the Scottish team but no further action seems to have been
taken. Presumably they had more than enough evidence
against Alex already, and Alice had said she would not
repeat the information in court so didn’t want it to be
part of her formal statement.
Matthew goes back to the court notes and sees there’s
no reference to this material being put to Alex or any
witness formally during the trial. It was clearly not used
and he’s not surprised. It wouldn’t further the prosecu-
tion case and would have been worthless if Alice wasn’t
happy to back it up in court.
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Matthew taps his chin. Hang on. What if someone
mentioned this little nugget to Alex during the early and
extensive interviews before the trial? To wind him up a bit.
What if Alex knew Alice had told the police this?
‘Don’t get excited, Mel. But I might just have found
something.’
Matthew turns the piece of paper around to place it
in front of Melanie.
‘Turns out our Romeo had a sexual dysfunction.’
‘What? Impotent?’ Melanie is now skimming the
sheet of paper, her brow furrowing as she pulls her chin
into her neck. ‘But he couldn’t have been impotent. He
was done for sex with the girls.’
‘No. Not impotent. Something else. Alice didn’t want
this to be used in court. She just wanted the police to be
aware in case it was relevant. But what if someone slipped
up. Off the tapes. To wind Alex up a bit maybe? What if
our narcissist guessed it was Alice who said this to police?
Well – that would hurt his pride big time. He just might have stewed over this in jail. Bit of a long shot, I grant
you. But it’s just possible this could give us a motive for
him to be mad at Alice.’
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CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Alice – before
Good Lord – who wants to discuss their sex life with the
police? It was bad enough first time round. When Alex was
initially arrested, the investigating team wanted to know
every blessed detail of our life in the bedroom. Sure – they
tried to be sensitive. They apologised for intruding. But the bottom line was they needed to ask me a whole string of
mortifying questions. Did Alex have any fetishes? Did he
make me do anything strange? Was he ever violent? Was
there ever any hint that he was into younger girls? Children?
I answered ‘no’ honestly to everything. Our sex life
was normal. Ordinary. I remember using that word quite specifically. But I didn’t add the absolute truth – that the
question was quite frankly ironic. It was only later, after I returned to London to hole up with Leanne, that I began
to stew over everything and wondered if I should have
been even franker.
That’s why in the end I decided to call into the police
station nearest to Leanne’s home and add to my statement.
Well, not officially. A female police officer took me through to a little interview room and I made her write
it down that this was not an official statement.
‘I’m not prepared to talk about this in court. No way
am I discussing my sex life in detail in court. You need
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to write that down. It’s very important. This is just infor-
mation that you may find useful. I don’t know. It’s been
on my mind. But I’m not saying any of this in court. The
Sunday newspapers would have a field day.’ I watched the
female officer scratching away on her paper and strained to
read upside down to ensure she was keeping up. She had
lovely writing and was using a beautiful pen. Expensive.
‘So what was it you felt we should know?’
I took a deep breath. It was hard to find the right words.
‘No hurry. This can’t be easy.’
‘Understatement. Look, I was asked when I gave my
original statement if Alex was in any way unusual in the
bedroom. And I said no, which was the truth. I was asked if
we had sex regularly and said yes. Which was also the truth.’
I waited for her writing to catch up before I continued.
‘But what I didn’t say was that Alex was…’ I paused
to roll my lips together. Just spit it out. ‘OK. So Alex was actually not very good in the bedroom.’ I watched the
officer’s expression change. She was clearly not sure how
to react.
‘Oh hell, this is mortifying. He wasn’t terrible. Jeez – I
wouldn’t have got engaged if he wasn’t OK. He was an
extremely good-looking bloke and I found him very at-
tractive. Before I knew the truth about him, obviously.
He was a good kisser. And I suppose you could say that,
overall, he was an adequate lover. Like I say – I agreed to
marry him and I wouldn’t have done that if it was com-
pletely terrible in the bedroom. But…’ I took in another
deep breath, aware that I was gabbling. Nervous. ‘The
truth is there were limitations.’
‘Limitations? ’ The officer poised her pen.
I waited. She waited.
‘He had trigger trouble.’
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Teresa Driscoll
‘Excuse me?’
I closed my eyes, wanting to sink into a very deep hole.
‘Premature ejaculation. He couldn’t last for very long.’
I fancied that I saw her smirk. Was I imagining that?
I was certainly blushing.
‘Look, I know everyone jokes about this. And it’s
supposed to be hilarious. But it isn’t actually funny in
real life. And certainly wasn’t to Alex.’
‘Right. So why do you think this could be relevant.
To the case, I mean?’
‘Well, I’m hoping it isn’t at all. It’s just I was a bit
surprised at first with Alex. I mean, he was so sexy and
confident when you first met him, that I kind of assumed
he would be really good in that department. So the trigger
trouble was a bit of a surprise. I didn’t like to say anything.
He brought it up actually after the first couple of times,
and he told me that it was only a problem when he was
infatuated. In love. Sort of turned it into a compliment.
Said he was a bit overwhelmed by me and it would pass.
But then later, when it didn’t change, I started to get a
bit worried. We got engaged very quickly. It was all very
romantic. As I say, he was a good lover all round. He
made sure I was – you know – er, happy. But this trigger problem didn’t change.’
‘But you were still happy in the relationship. Happy
to get married.’
‘Oh yes. I mean – I believed him that he was just a bit
overwhelmed. That it would resolve over time. Anyway.
After a while I decided to try to have a more open discus-
sion – you know, a few ideas to address it. And he very
quickly became really furious.’
‘In what way?’
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‘Oh, just verbally angry. Not physical. I was a bit
shocked at first but then I realised I’d hurt his pride. And
I felt stupid and a right heel for being so insensitive. I
mean, you know what guys are like. I decided to just let
it play out over time. I was sure it would sort itself out.
And as I say – all round I was very happy. It was before
I knew the truth about him. About the girls.’
There was a long pause. ‘So why are you mentioning
this now?’
‘Well, I’ve been stewing. I’ve been wondering and
worrying if the reason he started chasing after younger
girls is they would be less experienced. Might not criticise
him. Know any different.’
The officer put her pen down. ‘You’re not blaming
yourself ? Oh goodness. You really shouldn’t do that.’
‘No, no. I know that, deep down. But I just felt I
should perhaps have mentioned this. In case me upset-
ting him – you know, me so stupidly commenting on his
performance in some way – contributed to his chasing
after those young girls.’ There. I had said it.
Was it my fault?
The police officer wrote everything down but said I
had no reason to feel any guilt at all. She promised to pass
the note to the investigating team in person. She checked
if I was still seeing a counsellor, as recommended.
* * *
Two weeks later I got a phone call from the senior in-
vestigating officer, letting me know that they appreciated
my additional information. They stressed that my confi-
dentiality would be respected and wanted to reassure me
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Teresa Driscoll
further. They told me in confidence that a third teenager,
just fourteen at the time, had come forward to say Alex
had groomed and had sex with her before I even met him.
He was apparently still sleeping with her at the very time
he proposed to me. Her case was not to be included in
the trial as she couldn’t face the trauma, but they hoped it
would set my mind at rest. I had played no part in Alex’s
choices. None at all.
I remember the incredible flood of relief. Then the
senior officer was even blunter. He said that Alex’s per-
formance in our bed and our row over it was more likely
to have been a consequence of his perversion, and certainly
not any kind of trigger for it.
I remember taking a long, very hot shower and wish-
ing I could stay under the water forever; wash away the
whole sordid business.
What a mug, I thought as I lay on the bed afterwards, in Leanne’s spare room. What a complete and utter mug I was.
252
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Him – before
He had always imagined that once he grew up and got a
job, he would move his gran to a nicer place.
Yes. Once he was able to look after her, instead of vice
versa, he would rent her a flat somewhere far, far away from
those terrible times. Far, far away from disgusting Brian.
So it was a terrible shock to find this wasn’t going to
happen.
His first job took him to London. His second to Sussex.
And when finally he had built up a decent-enough in-
come and savings to offer help, his gran’s reaction left
him reeling.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Move? I can’t think of anything
worse. I don’t need your money and I don’t ever want to move from this place. Not ever.’
He couldn’t quite believe it. He’d had it all worked
out. He had saved and saved and he had enough for the
deposit to rent a nice, modern flat closer to him.
‘But I can get you somewhere so much nicer than
this place. Warmer. A nicer area. You’re retired now.
Wouldn’t you like to live somewhere nicer, Gran? I could
get you your own place near me. Or I could get a two-
bedroom place near to where I work now and we could
live together.’
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Teresa Driscoll
And then her face changed and she looked truly of-
fended. She wandered through to the kitchen area to put
on the kettle for tea, and as she waited for it to boil, she
moved to stand by the window, staring down at the bench.
There was quite a long silence. A bad atmosphere.
She kept glancing at him as if she didn’t recognise him.
‘You really don’t know why I love it here?’
He shrugged, hating every minute of this.
His gran looked again through the window. ‘He loved
it here too – your grandad. He loved the view from this
window. He loved his little shop and he loved sitting out
there, having his lunch. It was always good enough for
him and for me, this place. I love it here because of him.
Why on earth would I want to move?’
‘But Grandad would be pleased for you to be some-
where nicer.’
‘ Nicer. Are you saying it’s not nice here?’ She sounded hurt now. She turned and he fancied he saw tears in her
eyes. ‘This place you grew up in? I did my best, you know.’
‘No, no. I’m not saying it’s not nice. And I’m so grate-
ful for all you’ve done for me.’ He moved forward to put
his arms around her to hug her. He felt the familiar shock
of how small and fragile she felt these days. Like a little
bird. It wasn’t just that he had grown into a man. She had
seemed to sort of shrink over the years.
‘I worry about you, Gran. I want to take care of you
the way you took care of me.’
‘You do take care of me. I’m so proud of you. It makes
me so happy to see you making your way. But please – don’t
ever ask me to move. It’s what keeps me going. This place.’
She stared out at the bench again. ‘Saying good morning
every day to your grandad’s bench. All my memories.’
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I Will Make You Pay
He watched then as she put teabags into the same red
He closed his eyes and thought of a thousand cups
of tea down the years. And now there were other swirl-
ing scenes, his mind in overdrive. He had imagined that
moving his gran would solve everything. So what now?
The visits from Brian stopped when he was around
eleven. He never knew why. He wondered if he had found
someone else to torment.
He had thought that when Brian stopped knocking
on the door, he would be so happy. So relieved. But
strangely, he wasn’t. He just felt more and more dirty.
And at night, he would get these terrible nightmares. He
began to realise that he should have barricaded the door
when he was younger. That he should have said no. Told
his gran? Called the police? Why didn’t he realise that he
should have called the police?
He opened his eyes. He looked at his gran as she poured
the tea and felt this horrible surge in his stomach like he
wanted to be sick. He realised that he badly wanted to
stop visiting this place. He had imagined he would move
his gran and that would be that. He would never have to
visit these horrible flats again.
‘You will keep visiting me,’ s
he said suddenly – a
frisson of fear moving across her face.
He looked at her hand, trembling slightly as she opened
the biscuit barrel to put chocolate digestives on to a plate
decorated with roses.
He stared at the plate with its gold rim. He could
picture his arm, reaching out for that same plate with
his blue school jumper. The one she knitted. The one
he was teased about.
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Teresa Driscoll
And in that moment he realised that once more he
would have to be brave. For his gran. To keep her safe.
To make her happy.
He had put up with teasing about the jumper. He had
put up with so many terrible things…
He would do this; he would put up with this place
for love.
‘Of course I’ll keep visiting you. I love you. You
know that.’
He was staring at his gran, remembering how on
Saturdays she bought a single pork chop because he loved
them. Pretended she wasn’t hungry herself. How she took
him to the library every single week then made him a
reading den under the table with sheets and blankets;
brought him biscuits and cakes on that same plate with
the roses.
‘And you won’t ever make me move?’ she said. ‘Let
anyone make me move? Put me in a home or anything
silly like that. Promise?’
Still he just looked at her.
‘Please. I need you to promise me.’
‘I promise you.’
Her face relaxed and she glanced once more at the
bench on the grass below their window. Slowly her smile
returned and she signalled they should go across to the
sitting room area. And as he followed her, he realised
something else.
If his gran wouldn’t move, not ever, he would have
to do the thing he had dreamed about ever since he was
a little boy.
He would have to deal with Brian himself.
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CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Alice
It’s Sunday and I am back in London, staying with Leanne
again to check on my mother’s new home.
It is very shiny and smart, this place; just as the bro-
chure promised. More like a five-star hotel than a resi-
dential home. But it has no view of the sea. As I finish
reading to my mother, I notice that her eyes are closing.
She seems to sleep more and more these days as her sats
levels get poorer.
‘Enough for now?’
She nods her reply and I move across to kiss her forehead.