5. It’s creepy #2
When he finally let me go, I ran into the toilets and only just made it into a stall before I threw up everything I’d eaten that evening, then had a silent meltdown for over an hour on the cubicle floor.
I was too scared to face him again, so I just left the restaurant and then walked all the way home, all three miles from central London to my house in Chelsea, in four-inch heels.
I didn’t speak for three days.
Eventually I’d snapped back to reality, and I went to Mum’s house to tell her—as usual, blurting out the full, unvarnished truth.
I knew my mother didn’t like me, but when she rolled her eyes and told me I was too sensitive and highly strung, that I must have misinterpreted Darrell, and that he was just being friendly and teasing me, I was stunned.
Rebecca screamed at me when I tried to tell her, calling me a “lying bitch,” and telling me I was just jealous because nobody would shag me, seeing as I was “so bloody weird.”
Gareth hadn’t been there during my admission, and Mum had made sure to ring me afterwards, threatening all manner of retribution should I ever mention any of those accusations in front of him.
The only other person I told was Abdul. And Abdul’s reaction was very different and somewhat strange.
After I told him what had happened, he stood up suddenly from his chair, paced from where we were sitting to the middle of the room and then back again, but did not sit down.
He stood behind his chair, gripping the leather until his knuckles turned white whilst he stared at me.
“For fuck’s sake,” he’d snapped, and I flinched.
Abdul was normally the epitome of a calm therapist, as he should be. I didn’t think that stalking about his room and throwing expletives around was really his normal operating procedure.
But what did I know? I wasn’t a qualified therapist.
“You seem angry,” I’d said, actually quite proud of myself for identifying his emotions. It was something I’d been working on.
Abdul closed his eyes slowly as his head fell forward.
“Yes, Vicky,” he’d said in a carefully controlled voice. “I am really fucking angry. Please tell me you intend to contact the police.”
My eyebrows went up. “The police?”
“Yes, the police. That man assaulted you.”
I’d shaken my head. “There were no witnesses, and my own family doesn’t believe me. Also, I am aware of the rate of conviction when women report sexual assault to the police. Statistically speaking, that would be a waste of time.”
“Fine. If you won’t report him, then at least tell your brother.”
“Half-brother.”
Abdul’s jaw had clenched in frustration.
“Tell Ollie.”
I’d looked out of the window and pressed my lips together.
I wouldn’t have told Ollie anything. I was aware that I was already a burden to my half-brother. I would not be adding to that by running to him every time I was scared or sad. I’d spent a lot of time scared and sad—it would be a full-time job sorting me out, and I was old enough to do it myself.
So, much to Abdul’s frustration, I didn’t report Darrell. My solution was simply to avoid him. The avoidance tactic did not involve or inconvenience anyone else, which is why I would never have gone to Mum’s house that day if I’d known he would be there.
I was on the other side of the kitchen from Darrell and the rest of my family. My heart was hammering in my chest as I forced my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. My eyes were still focused on Darrell. Fear had crawled its way up to my throat, and I couldn’t actually speak.
“Vicky, love,” Gareth’s gentle voice sounded from close by, and I startled when I realised he’d gotten up from the table and was now at my side.
I spared Gareth a glance, but then refocused on Darrell, who was trying to hide a small smirk. “You okay?”
If I could have spoken, I would have said no , I was not okay. Because lying was not something I’d ever been able to master. But I couldn’t speak, so I just shook my head.
“Honestly, Gareth,” Mum snapped. “Don’t pander to her. It only makes it worse.”
I’d heard a lot of that growing up. Don’t pander to her was one of Mum’s favourite sayings when it came to my meltdowns, my mutism, my fear of school when I was being relentlessly bullied, and to my teachers when they suggested assessments for autism spectrum disorder.
I’d only been diagnosed in the last few years after Margot and Ollie talked me into having some therapy.
“Darrell,” Gareth said with an edge to his voice. “I think it’d be better if you leave now.”
“Daddy,” Rebecca whined. “That’s ridiculous. It’s just Vicky being crazy. She needs to get over herself.”
Gareth was staring at Darrell and ignoring his daughter. After a few moments, Darrell held his hands up again. “Of course. No problem, folks. I’ll go. Vicky, I’ll be seeing you.”
Once I heard the front door close behind him, I swallowed and fully straightened from the slight crouch I hadn’t even realised I’d dropped into.
“Come and sit down, cariad,” Gareth said in that gentle voice.
For a moment, I stared at the door Darrell had left through. Only when I was convinced that he wasn’t coming back did I move to the kitchen table.
“Cup of tea?” Gareth offered and I nodded, eyeing my sister and mother carefully as I slid into the vacant seat across from them.
“You need to stop being a crazy person about Darrell, Victoria,” Rebecca said. “It will look really fucking odd at the wedding if you go mental like that in front of everyone.”