He even told her about the boys, or rather, the young men. ‘Not for years now,’ he said, arguing inwardly that even two years counts as years. ‘Ages.’ Then he remembered Luke, the music student who was assigned to him as an assistant when he conducted in Edinburgh the previous year. Determined not to lie, he said, ‘Nothing for at least a year.’ She didn’t say anything, just nodded some more.
A grey light was diluting the darkness outside when he ran out of words and noticed she was already sleeping. His confession had drained him of poison and he felt sapped and weak but clean. He stroked her hand with its familiar broad palm, the muscular thumb, the small rough spots of oil paint, the two swollen finger joints. Then he nestled against her back, one arm round her waist as he’d done when they were first together forty years earlier, and slept.
17
DAPHNE
‘God, what a drama. It’s a relief to be out of there. Who’d have thought your grandpa’s party would turn into such a hullabaloo?’ She was trying to make light of it; Libby hadn’t spoken since they got into the Uber. It had been horrendous to see Ralph gatecrashing her father’s birthday. He was manic, almost demoniacal, and, rather than take charge of the situation, she had become frozen. It felt like being a witness to an avalanche, where there is a ghastly fascination at the horror and you are helpless to do anything. She wondered whether she should have called the police as Jane threatened. Or confronted him directly, perhaps. After their hurried departure, Jane had sat with them in the entrance hall of the club for a few minutes, but they hadn’t felt free to discuss Ralph with Libby staring at them both.
‘I’ll call you first thing in the morning, OK?’ said Jane. ‘Get a good night’s sleep.’
It was soothing being driven home along the Embankment, with its succession of glittering, lit-up bridges and the easy flow of night traffic heading west. Then Libby spoke. ‘It was you, Mum, wasn’t it? The girl?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Daphne, understanding exactly.
‘Paige saw him on telly after that day when he came round. Ralph Boyd. She recognised him. And then… well we remembered you being so annoyed. You know, when you made him leave.’ She waited for a response. ‘Weren’t you going to tell me?’
Daphne edged up closer to her daughter, whose face was tinted a pallid orange from the street lights. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.’ She took Libby’s hand and spoke very quietly near her ear so the driver would not hear. ‘I didn’t have the words. I couldn’t bear the idea of dragging you into that bloody mess.’ Daphne had tried to avoid mentioning her past, the shambolic childhood, the havoc of her marriage, the mad years and even her recovery. That was all put away, unmentionable. And so was Ralph.
‘Look, I’ll try to explain it to you.’
‘OK.’
‘It started off that Ralph was a family friend, a friend of your grandparents. And my friend too, when I was a child.’
Libby nodded, concentrating, looking down and glancing occasionally at her mother.
‘And then, at a certain point, we… no, he… he got close to me. Then he abused me. You know, sexual abuse.’ She whispered the last sentence, glancing towards the driver’s head and wondering if his dogged forward gaze implied he was trying to listen.
‘That’s so gross,’ said Libby, picking at her fingernails and not looking up.
‘I know, but it’s complicated. The thing is, I didn’t properly realise it was abuse at the time. He persuaded me it was OK.’ She didn’t want to say too much.
‘Like Internet grooming?’
‘I suppose so, yes. Grooming, anyway.’
‘But it’s never right, is it? Not with a child.’ Libby stared at Daphne through a fog of disbelief. ‘I mean, “Your body belongs to you.” You’ve even told me that.’ Libby’s tone was slightly accusing. ‘How old were you?’
Daphne didn’t say, ‘Around your age.’ It was hard enough to meet the outraged, grey-blue eyes. ‘I suppose I was about thirteen when it started.’
‘Gross,’ Libby repeated. ‘That’s so horrible, Mum. And what about him? How old was he?’
‘About thirty.’
Libby was like the scolding parent and Daphne felt she was losing control of the conversation. ‘But, Mum, that’s so wrong. Why didn’t you tell anyone? Your mum? What about Childline?’ It was almost impossible to answer.
‘You’re right, Libby. It’s wrong and bad, but I didn’t understand.’ She held Libby’s hand tighter. ‘I don’t know why it took me so long. Maybe it was almost like brainwashing. But when I did finally get it, I went to the police. That’s why it was in the news. So now there’ll probably be a court case.’
‘So when were you going to tell me? What was I meant to think? And what…’ Libby couldn’t finish the sentence, her voice constricted. Tears plopped on to her legs.
‘Oh, come here, darling.’ Daphne drew her close and into a hug. ‘I’ve made a mess of this,’ she said over the top of Libby’s head. ‘A regular dog’s dinner,’ she added, trying to provoke a smile with one of their pet expressions. ‘I was trying to keep you out of my problems. I didn’t want to upset you or worry you. But I suppose I only made it worse. Of course you have to know.’
Libby extracted herself from her mother’s arms.
‘Do you promise you’ll explain everything from now on?’ Libby was regaining control over herself and the situation – a dynamic that was more familiar to Daphne. ‘It’s unfair, otherwise.’
‘I do. I’ll keep you posted each step of the way. And I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I promise. I’m so sorry.’
Ed rang early the next morning, when Libby was still sleeping and Daphne was pottering about the quiet flat in her dressing gown.
‘Well that was quite a party for an old man!’ He sounded rather gratified, she thought, at the scandalous events. ‘I suppose I won’t see you before we head back to France, and I wanted to touch base.’ She could tell he had something on his mind and was leading up to it.
‘I can’t believe what Ralph did,’ she said. ‘Turning up like that. It’s as if he feels no remorse. He’s still trying to justify himself.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure about that, Dafflings.’ Ed paused slightly. ‘Did you know that he was so seriously ill?’
She began to suspect where he was heading. ‘Um, well Nina told me.’
‘You missed the commotion at the end, when she arrived at the Garrick and he collapsed on the floor. Ghastly. We thought he’d died. But it turned out he’d only fainted. Still, it brought it home. Apparently, he doesn’t have much time left. Months or even weeks. I thought perhaps you didn’t know, what with the police and the court case and everything.’
Daphne didn’t reply.
‘I’m not trying to justify what he did. You know that?’
She made a small noise, signifying only that she’d heard him.
‘But what will you gain by prosecuting him at this point in his life? I’m not defending his behaviour, which was awful – obviously. I’ve been discussing it with Margaret and she’s appalled.’
‘Well that’s all right then,’ said Daphne.
‘Oh, Dafflings, don’t be cross. Life is so complicated. So much happens. Sometimes we just have to let it go.’
‘But didn’t you ever wonder about what was going on? Didn’t it ever seem strange that your friend was always taking me off when I was a child? And what about Ellie? Did she never suspect something? It’s all very well to be relaxed, but…’ She stopped, feeling the futility of railing against her father.