Final Cut(84)

For a second I think she’s going to slam the door in my face, but then she seems to relent.

‘You’d best come in.’

I scan the room. The sofa is empty; there’s a single wineglass on the coffee table. The voices were coming from a television upstairs. A soap opera.

‘You know she’s at David’s, right?’

‘Who?’

‘Daisy.’

I see her pupils flare but then she turns away to reach for her cigarettes. She sits on the edge of the chair opposite and folds her legs precisely beneath her, composing herself, before sliding the packet towards me. I ignore them.

‘You’re wrong. She’s dead.’ Her tone is flat; it lacks conviction. ‘She jumped. I saw—’

‘Tell the truth. Daisy didn’t jump.’

‘I saw her.’

‘She’s alive. She contacted me.’

She fumbles for her lighter. ‘How? Through your little film? We’ve all watched it, you know.’ The flame stutters as she lights up. ‘You’re just an outsider, come up here to stir stuff up—’

‘No—’ I say, but she ignores me.

‘—stuff you know nothing about.’

I take a step forward, try to stay calm. Her anger is a defence. She’s scared, I think. I wonder how much she knows.

‘That’s not true.’

She exhales a cloud of blue smoke, cool now. ‘Just so you can make one of your films. About us.’

I shake my head, defiant. ‘She’s not dead.’

‘We’re good people. Understand? She jumped. It’s sad, but that’s what happened. She jumped off The Rocks and she’s dead. We don’t need you up here, throwing about all kinds of accusations.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘She was abused. I have a film. You didn’t know that, did you?’

‘Of?’

‘It’s Daisy. Pleading for her life. She sent it to me.’

Her cigarette halts midway between her mouth and the ashtray.

‘What’s going on here?’ I say.

‘Nothing.’ She stares down at it. ‘Nothing, I swear.’

‘You’re lying. I know you’re involved.’

Her head jerks up, her eyes narrowed and venomous. ‘What?’

I say it again, but she’s in control of her reactions now. She’s unmoving, impervious. Rigid. How can I break through to her?

‘Monica? She’s begging in that film. Pleading for her fucking life. Tell me what’s going on. What are you doing to the girls?’

She lifts her cigarette once more. Her hand shakes, but she says nothing.

‘You might as well tell me the truth.’ I hold her gaze. ‘I know anyway. I have evidence.’

‘You know nothing.’

‘I know what happens. Out at the stables.’

She stiffens.

‘I know about the drugs. The booze.’ I hesitate. ‘The parties.’

‘You know nothing. I’m not hurting the girls. I’m helping them.’

My skin flushes. I laugh. I can’t help it.

‘Helping them? How, exactly? You know what goes on at these parties, right?’

‘No, it’s not like that. The boys … they drive them there. They bring them back. They look after them.’

‘You don’t really believe that.’

She meets my gaze but her eyes flitter and she looks like an animal caught in headlights, like the sheep on the road in the instant before it was hit.

‘It’s true. They enjoy the parties. They want to go.’

‘That’s what they tell you? Are you sure they even have a choice?’

She’s silent.

‘They’re raped there, Monica. You know that, don’t you?’

‘They get paid.’

‘Paid? What for?’

‘They lead the men on. Get a photo. They don’t go through with it. Unless …’

‘Unless?’

‘Some of them might choose to have sex. That’s up to them! Nothing to do with me …’

My body tenses, a tsunami of rage.

‘What the fuck? They’re, what? Thirteen years old? Fourteen?’

‘But—’

‘They’re kids! It’s rape, Monica. However you cut it. Zoe was pregnant!’

Her head falls and I see my chance.

‘Why did Sadie run? Tell me. What did she do?’

‘No.’ Her voice cracks, just a little.

‘Tell me, or I swear I’ll go to the police, show them every film I’ve been sent, and let—’

‘Stop!’

Her interruption is fierce. Her eyes flare; she’s twitchy, desperate.

‘She died!’

‘What?’

‘Sadie died! She died. Okay?’

‘No. She didn’t.’

She pays no heed. The energy has flooded out of her and she sighs, a juddering, monumental sigh that seems to leave her whole body diminished.

‘It’s true. All of it. She’s dead and buried. She died, and then Daisy killed herself.’

Her voice is tiny. I can barely hear her, but still I say, ‘No.’