I shook my head.
He physically relaxed; his body, which he’d been holding ready to leap into rescue mode, was able to stand down for now. ‘My friend . . . they feel trapped, I guess. They’ve got old issh, yes, but it’s not major. Or maybe it is. Thing is, I can see what it’s doing to them. They feel powerless and scared all the time. Not of getting hit, that doesn’t always feel as bad, it’s more everything else that comes with it. The fear and worry and the trying to work out what to do to make life easier and not have things kick off.
‘It’s a constant churning feeling along with everything else there is to worry about . . . what if they retaliate and become worse than the other person? What would they do then if they retaliated and someone found out? It would look bad, wouldn’t it? I know from the law point of view it’d look bad if it wasn’t a clear case of self-defence from an imminent threat, but from your point of view, how do you think it would look? Would they have had to tell someone official at some point for them to be taken seriously?’
My father was watching me very closely. He was taking in everything, absorbing every word and filtering it through his experiences of life as a man, a doctor, a father, a human being. ‘You seem very invested, Verity, for someone who is talking about a “friend”.’
Huh? ‘Wha—oh, you think I’m talking about me? I’m not.’ Convinced he did not look. ‘Honestly, Dad, it’s not me. It’s a friend who confided in me and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. Do I just listen like I have been doing? Do I say something? Do I get them to leave? Should I offer to put them up? Find a shelter? Do I call the police myself?’ I flapped my arms up and down hopelessly. ‘I don’t know what to do. There is so much I could do and say, but I’m not sure if it’s right. Which is why I’m asking you, as someone older who will have seen other people who’ve been through this.’
‘I don’t know, is the answer, Verity. If someone comes to me as a doctor and tells me they’re being abused then I have to do all I can to help. If I see signs from injuries or other things that suggest abuse, I have to ask them about it. If they deny it, or if they retract what they say, I still have to follow it up with them at some point in the future. If things are escalating and I think they are in danger of being seriously injured or killed, I have to do something. Basically, I’m saying you should talk to your mother about this sort of thing because I can’t answer as an average person. There are certain laws and procedures I have to follow.’
What he’s telling me without saying the actual words is that what he did back in 2011, when Zeph’s boyfriend basically assaulted her, couldn’t happen again. He and Dr Joiner would be struck off. We have never discussed that since it happened. The only acknowledgement is that periodically Dad will ask about Zeph, and at the time I wasn’t allowed a phone, computer or to leave the house for anything other than school and food shopping for a month. That meant I couldn’t do all of my homework, which meant I got into a LOT of trouble at school, which was kind of the point, I guess, because low grades and detention were my kind of hell.
‘I suppose I want to know I’m doing the right thing,’ I pressed on. ‘From someone official.’
‘Which is why I said no.’
‘How do you do it, Dad? It must be so hard when you see someone and they’ve got injuries and they won’t admit it. You must just want to shake them and tell them to get out while they can. Or to ask them why they won’t leave.’
‘I do want to tell them that they deserve better. That there will be help available if they’re ready to leave. And I want to protect them from the situation they’re in. Until someone is ready, though, nothing I say will change anything. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t say something . . . Look, Vee, you should speak to your mother about this stuff. She will give you much better advice.’
‘Doubt it,’ I snarked in disgust. It was meant to come out silently, but it didn’t and my father heard.
In response, he settled his bottle on the table and turned his whole body to face me. ‘What did you say?’
The thing about my old man was that he was nice. He was cool and calm and nice. He was patient and fair and noble. He was also someone who was hyper-protective of each and every one of us, including Mum, and he would respond in this way no matter who said something like that about someone he loved.
‘I meant you and her give the same quality of advice. I seriously don’t think her advice will be any better than yours.’
My father’s gaze continued to eviscerate me, and I grew hot and uncomfortable under his stare.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said. That was one of the good things about being an adult with her own place – I could leave whenever I chose. And leaving then was the best thing to do. ‘It’s been a really helpful chat. I’ll see you soon.’
‘Drive safe,’ was all he said as I raced out of the house and through the front door.
I left without knowing what to do. I couldn’t force anything, couldn’t change anything. Just keeping the secret felt wrong, but right then, there was nothing more I could do, was there?
poppy
Now
The police have given me access to Logan’s flat so I can tidy it up. I need to be doing something and since the sitting beside his bed all the spare hours bit has been annexed by my parents and a little by Bella, I need to be doing something else. Somewhere else.
I didn’t realise things could get so awful between us. Bella’s behaviour towards me has become almost solicitous whenever possible. She wants to spend every moment stuck to my side and she asks me copious amounts of questions to get me to engage with her.
Mum and Dad, on the other hand, have obviously sensed a change in me, probably largely to do with the fact I don’t bother to speak to them unless I have to. Their response to this is to be falsely bright without actually engaging in conversation (Mum), and to be curt and sullen after acknowledging my presence in a room with a nod of the head (Dad). Dad obviously tunes in when Mum asks after Betina. They both wait for me to answer ‘How is Betina?’ with ‘She’s fine, I’ll drop her over in the next few days.’ And they’re both disappointed, openly so, when my words end with ‘She’s fine’. I am not playing. Times like these are meant to bring us together. But my role in our ‘together’ has changed and I will no longer allow them to merely tolerate me just so they can enjoy seeing their only grandchild.
I’m allowed access to Logan’s flat because there is no sign that anyone other than Logan was ever there. Certainly not Verity Gillmare. No hairs, no bodily fluids, no skin cells, no fingerprints. Whereas, apparently, he was all over her place, was so ingrained into the fabric of her flat that they were convinced he’d all but moved in.
That immediately set off alarm bells about how equal their relationship had been. Because of the nature of our relationship, I was only ever able to go to Marcus’s place. That meant he was in control of everything. Why did Verity Gillmare never go to Logan’s place? Not once, it seems. It couldn’t have been because they feared being caught. We very rarely went to his flat. In fact, since Serena and her daughter seemed so close, it was more likely they’d get caught at her place. So why not base themselves at his?