The Truth-Teller's Lie (44 page)

For a moment it strikes me as odd that another person, sealed and self-contained as you are in your casing of flesh, has got under my skin to such an extent. If a surgeon cut you open, he would find all the different parts of you. If he cut me open, he’d find the same thing. You have almost replaced me, Robert, inside my own self. How did I allow that to happen?

‘This is Robert Haworth, is that right?’ I say, aiming to sound like someone who has every right not to be patient but is being patient nonetheless.

‘Yes. Are you from CID?’

‘Not quite,’ I say. I hold up my leather case, to suggest it contains important documents. ‘I’m the family liaison officer. I’m working with the police. Sergeant Zailer said it’d be okay to come and see Robert now.’ Thank God for Simon Waterhouse. He mentioned the possibility of engaging a family liaison officer to look after me, on the way back from the hospital yesterday. It’s a bit late for that, I felt like saying.

The nurses nod. ‘We’re finished anyway,’ one says.

‘Great.’ I flash her a busy, efficient smile. Neither of them questions why a family liaison officer would need to spend time with an unconscious man. The title I gave myself was enough for them. It sounded right, suggested procedures in place and guidelines diligently drawn up, clear aims and objectives. No need for the nurses to be on their guard.

Once they’re gone, I walk over to you and stroke your forehead, which is still damp from the sponge. Touching you now is an odd experience. Your skin is just skin, like mine, like anybody else’s. What makes you so special? I know your heart is still beating, but I’m more interested in what your brain is doing. That’s the bit of you that makes you different from other people.

The scream is still there, the one that started yesterday. But at the moment I’m making sure no one can hear it apart from me.

‘Hello, Robert. I’m back.’

It’s crazy, but I wait for a response, watch your face for signs of movement.

‘Your brother’s lost an eye. Graham. I’ve seen him again. It wasn’t as bad as the first time.’ There’s too much to say. I don’t know where to start. ‘He’s in hospital too. Not this one. Another one. It was because of me that he was hurt. I didn’t do it deliberately. It just happened.’

I imagine that I see your eyelids flicker. Probably because I’ve been staring so intently. We see what we want to see.

‘I know everything, Robert. Nobody told me. Well, some things I found out, from the police, from talking to Juliet. But I worked out the most important bits on my own. And ever since, all I’ve been able to think about is coming here to tell you. You might live or you might die, but either way, I want you to know I’ve beaten you. I have, Robert, though you had the advantage over me for so long. You were the one with all the information, who could decide whether to reveal it or not.’

I bend to kiss your lips. I expect them to be cold, but they’re not. They’re warm. I back away. ‘I can do and say whatever I want to you now, can’t I? You’ve got no control. It’s all up to me. I’m the one with the information, and all the power. I’m the one who’s going to be doing the revealing, and you’ve got no choice but to lie there and listen to me. It’s the opposite of how it was with Juliet.’

Another flicker of your eyelid, barely noticeable.

‘I know Graham raped her too. And you found her and looked after her, married her, made her trust you and need you. Just like you did with me. It must be easy to make a woman fall for you when you know so much about her, so much she doesn’t know you know. Easy to say all the right things. It worked so well with Juliet, didn’t it? And then you wanted to see if it would again. With Sandy Freeguard.’

My legs start to shake. I sit down in the chair beside your bed. ‘Sandy wasn’t quite as good as Juliet, though. For your purposes. You must have been disappointed, after such a good start—her falling for your knight-in-shining-armour act. Why wouldn’t she? You know how to make us feel safe and looked after. But Sandy wasn’t like Juliet, or me. She didn’t shrink into herself and make it her life’s work to hide her sordid little secret. She told the police, joined support groups, dealt with the rape better than anyone could have expected. It didn’t occur to her to feel ashamed, or try to conceal anything. Your brother’s the one who should be ashamed. Sandy Freeguard realised that long before I did, long before Juliet did.’

The anger I feel is unlike any I’ve known before. It’s cold, meticulous. I wonder if this sort of icy fury, the sort you can control and mould, is the same thing as evil. If it is, then there’s evil inside me for the first time in my life.

‘How much did Sandy Freeguard talk to you about what your brother did to her? A lot, probably. It must have been the main thing on her mind. She was a talker, and you were her loving, caring boyfriend.’

I lean in closer. ‘How infuriating for you. What a waste of all your efforts. Your sick little game only worked with women who buried the experience, went into hiding. People like me and Juliet, who were terrified of anybody knowing, because of what the world might think about us. That was the kick you got, wasn’t it? Marrying Juliet, knowing she had no idea that you knew. Watching her make a fool of herself day after day, loving and trusting the brother of the man who’d raped her, who’d profited from raping her. Thinking that, however awful she felt, however shattered she was inside, at least she’d succeeded in concealing her defeat from the world, and now she had you, and things were starting to improve. You must have known all that was in her mind. You relished your secret knowledge, didn’t you? Gloated privately about how wrong she was, how far from the real truth. I can see the two of you at home, in your lounge, watching television, eating dinner. Fucking. And all the time, every second you were together, you knew you could destroy her entire world at any moment, if you chose to, by telling her you knew about the rape, that it was the only reason you were ever interested in her. And it wasn’t only Graham who’d made money out of it. You did too. You were in business together. You knew you could tell Juliet that any time you wanted. The ultimate power trip.’

I stand up, walk over to the window. A man in a green boiler suit and protective goggles is trimming the small round bushes in the courtyard outside your room, using a motorised blade. The droning sound stops every so often, then starts again.

‘It’s one of the most effective ways of ruining someone’s life—showing them, suddenly, that their interpretation of the world, everything they think they understand and believe to be true, everything that matters to them, is based on a lie, a cruel, sadistic trick. Maybe it’s the most effective way to destroy another human being. You must have thought so. I know what you’re like, Robert; only the best will do.’

You say nothing. I am trying to provoke somebody who’s unconscious.

‘I hope you’re impressed,’ I say. ‘You might have misled me successfully, but there were side effects that you didn’t foresee. You can’t give someone a year of your life and let them love you in the way I did without giving some of yourself to that other person. And you gave me enough to be sure I’m right about this. Now I’m the one who knows things about you, things you’d never have imagined I’d be able to figure out. But I have, because our relationship was real as well as fake.’

Your eyelids twitch; this time I know I haven’t imagined it. The phrase ‘rapid eye movement’ comes to mind. Doesn’t it happen when you’re deeply asleep? Perhaps you’re having a bad dream. What would that mean, for someone like you, whose chosen way of life is more horrific than most people’s nightmares?

‘You raped Prue Kelvey, although you didn’t really want to. Graham wanted you to, so you did, but you didn’t enjoy it, did you? Not like Graham enjoyed raping women—he loved it. He said you weren’t interested in the waitress either, on his stag night, though you raped her too, egged on by your brother. It was a sort of experiment, wasn’t it—doing what Graham did, just from time to time? To prove to yourself that your way was superior, in a different league.’

I am terrified of your eyes opening. I need to be able to finish, and I’m not sure I could with you looking at me. Answering me.

‘I know you made Prue Kelvey wear a mask over her eyes while you were forcing yourself on her. Graham thinks you did it because you were scared of her seeing your face, scared she might meet you again one day and recognise you. I knew he was wrong when he said that. But I was also wrong. Until I walked into this room and saw you today, I thought you’d made Prue Kelvey keep her mask on so that she didn’t see your face. So you could do to her what you did to Juliet and Sandy, and me: engineer a meeting, become her boyfriend, her saviour. And then wreck her life, bring it all crashing down.’

I shake my head, wondering how I could have believed this. ‘Of course it wasn’t that. The order of events would have been all wrong. I know your tidy mind, Robert. You had to be the saviour first—really
be
a saviour—and then become the destroyer. That’s why Graham’s victims were perfect. It wouldn’t have worked at all for you, would it, with a woman you’d already raped yourself?’

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.’