‘I’m – ah – ah – an accountant.’
‘Right. An accountant.’ He gave the bloke a shake, and he whimpered. He couldn’t be bothered, he realised; suddenly he just felt tired, and very sober. The flood was ebbing away. This man wasn’t worth his energy. He let him go. ‘Do yourself – do everyone – the favour, and stop meddling in things you can’t possibly understand. Yeah?’
There was no answer. The man was massaging his throat. But he nodded, twice.
Doug’s hand ached. He flexed it. He wasn’t proud of what he had done, but at least he had stopped himself. Then he heard, sotto voce, ‘Fucking coward.’
That was when he had lost it properly, according to the eyewitnesses, of which there were many: it was a crowded bar, after all. They said they thought he was trying to kill the bloke. The police had to drag him off him. Adrian Campbell. That was his full name. There had been extenuating circumstances, to a degree. Campbell had a history of involving himself in brawls, and generally disrupting the peace. There was the nature of the insult – put in context with his own, previously undiagnosed condition: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, making him not fully in charge of his own actions.
He knew otherwise. Unsurprisingly, his lawyer advised him not to mention this in court. The sentence was two hundred and fifty hours’ community service, and the sessions with the psychiatrist. He thought, when it came to the latter, that he probably would have preferred to stay in prison.
‘OK,’ I say, when Doug finishes. But it’s not really OK. I’m not OK. I don’t know what to feel about it. On the one hand there is the fact that, for all its violence, the story has a strange kind of logic to it. He was suffering from PTSD, and he was viciously provoked. From what he says, that man was trying to get a rise out of him, pushing all his buttons. I suppose it at least provides some context for the horror I read on the Internet. But there’s a small voice that’s also saying: You are drawn to this man, in spite of yourself – therefore you are trying to excuse the inexcusable. Because his blunt, even dispassionate, account of the incident has illustrated exactly what he is capable of. Far more graphically, somehow, than any of those lurid column inches could.
What exactly the boss thought he was doing employing me here with a man who had done such a thing as my sole other co-worker, I don’t know, but that’s another matter. The important question is, does it make him capable of killing that guest? No, of course it doesn’t. At least … probably not. Hopefully not.
Unless, of course, she provoked him.
One day earlier
New Year’s Day 2019
EMMA
The party by the loch has suddenly diminished. Giles told us he was going to check on Priya, Katie has gone to get another jumper. It’s too cold to sit out here much longer.
‘Crap,’ Bo says, ‘Miranda still hasn’t come back. I bet she’s passed out. She told me to leave her … and to be honest she isn’t her best self right now.’
‘Leave her,’ says Nick. ‘She could do with sleeping a bit of it off.’
‘I don’t know,’ Bo says, ‘she was in a pretty bad way—’
‘I’ll go,’ I say.
It’s dark and very quiet when I step into the Lodge, so much so that I assume Miranda can’t be here at first. Then I hear the voices. Something makes me stop; there’s an intimacy to the darkened room that makes me feel I shouldn’t disturb them. One voice is low, hoarse, almost a whisper. The other drunken, belligerent. ‘I had to tell the truth. Duh. It was Truth or Dare.’
‘No you didn’t. You know you didn’t. You were doing it to wind me up.’
A laugh, sharp and mean. ‘Believe it or not, Giles, I didn’t think of you once.’
‘Fine – exactly. You didn’t think. You don’t. And what about Julien?’
‘Oh … he won’t think anything of it. I told him I slept with Katie once, to turn him on. He has this whole little fantasy about us – slutty schoolgirls. Chill out. She’s never going to guess it was you, Giles.’
‘If you hadn’t noticed, there aren’t that many candidates here. It wouldn’t take a genius. Samira knows we were in the same tutor group together.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake. I don’t know why you’re getting your knickers in such a twist. It happened a million fucking years ago.’
‘Except not so much so that you could helpfully forget about it for one stupid bloody game. If Samira found out about us – even though it happened a long time ago – it would be really, really bad. She had a lot of trouble, after Priya was born, more than you know. And she’s always had this suspicion, this idea that something might have happened. That I have a thing about you. Which is completely ridiculous, of course.’
‘Is it?’ Miranda says now. ‘Is it Giles? What about that party—’
‘For God’s sake, yes. What are you trying to say? Don’t look at me like that. Look … we’ve all had a lot to drink. I think it’s probably time we all went to bed. I know you’re not going to say anything to her. I just got worried, for a second … when we were playing that stupid game.’
‘No. I don’t think so. Can’t promise anything, though. Might be good for your marriage – a little test. Might be refreshing for us all. Show you aren’t quite as bloody perfect as you think you are.’
‘For God’s sake Miranda.’ He’s practically hissing now. ‘You know what? One of these days you’re going to go too far.’
Then, suddenly, there’s a groan: a deep, animal sound.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Giles says again.
Miranda is hunkered over in her gold dress, on her hands and knees, vomiting onto the ground.
Giles watches her, impassive. He doesn’t seem at all like the man I have come to know, the caring husband and father – the man who saves people’s lives on a ward. I would have expected that man to kneel down, to hold back her hair. I’ve seen another side of him, this evening.
Then he turns, suddenly, before I have time to hide myself. His eyes meet mine.
MIRANDA
When I wake it’s very dark, and quiet. For a moment I have absolutely no idea where I am. I grope about with one hand to get my bearings. My first impression is of feeling absolutely disgusting, like my insides and my throat have been scoured with wire wool. The taste in my mouth is sour, acrid. What’s wrong with me? Am I ill? I grope for a switch, blink it on.
Oh. The light returns me to my surroundings. With a horrible inevitability the events of the evening come back to me. Drinking far too much. Having to prove myself as The Life and Soul of the Party. Giles accosting me with his paranoia. Well, maybe he’s not totally paranoid. I know Samira’s always had her suspicions. And I didn’t feel good about it at the time … it was after a boozy night in the pub for our tutor group, and I already knew she liked him. But for God’s sake – it was before they even started going out. If you let something like that upset you, you’re frankly too bloody thin-skinned. If anyone needs to be worried, it’s me. I was with Julien at the time, after all.
Oh God, and now I remember vomiting while Giles looked on, eyes on me the whole time, like he half wanted me to choke on it. When Julien appeared he just looked tired, vaguely disgusted. No: I wasn’t so drunk that I don’t remember that.