‘You’ve made a decision, haven’t you?’ asked Linh, topping up Henley’s glass.
‘I’ll be careful,’ said Henley.
‘You’ll have to do more than that,’ said Linh. ‘Remember there’s nothing stopping whoever killed Rhimes from coming after you next.’
29
@Shep9783
Disgusting verdict. Where’s the support for the victims? No justice in this country.
@CY_Belle
Not guilty doesn’t mean that you’re innocent. It just means that the prosecution couldn’t prove it. HE DID IT!
@phil87
to @NathanHallOfficial - you’re a dirty rapist!
@JA.fanzine
Dirty player. Dirty rapist. Cancelling my season ticket if they re-sign him. 38,120 have signed my petition. Click the link to sign. Petition.Com - Do not re-sign Nathan Hall.
@Dan–PTExeter
to @NathanHallOfficial – Hope someone takes your knees out.
‘Fucking cunts!’ Nathan shouted. He threw his phone across the room and watched it land on the armchair on the other side of the room. The acquittal this afternoon and his impassioned speech on the steps of Southwark Crown Court, where he’d thanked the jury and his family for their support had fallen on deaf ears. His appeal that victims of sexual assault should always be heard, and that justice should run its course had done nothing to quell the shouts of rapist that filled the air. He couldn’t see how he was going to get his life back. He’d sat in the back of the car, listening to his agent fob him off when he’d asked when talks would resume about his transfer to Valencia CF. It was all well and good to be paid £75,000 per week to sit at home but he needed to be on the pitch and not – as he was currently doing – playing FIFA. He needed to play real football even it meant listening to the supporters in the stands baying for his blood.
The doorbell rang sharply and echoed around the house that he’d rented to escape the so-called activists who’d doxxed his home. Nathan pulled himself up from the sofa, crossed the room and picked up his phone. A notification confirmed that his kebab order was at the gate. Nathan opened the security app and unlocked the main gate, and headed to the front door.
He opened it and stood confused. There was no one there or making their way along the drive from the gate. He opened the security app and checked the last recording. Two minutes ago, the delivery person had been at his gate. He stepped onto the doorstep and looked out onto the driveway that was softly illuminated by the solar lamps. He could see nothing, but he could hear someone breathing.
The blows to his legs came in quick succession. First his right knee and then his left shin. The bones in his legs disintegrated like broken eggshells.
Through his piercing screams, Nathan could hear a man’s voice, his words fractured but clearly angry.
Nathan tried to turn onto his front to crawl back into the house, but every movement sent shards of bone deeper into the damaged tissue and muscle of his leg.
‘Not such the big man now,’ the man said as Nathan lay on his back, weeping, his breathing laboured. Resigned to his fate. He tried to raise his head to look down and see the damage, but his vision was blocked by the forged steel head of a sledgehammer.
‘Help me bring the dirty fucker in,’ the man muttered.
Nathan weakly pulled his right arm to his chest to protect himself, hearing the steel head of the hammer being dragged along the tiles. He cried out in pain when a pair of strong hands grabbed his arms and dragged him back.
30
Henley stood in front of her mirror and watched her naked body as she massaged cocoa butter into her stomach. She closed her eyes as her fingers ran along the scar that had been left behind by a killer’s knife, but it didn’t make a difference. The scar was etched in her mind. Half an inch of smooth, discoloured skin that morphed into an inch of raised, staggered, dark and thick skin where the scar tissue had grown excessively. There were times when the scar itched sending her a message that Peter Olivier would always be with her.
‘I’m ok,’ Henley whispered to herself as she fell back onto the bed. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. Her attempted meditation was interrupted by her phone signalling the arrival of a message. She sat up and stared at the screen. It was Eloise. The message preview was innocent enough: ‘Morning Anjelica’, but she knew that the rest of the message would contain questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
Rob entered the bedroom and placed a cup of coffee on the bedside table. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Everything is fine.’ Henley reached for her bra and put it on.
‘You need an outlet.’ Rob sat down next to Henley and untwisted her bra strap.
‘It’s quarter past seven. We’ve got to get Emma ready and take her to my dad.’
