Lisa Hall - The Party

I pull away, rubbing at my wrists and sit back down on the couch, my legs feeling strangely jelly-like.

‘I just … don’t know. I don’t remember. I remember getting to the party, Liz opening the door. Maybe having a glass of red wine?’ I look up at him and he gives a small nod, his face pale and his mouth pinched into a tight line. ‘Then I woke up in the spare room at the Greenes’ house, feeling like shit. Like, the worst hangover I’ve ever had. I don’t even know how I got home this morning, I felt so awful.’ I choke back a sob at the memory of coming to in Liz’s spare room.

‘But you think someone raped you?’ He kneels in front of me, the scent of stale beer on his breath wafting up as he speaks, making me feel sick. I smell a faint whiff of smoke on him, and know that he’s smoked a sneaky cigar with Neil.

‘Yes. My … I hurt. My thighs, at the top and … inside.’ Taking a deep breath, I slide the dressing gown off my shoulders to reveal the bruising at the top of my arms, the delicate skin underneath so purple, it’s almost black. ‘And I wouldn’t have done that to you, Gareth, not willingly, not after all we’ve been through.’

‘Fucking hell, Rachel.’ His gaze sliding away from my bruises, Gareth breathes out hard through his nose and I see the skin across his knuckles whiten as he clenches his fists. ‘And you have no idea who did this? No memory of it at all?’

I shake my head, fat drops hitting my knees and leaving wide, dark patches on the fabric of the dressing gown.

‘Nothing. It’s just black, like it’s been wiped from my brain. A black hole. I’ve tried and tried to think, to remember anything about the party, anyone that might have done this but I don’t know. I don’t know anything.’ I can barely swallow, my throat is so thick with tears and I am powerless to stop them from pouring down my cheeks, scalding as they drip from the end of my chin.

‘Oh God, Rachel, come here.’ Gareth pulls me to my feet and into his chest again, his arms tightening around me. The crush of his chest against mine takes my breath away, and for a moment I enjoy the sensation of not being able to draw breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I’m so fucking sorry that I left you there alone, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to protect you. I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have left you there on your own. I should have made you leave with me.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ I mutter into his chest, despite feeling that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t left me there, if I hadn’t been so stubborn, apparently, about staying. ‘I don’t know what to do, Gareth. I don’t know how to deal with this.’ Fear rises up and I pull away slightly, fighting to catch my breath, black spots dancing at the corner of my vision, panic making my heart beat frantically in my chest like a caged bird.

‘We’re going to the police,’ his voice is firm, ‘and we’re going to let them catch the bastard that did this.’

5

I stare blankly out of the car window, as the rain that hasn’t stopped since yesterday evening lashes against the glass. Every now and again Gareth reaches over from the driving seat to pat my knee or squeeze my hand but I don’t give him any response. I feel numb, unable to return his gestures, just wanting to get the whole thing over and done with. Last night, when he said he wanted to call the police, I felt my breath freeze in my lungs, the thought of having to tell people – people who aren’t Gareth, people who have no idea who I really am – what actually happened, making panic swarm in my belly like a thousand angry bees.

‘No, I can’t,’ I’d said, backing away from him and tying the dressing gown cord so tightly that I felt it cut into my waist.

‘Rachel, you have to, you can’t let whoever did this get away with it.’ He’d reached for me, but I had flinched from him and he’d stared at me, hurt and confused. ‘I’m going to call them, they need to know.’

‘No, Gareth, please, I don’t want them to know … I can’t …’ The words died in my throat as he reached for the phone and I shoved past him, headed for the safety of the bedroom. He hadn’t phoned them, not then, but this morning when I woke up from a fitful sleep he was standing over me, phone in hand, ready to make the call. Now, I find myself sullen and angry, slumped in the passenger seat on the way to meet a police officer at the Kingsnorth rape suite.

‘We’re here.’ Gareth rests his hand gently on mine, before switching the ignition off and I ignore him, still gazing out of the window as the rain makes the puddles leap and dance with splashes. ‘Rachel? Come on, I’ll be with you the whole time. I won’t let you do this on your own, I promise.’

I turn to face him, exhaustion making my movements slow and clumsy, but I don’t have the words to say how I’m feeling. Instead, I silently turn back and fumble for the door handle, pretending that I don’t hear his little exhalation of relief that I am finally doing as I am told.

The building that houses the police station is a sprawling, double storey structure masked from the outside world by a short driveway lined with trees, quaint compared to the usual expectation of a police station. As I step out of the car and look towards the road, I realize I have driven past it hundreds of times on my way to drop Robbie off at school, without ever considering what goes on inside. I wait, scuffing the gravel with the toe of my shoe as the rain soaks my hair, for Gareth to lock the car unwilling to move even a step towards the building on my own.

‘OK?’ Gareth’s eyes search my face, as he tucks the slip of paper he wrote the police station address on into his back pocket, before reaching for my hand. I give a small nod, lying again, as I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready for this. We walk slowly up the path together towards the door over which hangs a sign for reception. I stumble at the threshold, almost as though my feet don’t want to carry me over, but I force myself onwards, following Gareth to the front desk. He speaks in a low voice to the woman there, her eyes drifting towards me as he talks, and I turn away, not wanting to see pity on her face. It’s not long before a slightly built blonde woman appears in my eye line, a small smile on her face showing off the gap between her two front teeth.

‘Rachel?’ She asks, and I nod. ‘I’m Carrie – do you want to follow me?’ I get slowly to my feet, casting a panicked look back at Gareth. ‘Oh, your husband can come too, if that’s what you’d like?’ I nod again and take Gareth’s hand gratefully, his palm warm against my cold skin, as he stands to follow Carrie though a set of double doors and along the corridor to a small room with a low couch either side of a coffee table with a fake vase of flowers standing on it. It feels homely and it throws me for a second – I somehow thought I would have to give a statement, be questioned or whatever, in an interview room.

‘Have a seat.’ Carrie sinks down onto one couch and Gareth and I follow suit, leaning in to one another on the opposite couch. ‘Now, Rachel, I’m what they call a SOLO – sexual offence liaison officer – I’m specially trained to help you with what you’ve experienced, OK? I know you’re frightened, but I’m here to do the very best that I can to help you.’

‘OK.’ I let out a shaky breath that I didn’t realize I was holding and wiggle my toes in the ends of my shoes, pressing them into the beige carpet tiles.

‘I’ll take a statement from you, and if it’s OK we’ll do a medical examination. Trust me, Rachel, we will do everything we can to make this as less stressful as we can for you.’ Carrie reaches over and pats my hand and I find I am already fighting back tears before I even begin to make the statement. ‘Can you take me through that evening – the evening of December thirty-first?’