Sophie Hannah - Hurting Distance

I swallow hard and continue. ‘You made Prue Kelvey wear a mask when you were raping her because you couldn’t bear to see the lack of recognition in her eyes. Her terror was nothing to do with you as an individual—you were just some nameless attacker. You couldn’t stand that thought, could you? You felt insignificant—as if you might as well have been anyone. She didn’t even know your name, though you and Graham knew hers, had chosen her specifically from all the women you might have picked. Which made her more special than you, and that drove you insane. You needed it to be more personal. You wanted to be important to the women, wanted it to matter to them that you were you. Not some anonymous rapist, interchangeable with your brother.’

I stand up, get as far away from you as I can in this small room. When I next speak, my voice is hoarse, as if there’s sandpaper in my throat. ‘You and Graham aren’t interchangeable at all. You wanted to hurt women more than he did. Raping them was enough for him, but not for you. I’m not surprised you wanted people to notice how unique you are. There’s nobody in the world like you, Robert.

‘You told me about hurting distance, remember? There was a limit to how much you could hurt Prue Kelvey, and that waitress on Graham’s stag night, because they didn’t know you. Everyone knows there are brutal, violent people in the world, like there are hurricanes and earthquakes. If we don’t know these monsters personally, we can think of them as being almost like natural disasters—when they devastate our lives, we don’t take it personally. It’s just random. They haven’t known us and loved us, been close to us. We tell ourselves that they don’t know the good, sensitive, vulnerable people we truly are. If they did, they wouldn’t be able to hurt us in the way they have. The damage might be terrible, but it isn’t really about us. It could have happened to anyone. You told me all this yourself, and you were right.’

My breath mists the windowpane. I draw a heart with my index finger, then rub it out. ‘I know from personal experience, Robert. It makes it so much easier if you can put some distance between you and your attacker. Your brother knew my name, when he forced me into his car at knifepoint, but he didn’t know me. I knew it wasn’t about me. That was a consolation.’ The inside of my mouth feels like leather. The air in your room is warm and dry. I can’t open the window. There’s a lock on it and it won’t budge.

‘Graham pretended it was his idea to choose women who had websites as your victims, so that you could taunt them with what you knew about them. The personal angle—more fear and hurt in their eyes, as they wondered why they, of all women, had been chosen. Graham told me all about it, and was happy to take all the credit. But it was your idea, wasn’t it, Robert? After Graham’s stag night, you were frustrated. Probably angry. You felt as if that waitress had got off scot-free, didn’t you? It felt like a wasted opportunity because, however much Graham had enjoyed himself, you knew the waitress would already have started to console herself with the idea that she was simply a victim of bad luck, in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

I wipe away tears. ‘You suggested an amendment to Graham’s business plan: instead of strangers, you suggested choosing particular women, letting them know you knew who they were and what they did. Letting them know they’d been hand-picked. Graham liked the idea, but he’s more easily satisfied than you. You still weren’t happy. It’s your name you want known; no one else’s is important. But you could hardly suggest to Graham that the two of you introduce yourselves to the women you planned to rape, build up a relationship with them and then rape them, could you? Graham didn’t want to be caught.’

But he has been, and that’s partly thanks to me. I try to remember that I am not only a victim of you and your brother. I am also, or could also be, a winner. Depending on what I do now.

I carry on talking to your closed eyes. ‘You didn’t worry about getting caught, did you? You were confident you could destroy your victims so completely that they’d pose no threat. You thought your method was foolproof. Shall I tell you about your method?’ I laugh, a hard, rusty cackle from the back of my throat. ‘First you get close to us, you get within hurting distance. You make us love you, and need you, so that our whole world is Robert, Robert, Robert. God, you’re brilliant at that part of it! So loving, so romantic. You’re the perfect husband or lover—whatever the role you’re playing, you put all your energy and enthusiasm into it. If we didn’t believe you were the perfect soul mate, it wouldn’t hurt as much when we found out the truth, would it?’

I grab the edge of your top pillow and yank it out from under your head, holding it in both hands. ‘That’s the part you look forward to most. The hurting. The big shock when you reveal who you really are. You told me yourself.’

I fall silent as I remember your exact words: I’ve thought about leaving her for so long. Planning it, looking forward to it. It’s turned into this . . . legendary thing in my mind. The grand finale.

‘Yvon was wrong to think you’d never leave Juliet for me,’ I say. ‘You would have done, eventually. That was always part of your plan. But you wanted to draw out the thrill of anticipation, extend it for as long as possible, before moving on to your next victim. We were Graham’s victims first, then yours. I bet you saw Graham as some kind of support act—you knew that you were the one who was really going to destroy us: Juliet, Sandy Freeguard. Though you saw that Sandy Freeguard would be very hard to destroy, so you moved on to another name on the list—mine.’

I squeeze the pillow in my hands, digging my fingernails into it. The fabric springs back. I cannot leave a mark, however hard I press, cannot transmit my agony to this inanimate object.

‘You pride yourself on having nerves of steel,’ I say, ‘but deep down you’re a coward, and a hypocrite. Much as you despise your brother, you don’t cut all ties, do you? You still let him use your lorry for his rape nights. You even raped Prue Kelvey to keep him happy, keep him onside. Because there’s one thing Graham’s got that you desperately need—his list of victims’ names. So that you can make them your victims too.

‘All the time you were married to Juliet, you knew one day you’d hit her with the truth. The Wednesday before last—that was the day you chose. You were supposed to be meeting me the next day at the Traveltel. It would have been the thirtieth of March, the anniversary of the day your brother raped me. How perfect, from your point of view. You knew that if you told me you’d left Juliet to start a new life with me, I would think of that date as having been vindicated, cleansed. I’d have been even more sure that we were destined to be together, that you were my saviour. Because there’s no such thing as a coincidence, right?

‘You didn’t turn up, but if you had, if your plan had worked, you’d have had a suitcase with you. You’d have told me you’d left Juliet and asked if you could come home with me. Can you guess what I would have said?’

I laugh bitterly. Tears fall on my hand, on the pillow. I’m crying hard, but I’m not upset. I’m angry, so angry that the pressure in my head is squeezing moisture out of my eyes.

‘What did you say to Juliet? How did you break the news? If I’m right—and I’m sure I am—you probably waited until the two of you were in bed. Did you climb on top of her, ignoring her protests that she was tired? She must have been confused. You were always so gentle with her—what was going on? Suddenly you weren’t gentle anymore. She didn’t recognise you as the Robert she knew and loved, the man she’d married. You raped her, like you’d always known you would one day, like you’d always planned to. Except it was so much better than with Prue Kelvey, because you were within hurting distance. You saw the terrible pain in Juliet’s eyes and you knew it was all for you.