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It takes a moment for me to process what he’s said but, when I do, I remember what he said when he first arrived about seeing that look before.

‘Your friend?’ I ask.

‘My sister. Tess. She’s two years younger than me. She’d just turned sixteen and had a Saturday job at the local convenience store. There was another lad working there who took a shine to her and, when she turned him down, decided to take what he wanted anyway. She often worked late – the store was open until ten most days. He pretended to be ill so he could leave early, and then lay in wait for her on her route home.’

‘Bastard.’

‘Yes. She was so shocked, she didn’t fight back to begin with, but thankfully, her survival instinct kicked in before he was able to physically rape her.’ He smiles grimly. ‘If he wasn’t ill when he left the shop, he would have been decidedly the worse for wear by the time she’d finished with him. I was the only one at home when she got back, and the adrenaline was still pumping through her. Her top was torn and he’d somehow managed to rip the button off her jeans but, at that point, she was angry rather than frightened. I’ll never forget the wild look in her eyes. We went straight to the police but, of course, the fact that she was dishevelled wasn’t sufficient evidence and the rest was her word against his. I sometimes think she felt more abused by that than the initial attack. Anyway, seeing her go through the interviews and physical examinations was like watching a balloon deflate. By the time we left the police station, she was like an automaton. She completely withdrew, gave up the job and barely came out of her bedroom. Mum and Dad tried everything, but it was like talking to an empty shell. I think it broke all of us, in different ways. We’ve always been a close family and watching her suffer without being able to help was awful. Tom, my younger brother, took it particularly hard as he was only eleven at the time, and couldn’t really grasp the enormity of it.’

I glance at him, and I’m unsurprised to see that his eyes are wet with tears at the memory. Instinctively, I reach out and cover his hand with mine.

‘How long ago was this?’ I ask.

‘Twelve years. It still feels like it was yesterday sometimes, though.’

‘And how is she now?’

‘Absolutely fine, thank goodness. She’s a fighter, Tess, as I mentioned. We were sitting having dinner one evening when she suddenly announced that she wanted to go to counselling, if Mum and Dad were happy to pay. For the first time since it happened, there was fire in her eyes as she told us she wasn’t prepared to let this one incident shape the rest of her life and she’d realised that nobody else was going to be able to fix her, so she’d have to do it herself. She started going to self-defence classes and completely revamped her image because, as she put it, “I don’t want to look in the mirror and see the girl he broke.”’

‘She sounds badass,’ I remark with a smile. ‘I think I’d like her.’

‘Oh, you would, and she’d love you. Anyway, that’s how I recognised the look in your eyes this morning. I’m not going to be as crass as to say anything like, “I understand what you’ve been through”, but I can say that I know a bit about what something like that does to a person, and that’s why I’m sorry I made you feel unsafe, even though it was unwitting. I’m not expecting you to tell me what happened to you, but if you’re able to let me know the kinds of things that are likely to trigger you, then I can avoid doing them.’

I look at Nathan for a moment. I’m so used to keeping what happened with Tim secret that my initial thought is to thank him politely and change the subject. However, there’s something about him and this moment that makes me pause. His openness about what happened to his sister, and the sympathetic way he told the story make me want to trust him with mine. And maybe, just maybe, getting it back out into the open will prove cathartic in some way.

‘I’d like to tell you,’ I say softly as I prepare my mind to journey back ten years.

16

‘He spiked your drink,’ Nathan says as I’m relating the numbness I felt and how unsteady I was on my feet when Tim offered to take me home.

‘Yes. That bit we know because the police found traces of Rohypnol in the blood sample they took. But, although that proves I was drugged, they said there wasn’t enough evidence to show that it was Tim who’d done it. It could have been the person working behind the bar, or any of the other people there.’

He listens in silence as I tell him the parts I remember of the assault. I know I’m crying because I can feel the dampness on my cheeks, but my voice is oddly deadpan as I describe the blackouts and the snapshots of consciousness between them. I’m reliving it as I talk, but I also feel strangely detached from it, almost as if it happened to someone else. I can tell he knows what I’m talking about as I explain how I’d spend hours in the shower, with the water as hot as I could bear, scrubbing myself until my skin was red and sore. He nods in understanding when I’m telling him about shoving the clothes I was wearing into bin bags and wanting to burn them.

‘The worst part,’ I say when I get to the events of the morning afterwards, ‘is that I still don’t know exactly what he did. The police didn’t find any evidence of semen and, when I argued that he could have used a condom, the specialist officer who dealt with me said that was unlikely too, because there would probably be bruising or other evidence of trauma, and she couldn’t see anything. But he did something, and whatever it was was sexual and disgusting. Even if he just undressed me and pleasured himself at the view, that’s still a violation. And he definitely undressed me – my bra was put on completely wrong when I woke up the next day. So, if I was out of it enough that he could undress me without me fighting back, why wouldn’t he touch me?’ I shudder. ‘Dirty fucking bastard.’

‘Did the police arrest him?’

‘Not as such. I think that’s the part that I still find most frustrating. I did everything right, you know? I went to them as soon as I woke up and realised what had happened. I even had the presence of mind not to change my clothes until I got back to my flat to preserve any evidence. They made the right noises, to begin with at least, but I could tell pretty early on that they had no intention of pursuing it. They interviewed him under caution, but he just denied everything. He even managed to convince them that I was making the accusation maliciously because I’d propositioned him and he’d turned me down.’

‘So he got away with it.’

‘Isn’t that always the case, though? Anyway, as you can imagine, I’ve had a few trust issues since then. I know, rationally, that Tim is the exception rather than the rule, but try telling my inner self that. For a long time, even being kissed by a man would make me freeze in panic. You have no idea how many times I’ve been called frigid by some guy who thought I’d led him on, when the reality was I really liked him but my body just refused to cooperate.’ I’m aware of another tear running down my cheek, but this is one of relief. Although this isn’t the first time I’ve told my story, Nathan is the first man I’ve shared it with, and I feel safe sharing it with him.

‘I don’t know what to say. “Sorry” seems inadequate somehow.’

‘It’s not your job to apologise for what he did. I mean, I did blame the whole male sex for ages but, like I said, rational me knows that you’re not all like that.’

‘I would hope not.’ Nathan smiles gently. ‘There are two women in my family who would happily castrate me without anaesthetic if they suspected I was even capable of behaviour like that.’

I take a moment to look at him and I instinctively know that I’m not only sure he’s telling the truth about his mother and sister, he’s just naturally one of the good guys.

‘Did you see a counsellor?’ he asks.

‘Not straight away. I didn’t see how that could fix me when what I really needed was something awful to happen to Tim. That makes me sound like a terrible person, I know, but I’m sure I’m not the first woman to feel like that about a man.’

‘You didn’t follow up on it, though.’