Ash once joked about this. ‘You wouldn’t either,’ he’d said, ‘if your name was Fanny.’
My mother-in-law’s name is actually Theophania, which arguably isn’t much better. Her mother was Greek. But her father called her ‘Fanny’, apparently. Needless to say, Ash found his own quip hilarious. I laughed, too, when he made it, feeling treacherous towards Daniel at the same time. Thinking about this now, I manage a small smile, but it’s accompanied by a pang of guilt.
My mother-in-law’s house is a small, slightly run-down, perfectly symmetrical cottage, in the dip of a valley, next to a stream. It doesn’t get much sun and as Mrs Duffy feels the cold, she keeps the radiators on full blast. We come here sometimes for Sunday lunch – like Daniel, my mother-in-law’s a great cook – and when we do, I wear a T-shirt in all seasons and weather. It’s Sunday today. And almost lunchtime. Perhaps they’re gearing up to eat their Sunday roast. Without me. Will I be welcome here again one day?
There’s no room in Mrs Duffy’s driveway for one vehicle, let alone two. I’ve parked behind her car in the road, but I can’t see Daniel’s car anywhere. Did I get it wrong? Has Daniel gone somewhere else? Where would he go?
I get out of my car and walk up the short pathway to the front door. Nearly everyone I know has a doorbell – the Knolls even have one of those video doorbells – but my mother-in-law has a stainless-steel door knocker in the shape of a hand. I’m about to lift it and rap on the door, but I decide to go home and text Daniel instead. I berate myself for bottling out, but I can’t face him just yet. Clearly, he’s not here anyway.
But just then, my mother-in-law opens the front door and envelops me in her arms. She’s not one for displays of affection and I instantly realize something is wrong. She gushes something into my shoulder. I can’t make it out, but she sounds distressed.
‘Mrs Duffy, what on earth’s the matter?’ I say.
‘Is Margo with you?’
‘No. I thought she’d be with you.’ I gently disengage myself from her embrace. ‘What’s going on?’
I turn my head as I hear a car pull up on the road behind me. It’s Daniel. He gets out of the car and rushes towards me. Something in the way he does this alarms me. His face is pallid, his body sagging as he runs, as if his legs are struggling to keep him upright. And then my heart somersaults. Margo is not with him.
He stops beside me, seemingly puffed out, even after the four or five metres he has run from the car to the front door.
‘Where’s Margo?’ My voice is about an octave higher than it should be.
‘I don’t know,’ he says, leaning forwards, his hands on his thighs, as he tries to catch his breath. ‘I’ve been trying … to call you.’ I remember my mobile ringing a couple of times from inside my handbag while I was driving. ‘I thought she might be with you … I hoped—’
My mother-in-law cuts him off. ‘Margo has been missing since yesterday evening,’ she tells me.
Chapter 28
Iris
THEN
Before long, Iris came to think of herself as two separate people: the Iris before and the Iris after. The person she had become had issues. She couldn’t walk into a room or meet new people without wondering if they’d seen the video. Sometimes she knew they had seen it because of the way they looked at her. She hated the way they looked at her; she hated the way she looked, even though her appearance was different now she’d had her hair cut and dyed; she hated her body; she hated herself. She had zero self-confidence. She had come up with this alternative backstory for herself. She was ready to lie if a stranger ever asked her things like what school she went to or where she lived.
Her vid had gone viral at the beginning of December 2023. By the end of the next month – the beginning of the new year – the law regarding the sharing of intimate photos and videos changed, just as PC Quinlan had predicted.
Mum got all excited about this. She showed Iris what she’d found on her phone as they sat on the sofa, drinking tea, one Saturday morning. ‘Look, Iris! You no longer have to prove that the images were shared with the intent to cause distress. That means we can prosecute no matter what his motives were. It also says sentencing will be stronger. And, get this, it’s considered a serious offence if—’
‘Darling, I think the law would have had to be passedbeforeIris’s video was shared for it to count.’
Mum looked like she was going to cry. Trust Daniel.
He was right, of course. PC Quinlan confirmed it. ‘But the good news is, it means that not only has the law changed, mentalities are changing, too,’ she said when Mum dragged Iris along to the police station for what must have been, like, the fifth time. ‘We might have a better chance of a successful prosecution even though Iris’s video was shared before the new law came into effect.’
Iris had been thinking about something, a lot, ever since Mum and Dad started encouraging her to find any online evidence she hadn’t deleted. But she hadn’t dared tell Mum. Or even Dad. Mum wanted Joshua charged, prosecuted, imprisoned, hanged, drawn and quartered. Iris, too, wanted him dead. Or, at the very least, punished. But she didn’t want to have to attend court. A court case would make everything worse. It would dredge everything back up. She’d have to go through it all again, relive everything. Would the jurors have to view her video in court? Or view it again if they’d already seen it? Oh my God, she might even have to watch them watching it. Would Iris be named in the newspapers? On TV? Probably. She’d be even more infamous than she already was. Anyone who hadn’t seen her video would go online and find it. The new law guaranteed anonymity. The old one didn’t. Although shewasa minor, so who knew? Whatever. Iris just wanted it all to stop.
After she came home from Gran’s, Iris spent weeks thinking about different ways of ending it. Her life, that is. Taking pills would be her best bet. But Iris wasn’t good at swallowing tablets – never had been. They got stuck in her throat and made her cough and choke. Plus, the nearest chemist was quite far away. How many times would she have to go to avoid suspicion? And was she seriously considering trying to kill herself by drinking bottles of strawberry-flavoured Calpol or dozens of effervescent tablets dissolved in water? Would that even work?
Mum seemed to sense she was depressed and was clearly on a self-appointed suicide watch. She barely let Iris out of her sight; she kept telling her it would all be OK, eventually. She repeated it several times a day, like a mantra. Iris wasn’t so sure, but she wanted to believe her. Then again, Mum also said Josh would get what he deserved, which Iris thought was bullshit.
Every time Mum brought up the subject, Iris tried to tell her she thought a trial would make everything worse.
‘Nonsense, sweetie,’ Mum said. ‘You’re not the one on trial. We’ll get justice. You’ll see.’
In the end, Iris told Dad. She just blurted it out. ‘I don’t want to go to court. I can’t go through this again. I want to withdraw my statement.’
Dad took one look at her, squeezed her hand and said, ‘OK.’
