How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(84)

I begin to stand up to go and comfort her.

‘Stay the fuck where you are,’ she barks. ‘Let this be about someone else other than you, just for once Kitty. Do you think you can manage that?’

‘These are lies, Kitty. She’s a fucking lunatic.’

‘And do you know what the worst thing is? The thing that makes me feel so sick I have tried killing myself. Three times? When I got too old for him, when I saw him start to look at other younger girls – even Antoinette for fuck’s sake – in that creepy fucking way, I was jealous. I tried every way I knew how to get his attention, that’s why I was screwing Grut and any other one of his acts that I could. How fucked up is that? I wanted my own father to start raping me again so I could be his special girl.’ She laughs bitterly.

‘Hen, you’re not fucked up,’ I say. ‘You’re damaged. What he has done to you, has been doing to you, has damaged you.’

‘Can you even imagine what it’s like to have that level of self-loathing, Kitty? Even at that fucking stupid Eighties party. It was you he sought out, not me.’

She nods once, takes a deep breath and hands me my bag. ‘So now I need you to kill him. And I’m going to tell you exactly how you’re going to do it.’

‘Hen, no, I don’t do that anymore. I don’t want to do that anymore. For the first time in my life, I feel like I have something good.’

‘You’ve killed for less,’ she says, almost squaring up to me at this point. ‘This man is a fucking monster.’

‘No, I haven’t.’

She glares at me. ‘What about Ruben Reynolds then? Don’t forget, Kitty, I know it all.’

I turn to look at James. He’s smaller than he’s ever looked. Painfully thin. Everything about him looks grey. His hair, his skin. He wouldn’t last two minutes in prison. He’d probably kill himself.

‘What have you got to say about all this?’ I ask. ‘Look at your daughter. Look what you’ve done to her.’

‘She’s full of shit’ is all he manages. He doesn’t even uncover his face from his hands. Or look up. The only movement is his shoulders, which are convulsing up and down. Is he fucking crying? But when he eventually looks up at me, there aren’t any tears. Not one. Instead, there is a big shit-eating grin over his face. He’s shaking his head, laughing.

‘What have I got to say about this? The same thing my press statement said. The same thing my extremely expensive lawyer will say in court. That there is absolutely no truth to any of the allegations against me. Especially hers!’

I’m burning up with fury; it’s running through my veins like a fever. There isn’t an ounce of remorse in his face.

‘And no one would believe her.’ He nods over at Hen, who’s lighting a cigarette, watching the exchange between us. ‘She’s going straight to a psych hospital the minute this is all over. All the tales of drugs and underage sex that I’ll make sure get leaked to the press about her. She’s no threat to me.’ He looks me up and down. ‘And neither are you. In fact, the only reason I didn’t ever go after you was because I had a deal with your father that you were out of bounds.’

I swallow down bile. Now is not the time to show weakness.

‘It didn’t end up very well for him though, did it?’ I say. ‘You know I bashed his brains in, right?’ I turn to Hen. ‘I have questions for you. A lot of questions. But first of all, are you sure this is how you want it to end? No one will get their day in court. The victims won’t see justice.’

‘He’s pleading not guilty,’ she almost whispers. ‘They’d all have to relive it. Even the ones who haven’t come forward will be forced back there when it’s all over the news. You know what this country is like for women. Their entire sexual histories will be brought up, picked apart. They’ll be shamed. And those are the ones he hasn’t yet paid to keep silent.’

I nod. I understand.

‘And even if he is found guilty. Then what? He’s an old man. These are historical crimes. He’d get maybe eight, ten years. Serve half. Then come out and live the rest of his life in luxury with the cash I know he’s got stashed away in some tax haven. He’s been preparing for this day ever since he abused his first victim.’

‘He’d get destroyed in prison,’ I tell her. ‘Famous and a paedophile? He’d be a living, breathing target. They’d do a lot more damage than I ever could.’

‘Would he though? He’s a fucking psychopath. He’s a puppet master. He knows how to play people. How to make friends and influence people. He’s the original fucking influencer. Do you really think he’d have it hard? Or do you think he’d win bored lags over with his tales of showbiz debauchery? And it’s not like he was abusing little kids. I bet more than enough of the men he’d be locked up with have been caught out in similar ways. Fifteen doesn’t really count, does it? It’s jailbait.’

My mind returns for a split second to the website with the countdown ticker on it, leading up to my sixteenth birthday.

‘Kitty. I know you want to do this. You wouldn’t have come otherwise. You came here to kill. I know you did.’

She’s right, of course. I do want to kill him. I want to watch his face as he realises he’s going to die. I want to watch him fight and struggle and know that it’s the end. What he did to all those other women was enough to make me thirsty for his blood, but hearing – and seeing – what he’s done to his own daughter, my friend, is even worse.