The It Girl(134)

She clicks through.

Hi Hannah, Geraint here. Hope you’re doing okay, and the baby too. And I hope Will is feeling better. I spoke to November about your ordeal with Hugh; I’m so sorry, that sounds completely terrifying. I can’t believe what a nice bloke he seemed. I guess he fooled all of us.

Listen, I thought twice about sending this, because I’m sure you’ve got enough on your plate with Will’s injury and the baby being due in a few weeks, and you may not be ready to talk (plus I’m not sure how much you can say until the police are finished doing their bit). But, well, I’m working on the podcast again. It’s a bit different from what I imagined, obviously. Neville’s innocence isn’t in dispute anymore, and most of the ten questions I posed in my original article are answered. So this one is going to be more about April and her life—and about the ripple effect of a crime like this. How the media treated her, her family, that kind of thing. I’m calling it THE IT GIRL. November’s agreed to act as executive producer and I’m pretty pleased with how it’s going. And what I wanted to say is, if you ever wanted to talk—put your side of the story. Well, I’d be honoured, that’s all. Your choice, and no hard feelings if you don’t or aren’t ready just yet.

I’m so glad we managed to get some kind of justice for Neville, in the end. He was obviously quite a troubled man, but he didn’t deserve that, no one does. I’ll always be grateful to you for making that happen.

Anyway, don’t answer straightaway. Take your time to think it over. But I’m here when you’re ready to talk—whether that’s six weeks, or six months, or even longer.

Geraint

P.S. The first episode isn’t finished yet, but if you want to hear a rough cut of the opening, here’s a link. Password is November.



Almost before she has had time to think better of it, Hannah clicks the link.

There is a short pause, and then a voice breaks the silence—not the one she was expecting, Geraint’s. Instead it’s a voice that’s eerily familiar, one that raises the hairs on her arms. It is high and reedy, in a way that once made her shiver just to imagine it. It is John Neville. But he doesn’t sound exactly like she remembers. He doesn’t sound belligerent and self-important. He sounds… sad.

“April Clarke-Cliveden was one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen,” he says, the little sound bars rising and falling on her screen as he speaks. “They used to call her It Girl, because she had everything—looks, money, brains, I suppose, or she wouldn’t have been at Pelham. Everybody knew her, or knew about her. But someone took that all away from her. And I will never stop being angry about that. I want that someone to pay.”

Hannah reaches out and pushes the pause button on her phone, and for a long moment she just sits there, her hands pressed to her face, fighting tears. The baby turns inside her.

She thinks about Neville, about the truth, about how his voice has been silenced. She thinks about April. She thinks about the rest of her life, stretching out before her—a life that neither of them will ever have.

Her breathing steadies.

Then she crosses to her laptop and opens it up, bringing up Geraint’s email. She wants to reply before she can change her mind.

Dear Geraint,

Nice to hear from you. I saw your name in the news as the CC spokesperson. I’m glad November’s got you to support her with handling the press. As for me, I’m doing okay, thanks. So is Will—at least, he’s not out of hospital yet, but they say he may be discharged soon.

I know you said not to reply straightaway, but I’m going to—I’m going to give you my answer now, and please know that it’s not going to change.

I am ready. But not to talk. In some ways, I feel as if I’ve done nothing but talk. I’ve told my version again and again: to the police, to the courts, to you and November and Will. I’ve been telling it for more than ten years.

I’ve said everything. And now it’s time for me to shut up—and move on.

I listened to the opening of your podcast, and I hope it’s a huge hit. You know the truth, and you’ll tell it well. And April’s life deserves to be celebrated, just as Neville’s voice deserves to be heard.

But I’ve said enough. I’ve given enough of my life to April’s death.

Be safe. Stay well. Take care of November. She needs someone like you.

Love,

Hannah



She hovers for a moment, with her mouse over the paper airplane button, and then, very firmly, she presses it and the email whooshes away, leaving her staring at her inbox, and the line of folders ranked next to her unread emails. Bills. House. Personal. Receipts. And then finally, Requests.

Slowly, very slowly, she opens up the folder, and for the first time in years, maybe even the first time ever, she scans down the list of emails.

Hannah, urgent we talk! Fee available.

Message for Hannah Jones re Pelham Strangler case.

Important update on the Clarke-Cliveden case!!! Time sensitive!!!

ITV News request for comment re April update.

Interview request for Mail—please pass to Ms. Jones



There are dozens of them. Hundreds. Thousands, going back years, and years, and years. Slowly, very slowly, she checks the box marked “all.” A dialogue box pops up: All 50 messages on this page are selected. Select all 2,758 messages in Requests?