92. Before

‘Is it on?' said my mum.

‘It's on,' said Tristan, his voice so young. He moved back from the camera. Mum stood, leaning against her desk. He dragged his chair towards her, towering over her, and sat down, too close.

‘Hey! Some space, please,' said Mum, though she was smiling.

‘But we're Romeo and Juliet,' he laughed.

She frowned. ‘Tristan, we're not doing… What's going on?' She crossed her arms, her head tilting.

He leant back. ‘I thought…'

‘Oh, dear,' she said, easing forward off the desk. ‘Oh, Tristan.'

‘I thought you liked me,' he said.

‘Of course I like you, Tristan. I like all of my students, and you're one of my star actors. You have so much talent.'

He peeked up at her. ‘I do have a lot of talent,' he said, his smile sliding back into place.

She laughed. ‘You've got courage. I'll give you that. Come on now, let's?—'

‘Would you like to hear about all of my talents?'

Her gaze flicked from side to side as she realised she was trapped between Tristan and the desk. ‘My dear,' she said, her voice becoming stern. ‘I'm afraid you're far too young to be talented at that. You're just a little boy.'

‘Am I?' He stood up, seeming twice her size again, his back to the camera, hiding her. ‘Wouldn't you like to find out?' He reached for her face with both hands and pressed his knee between her legs, just as he had done to me. ‘You must be hungry for a real man, with that pansy boy husband of yours.'

‘This has gone too far,' she said, but he leant down and forced a kiss on her.

She writhed and worked her arms up between them, trying to push him away, and I closed my eyes as she said, ‘Tristan, stop.'

I opened my eyes, just a slit, and saw him reaching down, fumbling with something, his flies I think, and then he hefted her onto the desk and I closed my eyes again as my mum screamed.

How had no one heard that scream?

Then he yelled. When I opened my eyes again he was staggering back, his trousers falling, his hand flying to his face. And then he lunged at her as she slid off the desk and she fell back and hit her head, her eyes snapping shut instantly, her arm lying at an unnatural angle.

He knelt over her, stood up, knelt again. Pushed his hands through his hair, and then ran past the camera, knocking it over sideways.

Through chair legs I stared at my mother's beautiful face for what seemed like an age. She was wearing that necklace. I couldn't see the pendant properly, but the chain was gold and she usually wore silver. Her lips were smeared with blood, but she didn't look how she had in the hospital. And then – my heart froze – her eyelids flickered, and she pulled herself up, just as someone stepped past the camera.

‘Dot?' Between two high-heeled shoes I saw my mother lie back again.

‘You're awake,' said Dot.

Mum blinked. ‘Tristan tried… He…' she whispered. ‘Your boy raped me, Dot.' Her voice broke.

Dot rushed over and knelt down. ‘He didn't, Arianne. He's a good boy.'

I couldn't see past Dot to my mum's reaction.

‘No, I won't believe it. No one will believe it,' said Dot.

‘Dot, I?—'

Dot reached for her and slammed my mum's head back down against the floor. ‘Oh God. I'm sorry, Arianne,' Dot said. She grabbed a hardback book from the desk and brought it down on my mum's face once, twice, three times.

‘Maybe if you promise – if you promise not to tell anyone,' said Dot, shaking her head.

My mum gasped and tried to wriggle up, but her arms seemed too weak and Dot grabbed my mum's neck. She was wearing lilac driving gloves. ‘I'm so sorry.' She let go and sat back but then seized her again, and my mum barely fought back, her arms limp.

‘I'm so sorry. David would never forgive me if Tristan went to prison. He would kill me. He's the only thing David loves in the world. I can't let you put him in prison. I'm so sorry.' She stood up and flicked her hands as if getting rid of water, then she turned and her heels clicked past the camera.

Now my mother looked like she had in the hospital, still and broken.

And then she coughed.

And then another pair of shoes walked into the frame.