The Girl Before

I spent all last night trying to explain The Rules to our friends, and I don’t really have the energy to do it again. We got it cheap, I say, in exchange for looking after it.

You said there was news, Simon says impatiently. Have you caught them then?

We believe so, yes, the older police officer says. He’s already introduced himself as Detective Inspector Clarke. His voice is low and calm and he has the stocky build and ruddy cheeks of a farmer. I like him immediately.

Two men were apprehended on Friday night carrying out a burglary very similar in method to the one you suffered, he says. When we went to an address in Lewisham we recovered a number of items listed on our database as stolen.

That’s fantastic, Simon says, elated. He glances at me. Isn’t it, Emma?

Brilliant, I say.

There’s a pause.

Now that there’s a strong possibility of a trial, Emma, we need to ask you some more questions, Sergeant Willan says. Perhaps you’d prefer to do this in private.

That’s all right, Simon says. It’s great you actually got the bastards. We’ll help any way we can, won’t we, Em?

The sergeant’s still looking at me. Emma? Would you rather do this without Simon present?

Put like that, how can I say yes? In any case, there is nowhere private in One Folgate Street. The rooms all flow into one another, even the bedroom and the bathroom.

Here’s fine, I say. Will I have to go to court? To give evidence, I mean?

A glance passes between the two of them. It depends whether they plead guilty, Sergeant Willan says. We’re hoping the evidence is so strong they don’t see any point in fighting it.

A pause, then she says, Emma, we recovered a number of cellphones at that address we mentioned. One of them we’ve identified as yours.

Suddenly I have a very bad feeling about this. Breathe, I tell myself.

Some of the phones had photographs and videos on them, she continues. Photographs of women in sexual situations.

I wait. I know what’s coming now but it seems easier to say nothing, to let the words pass over me as if they aren’t real.

Emma, we found evidence on your phone indicating that a man matching the description of one of the men we arrested used it to record himself engaging in a sexual act with you, she says. Can you tell us anything about that?

I sense Simon’s head swiveling toward me. I don’t look in his direction. The silence stretches out like a thread of molten glass, getting thinner and thinner, until eventually it has to snap.

Yes, I say at last. My voice has shrunk to nothing. I can hardly hear myself, only the hammering in my ears. But I know I have to say something now, that I can’t simply blot it out.

I take a deep breath. He said he’d send the video out, I say. To everyone. Every single name in my contacts. He made me…do that to him. What you saw. And he used my own phone to record it.

I stop. It’s like looking over a cliff edge. He had a knife, I say.

Take your time, Emma. I know how hard this must be, Sergeant Willan says gently.

I can’t bear to look at Simon but I force myself to go on. He said if I told anyone—the police, my boyfriend—he’d know and send out the video. And that phone was a work phone, it has everyone stored on it. My boss. My whole company. My family.

There’s something else…I’m afraid we have to ask, DI Clarke says apologetically. Is there any possibility this man could have left any DNA behind? On the bed, perhaps? Or the clothes you were wearing?

I shake my head.

You understand the question, don’t you, Emma? Sergeant Willan says. We’re asking if Deon Nelson ejaculated.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Simon clench his fists.

He held my nose, I say in a tiny voice. He held my nose and made me swallow. He said it all had to go, every bit, to stop the police getting any DNA. So I knew there was no point. No point in telling you. I’m sorry.

Now I do manage to look at Simon. I’m sorry, I repeat.

There’s another long silence.

In your previous statement, Emma, DI Clarke says gently, you told us you couldn’t remember exactly what occurred during the break-in. Just so we understand, can you explain in your own words why you said that to us?

I wanted to forget it had happened, I say. I didn’t want to admit I was too scared to tell anyone. I was ashamed.

I start to cry now. I didn’t want to have to tell Simon, I say.

There’s a crash. Simon has thrown his coffee cup at the wall. Shards of white pottery and brown liquid explode across the pale stone. Simon, wait, I say desperately. But he’s already gone.

Drying my eyes on my sleeve, I say, Will you be able to use this? To convict him, I mean?

Once again they exchange glances. It’s a difficult situation, Sergeant Willan says. Juries expect DNA evidence these days. And it’s impossible to identify the suspect absolutely from the video—he’s careful never to show his face, or the knife.

She pauses. Plus we’re obliged to disclose to the defense that you initially said you couldn’t remember. They may try to spin that, I’m afraid.