“Please, it’s all right. You’re all right. Look at me, Betsy. You’re beautiful.
You are absolutely beautiful. ”
I held her hand, trying to smile, but my whole world was spinning. “This isn’t going to be forever,” I told her. “You are going to get better.
Do you hear me? ”
My daughter—my brave, brilliant daughter—lay in a hospital bed after a stroke no one could explain. She was young. She was supposed to be healthy.
And now the wrong words kept tumbling out of her mouth, which frustrated her more than anything. Her girlfriend Lisa hadn’t left her side either. The nurses kept telling us to go home, get some proper sleep, but neither of us would move. “I’m not leaving this room,” Lisa said.
“You’re exhausted. You’ve got an assessment today. ”
“I’m not going to miss that. ”
We stayed for the assessment.
The doctors explained that the stroke had caused aphasia and dysarthria—damage affecting her speech, and weakness down the right side of her body. “Most people make a good recovery,” the doctor said. “Especially young people like you. ”
Lisa squeezed Betsy’s hand.
“You see? Full recovery. ”
But the doctor’s words didn’t comfort me the way they should have. Because I knew something nobody else knew.
And the guilt was tearing me apart. Later that morning, I sat in the café with Sarah, my hands trembling around a cup of coffee. She could tell I wasn’t right. I hadn’t been right since I came back from the hospital.
“It’s just all this stuff with Betsy,” I said. “It’s messing me up a bit. ”
Sarah looked at me with those sharp eyes that saw straight through every lie. “What else has gone on?
”
“Nothing. Nothing. ”
But she knew. Sarah always knew.
And then she said something that made my blood run cold. “What exactly has Gary got on you? ”
I nearly choked on my toast. “What do you mean?
”
“I mean call logs. CCTV. Messages. You’re going to need to get your house in order.
I’ve got a guy who can get your phone professionally scrubbed. ”
“Why would I need that? ”
“Sarah, your life—your freedom—is literally in Gary’s hands. Do you understand that?
”
I didn’t want to understand. I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. Because Sarah was right. Gary Malone had something on me.
Something that could destroy everything. I was trapped. And the only way out was to do something I never thought I’d do. There was also the matter of Mary and her absurd vendetta.
She’d been demanding “reparations” ever since she discovered that George had used her credit card to buy his cereal. She’d taken back the box, made a scene in the café, and then started selling his belongings at a flash sale in the marketplace to get her money back. “These aren’t yours to sell,” poor Bethany tried to plead. “They are mine to sell because they were paid for with my credit card,” Mary snapped.
The whole street was sick of hearing about it. But honestly, I had bigger problems than Mary’s chalky crockies. Later that day, I went back to the hospital to visit Betsy again. Lisa was there, sitting by her bedside, looking hollowed out.
“How is she? ” I asked. “She’s got a really long road ahead of her,” Lisa said quietly. “I’m really sorry, Lisa.
”
“Me too. ”
Roy, the chaplain, came over to check on us. He looked at Lisa with a strange expression, then at me. “Has he told you yet?
” Roy asked. “Has he told me what? ”
Lisa’s face crumpled. “Hasn’t he?
Told you what, Roy? ”
Roy turned to me, his voice low and serious. “Dylan assaulted Betsy during sex. ”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
I staggered backward. “You need to stop right there,” I snarled. “That is one hell of an accusation. ”
“It’s not an accusation,” Roy said.
“It’s the truth, isn’t it? Isn’t it? ”
“You liar. You should be ashamed of yourself.
”
Lisa was trembling with fury. “Back off! ”
Roy tried to calm us down. He offered his private flat as a place to continue the conversation, to stop us from making a scene in the hospital corridor.
But Lisa wasn’t having any of it. She turned on me with pure hatred blazing in her eyes. “Lisa, I love her—don’t you dare say those words,” she spat. “Love isn’t having your hands wrapped so tightly around someone’s neck that it caused them to have a stroke.
Your filthy hands almost killed her. ”
“I could not have caused that stroke,” I insisted. “There’s no way. ”
The words felt hollow even as I said them.
Later, Gary Malone pulled me aside in the café. He was trying to help, or so he said. There was a colleague of his—someone in cyber security—who could wipe my phone. Professionally.
“Swain has serious suspicions about you,” Gary said. “You need to wipe your phone. ”
“It’s done. I already wiped it.
”
“No. Like professionally wipe it. ”
I narrowed my eyes. “Gary, come on.
Kit’s not messing about here. He’s trying to help you. ”
“So have you forgotten who you’re speaking to? I’m not stupid.
He takes my phone, and the next thing you know, it’s used as evidence against me. ”
“That’s not what this is. We’re on the same side. ”
“No.
You’re not. ”
He was right about that much. I didn’t trust any of them. And I was starting to think I shouldn’t trust myself either.
At home, Chesney was sitting in my living room with Dev and Sarah. They’d been talking about Joseph’s school fees, about whether to send him away to a private school. Dev had offered to lend Chesney the money for a loan, but Chesney was refusing. “You can pay me back in your own time,” Dev said generously.
“Take it or leave it. ”
“Dev, no. This is something totally different. Joseph’s going back to Webby and that’s the end of it.
”
“But Dad, I don’t want to do that,” Joseph whined from the stairs. I didn’t have the energy to care about any of it. My own daughter was lying in a hospital bed, and her girlfriend was accusing me of nearly killing her. That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment in my head. The way Betsy had looked when they wheeled her in. The way Lisa had looked at me with those accusing, furious eyes. The next morning, I went back to the hospital.
This time, I found Dylan sitting in the waiting room, looking pale and guilty. “Is that true what Lisa said in there? ” I asked him. “Dylan.
Dylan. You need to talk to me. You’ve got to be honest with me. ”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Sometimes,” he mumbled, “during sex, I—what? You strangle her? ”
“Don’t say it like that. It makes it sound awful.
”
“Abusive. What is it then? ”
He shook his head, defiant. “It’s consensual.
Everybody does it. We’ve seen it online. It couldn’t have caused a stroke because there’s no way. She was fine until the next day.
I had nothing to do with it. ”
“Well, for the record,” I said, my voice shaking, “not everyone does this. ”
“How do you know? You haven’t got a clue.
You’re never going to understand. ”
He was desperate now, pleading. “We’ve done this before and nothing ever happened. She didn’t hurt me—I didn’t hurt her—and we both wanted it.
”
“Well, she can hardly consent when you’ve got your hands wrapped around her neck. ”
“Beforehand. I mean, we talk about it. ”
“Well, she can’t talk about it in the moment.
She can’t speak up if it’s becoming a little bit too much. ”
His voice broke. “I wouldn’t hurt her. You did.
”
“I didn’t want that,” I said quietly. “And I didn’t want this either. ”
I grabbed his shoulders, trying to reach the boy I remembered. “Listen.
We can sort this out. You’re a good kid, and I know that in my heart, and I know it in yours as well. ”
He looked at me, tears spilling down his cheeks, and said nothing. I stood up.
I walked to the front desk. “I’d like to report a crime, please. ”
