I froze with my dress in my hands. We still had three days left in Cornwall: I had assumed we would continue to follow the trial.
‘We could go and see Goonhilly Downs tomorrow,’ said Kit. ‘You know, that place with the standing stones and the satellite receivers that I told you about back in the summer?’ I kept my back to him as I hung up the dress and smoothed it down on its hanger in the wardrobe. ‘Ok, not quaint enough for you. What about lunch in St Ives, then?’ I still didn’t say anything. He flopped backwards and the bedsprings sighed with him. ‘You want to stay here and see out the trial.’
I turned to face him. ‘Just long enough to see him in the witness box. I didn’t get to see Beth but I want to see Jamie go through it. I want to see him deny it and I want to be there when he breaks.’
Kit didn’t look convinced. I tried to appeal to his methodical nature. ‘It’s the police and doctor tomorrow. You might feel better if you sit through all the forensic stuff.’
‘But you said yourself that it might not rest on forensics.’ Kit loosened his cufflinks, little silver hooks that I only now noticed bore his father’s initials. I couldn’t imagine the Lachlan McCall I’d known wearing a suit. He tossed them like jacks from one palm to another. ‘Could physical marks of a struggle prove he knew what he was doing or does she actually have to verbally say no?’
The next question was inevitable: did you actually hear her say no, Laura? I had to cut him off. I couldn’t lie to his face.
‘We’ve been through all this!’ I said. ‘Sex without consent is rape, Kit! End of!’
He recoiled in surprise. ‘Yeah, I know that, but—’
The next question burst out of me at the same pitch. ‘Do you believe her or not?’
I’ve reviewed this conversation endlessly, and what I think I really meant was: you do believe me, don’t you? But Kit didn’t know that, and he did what he always does when cornered: retreated into pedantry.
‘You said yourself, she never actually spoke about it afterwards. It wasn’t till the police turned up that she started talking, was it? So technically, I can’t believe or disbelieve someone who hasn’t actually said anything either way on the subject.’
He was right, of course, which must have made my next eruption all the more bewildering. ‘I didn’t know you were such a pompous, cynical fuck.’ It was projection, of course; I was lashing out at him to appease my own guilt and confusion at my earlier performance. But I didn’t understand that at the time. His face crumpled with the force of my accusation, but he stood his ground.
‘I’m not cynical,’ he said, with control. ‘I’m . . . a scientist. You can’t be emotional in a court of law. I’m just trying to see it like they do. I thought that talking through the mechanics of it might be helpful, that’s how you process things. Not every debate has to be a personal attack on your values. You know your problem? Too much compassion.’ He was shouting now. ‘You can’t go through life taking on other people’s shit like this. You haven’t got a filter.’
I’d started to cry halfway through his speech and I spat the next words.
‘At least I’ve got feelings to filter out! At least I’m not a fucking robot.’
Now Kit looked like he was fighting tears. He tightened his fist around his father’s cufflinks. ‘That’s not fair and you know it.’
We teetered on the brink of our first huge row until Kit, adhering to the habit of a quiet lifetime, acquiesced.
‘Ok,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t make fun. I can see how important it is to you. We just see things differently, that’s all.’ He kissed me on the forehead. ‘We’ll stay for the rest of the trial if that’s what you want. Two days, though. I’m not taking any more time off university.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, noticing a prickling irritation that he’d rolled over so easily even though it was what I’d wanted. ‘Just, I feel like I owe it to Beth, to go and see it happening on her behalf.’ If he’d lost some of my respect, I’d tested his, too.
Kit folded up the map, getting the creases in all the right places where other people would wrestle with it. ‘I think you’ve already done more than enough for Beth,’ he said, tucking the map away into our suitcase. I stiffened but there was no side to his voice, no meaningful glance; it was just a turn of phrase that I had freighted with my own paranoia. ‘Anyway, let’s not keep going on about it,’ he said, zipping up the bag. ‘It’s not like she’s gonna know. Carol Kent told me she’d already left Cornwall. We’ll never even see her again.’
Chapter 17
KIT
18 March 2015
This cruise ship is built for old people. Handrails line every wall and half the chairs in the bar are those high-backed, high-sided chairs you see in retirement homes. I’ve found one that faces the room but hides my face so I can see but not be seen. I’d say at least half the passengers are pensioners, and – I didn’t realise this when I booked – there are no children on the trip at all. I’m so used to public spaces being overrun with kids that the slow pace and muted hubbub here is unnerving. Or perhaps I’m just in the mood to be unnerved.
A cold beer is taking the edge off my earlier shock, although the woman I mistook for Beth is everywhere, snagging my vision whenever she goes to the bar. Worse, she keeps smiling at me and even though my rational mind knows it’s not Beth, each time she does, there’s a twentieth of a second where some primitive defence instinct turns my hands into fists.
‘How’s Louise’s pregnancy going?’ It’s the first time Richard has mentioned it.
‘Laura,’ I say. ‘She’s good. Due in two months.’