‘We try and make it pretty. My mum is very into crafts and she sent up lots of hangings for the walls and we have got posters, of course, film posters. Daisy’s mum gave us a really beautiful old couch. I mean, it’s lots of different colours, so we got some throws on it, white ones to make it nice.’
‘And boyfriends?’
He was filling my glass again and I protested and said, ‘No, not for me.’
‘We have to finish the bottle,’ he says.
I can’t imagine that any bottle can have that much in it. But I think I can’t be rude and say no. So I’ll just let him fill it and not drink it.
‘Boyfriends, well, not now. Work is too important. I did have a boyfriend.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Daniel, we grew up together.’
‘That’s lovely. And you’re still seeing him?’
‘No, not now.’
‘Fancy free,’ says Alex. ‘You’re footloose and fancy free.’
And then he’s suddenly closer to me, beside me on the couch. And I know he shouldn’t be closer to me. But I don’t know what to say. Why is he closer to me? So I move just a little bit, but his hand reaches my knee.
‘No, don’t go, you’re such a lovely girl, this is great. We should talk more often like this; it’s important, you know, for me to get to know the staff, to be able to help them make good life choices later, you know. Understand the business, and where you fit within it.’
‘Right,’ I say trying to concentrate, because I definitely feel dizzy.
‘And you have a stepfather, you were saying?’
‘Yes, Stefan, he’s lovely, he’s Lithuanian.’
‘Oh how nice, very nice. And a little sister?’
‘Yes...’
His hand is moving up past my knee. I don’t know what to say: get your hand off my knee? He’s my boss. He’s older. This can’t be right?
‘I don’t think we should be doing this, Alex, Mr Quinn.’
‘Nonsense,’ he says, ‘nonsense. There’s nothing wrong with this, just a little drinkie after work, way of winding down after the week. People do it all the time. It’s business. There has to be a little fun in life, doesn’t there?’
Suddenly he’s pushing me back onto the couch and he’s actually lying on me. His mouth is pressed up against mine, and his tongue is forcing its way into my mouth. And I’m saying, ‘No, no, no, Mr Quinn, stop.’
But he doesn’t care and he’s holding my ponytail tightly with one hand, holding my head back. It hurts, I feel trapped. He’s moved away from my mouth and I’m saying ‘No!’ and his head’s down at my collarbone which is hidden by my little frilled cardigan. And he rips it. Just rips it viciously.
‘Oh, that’s nice, little lady. You like that, don’t you?’
‘No, I don’t like that,’ I beg. ‘This is wrong, Mr Quinn. Please stop, please.’ I’m crying but it’s coming out as whispering because I’m so scared. How is this happening? How did we go from us having a chat in his office to him kissing me, lying on top of me? How?
What did I do wrong? I must have done something for this to happen. Wine, I had wine and I talked and told him about the bath and ...
‘Come on, don’t be a tease, you knew what this was about. Stay late, look at me, smile up at me, hello, Mr Quinn. I know your type.’
‘No, I don’t do that,’ and I go to scream and his hand is suddenly clamped over my mouth so I can barely breathe and I feel paralysed with fear, because I know exactly what’s going to happen now and the fear does something to my body. Every muscle tenses up and vibrates, the fear radiating out like a pulse, a physical Morse code sign of distress. Ancient knowledge takes over. I feel like a small animal where everything is shutting down to cope with an ongoing threat and my voice has receded along with my understanding because I know what’s coming. I know and it’s my fault for not seeing, for not understanding. He’s so much bigger than me, stronger, and his hand’s still pulling my ponytail back, so I’m pulled backwards, arched towards him.
I’m five foot two, he’s six foot, and all the urbane clothes mean nothing because under them all he’s a bigger animal than I am and he can fight me and win. He’s pressing his body weight against me and he’s pulling at my cardigan and he’s got it open and he scrapes me as he rips it. But even though I’m aware of the rip of skin, I almost can’t feel it. My mind is aware but my body has gone somewhere else with the fear.
His hands are pulling up my bra and he’s got one of my breasts out. He’s biting me.
