‘But I hit him, Rose. Don’t you see? I’m the problem. I am the …’
Rose got up then, walked over to Clara’s chair, and wrapped both arms around her, stroking her hair.
Once she sat back down and Clara had managed to stop crying, she leaned into Rose and whispered. ‘Can I tell you something mad?’
‘Of course.’
‘And please, look, I know how fucked up this is, okay? Believe me, I get it. But sometimes, I … I just wish he had hit me. Or at least tried to.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Because then I’d have evidence too,’ she whispered. ‘A mark on my body to show the pain he has inflicted ever since I met him. Something to show people. So that they would believe me. Because fuck, Rose, if he posts that photo …’ She started to hyperventilate.
‘Clara, do you want to talk to someone about this?’
‘No. I only want to talk to you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I know you’ll understand.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re kind, Rose. But you’re far too kind to someone you don’t really know. Too empathetic towards someone as broken as me. Most people don’t care because they can’t grasp the depth of what’s happening. The only reason they do is if they’re broken too.’
It was almost 2 a.m. by the time Rose got home. It came as no surprise that she couldn’t sleep. Her mind was darting from Milo to Clara and back again. Would she leave him? Would he post those photos? What would happen to Clara’s career if he did? Could Rose help her? Could Minnie?
It wasn’t clear how or why she decided to hack into her mother’s email, but at around 4.03 a.m. Rose found herself propping her laptop up over the top of her duvet, typing her birthday into the password space below Lola’s email address and then staring at her inbox. She typed ‘Richard’ into the search bar so quickly, it was as if someone else was controlling the movement of her fingers. She held her breath as she scanned through the list of results and their subject lines. The majority were promotional emails from Zara. But then, there was one from ‘noreply-contextual’ – and in the subject line, a series of numbers next to the name ‘Richard Franks’. There was a reference number at the top. His name again. A date. And then an address.
Richard Franks
3 Pine Square
London
NW1 82B
Rose closed the lid of her laptop. NW1? Primrose Hill? Her father had been living in fucking Primrose Hill this entire time?
She rang Lola. And when she didn’t answer, because it was 4 a.m. and she would be fast asleep, she rang again. And again. She stopped after the fourteenth call and opened Instagram.
Milo?
Sent.
You can’t ignore me forever.
Sent.
Hello? I know you can see my messages.
Rose knew he would be fast asleep. She knew he would think she’d lost her mind. She knew this was not enough to stop her.
I woke up bleeding. Did you know that?
Blood everywhere. It fucking hurt.
I can’t remember what happened.
Milo.
If you have a human soul you will answer me.
I just found out my dad has been living in the same city as me this whole time.
Please.
He probably has a whole new family.
Don’t do this.
I just need to know what happened and then it will be okay.
I won’t report it.
Please.
Please.
