Page 66 of Before You Say Goodbye

“It was his idea, babe,” Bluebell said. “When Larry asked him to rescue his finale, Bowie told him he would only do it if Larry let Marley perform at the ball. But Bowie knew that Marley wouldn’t just agree to do it because he’s never forgiven Larry or any of the other big theatre bosses for turning their back on him and driving him out of the industry. There had to be an incentive. That incentive was to surprise Bowie with a tribute.”

“Larry agreed to it, but warned Bowie that Vincent had already been invited to the ball and he was absolutely not prepared to uninvite him, no matter what,” Emma added.

“Does Marley know Vincent is going to be there?” Autumn asked. The Whittle women all shook their heads.

“Shit,” Autumn said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“No offence, Autumn,” Emma said. “But we have such a lot riding on this. Maybe even Marley’s life. We just couldn’t risk anything going wrong. Still, it wouldn’t be fair or responsible of us to let any woman go without knowing that a sexual predator will be there, too. We could never see you walk into a situation like that. Saturday night will be profoundly difficult for Bluebell. Bowie told her not to come, but she’s adamant she wants to and it will help her if you are there. We’re also extremely worried about what might happen when Marley realises that he’s in the same room as that man again. For a while, you’re going to be the only one backstage with him. I’d be very surprised if Vincent doesn’t try to approach at least one of us at some point. His arrogance really does know no bounds. If it’s Marley, we’ll need you to stop the inevitable from happening.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Autumn asked. She was terrified. They didn’t need to tell her that another fight between the two of them would, one way or another, mean the end for Marley. She wasn’t sure she could cope with the pressure that came with them expecting her to prevent it.

“Marley loves you,” Maddie said. Autumn found the way she said it a little uncomfortable. “You can talk him round, Autumn. You can calm him down.”

Autumn nodded, defeated.

“Tell me what he looks like,” she said. “I’ll do everything in my power to stop it if I can, I promise.”

* * *

Autumn confronted Bowie the second she got home.

“I can’t believe you let me think you didn’t know about the tribute.”

He peeped warily at her from beneath the duvet. She was standing in their bedroom doorway, her hands planted on her hips.

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching his hand out for her to take. She raised her eyebrows playfully. He smiled sweetly, wiggling his fingers in a little wave. She didn’t make a move.

“Do you have any idea how hard we’ve worked, Bowie?”

“Yes, I do.” He nodded. “I can’t tell you how lovely I think you are. Or how grateful I am. Come here.”

She sighed and walked towards him, stamping a little petulantly. When she was near enough for him to reach her, he snaked his hand around her waist and pulled her onto the bed. She let him wrap himself around her. He smelled like sleep. He nuzzled into her neck and she lost herself in him.

“I’m still really excited about seeing you up there,” he said.

“Well, we were excited about surprising you,” she said sulkily.

He squeezed her tighter to him. “I’m sorry.”

Autumn did not answer, but she tickled the back of his hand with her fingertips to show him she wasn’t upset. She was restless. Staying still was an effort. Earlier, before she’d come to confront Bowie, Bluebell had pulled her to one side.

“Are you OK?” she’d asked. Autumn had nodded.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I saw your face when Mum told you about that monster and what he did to me. I’ve always felt something like that might have happened to you too. Do you mind me asking?”

Autumn had never told anybody anything about the scary way her stepfather treated her, but it didn’t surprise her that Bluebell had deciphered the secrets of her past from her reaction to various things. Talking about sexual abuse stoked a rage in Autumn that she found hard to hide. There was nothing to be gained from lying this time. She nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bluebell asked.

“It was a long time ago. My stepfather. It only happened once and it wasn’t rape. He kissed me. Grabbed at me when we were alone. I screamed and ran away. I tried to move in with my father, but, well, he didn’t have room for me, so I spent my teens trying to avoid what I knew was inevitable if he ever got the chance. It’s not really the same situation. I can’t pretend it is.”

“Yes, it is.” Bluebell said. “Sexual assault is sexual assault. Does Bowie know?”

“God, no!” Autumn said. “He has enough to deal with. Please don’t tell him. Or anyone else, Bluebell, please. I’d rather nobody ever knew.”

Autumn couldn’t sleep that night, fretting that Bluebell might not keep her promise. She knew that her revelation would be deeply distressing for Bowie and she really didn’t want to put him through anything else. She’d hidden what had happened to her for her own benefit up until now, but — with people around her who really cared about her — she found herself becoming ever more secretive in her attempts to protectthem, and that felt confusing for Autumn. Her stepfather’s assault had not, outwardly at least, impacted her beyond her development into a staunch women’s rights advocate and her conviction that sheshould not be affected by or treated any differently because of the misfortune of falling prey to a predator. She recoiled at the prospect of the pity she might receive. She would rather push her experience away, along with the rest of her past, into a part of her mind she rarely unlocked. She reasoned it did her no good to dwell on it.

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