Sophie Hannah: Hurting Distance

‘And raping her in itself wouldn’t have been enough for you either—not when you could make it even worse for her. You wanted her to connect this ordeal with the other one, the night in Graham’s chalet.’ I shake the pillow in front of your inert features. ‘You see how much I know? Aren’t you impressed? It was important to you that Juliet should realise the full horror of what you’d done to her, how badly you’d betrayed and deceived her. So how did you do it? I bet you said what Graham said, didn’t you? “Do you want to warm up before the show?” Or something along those lines. That will have been the best moment for you, seeing her eyes widen in shock, seeing the incomprehension on her face. And what then? Apart from rape. Did you tell her you were leaving her for me, another of your brother’s victims? Did you tell her everything at that point, including that you planned to spend the next few years wrecking my life in exactly the way you’d wrecked hers: first marrying me and making me idyllically happy, then demolishing it all, once you’d lined up another of Graham’s casualties to take my place?’

My whole body is shaking, sweating. I put my face close to yours. ‘I don’t think so,’ I answer my own question. ‘You’ll have wanted her to think she was the only one you’d done it to. You wouldn’t allow her the comfort of knowing she wasn’t alone in her victimhood. No, you just told her you were leaving her for another woman. That’s all you said about me. But you told Juliet everything else—that the man who raped her was your brother, and all about the family business. Every little detail made it worse for her and better for you.

‘Except you made a mistake, didn’t you? A fucking big one, as it turns out, because look at you now. You thought Juliet would crumble when she knew the truth. You thought you’d be able to walk out of that horrible house, leaving behind a quivering wreck of a wife, far too weak to go to the police or do anything about the new information you’d given her. She didn’t report the first rape, did she? Because she was too ashamed. You were counting on her being too ashamed to report the second. Who’d have believed her, anyway? Suddenly she’s claiming to have been raped not once but twice, the second time by her devoted husband? If she’d told anyone, you would have looked baffled and expressed concern about her sanity.’

I walk up and down your room, folding and unfolding the pillow. ‘I know what it’s like to make plans and have them destroyed, Robert. I understand, I really do. I’m a planner too. And you’d been so thorough, thought of every detail. God, it must have been annoying when your revelation changed Juliet in a way you’d never anticipated. She became stronger, not weaker. She didn’t collapse in a helpless heap. She picked up a stone doorstop and bashed your head in with it. Didn’t even call an ambulance afterwards, just let you lie there bleeding. Dying. I can’t say I blame her.’

My throat is burning. I can’t talk for much longer. I also can’t stop yet. This is what I’ve been looking forward to: telling you everything, getting it all out of me. ‘You’re too caught up in your own thoughts, in your own little world,’ I say. ‘Well, you’ve not got much choice now, I suppose. But I mean before. Because you’re such a narcissist, you miscalculated. Juliet had already fallen apart once. She’d had a nervous breakdown. She was insecure and timid for all the years you were married to her. The only way was up, Robert—why didn’t you see that? Why didn’t it occur to you that human beings are actually quite resilient, especially ones like Juliet, and me, who’ve come from loving families and secure backgrounds. When you showed Juliet the twisted creature you really are, it was a big enough shock to send everything flying in her brain. Everything rearranged itself. Seeing that her rescuer was actually her enemy made her fight back in a way that nothing else probably could have.’

Your eyelids move.

‘Is that your way of asking me how I know all this? I know because the same happened to me. When I worked out the truth, put it all together, I realised how stupid I’d been to believe another person could save me. For the first time since your brother raped me, I wanted to fight back, on my own. Other people trick you and lie to you, and the ones who are supposed to love you do it the most—that’s what Juliet thinks now. That’s how she sees the world. You’ve turned her into a monster too, one who doesn’t care about anything anymore, not even herself.’

I laugh. ‘You know, she could have told me everything she knew about you, but she didn’t. Instead, she used it to taunt me. Even though she knows what a grotesque, sick pervert you are, she still hates me for trying to steal her husband—the kind, sensitive one. You might find that weird. I don’t. Two Roberts exist in my head, just as they do in hers. That’s probably the worst thing you’ve done to us both. You’ve left us mourning the loss of a man who never existed. Even knowing that, we still love him.’

I look down at the pillow in my hands. When I first reached for it, my intention was to smother you. To succeed where Juliet failed. I’m glad she didn’t kill you. Now I can. You deserve it. Anyone would agree you deserve to die, apart from the naïve and the misguided, those who believe killing is always wrong.

But if I end your life now, your suffering is almost over. It will only last a few more seconds. Whereas if I don’t, if I walk out of this room and leave you alive, you’ll have to lie there and think about everything I’ve said, about how I won and you lost, in spite of your best efforts. That’ll be torture for you. Assuming you’ve heard everything I’ve said.

The trouble, now as before, is that I have no way of knowing what you’re thinking, Robert. You can see how much you’ve hurt me. I’ve kind of given the game away on that front. Maybe that’s what you’ll concentrate on, if I leave you breathing in this room. Maybe you’re the winner, immune from punishment in your cocooned state, and I’m destroyed, utterly destroyed, even more so because I haven’t faced up to it yet.

I want to say one last thing to you before I either end your life or allow it to continue, a few words I prepared in my head before I came here. I chose them as carefully as I choose the mottos for my sundials. I whisper them in your ear, like a blessing, or a magic spell: ‘You’re the worst person I’ve ever known, Robert. And the worst person I’ll ever know.’ Saying this aloud underlines something in my mind: that the worst is over.

And now I need to decide.

32

4/13/06

‘I DON’T THINK he wants to give you a hard time,’ said Olivia. ‘I think he’s genuinely worried about you. You should ring him. You’ll have to speak to him eventually.’

Bright sunlight glowed through the closed curtains. Charlie wished she’d bought thicker ones, wondered how much it would cost to have black-out lining added. She shook her head. Her plan—a far better one than Olivia’s—was to go nowhere near the phone. Simon had left lots of messages that she didn’t want to listen to. Besides, Olivia was wrong: Charlie would not necessarily have to speak to Proust eventually. Or Simon. She could hand in her notice. Then she’d never need to face either of them again.

Olivia sat down beside her on the sofa. ‘I can’t stay here forever, Char. I’ve got work to do and a life to get on with. And so have you. This is no good, lying around in your pyjamas, smoking all day. Why don’t you go and get dressed, have a nice hot bath? Brush your teeth.’

The doorbell rang. Charlie huddled on the sofa, pulling her dressing gown tight around her body. ‘It’ll be Simon,’ she said. ‘Don’t let him in. Tell him I’m sleeping.’