He thrusts himself into me, shuddering, his lean, solid male body underneath me, and I feel his strength and my power over it.
“My sweet,” I murmur against his throat, my cheek pressed against his heaving chest. “My poor, sweet, lovely boy.”
In the morning, the noise of the shower wakes me. Without even going into the kitchen to switch on the kettle, I boot up the PC and search the online phone directory.
“Hey.” He comes to look over my shoulder, toweling his head.
“Hey.”
I glance up, check whether the night’s interlude had any lasting effects. Giles still looks like a boy, young and disheveled, with a quiet, slightly bashful smile on his face. I hold out my hand for his and draw it to my lips.
“Sweetie, I’m afraid I’m going to pick a fight with you.”
He laughs, then sees that I am in earnest. “What about?”
“About your reputation.”
“So, where to?” he asks when he has steered the Volvo onto the main road.
“Southside, Oakland Park.”
I am holding the file on my knees, but I am not tempted to look at it again.
Bartholomew Road is a residential area bordering on a business park; the houses are garishly decorated with lights and stars and reindeer, and there are several Santa Clauses scaling the rooftops.
“Number twelve sixty-seven. Here.” I unclick my seat belt and open the door.
“Wait!” He grabs my elbow. “You will regret this!”
“I hope I will never regret having done the right thing. Will you regret it?”
He looks at me, looks me over. Sighs.
“Not for myself, no, but I may well regret not having stood up to you!”
For half a minute or so I think there is nobody home, or the people who are home won’t open the door for us. Then there is the sound of a chain being latched, and the door opens a crack.
“Mrs. Randall? Louise Randall?”
She is a tall woman, quite big now, with a mass of silvery-dark hair done up into a loose chignon.
“What do you want? Are you collecting for something?”
“No, no, I’m…I’m Anna Lieberman, and this is Giles Cleveland. We are English professors at Ardrossan University.”
This produces the reaction I had feared. The door is slammed shut, and her voice, though muffled, is angry.
“Go away! Are you reporters? I have nothing to say to you!”
“Mrs. Randall!” I put my mouth close to the door. “Louise! I promise you we are not reporters! I just want to give you something, and you can decide what to do with it!”
Silence.
“Listen, Louise, I’m not going to stand out here shouting for all your neighbors to hear. Am I right in assuming that when you were young you went by Mary-Lou? And that your maiden name is Tandy? Just tell me whether I’m right!”
Silence.
The door opens again, but the chain is still in place.
“Keep your voice down,” she says, much calmer now. “I’m not going to ask you in. I have guests, and they’re asleep. As for that fine gentleman, I don’t want to talk about him. There’s no point!”
“I don’t know about that, but it isn’t for me to decide, or for anyone, except you. This—” I hand her the file “—is yours. I—we—came by it by accident, and we feel that you should have it. Take it to the police, or burn it—it’s up to you.”
She stares at the plastic folder in her hand, dumb with emotion.
“This comes thirty years too late.”
“I know. But if we keep it, we’re protecting him, and if we hand it over to the police, we are interfering in your life in a way that I don’t want to be responsible for.”
She nods, mechanically, and undoes the chain.
“The past is never just that, is it?” she says.
“Past, you mean? No, I guess it isn’t. Or just.”
At this she smiles wanly.
“No, it isn’t. Well, they do say that choice is a burden.” She weighs the slim folder in her hand. “Not very heavy, is it?”
I smile back, relieved that she is recovering her sense of humor. Even if it is of the gallows variety.
“If you wanted to get in touch with us at all, don’t hesitate, via email or the phone.” Giles digs up his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls out his card. “Anna will shout at me for having said this, but I think you should go to the police and make sure that his ass ends up in jail.”
“Giles!”
“That’s all right,” Louise assures me. “I won’t rush