Sweet Deception (35 page)

They'd been here for the whole of the trial, all three days of it. There hadn't been much in the way of evidence—it was pretty much my word against Toby's. And that's what worried me.

Toby sat across the court, at the defence table, with his army of lawyers. There were a surprising number of onlookers in the courtroom. Word had got out that a high-flying surgeon had been accused of rape. Members of the press had started to attend.

“Now,” the judge began, and the court fell silent. He was a young man—much younger than I'd expected judges to be. But his red robes and wig gave him a commanding air. “I believe the jury has a verdict.”

The court official went and took the paper from the jury foreman and carried it to the judge. The judge briefly read what was written on the page, and then folded it over and looked up at the courtroom.

I felt my heart rate speed up, and nervous anticipation set in. This was the culmination of what I had set in motion six months earlier. After that day at my parents' house, I had gone to the police and filed a complaint. It wasn't the easiest of things to do, given that it was more than seven years since the “alleged incident,” as the policeman on duty had liked to call it, had taken place, which meant there was no physical evidence. But since voicing what had happened had helped me so much, I'd decided that I needed to make a formal statement—even if it led to nothing.

“Will the defendant please rise?” Toby got to his feet. “On the count of rape in the first degree, the jury finds the
defendant”—I held my breath—“not guilty.”

I slowly exhaled. I was disappointed but not shocked by the outcome. Without any physical evidence, it had come down to he said–she said. The Crown Prosecution Service solicitor had told me that she suspected the judge and jury were both on my side and believed me, but there just wasn't enough evidence to convict. Her assistant had confided in me that a lot of his boss's colleagues wouldn't have taken the case to trial, knowing that there was a good chance of losing, but that she'd wanted to give me my day in court.

The judge was still speaking, but I had tuned out. Richard dipped his head towards me. “Are you all right?”

“I am.” And surprisingly, I meant it. When I smiled, it wasn't forced. Even though Toby hadn't been found guilty, I didn't regret coming forward. Partly, it had been cathartic for me to tell the world my story. However cliché it sounded, I'd faced my accuser. Just having the strength to do that had helped me. I no longer felt like Toby had any power over me.

The proceedings ended, and everyone began to file out. The prosecutor, a no-nonsense middle-aged woman named Diane Hall, came up to shake my hand. Her face was grim but determined. “I'm sorry about the verdict.”

“You'd told me to prepare for it.”

“I know . . . but still.” She flashed a look at Toby, regarding him through narrowed eyes. “I just wanted to say—this isn't over, Charlotte. I promise you that.”

“I know.”

“I'll be in touch.”

I watched her walk away.

I knew Diane's words weren't idle promises. It seemed my coming forward about Toby was actually much more than a spiritual victory. Inevitably, once the police investigation had begun, rumours had started to circulate about what Toby had been accused of. In the past few weeks, three other women had come forward to lodge complaints against him. It seemed I wasn't his only victim. From the little I knew, his methods hadn't altered much over the years—he invariably chose emotionally vulnerable girls who had a crush on him, and he would cultivate their feelings for him until the inevitable attack. Like me, they'd been left so confused about whether they'd led him on that they hadn't known whether to label what had happened to them as rape.

Perhaps their cases might have resulted in a not guilty verdict like mine, except it seemed along the way Toby had made a mistake. He'd tried the same trick on a young female patient, during a follow-up visit in his consulting rooms after he'd operated on her. She'd managed to fight him off and had lodged a complaint to the hospital. It had been dismissed at the time, but now the police were looking into it, and while they were, Toby had been suspended from his job. Diane Hall believed that it was only a matter of time before the police found other female patients who'd been targeted
by Toby. Dr. Milton had said in our last session that she suspected the same.

The Crown Prosecution Service had started to build a case against him. As I glanced over at where Toby sat, I noticed there was a marked absence of hand-shaking or back-slapping between him and his family and legal team. It was unlikely he'd still be a free man this time next year.

Ten minutes later, everyone else had been ushered from the courtroom, leaving me alone with my supporters.

“So I suppose we'd better think about getting you home?” My mother's voice was bright, but I knew she was disappointed with the verdict—probably more so than the rest of us, even. Law was her area, and she seemed to be taking the fact that Toby hadn't been found guilty as a personal failing. “You can bring your car around, right, Richard?”

“Actually,” I said slowly. “I'm not sure I do want to go home quite yet. I think I'd rather go out and celebrate.”

I knew it wasn't the response anyone had expected from me. I braced myself for odd looks—to have to explain what was going through my head. I knew it wouldn't seem right to everyone, but to me there was a sound logic behind my idea. I didn't want to remember today as a defeat. Coming to court and facing down Toby had been a victory—even if I hadn't got the verdict I wanted. And I needed to treat it that way. I refused to go home with my tail between my legs, regretting standing up and telling my story.

“Celebrate?” It was Kate who spoke. I turned to her, worried that she might be horrified by the idea. After all, aside from me, she'd been the one most greatly affected by what had happened. Toby might not have physically attacked her, but he'd robbed her of her trust and sense of security. Her whole world had been destroyed after finding out what he'd done. She'd been left questioning everything. The idea of turning this into a celebration might be horribly offensive to her.

But fortunately she didn't look in the least bit put out. Instead she was smiling. “I think that sounds like a great idea. I could kill for a glass of champers myself.”

“Me too,” my father added.

“Well, all right, then.” My mother looked slightly stunned, but recovered quickly. “So where do you want to go?”

It was just growing dark when we emerged from the restaurant later that night, the sky a beautiful shade of deep purple. Richard had suggested we go for champagne at Skylon, a bar and grill in the Royal Festival Hall, and we'd ended up staying for dinner. It had been a surprisingly jovial occasion, despite the verdict not going our way. We'd got a table by the window, and watched as the sun set across the Thames.

We saw my parents and sister, along with Lindsay, into a cab, and then it was just Richard and me, standing on the Southbank alone.

“So what do you fancy doing now?”

I thought about it for a moment. There were some obvious answers. It was a nice night for a walk by the river, or we could head back to his place. But I had other plans. “I've got an idea.”

“Oh?”

“But I want to keep it a surprise. Do you trust me?”

He pretended to think about it for a moment, and then said, “I suppose I do.”

“Good.” I grabbed his hand. “I'll tell you where to drive.”

“Oh God,” he groaned. “Why do I have a feeling I'm going to regret this?”

I laughed in reply.

We went to his car, and I gave him directions to head into the West End. It was Friday night, and the capital was buzzing. As I directed Richard through the narrow streets of Soho, he had to avoid the drunken office-workers stumbling from the pavement into the road.

“Jesus,” he swore, as he braked to avoid a young lad who fell in front of him. The boy's friends picked him up, and chorused out apologies.

“There it is,” I said suddenly. “And there's a parking spot right in front.”

Richard pulled up into the space that I'd indicated.

“So,” he said, once he'd switched the engine off, “are you going to finally tell me where we're going? A nightclub? A gig?” He looked round the slightly dingy streets of Soho. “A sex show?”

I grinned, and pointed at the shop we'd parked outside.

He peered out, blinking twice as he finally realised what I intended.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Fair enough.” He reached for his seatbelt. “This I can't wait to see.”

*  *  *

An hour later, I finally emerged from the back room of the tattoo parlour. Richard was waiting patiently for me, leafing through the old magazines that they had lying around. He'd offered to come in with me, but I'd wanted to keep what I'd chosen a surprise.

He stood as I came out. His eyes ran over me, obviously trying to guess what I'd had done.

“So? Are you going to show me?”

I exchanged a smile with the tattoo artist, who retreated into the back, obviously sensing this was a private moment. I turned, drawing my hair to one side, so Richard could see my shoulder.

When I'd first got a tattoo, I'd been in a dark place. The dying rose had expressed the bleakness that I felt. But today I'd decided it was time to show how my life had moved on. My rift with my family had healed; I'd just been accepted again to art school, and would be going back in September; and I had Richard. I wanted to commemorate how far I'd come by marking my body with something more positive.

I'd been thinking about it for a while, and had started making sketches a few weeks earlier. Today I'd brought
copies of my idea in. The tattoo artist had understood exactly what I'd wanted. He'd managed to alter the rose on my shoulder, so instead of looking like a flower that was dying, it appeared to be coming back to life. And below the rose, I'd had a phrase written in black ink.

Richard traced a finger under the tender skin.

“Beauty for ashes,” he said.

“Good things can come from bad. It seemed appropriate.” I felt almost shy as I said it. It had only just occurred to me to wonder if he'd mind my copying his tattoo.

But as I turned to face him, I saw that he was smiling.

“You like it?”

“I love it.” He waited a beat. “And I love you.”

With that, he bent his head and kissed me.

If you enjoyed
Sweet Deception
, read on to discover

Beautiful Liar

by Tara Bond

I was allowed to ride in the ambulance with my sister. But when we got to the hospital, the police insisted that I stay outside while the doctor examined her—presumably because they were worried she might not tell the truth about what had happened if I was there. While I didn't like leaving her alone, I knew there was no point arguing, so I took a seat in the waiting area of the Emergency Room, and settled in for the long haul. I'd been there for about an hour when I heard a familiar voice say: “Well, this is quite a mess, isn't it?”

I looked up to see a short, stout woman in her early fifties, with wild, grey-streaked hair. It was our social worker, Maggie Walker, looking even more dishevelled than usual in an unflattering paisley dress and long navy cardigan.

“I wondered when you'd turn up.” My voice was hostile. Nothing against Maggie—she'd been fair to us over the
years—but her presence here wasn't going to be good for the Baxter family.

Maggie flopped into the chair next to me. “I thought she was doing better.”

“She was,” I said. “Sober four months and counting.”

“What set her off this time?”

I rolled my eyes. “What do you think? She got dumped again.” Since Dad had died, there'd been a revolving door of losers through our lives. Mum moaned about them and fought with them constantly, and then fell to pieces when they left.
You don't understan
d, she would tell us.
I need a man. It helps me forget how much I miss your father. I can't stand being alone
.

She often asked me why I didn't have a boyfriend. That was why. Who wanted to be so reliant on another human being that they couldn't cope by themselves?

“So what happens now?” I said. “To April.”

Maggie sighed, her cheeks puffing out as she shook her head. “Look, love, I'm not going to lie to you. It's bad this time.”

“Yeah.” I didn't bother to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “I kind of guessed that.”

She smiled a little, and then grew serious. “As of this morning, the court's placed April in foster care. The judge won't make any final decision for a while, but the way things are looking, I think there's a strong chance your mother's
parental rights will be removed and your sister will be placed permanently in care until she's eighteen.”

“No.” I was already shaking my head, ignoring the cold, sick feeling in my stomach. “That can't happen.”

I thought of all the awful statistics about children who'd been in foster care—the high incidence of eating disorders and self-harm. I didn't want that for my sister. In fact, I'd tried to ensure she had as normal an upbringing as possible. I could've gone to university, and left my mum and April to it. But instead I'd chosen to leave school at sixteen and work in a series of minimum-wage jobs, so I could keep our family together.

And now April was going to be taken away from us.

I looked over at Maggie. “Tell me how to get her back.”

“Very simply, you need to be able to prove that you can give her a safe, stable upbringing.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “I can do that.”