‘How’re you?’
I told her everything, blasting it out in a mess of non-sequiturs that must have been largely incomprehensible, and she first listened then calmed me down and asked me to try again. When I finished she said, ‘You must go to the police.’
She sounded steely, determined. Absolutely sure.
‘The police?’ It was as if it were the first time I’d considered it.
‘Yes! You’ve been attacked, Julia.’
I flashed on his hands on me, all over me, grabbing my flesh, tearing at my clothes.
‘But—’ I said.
‘Julia. You have to.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘No, they didn’t … he didn’t … and Hugh …’
I imagined telling Hugh, making the call to the police. What would I say?
I’ve heard the stories. Even if I had been raped, they almost certainly wouldn’t take me seriously, and if they did it’d be me who’d be on trial, not David, not Lukas. ‘And you went there for sex?’ they’d say, and I’d have to say yes. ‘Dressed in clothes that he sent you?’ Yes. ‘Having told him, more or less, that rape was a fantasy of yours?’
Yes.
And what would my defence be? I didn’t want it to happen, though. Not like that!
I felt myself crumple. I began to cry again as I imagined what might have happened, what Lukas might’ve done and got away with.
I thought of Hugh, and Connor. I imagined them finding out where I’d been, how I’d ended up. I’d have to tell them, there’s no way I’d be able to lie; I’ve done enough of that already.
‘I don’t even know where he lives.’
She paused. ‘Is there anything, anything at all, I can do to help?’
There’s nothing anyone can do, I thought. I just have to leave him, to walk away, to make the severance that, just a few hours earlier, I’d been dreading.
‘No.’
I went home. I knew what I had to do. Let Lukas recede into the past, do my best to forget him. Not log on. Not check my messages. Not raise my hopes that there’ll be flowers, apologies, explanations. Move on.
Mostly, I’ve succeeded. I’ve carried on working. I told Hugh I’d decided to stop seeing the counsellor but to start going back to my meetings. I’ve done so, and kept busy in other ways. I’ve called Ali and Dee and the rest of my friends, and spoken to Anna every day. I’ve spent more time with Connor, even tried to talk to him about Evie, to reassure him that he can tell me about his girlfriend, if he wants. ‘I’d like to meet her, one day,’ I said. His shrug was predictable, but at least I’d made the effort.
I’ve met up with Adrienne, too. Finally. She invited me to a concert and we had dinner afterwards. We chatted; the argument we’d had outside the house felt all but forgotten. Before we said goodbye she turned to me.
‘Julia,’ she said. ‘You know I love you. Unconditionally.’ I nodded, waiting. ‘And so I’m not going to ask you what’s going on. But I need to know. Are you all right? Is there anything I need to worry about?’
I shook my head. ‘No. Not any more.’
She smiled. It was the nearest I’d come to a confession, and she knew I’d tell her, one day.
I’ve only been weak once, one Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago. I’d fought with Hugh, Connor was being impossible. I couldn’t help myself. I logged on to encountrz, ignored the couple of new messages I’d accumulated, then searched for his username.
Nothing. Username not found. He’d vanished.
I couldn’t help it. I called him.
His number was unavailable. It didn’t even go to voicemail. I tried again – in case there’d been a problem, he was out of the country, there was an issue with the connection – and then again, and again, and again. Each time, nothing.
And then I realized where I was, what I was doing. I told myself I was being ridiculous. I’d promised myself complete cut-off; I’d told myself it would be easier, the best way.
And here it was. The severance I craved. I should be grateful.
I get in late. I’ve been out, taking photos, first portraits of a family that had been in touch through the website, then on the way home I’d stopped off to get some shots of people as they stood outside the bars of Soho – trying to get back to the subjects who really interest me, I guess – but now Hugh is already home. He asks me to come with him, he has something to tell me.
It sounds ominous. I think of the time I got home from the gallery, the police in the kitchen, the news that Kate was dead. I know Connor is fine, his light is on upstairs, it’s always the first thing I ask when I arrive home and I’ve already done so tonight, but still I’m nervous. Tell me now, I want to say, whatever it is, but I don’t. I follow him into the kitchen. I dump my bag on the floor, my camera on the table.
‘What is it?’ He looks serious. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
He takes a deep breath. ‘Roger called. From the Foreign Office. They think they know what happened to Kate.’
I feel myself collapse. Questions tumble out – What? Who? – and he explains. ‘There’s a man, this guy who they arrested on something totally unrelated. Roger isn’t allowed to tell us what, exactly, but he hinted it was something to do with drugs. A dealer, I guess. Anyway, apparently he’s known in the area; they even questioned him about Kate but he said he’d seen nothing.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘When they searched his place they found Kate’s earring.’
I close my eyes. I picture him ripping it off her, or her being forced to give it to him, thinking that cooperation might save her life when in fact it did no such thing.
A dealer. Was it drugs, after all? Not sex?
Suddenly I’m there, again. Me and Marcus. We’d go together, but I’d wait for him. At the end of the street, on the corner, outside the station. He’d meet our dealer, hand over the cash. He’d come back with what we both wanted. Smiling.
But Kate saw none of that. I made sure of it, even the one time she visited us, during the school holidays. She hadn’t wanted to go home and be alone with Dad, she begged me to let her come for a visit. ‘Just for a few days,’ she said, and I relented. I scraped some money together to pay for her ticket, and our father put up the rest. She came for a long weekend and slept on the bed in our room while we slept on the couch, but I’m certain she saw nothing. It was a few weeks before Marcus died, and neither of us was using. I took her to the galleries, we walked the length of Unter den Linden, drank hot chocolate at the top of the Fernsehturm. I photographed her on the streets of Mitte – pictures that are lost, now – and we wandered around Tiergarten. I left her with Marcus only once, when I went to buy groceries, but he knew how much I wanted to keep her from drugs and I trusted him completely. When I got home they were playing cards with Frosty, the TV on in the background, showing cartoons. She saw nothing.
Still, shouldn’t I have set a better example?
I begin to sob, a sound that turns into a howl of pain. Hugh holds my hands in his. I’d thought it might make me feel better. Knowing who’d killed my sister. Knowing he’d been arrested, would be punished. It should draw a line under everything. It should open up a future, allow me to move on.
But it doesn’t. It feels so meaningless. So banal. If anything, it’s worse.
‘Julia. Julia. It’s all right.’
I look at him.
‘I can’t bear it.’
‘I know.’
‘It’s definitely him?’