How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(79)

‘That’s Hen’s place,’ I say, turning to Charlie. ‘What …?’

He nods towards the TV.

‘Mr Pemberton remains in police custody this morning. He will find out later today if he will be released on police bail. A spokesperson for the family has declined to comment on the accusations apart from calling them “absolutely ludicrous”. We’ll have more details as they come in. Now back to the studio.’

What in the name of living fuck?

‘What’s happened?’

‘James was arrested early this morning,’ Charlie says. ‘He’s been accused of some pretty awful stuff.’

‘Is this what we were talking about yesterday?’

He nods. ‘Someone’s come forward and made an official statement.’

I’m stunned. ‘I need to call Hen,’ I say, grabbing my phone.

Charlie gently takes my hands, removing the phone and putting it on the kitchen island. ‘Not now. Let things settle a bit.’

‘I need to let her know that I’m here for her,’ I say. ‘She was there for me when my dad …’

‘Just have a coffee and something to eat first? I think this could be a long day. For both of us.’

I nod, but as he goes to make more coffee and breakfast, I take my phone. This is one of my best friends. I can’t just pretend that this isn’t happening.

I try to call Hen a couple of times but it goes straight to voicemail. I text her instead.

‘Hen, I’m really sorry about your dad. Been trying to call. Pls call me xx’

I’ve got messages from Tor and Maisie too, both gobsmacked by James’s arrest. I reply to them both, expressing my own shock.

Charlie and I plant ourselves in front of the TV in the living area and watch as the news plays footage of James being led away in a police car on a loop. There’s a major buzz on social media about it, obviously, which Charlie is following on his phone.

‘I think this might just be the floodgates opening,’ he says, miserably.

He’s right.

The first post comes on Instagram later that day, from a beautiful young singer called Maribelle Mason, alongside a picture of a broken and blackened heart.

My heart is breaking as I’m writing this but I know that we need to stand strong together. I can’t name this man as I’ve been gagged by a legal order but everyone will know who I’m talking about. I first met him two years ago when I was gigging around London. He came to see me in a club, he said he’d been tipped off that I was good.

He promised the world, told me I could be the next Ellie Goulding. I was young and naive enough to believe him. It wasn’t long before things took a bad turn. He’d invited me to a hotel to sign a contract. I was so excited. I’d told my parents, they wanted to come into London with me but I thought it would look too uncool turning up with my mum and dad. So I went alone. And it was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.

When I arrived at the hotel room, there was no one there but him. No secretaries or assistants, no one. But I still didn’t think anything of it. He’d poured two glasses of Champagne and gave one to me, which I drank. I’m not a big drinker and it went to my head quite quickly. I remember asking him why we needed to be in a hotel room and that’s when I knew I was in danger. He laughed at me and asked me why did I think we were in a hotel room. I tried to make polite excuses and leave. Even at this point I didn’t want to upset him. He grabbed me and pulled me away from the door. Then he tried to kiss me and put his hand down my jeans. I was struggling and crying at this point but he wouldn’t let go of me. He put his hand inside my knickers and at least two fingers inside my vagina as I sobbed. He told me to relax and enjoy it and said that there were hundreds of singers that would happily let him do what he wanted, that I was lucky.

When he tired of touching me, he pulled my jeans down and took his penis out of his trousers. I was still too scared to move. He then proceeded to masturbate before he climaxed over my thighs. When he’d finished he even handed me some baby wipes and told me to clean myself up. He told me there was no point telling anyone because who would believe that a woman had gone into a hotel room alone with him and not known what to expect. He made me feel humiliated and stupid at the same time. I didn’t tell anyone. I was too scared. And guess what? That contract never appeared. In fact my whole career seemed to just come to an abrupt halt after my encounter with him. It was almost as if he’d smeared my name.



Charlie and I read through Maribelle’s post in horror. He grips my hand tightly, holding it between his. ‘Fucking hell,’ he whispers. ‘Jesus fucking Christ.’

Maribelle’s post is just the beginning. They’re everywhere after that. Instagram and Twitter are soon flooded with women – singers, models, actresses, some going back years – all with stories about James. All under the hashtag #YouKnowHisName. There are rape allegations, tales of unwanted attention, sexual coercion, of him never taking no for an answer. Charlie and I pore over the women’s accounts of James’s vile, predatory behaviour.

Later comes one, from an anonymous voice.

I’ve been watching this all unfold and feel nothing but admiration for the women who have stood up and waived their anonymity. You are all so brave. I’m not currently feeling brave enough to put my name and my face out there. But I wanted to share my story nonetheless. It began when I was 14 and I’d gone to watch one of James’s label’s most popular bands. I won’t name them either but it was his biggest boyband at the time. I was near the front with my friend and we couldn’t believe our luck when someone from the crew came over and handed us two backstage passes. We watched the rest of the gig from the side of the stage and got to meet the band after. We were so happy. My dad was collecting us from the venue but before we left, James approached me. He asked me if I’d ever considered modelling. I hadn’t but he said he could put me in touch with some of the right people if I was interested?