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• No attempts to contact police have been made since the second trial run in February 2019. Ms Gale tested negative for HIV and hepatitis as of this second trial run. Participants are still strongly advised to use protection.
These aren’t prostitutes. This information is telling a far more sinister story. One I can’t get my head around right now, especially not with my teenage son watching me. The screen blurs suddenly and I think something’s gone wrong with the iPad, then realise it’s my eyes. Without me realising, they’ve filled with tears that now begin to stream down my face.
‘Mum?’ Stephen says.
‘I’m all right.’ I quickly brush them away. Then I hear the doorbell.
‘Julianne?’
Stephen’s face drains of colour as soon as he hears his father’s voice. I instantly hit the lock button on the iPad, like a child caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Fuck, I think to myself.
‘Julianne?’ I can tell he’s at the door to the kitchen, probably confused as to where I’ve got to. ‘Where are you?’ he calls up the stairs now.
‘We need to go back downstairs.’ I go to hand him back the iPad, then a thought strikes me.
‘Hang on just one minute.’ Without thinking too much about what I’m doing, I open the tablet again, navigate back to the folder of files and take a screenshot, capturing the full file path information.
‘What are you doing?’ Stephen asks.
‘Don’t worry about it now.’ I rush what I’m doing, clicking the home button and locating the Facebook Messenger tab on the menu screen, finding myself on the list of Stephen’s chats. I send the screenshot to myself.
‘We’ll talk about all of this later. We will. Just … just try not to think about it … There’ll be an explanation.’ I’m talking fast, trying to stifle the panic I can feel building within me. I give him back the tablet as I make for the door.
‘Okay,’ he says.
‘Julianne?’ James’s voice is louder this time. ‘Sorry, Diane, I’ll find out where she’s got to.’
In spite of my panic, there’s a familiar feeling of irritation bristling within me. Can’t he deal with his mother-in-law on his own for five minutes? Why do I always have to play the host?
‘I’m coming!’ I shout back, trying to sound normal. Walking the short distance across the landing and down the stairs feels like I’m doing the last leg of a double marathon. I keep thinking I’m going to stumble and fall, but I hold on tight to the handrail and press on, determined. Determined not to believe the worst. Determined to shake the horrible feeling that something, finally, is threatening to shake the foundations of what we’ve built together. Determined to remain convinced he’ll explain everything, clearly and calmly, and all of this will go away. He’ll tell me the documents are something he accidentally got sent. Or important documents from his work that somehow ended up in the wrong folder. He’ll tell me how sorry he is that I had to worry about all this, especially at Christmas, and that I should put it all out of my mind and forget about it. I think of the relief I will feel when I hear those words.
Chapter 3 (#u4c1ff4b5-66a9-5c3b-89e4-f78adb8c24bb)
Holly
Oxford, 1990
Oxford wasn’t for the likes of me, that’s what my father told me. He even repeated it as we were driving up towards the halls of residence. ‘We’re simple folk, you, me and your mum. Don’t forget these types have had it all. Don’t forget you’re different.’
I hopped out of the car first to speak to one of the stewards showing us where to park, asking the best way to negotiate the trailer through the tiny lane that snaked around Hawksmith Hall – my new home away from home. I’d been worried Dad would bring the trailer ever since he and Mum had started working out the logistics of taking me and my stuff up there on my first day. I knew he had a customer in a village just outside of Oxford – I’d almost missed my interview when he’d insisted on having his ‘business meeting’ first. Business meeting. More like ripping off an overenthusiastic collector. He had been working in the antiques business for about ten years, ever since the chemical factory had made him redundant. Old furniture, great big chests, mirrors, tables, all sorts really, anything you could use to furnish a home. He’d bought loads of books on the subject of antiques dealing. I’d been surprised there were that many, but apparently it was an area of interest for a lot of ‘retired people’. That was how he always put it: ‘retired’. Never ‘laid off’ or ‘redundant’.
Once we finally got ourselves sorted in the car park and the trailer was safely out of the way next to a wall of bushes, I ventured in and up the stairs, carrying a bag in one hand and my key in the other. My parents followed behind me, lugging the heavier bags. I’d told them I would come back to get them but they were as keen as I was to see where I’d be staying. ‘Very nice,’ my mum kept saying as we climbed the stone steps to the first floor. ‘Thank God you got that grant, Holly,’ she said in a whisper, which still carried audibly through the corridor. ‘It’s good you get to experience a place like this.’
‘Mum, please,’ I murmured. I didn’t mind people knowing I hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but it wasn’t something I wanted broadcasting as I walked through the door. Besides, there must be a lot of people here who didn’t come from privilege. This was the 1990s. Class was something we were leaving behind, wasn’t it?
The room was spacious, if not exactly homely. It looked rather grand, as if someone had converted part of a cathedral into a living space. The bed was a single, but more than adequate, and the floor had a large, deep-red rug in the centre. In the far corner were a desk and chair. I placed the bag I was holding on the bed and turned to my parents, taking in their reactions.
‘Very nice,’ Mum kept saying. ‘Very, very nice.’
‘You’ll be comfy here,’ said Dad, as if he’d parked me in a B&B. I think he was rather overwhelmed by the whole thing. In fact, I knew he was by the way he kept looking around and then quickly focusing on the floor, as if someone might notice him staring.
‘Can you guys stay here while I get the last few bags from the car?’ I said, slightly worried about leaving them. They might wander.
‘Of course, love, but we can come and help.’
‘No, Dad, it’s fine,’ I said, backing out of the door. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
I left before they could protest any further and walked the short distance back to the car. When I got there, I saw three girls standing by it, looking at something. As I got closer, I could see they were peering over into the car and laughing. I felt rather nervous as I approached, worried they’d try to speak to me, and when they saw me they took a step back. One of them looked a bit embarrassed, as if she’d been caught out, but the other two had looks on their faces that weren’t quite as nice.
‘Is this yours?’ one of them asked.
I eyed her suspiciously and replied that, yes, it was and asked if there was a problem. One of the other girls laughed, while the one I was speaking to just looked back at the old car, partly splashed with mud, the boot slightly dented from a minor back-end collision a year ago. I saw her eyes flick to the trailer, the old, ripped covering my dad used to cover up whatever was being transported bundled in the back, and then they fell back on me. She didn’t say anything. Just looked me up and down one last time and walked away, the other two following her like sheep. I waited until they’d disappeared out of sight around the side of the building before opening the car. There were more bags left than I’d realised and I tutted to myself at the thought of having to come back again for the rest. I didn’t really want to admit how they’d made me feel in our half a minute of meeting, but the sense of unease I’d had ever since getting the letter of acceptance from Oxford had suddenly become a lot stronger.
Back in my room, my parents helped me unpack for a bit, but I could tell Dad was itching to head off to meet his antiques contact. Mum, on the other hand, had settled herself on the bed and was unballing my socks from the bag and folding them neatly. At one point a girl knocked on our door asking if we knew the way to somewhere called Gallery Heights as she’d been looking around for ages. I tried to answer quickly, but my dad got in first: ‘We’re not locals, love. Never been here in my life. Apart from when I was a teenager. Not at the university – God, no – but as a lad when I was working for the railways …’
‘Dad.’ I cut in to rescue the girl, who was looking at him as if he were a strange animal in a zoo. I turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve only just arrived and I don’t really know the way around myself.’
The girl nodded. ‘Oh, no problem,’ she said stiffly, then vanished from the doorway.
After another awkward twenty minutes of unpacking and questions from Mum on where I’d be keeping my knickers and ‘lady things’, we all traipsed back down to the car to get my last two bags.
‘Full of books, I bet,’ Dad said, shaking his head, lifting one of the bags out. ‘Well, I suppose you proved they had some worth, getting into this place. Never understand how you have the patience, love.’ I’d heard this speech more times than I wanted to remember and didn’t respond now. All through my childhood I’d been treated like some weird outcast, as if spending one’s weekends buried in a novel were a sign of derangement. Mum frequently made comments about how I’d never really made an effort with ‘more traditional things’, like make-up and nice clothes. When I’d told her there wasn’t much point, as we couldn’t afford expensive make-up and nice clothes, she’d told me I was ungrateful. Maybe I was. Or maybe I was just angry at not being allowed the thing I alone enjoyed without being made to feel bad about it whenever someone else came into the room.
‘You guys can get going. I’m fine from here, honestly.’
Mum looked doubtful. ‘Are you sure?’
I nodded and tried to give her an encouraging smile. ‘Yes, very sure.’
She hugged me and then so did Dad, a little more awkwardly, and then they got in their car and drove off, Mum giving a little wave out of the window as she went.
It only took just over an hour to get the unpacking finished and organised neatly into drawers and the rather generous cupboard standing up against one of the stone walls. Its dark, mahogany doors made me think back to a similar kind of thing my grandfather had when I was a little girl. I used to play hide and seek with him, well aware he wouldn’t ever find me. He knew where I was, of course, but he let me win.
I sat down on the bed and scuffed my shoes on the rug. What now? I thought I should go and meet some other people. I knew there would be a gathering of some sort down in the common room, and we’d be given older students as sort of parents so we had a first port of call if we ever needed to talk to someone who knew the university back to front. I was about to get up when there was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ I called, then, realising it was on the latch, said, ‘Oh, hold on a moment.’ I ran to the door, hurriedly flattening down my hair as I did so in case I looked like a crazy blonde haystack. I unlocked the door and opened it to find a beaming girl’s face greeting me.
‘Hi,’ she said, very loudly – too loudly, I thought, considering I was standing right in front of her. ‘How’s it all going? Have you got unpacked yet? Absolute nightmare, isn’t it? I’ve only got through one and a half bags.’
She strode past me and stood, hands on her waist, looking about.
‘Oh my gosh, how tidy you are! We are going to be such friends, I know it. They say opposites attract and I am hands down the messiest person you’ve ever come across. Honestly, it’s scary.’
Her low, rather plummy voice was both reassuring in its confidence and intimidating in its speed. I smiled politely and thought I’d better take things back to simpler, more introductory areas of conversation. ‘Hi, I’m Holly.’
‘Oh, of course you are, of course you are. So sorry. What a lovely name, too. Holly. Holly.’ She said it out loud twice, as if trying it on for size, then nodded. ‘Good, good. I’m Aphrodite. My mum did classics. Obsessed with Greece. Bit of a freak. You can call me Ally, though. Everyone does. What kind of fucking sadist names their own child Aphrodite, eh?’
‘Umm, one obsessed with Greece, I suppose,’ I said feebly, hoping it sounded like a light-hearted response rather than an insult towards her mother.
‘You’ve got it in one. Totally bonkers, all of my family are. Though they think I’m stark raving mad for wanting to come here.’
I raised my eyebrows at this. Her accent was very upper class, but maybe that was just affected. Maybe she actually did come from a relatively normal family like mine. ‘Are you the first in your family to go to uni?’ I asked.
She looked at me as if I’d suddenly spoken to her in Japanese. ‘No, of course not. But they all went to sodding Cambridge. I’m the rebel who went to Oxford … well, Ernest and I. My brother, Ernest. We’re twins, but he is light years more intelligent than I am. Thinks I talk like a commoner.’
I laughed nervously, worrying what he’d think of my accent if he thought she sounded common.
‘He’s already here. In the year above. Started early. You’ll meet him. Everyone does at some point. Rampant shagger, my darling brother. He’d have his eye on you. Blonde hair, blue eyes, slim figure and a vagina. You’re ticking all the boxes so far, so watch out.’ She let out a low rumble of laughter. I was reminded of a gym teacher we had when I was seven. Miss Marks, I think her name was. Her laugh seemed to reverberate around the school hall, although this girl, Ally, seemed to carry off her low voice with sophistication rather than awkwardness. She was substantially taller than me, also blonde, though a darker tone, especially at the roots, and seemed to be able to command the room around her, even though I was the only audience she had.
‘So, have you met your mummy yet?’
For a second I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, then I understood. ‘Oh, the older student?’
‘Yes, the one to show you around, make sure you’re not crying yourself to sleep at night, that sort of thing.’
I shook my head. ‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Oh, that’s not good. They should have met you when you arrived. And your daddy. Or have they axed daddies? I’m not sure. Let’s go and find you one.’ She made it sound like we were going off to get an ice cream. I wasn’t even certain I wanted a ‘mummy’. I’d always been pretty good at finding my own way through things, but I didn’t want to look standoffish. Ally grabbed my hand and led me out of my room.
‘Don’t bother locking your door, nobody does around here. There’s a general rule: if you’ve locked your door, you’re having sex. Or a total essay-breakdown. My brother has those from time to time.’ She was leading me through the corridors, apparently confident in where she was going. ‘Ah! Here we are.’ A small gathering of students was in front of us, some of them looking lost, others holding clipboards. One of the clipboard girls smiled at Ally and said hello and the others nodded. Apparently everyone knew her. ‘Got an orphan here for you, Catherine; her name is Holly,’ Ally barked at her.
‘Oh God, have you been left without a parent, too?’ The girl called Catherine was looking down her clipboard. ‘I’m so sorry about this, there’s been such a mix-up with numbers. The person who helps organise all this is from the maths department, but you wouldn’t know it. Let’s see …’ She chewed on her pencil while I just smiled politely, trying not to look too demanding.
‘I don’t need anyone, honestly,’ I said quietly, but Catherine didn’t seem to hear.
‘Holly Rowe? Is that right?… Hmm, you’re supposed to be with Caitlin, but I don’t know where she’s … ah, here she is now.’
Another girl had appeared, as if from nowhere. Short, round and looking extremely cheerful, I couldn’t help but feel heartened by her presence. Here was someone I didn’t have to be intimidated by, I thought, then instantly despised myself for the value judgement. Was it a value judgement? I decided to ponder that later and offered my hand. ‘Hi, I’m Holly,’ I said, then realised I’d interrupted Catherine, who was halfway through asking Caitlin why she hadn’t been there to greet me on my arrival.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Caitlin said in a warm, kind-sounding voice with a slight northern slant. She shook my outstretched hand, still grinning. ‘I was double-booked, so to speak – given another girl in a different block, which is strange as I thought I’d made it clear …’
‘Well, I’m glad all this has been sorted,’ said Catherine curtly, then promptly left our little group and went to speak to another student on the other side of the hallway.
‘She’s a bit of a force of nature, Catherine,’ Ally said. ‘I think she hates me, but is too proud to show it. Probably because she fucked my brother and he didn’t get back in touch.’ I saw Caitlin blush at this. Ally turned to her and said, ‘You know what, I’m super-fine to take care of Holly if you wanted to get back to your other charge.’
I began saying that I didn’t need taking care of but Caitlin got in first. ‘I don’t think that would be allowed. You’re a first year and the whole point is …’
‘Oh, nonsense. I’ve been here heaps of times. My brother, Ernest, is a second-year here.’
Caitlin’s eyes widened a little. ‘You’re Ernest Kelman’s sister?’
‘Guilty as charged!’ Ally said brightly, then laughed loudly.
‘So that means your … your dad is …’
Ally rolled her eyes, as if to say here we go again. ‘Yes, dearest Daddy, also known as Clive Kelman, Tory MP. One of Auntie Maggie’s closest chums. Major prick in private, though don’t tell the Telegraph I said that.’
‘I … I won’t,’ Caitlin said, looking a little starstruck. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to look equally impressed, but politics had never been a strong interest of mine and the name didn’t mean anything. Still, the fact that her dad was an MP was interesting, regardless, if rather daunting. If the first person I’d met was the daughter of an MP, I didn’t like to think about the backgrounds of my other fellow students. Who would I meet next? The offspring of judges? Film stars? Minor royalty?
We headed back down the corridor towards my room, Caitlin’s concerns obliterated by Ally’s familial connections. She’d rushed off, giving me a small wave and an encouraging smile. We had almost reached my room when Ally stopped and approached one of the other doors. The sound of voices was emanating from it. Male voices. She seemed to be listening intently.
‘What is it?’ I said, looking at her and then at the door. ‘Whose room is that?’
‘It’s my room,’ she replied in a loud whisper.
‘Has someone broken in?’ I said, louder than I meant to, then cringed at how melodramatic it sounded.
‘Someone has certainly entered uninvited. I was just trying to work out who was with him. Oh dear, as if I didn’t know …’
I wanted to ask who she was referring to, but before I could she’d flung open the door forcefully and marched inside. I wasn’t sure if I was meant to follow, but was too intrigued to wait, so walked in after her.
‘Well. This is a pretty sight, isn’t it?’ Her hands were on her hips again.
Two boys were lying on her bed, laughing. One had a cigarette in his hand, the other a hardback book. There was something odd about the way they were lying together, side by side, on the single bed, their legs up against each other. I’d never seen boys behave like this, as if they had some deep-rooted familiarity. Both were extremely good-looking. One was blond, slim, with a distinct jawline, and was obviously Ally’s brother. The other was larger, though from muscle rather than fat, with dark hair and a face that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a movie poster. In fact, he could almost have passed for a younger Tom Cruise.
‘Sis!’ The blond one pulled himself up into a sitting position. Tom Cruise stayed horizontal, his eyes settling on us.
‘Don’t call me sis,’ she snapped.
‘Very well, Aphrodite.’
They both laughed.
‘Don’t give me that. Why are you on my bed?’
The blond boy adopted a look of great offence and clutched a hand to his white-shirted chest. ‘You wound me, sis. I thought you said to come and visit you whenever I liked.’
‘I said nothing of the kind.’ Ally now turned her cold eyes on the other boy. ‘James, I expected better of you.’
‘He led me astray,’ the boy said in a low, resonant tone. For some reason his voice sent a ripple down my shoulders. I shivered slightly and his eyes flicked over to me. ‘Are you cold?’ he said, smiling, as if he somehow knew he was having an effect on me.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ I said.
‘Introduce us to your friend, sis,’ the blond boy said, drawing on the cigarette.
Ally turned to me. ‘Holly, this is my prat of a brother, Ernest.’
I wasn’t sure if I should offer my hand, but he didn’t seem inclined to get off the bed any time soon, so I just waved. He smiled in return. A nice smile, making his otherwise hard face seem friendlier.
‘The other layabout is James, my brother’s best friend and occasional shag-buddy.’
Ernest’s smile became more of a smirk. ‘Still dining out on that joke, sis? Wasn’t funny the first time.’
‘Makes me laugh,’ she said.
The other boy was also smiling. ‘Not entirely a lie, though,’ he said, nudging Ernest with his elbow. He winked at me and I felt myself blushing.
‘Too much info,’ Ally said, tersely.
