Page 63 of The Absence of You
Chapter Forty-Nine
GRAYSON
After he hands over the paperwork, I thank him again, grab my bag, and head out to the car park. As much as I’d love to be accepted into the program, Dahlia means more to me, so I push it from my mind and take some deep breaths. I’m practically running to my car by the time I get there. Except… It's empty.
I saw her get in, so where is she? I scan the car park until I spot her across the far side, walking quickly. Where is she going? It’ll probably be quicker for me to drive over to her, but she has my keys. I look around and spot them lying on the passenger seat. But my eyes are drawn to the paperwork in the footwell of my car.
Shit, shit, shit. It’s the copy of her file from my father’s safe. No wonder she’s taken off if she’s seen this. Everything is in there, all the photos my father had the private investigator take, her medical files, everything. I yank open the door and start shoving it all back in the folder, hoping she’s somehow missed seeing the sheet with the information about her dad but it’s not here.
My stomach lurches. She must have it. She knows. She knows he’s serving time. And not only that, she’s probably assuming I was deliberately keeping it from her. Fuck, she probably thinks it’s my research. I need to stop her, tell her it’s not what she thinks.
I look around, but there’s no sign of her. She must already have gone into the woods, probably heading home to confront Dee. She’s got a clear head start on me, so there’s no point in me trying to follow on foot. I can probably still beat her home if I drive, so I snatch up my keys and slam the passenger door shut. I round the car and dive into the driver’s seat.
I break every speed limit going and minutes later, I’m pulling into her driveway. I jump out and run around to her door, banging my fists against the front door. It’s opened almost immediately by a concerned looking Dee.
“Grayson, Lord, are you okay?” As I try to get my breath back, her eyes narrow in concern. She knows there is only one thing that could have me this frantic. “Is it Dahlia? Has something happened?” I don’t answer and push past her into the house. “Grayson, stop!”
“She’s on her way home. Nothing has physically happened to her. But she’s going to be pretty upset. She, she...” Fuck, I was so stupid forgetting those documents were in my car. I was just so fixated on the fact she had chosen to seek me out. Completely distracted by the fact she said she wanted to talk to me and hoping I’d have the opportunity to win her back. She’s hurt, and it’s my fault again.
I have to warn Dee, but as I’m about to make another attempt to explain what’s going on, we’re interrupted by the back door slamming shut. It’s too late. The sound of footsteps get closer and each one is like a death knell until Dahlia bursts through the kitchen door into the hallway.
She’s out of breath, tears running down her cheeks, a look of complete and utter devastation on her face. Seeing her like this has me feeling winded, and I have to breathe through my nose so I don’t vomit. What have I done?
I step forward, reaching for her hand, but she snatches it back, her face distorting, equal parts sadness and anger.
“Dahlia, please let me explain,” I say at the same time Dee asks,
“Dahlia sweetie, what’s happened?”
“Shut up. Both of you!” she spits out at us. God knows what Dee thinks is going on, as Dahlia is never like this. She’d never shout at Dee. “You,” she points her finger at me, “you fucking lied to me. Everything that’s gone on with us recently, yes it fucking hurt because it clearly meant more to me than it did you, but you never made me any promises, so I would have gotten over it eventually. But you knew exactly how I felt about this. How could you lie to me about this Grayson?” I suck in a breath, desperate to correct her, but Dee steps forward tentatively, sounding far more confident than she looks.
“I’m sure whatever this is, we can sort it out.”
Dahlia stops staring at me and turns to Dee, like she’s just remembered she’s there. “And you,” she clenches her fists, “you have lied to me for my whole life,” she chokes out. Dee looks like she’s been slapped, before her eyes slide down to the piece of paper crushed in Dahlia’s hand. Despite the way the paper is crumpled, it’s easy enough to make out the bold words of ‘HMP Stockley’.
Realisation crashes across Dee’s face, and she claps her hand over her mouth, barely disguising her gasp and steps back steadying herself on the wall. Her complexion has paled, and I’m suddenly worried about her health. Dahlia has a right to be angry, but Dee loves her more than anything. She dotes on Dahlia. She must have had a good reason for keeping this from her. I refuse to believe she had anything but good intentions, and I need to find a calmer way for us to deal with this.
For a long time, maybe even always, Dee has been the only decent adult figure in our lives, and I know deep down in my bones she would never deliberately hurt Dahlia. While I’m trying to decide what my next move should be, Dahlia pushes past me and rushes up the stairs. I move to follow her, but Dee clutches my arm.
“Give her a minute. She’s in shock. We need to let her cool down.” Against my better judgement, I follow Dee into the kitchen and sit down at the table. Trembling, Dee reaches into the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of brandy and a couple of glasses. She pours us a large drink each and sits down opposite me. We both drink them down quickly, and she refills them.
“So… you both know.” The statement hangs between us. Jesus. She looks old. And tired. And utterly defeated. “How did she… how did you find out?” I genuinely believe Dee has kept this secret for reasons she believed to be legitimate, but I need to hear them before Dahlia comes downstairs. I don’t have time to pussyfoot around.
“It’s not relevant how I found out.” I take a large swig of the brandy, its sweet cloying flavour making me wince as the heat warms my stomach. “Why the hell would you keep this from her? And also, what the actual fuck, Dee?! He killed his own father?” I get out of my seat and pace the kitchen as Dee swirls the dark amber liquid in her glass. She takes a sip and places the glass back on the table and then takes a deep breath.
“Twenty years ago, my son Joseph came home from school one afternoon, and he was full of excitement. A new girl had joined the academy. She was there on a scholarship. That girl was Rosie. I’d never seen him so head over heels in love before. Rosie and Joe were inseparable.” Dee smiles wistfully. “She was the image of Dahlia back then. She was a lovely, polite girl, but very quiet, you know? She was always a little skittish when she came to the house. I’d put it down to nerves. She’d been brought up in a children’s home, so I thought being around a family like ours was probably just unfamiliar to her. But she loved Joe. That was clear for anyone to see. She hung off every word he said. I thought they were probably too young to settle down. He should probably play the field, but he was so happy, I wasn’t going to interfere. But his father, Roger - he wasn’t at all happy about their relationship. I thought it was just that he was so ambitious for Joseph. I thought it was because he was worried about Rosie distracting him from his studies.” Dee swallows down the rest of her drink, and then tops up both of our glasses.
“They’d been dating for about six months. Joseph had just turned eighteen a few days before, so I was holding a party for him at the house. Rosie had come over early to help with the preparations. Most girls of her age would have been off having their hair and makeup done, but when she found out Roger would be out until late at a work event, she insisted on giving me a hand so I wouldn’t be doing it all alone. I’d booked caterers, so there wasn’t really much to do. I’d sent Joe into the village to get a few last-minute bits, an extra bottle opener, and a little thank you present from the bookshop for Rosie.
“The caterers had arrived, so I was showing them to the kitchen. I thought Rosie was in the dining room, but when I went in there, she wasn’t. I didn’t really think much of it, but about half an hour later, Joe arrived back.” Dee falls silent. When I look at her, I realise her face is clouded with grief, her eyes glassy, and her hand trembling. She takes a few deep breaths and continues.
“The first indication there was something wrong was when I heard a crash. But… I was too late. By the time I realised the noise was coming from Roger’s study, Joseph was already in there. He had Roger pinned to the floor, and he was punching him, over and over. I had no idea Roger was even in the house. He wasn’t due back until much later.” Dee’s voice wavers. “Joseph just kept hitting him. Roger was barely recognisable. I just remember staring at the soles of his shoes as Joseph continued to…Rosie was in the corner of the room. She had her eyes tight shut and she was rocking back and forward and crying.” Jesus fuck. I don’t know what I was expecting Dee to tell me, but it wasn’t this. Before I can fully process everything, she carries on. “My son, my precious baby, I’d never seen rage like it. It was like he was possessed. The two of them had never been particularly close. Roger was a traditional man. We’d been married young. An informal arrangement between our families as was often the way in those days. It was no great love story, but we’d been married twenty-five years, and in a blink of an eye it was gone, all of it. It was Rosie who stopped him in the end. She eventually snapped out of it and stood up. She grabbed Joseph’s arm, and I grabbed his other arm and between us, we pulled him back. As soon as Joe saw Rosie, he stopped. I didn’t know what to do. I walked out and went next door. My memory of what happened next is hazy, but the police and ambulance were called. It was too late by then. Roger was long dead. Beaten to death by our child.” Holy shit. My father incites rage in me on a daily basis, but to beat a man to death with your bare hands, the man who raised you no less? That is another level of rage. I still didn’t understand entirely.
“Did he have an illness?” We both know what I’m asking. Was Joseph unhinged? Was he having a psychiatric episode?
“No. He was of sound mind. When the police arrived he told them he’d killed Roger, and he wasn’t sorry about it. He was arrested and immediately taken into custody. Rosie was hysterical by that point so the paramedics treated her for shock and gave her a mild sedative. It was only later that evening I found out the full story.
When the detective came to the house later that evening to take more evidence, Rosie broke down and begged them to let Joseph go. She told them that, unbeknownst to all of us, Roger had come back early. She said Joseph had walked into the study and found Roger sexually assaulting her. She told the detective it wasn’t the first time he’d assaulted her. It was only then that I noticed Rosie’s dress was ripped. The strap, it, it kept falling down over her shoulder. And she had marks on her arm, perfect fingerprints where he’d held her down. I understood then what had driven my boy to lose himself to his anger. Rosie meant everything to him. There really was nothing else that made sense to me.
