‘OK,’ I said. ‘Thanks. I’ll have a look.’
For few months I broke my own rules: I started to read theDaily Mail.And their coverage of Billy Riddle’s trial was as exhaustive as their judgements about his victims were dubious.
He was being sued, it transpired, by an American woman called Jennifer Styles who claimed to have had his child after he’d raped her. She was from an Evangelical Texan family who’d refused to let her have an abortion, so now her lawyers were trying to get Billy extradited to the US so that he could stand trial. The publicity had nudged six other victims into making themselves known, one of whom was Joanna, Billy’s PA.
Had I had any doubt that he’d be found guilty, I might have forced myself to get involved, but, with seven victims describing almost exactly the scenario I’d been through, it seemed pretty much a foregone conclusion. And yet eventually, a year later, he wriggled out of it all by settling out of court – something men with money always do seem to manage one way or another. He’d paid an undisclosed amount to each of the six women and set up a trust fund for Jennifer Styles’s child and as a result the case had been dropped.
Mum phoned me a couple of days afterwards, when she finally stumbled upon an article about it. ‘I told you he was innocent,’ she said. ‘I told they were gold-diggers.’
So I was forced to tell her my own horrific Billy story and to explain the difference between an out-of-court settlement and innocence.
‘You could have been rich,’ she said once she finally got over her shock. ‘You could have taken us all on a cruise.’
But knowing that I’d made the right decision that day when I’d crashed through those garage doors was enough for me. I hadn’t overreacted after all.
I didn’t want Billy’s money. I didn’t want anything from Billy. Rather like Rob, with his father, all I wanted was to never have to think of Billy again. Or at least not for a very, very long time.
EPILOGUE
There’s a knock on the door and then almost immediately it eases open. ‘Are you decent?’ a chirpy feminine voice calls out. ‘Can I come in?’
‘We are,’ Dawn says. ‘Yes, come.’
The door opens to reveal Miriam's rosy-red features. ‘We’re starting in five minutes,’ she says, ‘and I just wanted to check you haven’t forgotten.’
‘But we’ve got a visit this afternoon – my grandson,’ Dawn says. ‘Didn’t I say?’
‘Oh, lovely,’ Miriam says. ‘Maybe he’d like to come too? We’ve got a juggler coming today and everything. It should be fun. You can always join in halfway through if you want. It’s nothing formal.’
Dawn wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. ‘Tom wants to talk to us,’ she says. ‘He wants to interview us actually. It’s for his sociology project or something. He’s at Nottingham Uni.’
‘Oh!’ Miriam says. ‘OK then! We’ll, I’ll just leave you to it and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Just as she leaves, Dawn hears the toilet flush, followed by the steady hiss of a tap. She turns towards the bathroom as the door slides open and Rob returns.
‘Miriam,’ she tells him, answering his unspoken question, a question asked by merely glancing towards the door. ‘They’ve got a juggler today apparently.’
‘A juggler is it?’ Rob says. ‘D’you want to go?’
‘No, we’ve got Tom coming in a bit, silly.’
‘Oh, is that today, then?’ Rob asks.
‘Yes,’ Dawn says. ‘Yes, it’s today.’ She refrains from pointing out that she’s reminded him of this three times already. She knows his forgetfulness isn’t intentional.
‘I’m going to go sit on the balcony for a bit,’ Rob says. ‘It’s a lovely day. Are you staying there?’
‘No,’ Dawn says. ‘No, I’ll come.’
She presses a button on the armchair and it gracefully lifts her to a standing position. It’s not that she can’t get up without assistance, but it does tend to make her lower back twinge, and lately that twinge can last all day.
Outside on the balcony it is indeed a beautiful sunny day, but then most days now are sunny days. The youngsters only get excited when it rains.
Once they’re seated opposite each other, Rob asks, ‘So have you decided?’
‘Decided what?’ Dawn asks.
‘What to tell him.’
