‘Did Dom eat the bad fish before she got roaring drunk or after? And if you had to guess, is she being sick into the toilet bowl because of the bug/food poisoning/bad fish or the vodka, do you think?’
‘I ... I don’t ...’ the girl stuttered, and he recognised the fight or flight panic that danced across her eyes. He knew what it felt like to be backed into a corner, to want to run, but seeing the path ahead blocked, to have to stand and front it out, not knowing whether it might be better to come clean or to keep going, hoping you could keep up the ruse for as long as it took to figure out your next move. His heart raced, but that was nothing new.
The door crept open an inch and a rather grey-skinned Domino poked her face around the door. His stomach clenched at the sour stench of vomit.
‘Good God, Ruby, do you think I was born yesterday? Just open the bloody door!’ Julie pushed in and he followed. Ruby leaned on the sink with her arms across her chest, her manner sheepish. They stood on the hand-painted Turkish tiles where their daughter lay, pale-faced and with her hair spread over the floor like a carpet of gold.
‘At least she’s been sick, got much of it out of her system.’ Julie’s words offered small comfort.
‘Who did this to her?’ He felt his heart hammer with anger and something else: sadness. He was sad because this was his little girl who liked to study and who had the whole wide world at her feet and if someone had hurt her, taken advantage of her ... He flexed his fingers, breathing heavily through his nose, controlling the desire to punch the wall at the unwelcome and invasive images that filled his head.
‘Who did this to her?’ he repeated, addressing Ruby directly.
‘Micky ... Micky Tate.’ Ruby spoke quietly and he thought he must have misheard.
‘Say it again?’ he asked, feeling as if the air had been sucked from the room and all he could hear were the two words that left Ruby’s mouth.
‘Micky Tate.’ She held his eyeline.
‘He got her drunk?’ He could hear his heart beating in his ears, a drum that got faster and louder as his anger grew and his jaw clenched tighter and tighter.
‘He ... he bought her a couple of cocktails, I think, I’m not sure. Essie and me were on the dance floor—’
‘Who?’ he interrupted, trying to figure out who Essie was, and how and why they were on a dance floor. He thought she’d gone toRuby’s house to study. Had Dominoliedto him? Clearly she had, and the realisation was a slap in the face.
‘Essie’s our mate. She drove us to the club—’
‘Go on.’ It was Julie’s turn to interrupt; she obviously wanted the detail as much as he.
Ruby looked at the floor, breathing fast. ‘So, we were dancing, me and Essie, and then we realised that Ruby had left, she’d got in Micky’s car, and—’
‘Shutupruby!’ Domino lifted her head, her words a little slurred, her head lolling as if her neck was spaghetti. ‘Justshutup!’
Dropping to his knees, he ran his hand over the back of her head. ‘It’s okay, Dom, you can tell us what happened. Did Micky’ – he looked at his wife, whose expression was as horror-stricken as his own – ‘did Micky hurt you in any way? Did he make you do anything you didn’t want to do? Did he ...?’ He ran out of steam as his tongue lolled dryly in his mouth and panic flooded his veins.
‘I wassick, I asked him to slow down, it was all going too fast, so fast, and then Iwassick ...’ Her words ran into each other.
‘You asked him to slow down?’ He cursed the crack in his voice. It was all he needed to hear. Jumping up, he marched from the bathroom and grabbed the car keys from the table in the hallway.
‘Where are you going?’ Julie ran after him, holding him by the arm and forcing him to concentrate on her. ‘Don’t do anything stupid!’
‘I’ll fucking kill him! I will! I’ll fucking kill him!’ He spoke through gritted teeth, taking comfort from the thought of exacting revenge with his fists.
‘If you do anything stupid, you will only make our situation worse.’ She spoke calmly, but he could see terror and hurt in her eyes that reflected his own. The irony wasn’t lost on him that his wife had no idea just how fucked up the situation was, unaware of the amount of money he owed Micky Tate.
‘How?’ The tears that filled his eyes and trickled down his face were a release to the tension that had been building for the longest time. ‘How, Jules? How could things be any worse?’ He glanced to the cloakroom where the image of his daughter lying drunk on the floor would, he knew, never leave him.
‘Whatever has happened, and we don’t yet know what, will not be helped in any way by you beating someone up. Especially someone like Micky Tate. He’s famous, you know. He’s a footballer! Lives on a big farm just outside of town.’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I know who he is, and I know where he lives.’ He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘And what are you saying, that just because he’s a somebody, we let him get away with it? Look at her!’ He pointed towards the cloakroom. How could he explain that Micky had him over a barrel financially, and now this?
‘Of course, I’m not!’ she fired back. ‘What a hideous thing to say! Jesus!’ She covered her face with her hands.
‘So, what then? Are you telling me this looks above board to you? Does it look like she’s had a nice time? What the fuck!’ He put his hands in his hair and paced.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to think, Loz. I’m scared.’ She folded her arms and her expression of pure sorrow was almost more than he could stand. ‘I honestly don’t know what to do next.’
‘You seem very calm, considering,’ he noted with an undercurrent of accusation that he couldn’t hide.
