Chapter 37
37
‘It’s nice enough weather to sit in the garden and yet we probably shouldn’t for reasons of privacy, should we?’ Ian said, answering the door at his immaculate terrace.
‘Could compromise with kitchen and open windows,’ Bel said. ‘Serious hydrangeas. Your garden is incredible.’
She gestured at the explosion of blooms, the flowers a beetroot-stain pink. Ian’s fenced front plot, window boxes and hanging basket had the well-controlled wild abundancy of a good gardener.
‘Oh, thank you,’ Ian said. ‘I can give you a cutting when you leave.’
‘There’s no garden at my chic city address, I’m afraid, but thank you. Someone did vomit in my shared hallway the other day, though, and the other residents were insistent they could “tell” it wasn’t resident vomit. That’s as wildlife watching as we get.’
Ian guffawed.
‘Then you can have them for a chic city vase.’
Bel stepped into a narrow hallway in red ankle boots, made narrower by a trail bike and coat rack with old-fashioned umbrellas propped in it.
For their third meeting, Bel had the lightbulb she could simply go to Ian’s house. He lived in Sale, so Bel decided to get the tram after work.
On her way, she squeezed in among the commuters, and her mind turned to how on earth they could pull off the iPad stunt. Connor’s scepticism was merited, and Bel was starting to sense the limits of what her brother called the ‘it’ll be reet’, approach. She’d begun to very vaguely toy with a backup plan, but ‘plan’ was dignifying it. Death or glory reckless self-immolation with two per cent chance of coming off was probably closer to it. There was a disjoint between her devil-may-care methodology and the trust that had been placed in her, and when she wasn’t rationalising herself out of it (‘This was Ian’s idea!’), Bel felt it.
Ian’s home was exactly as she’d have predicted if she’d thought about it: spider plants on full shelving and mid-century modern furniture with toothpick legs: sofas and chairs a seal-dark grey, crocheted throws and rugs, a riot of bright colour.
There was an Aaron Parry-approved Stanley Chow print of Mrs Merton hung above an original fireplace in a dining room with a chunky wooden table and an old-style stereo stack, a spotless galley kitchen beyond. Fastidiousness, and warmth. (Bel had politely declined a lasagne with both of them, feeling it crossed a line into socialising. Probably for the best , Ian said, my plant-based diet niece is forcing a butternut squash filling upon me .)
‘Take a seat and I’ll put the kettle on. Unless …’ Ian checked the time on a wall clock. ‘Sun’s over the yardarm. Can I tempt you to a wine, or are you driving? Do you drink both white and red?’
‘Yes you can, no I’m not and yes I do. I can drive but I haven’t got a car, just as well with where I’m living at the moment,’ Bel said, taking a seat at the table.
‘Right in the thick of it, Ancoats, I think you said? I love those old converted cotton mills. I envy you and I put in a shift in the 1990s, but I’m too old for it now. The quiet ’burbs have a sudden allure when you hit forty-five.’
Ian placed a glass of white wine in front of Bel and she outlined Amber’s thirty-fifth, adding illustrative details about fake boyfriends and overnight stays.
‘Lord in heaven,’ Ian said. ‘It’d make several podcast episodes at this point? With cliffhangers.’
The doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be Erin.’
Ian’s niece entered the room with a look of trepidation. She was small, in a black cord jacket, with henna box-dye red shoulder-length hair with chunky sections bleached white, and a punky amount of eye make-up. Bel would’ve guessed her age as late teens, twenty at the oldest. She should’ve been babysitting Glenn’s nephews and nieces, not fodder for his fantasies.
‘I’m Bel and you must be Erin … so good to meet you.’ She stood up and reached out to shake Erin’s hand, who mumbled a hello.
Aaron’s line about green bananas came back to her and made her feel sick. Erin made Bel feel like a protective older sister. She had protectiveness going spare: her brother Miles was six foot by their mid-teens, and very popular, so he’d never needed it.
‘Wine?’ Ian said, waggling the bottle at a visibly affrighted Erin.
‘No thanks, Coke Zero if you have it,’ she said.
‘I have it because you drink it, dear niece.’ Ian stage-whispered to Bel. ‘Gen Z don’t drink.’
As Ian plinked ice into a glass in his fridge door ice-maker, Bel smiled at Erin.
‘Investigations Editor, that’s such a cool job title,’ Erin said, dumping a tasselled bag onto a spare chair. ‘Like you work at The Daily Planet or something.’
‘Yes, it’s a big vote of confidence in me I’ve now got to justify,’ Bel said.
‘I love your podcast,’ Erin said, ‘I’ve just finished the one about the estate agent murders in 1996. The story your aunt worked on.’
‘Oh, thank you! Tamara’s are big shoes to fill. Well, in real life, small shoes and always stilettoes.’
Erin smiled and look awed and shy, though she’d spoken with quiet confidence. Bel cast her mind back to how being twenty-four was to be full of such contradictions.
‘Really appreciate you meeting me and sorry it’s for a crappy reason,’ Bel said.
Ian put a soft drink in front of Erin and said: ‘I’ve got to phone my mother, so I thought I’d leave you two to speak in private for a while?’
‘Say hi to Gran,’ Erin said.
He disappeared off upstairs as Bel turned to Erin, who looked like she wanted to disappear inside her jacket.
Bel could tell she needed to keep talking until Erin relaxed enough to contribute.
‘If it’s easiest, I’m going to tell you what your uncle told me, and you can interrupt and correct me, or add, when necessary?’ Bel said.
As Bel described her time in the office, Erin said: ‘When Glenn spoke to me, it was like a celebrity noticing me. He is a celebrity …’
Erin’s self-loathing radiated from her and Bel understood it instinctively. You don’t only deal with hating them, you hate yourself. Your self-image as someone who’d see through those kinds of tactics takes a battering.
‘He made you feel valued and noticed,’ Bel said, nodding. ‘You’d been anxious in a new environment and here’s this magic person saying it’s going to be all right … it’s like a holiday romance, isn’t it?’
‘Exactly,’ Erin said.
(Erin was twenty-four, how did Bel fall for a lowlife flatterer at thirty-four?)
‘… When he got in touch after I left and said he’d love to help me with career next steps, I believed him,’ Erin said. ‘But he said not to tell my uncle in case he got worried about correct procedure and nepotism, you know? There’s rules around interns. That was the massive warning sign but I wanted to think he liked me. We kept meeting up, he’s giving me all this advice. Eventually he said he likes me likes me and somehow at this point I’ve caught feelings for a forty-five-year-old man. My dad is fifty-four.’
Erin made a blow-out-cheeks puke face.
‘Is there nothing on your WhatsApp that could prove he flirted, or that you kept making plans?’
Erin took a tiny bird-sip of Coke and shook her head. ‘Pretty much nothing. He was very careful. He’d always ring me back. At the time I was all “ oh wow he’s so keen”.’
Bel nodded.
‘You went to the Didsbury Airbnb three times total? All in April?’
Erin nodded, fiddling with her jacket sleeve.
‘Ian said that Glenn threatened you over nude pictures,’ Bel said. ‘But you’re not sure if he has any or if it’s a bluff?’
‘He does have them,’ Erin said, eyes suddenly shiny.
Bel reached out and held her forearm.
‘It’s OK. You did nothing wrong by sending them. Nothing at all.’
‘I didn’t send him nudes. I didn’t tell the truth about that,’ Erin said, shaking her head. ‘Sorry. It was so cringe telling my uncle about what happened that I gave him a different version. I didn’t know if I’d ever want to tell the real story so it made sense to simplify it at the time. I mean: it’s true he shouldn’t have them, and he has them.’
‘Oh?’ Bel was lost.
‘What happened was … Glenn hinted about sending some. But there was a big scandal at my school with a girl who ended up on everyone’s phone so I’ve always been too scared …’
Bel stayed silent.
‘Glenn, erm …’ Erin played with her glass with small, bony fingers, nails painted in dark blue glitter polish. ‘He took photos of me sleeping.’
Bel sucked in a sharp breath.
‘When I met him to ask why he’d stopped replying to me, he showed them to me on his phone. Like, if you cause trouble for me Erin I can cause trouble for you. Don’t think I haven’t got insurance. I nearly threw up,’ Erin said.
‘He took nude photos without your knowledge or consent and then used them as blackmail? Was he actually unashamed about this?’ Bel gasped.
‘It was as if I’d been made redundant and might go to a tribunal and he was telling me well, if you do that, the company will defend itself to the full. Here’s what we have on you. Emotionless.’ Erin was pale.
‘I mean, that’s criminal, surely? You could report him, get his phone confiscated …’ Bel said.
She knew Bailey was a nasty piece of work but this was the first time she thought he was the full sociopath.
‘Even if I could stand the shame of other people seeing those pictures, and even if they believe me that I didn’t know they were being taken– you know what he’s like. He’d have the police officers laughing and joking with him and taking a jar of his homemade pickles home with them. Great with sausages, ’ Erin said, throwing her hands up, doing a Glenn impression. ‘He has so much goodwill to draw on and who the fuck am I? Sorry to swear.’
‘Never apologise for swears to me. Very true. Wish I trusted the police more than that, but I don’t,’ Bel said.
‘I really appreciate what you’re doing,’ Erin said, rubbing her nose and its tiny jewel stud. ‘I’m not being difficult about the interview, I’ll tell you anything you like, if you can get proof he’s going to that house. I can’t cope with the idea that I might put myself out there and then look like an idiot fangirl who thought a one-night stand mattered, and nothing would change. As I said to Uncle Ian, I’m totally grossed out that I did it, so how can I expect other people not to be?’
‘I get it, entirely. I think you’ve been extremely brave doing this much, and other women would thank you for it,’ Bel said. ‘When did you meet Amber?’
‘When Glenn had dragged her out at one in the morning when the doorbell kept ringing and he was panicking it was someone who knew he was there. She wanted to show him the footage to prove it was some drunk stumbling around, so she brought that iPad. She seemed embarrassed; she didn’t meet my eyes …’ Erin paused. ‘Do you really think you can get into the iPad and get those recordings of Glenn?’
‘Honestly, I have no idea. I am going to give it my best shot,’ Bel said. Erin nodded.
‘Knowing someone believes me, someone proper. It’s meant a lot,’ Erin said, and Bel felt like a fist was gently squeezing her heart.
Ian saw Bel out, so they could briefly speak, one to one.
‘You know what makes me so angry?’ he said, as they stood at his gate. ‘Erin hasn’t had much experience of the world of work yet, the world full stop, really. And that fucker has taken her optimism and her self-confidence and all the … brightness she should feel in her youth. Why should the start of her story be dominated by him? How dare he vandalise her youth for a few meaningless encounters?’
Bel put her hand on Ian’s arm. If she’d ever thought she’d maintain an unemotional professional distance, that was long gone. She thought of Ian discovering that his boss had taken sneak shots of his unclothed niece.
‘We’re going to get him. We’re going to give Erin the power of putting out her side, and we’re going to stop the next Erin ending up a Bailey victim. He thinks Erin is his victim too– but he’ll find out she’s his mistake.’
‘You’re a credit to your profession,’ Ian said.
‘I will settle for being of use to you,’ Bel smiled.
Bel departed home on the tram with a renewed sense of furious purpose, a greater degree of apprehension than ever before, and four hydrangeas, their damp stalks in a twist of cling film.