professional. I didn't realize… But look, Miranda, I think – apart from everything else – you should see someone.'
'If you mean a therapist, I have been talking to someone.'
'You didn't tell me that,' said Polly. 'Among other things.'
'I was talking to her about my feelings after losing my brother and my closest friend.'
'You should have told me.'
'So you could have discounted what I said as some psychological symptom?' Polly didn't reply, but she didn't deny it either. 'I'm not going to accept this.'
Polly shook her head urgently.
'No, Miranda, stop that. They are being generous with you.'
'Let them prove it in court.'
'Miranda!' Polly grabbed my arm with a grip that almost made me cry out. 'If you go to court you will lose. Let me tell you, you do not want to be cross-examined on what that detective read out from his file. You will be convicted, I promise. If you have the wrong judge, you could spend four months in Holloway. Is that what you want, for the rest of your life, every time you fill out a form, every time you apply for a job or a visa?' Polly was looking at me with a pity that revolted me. 'I don't know what's happened, but I'm so so sorry. Miranda, let me be your lawyer for five minutes and we'll just accept whatever they're offering. Whatever it is, they're letting you off easy. Will you let me ask them back in?'
I could hardly speak. My skin felt hot and clammy, while my mouth was dry.
'All right,' I said.
On the way out I caught sight of Brendan in the corridor. He was in conversation with Rob Pryor. He caught my eye and then he smiled. He raised his right index finger and wagged it slightly at me, like a teacher reproving a pupil. Then he passed the finger across his neck. Around the neck. What did that mean? Was it like a knife across a throat? Was it Troy 's noose around the neck? Was this a warning? Don't mess with me.
'Did you see that?' I said to Polly.
'What?' she said.
Nobody but me ever seemed to see.
Afterwards, back on the steps outside in the sunshine that made my eyes hurt, Polly said I should be very relieved. I had signed an undertaking drafted by Deirdre Walsh according to which I promised not to approach or contact Brendan or his friends or members of his family. Polly also said on my behalf that I was sorry and that I'd been under a lot of pressure and that I was already receiving psychiatric help. Before we parted, Polly held out her hand.
'I don't mind any of this,' I said. Polly looked puzzled. 'It's all crap. Brendan was always going to outwit me at something like this. If you're as good a liar as Brendan is, you'll always make someone like me sound like she's lying. I think you gave me good advice. I had to sign that document. So I should thank you for saving me from going down in flames. But I need to ask one thing: do you believe me?'
Polly seemed unwilling to speak.
'Well, do you?'
She made an unhappy gesture.
'How can I be sure?' she asked.
'Because you're my friend,' I said. 'If you were a real friend, you would know me and you would trust me.'
'I'm sorry, Miranda,' she said. 'Even friends get ill.'
I held out my hand and shook hers and said goodbye. That evening Polly rang me, cancelling our drink.
CHAPTER 38
I went to a newsagent along the road and bought a pad of notepaper. The only shade they had was some awful sort of violet. But, after all, what did the colour matter? I opened it on my table. The first ballpoint I found didn't work. I licked it and shook it and held it under hot running water and then snapped it and threw it in the bin so that it couldn't cause me pain again. It took a lot of rummaging around in drawers to find another one. I made another resolution. When I found my new home, wherever it was, I would buy a hundred – no, two hundred – pens and I would scatter them around it like little chocolate eggs at Easter. I would hide them in drawers and at the back of shelves and in cupboards and behind books and down the back of sofas and in the pockets of my coats and jackets, so that I would always be able to find one.
I didn't feel in the right mood now. I made myself a cup of coffee and I disproved the saying that a watched pot never boils. I filled it with cold water and stood looking at it, in a dream, until I heard the hissing and saw the lid rattling. I held my hands around the hot mug, feeding off its heat, and stood by the window, seeing nothing. I turned to face my room. Soon everything would be packed in boxes and in storage somewhere and then later it would be unpacked and rearranged somewhere else. For the moment they looked as if everything was normal, but I already felt like an emigrant leaving my old life behind. But there were one or two things I still had to do, and this was the most important. I sat at the table and began to write.
Dear Naomi,
If you're reading these words, that means at least that you