Throughout the whole of this nightmare, only Ava’s presence has brought with it any measure of peace. Jean pushes back the cover and pats the space beside her. ‘I like having you near.’
Ava digs into her overnight bag, the one intended for her family home, changing in record time into a camisole and boxers. She tucks her hair into a silk bonnet and climbs into bed, gathering Jean close. Jean rests her forehead against Ava’s sternum, burrowing into her side. Rain patters against the windowpanes, a sound which – at any other time – would be soothing.
‘They’ll all be talking about it. About me.’
‘It won’t necessarily be bad.’
Jean snorts. ‘Spare me.’
‘I’m serious.’ Ava shifts so that they’re eye to eye. ‘Look, Kate didn’t do herself any favours going at you like that. For a lawyer in her field to be publicly victim-blaming someone? At a conference that exists to challenge institutional sexism. No. I can’t speak for the more corporate end of the spectrum, but it’s not going to play well with the VAWG teams, and we made up at least half the delegates.’
Thunder splits the sky open, lightning spilling through the cracks to fill the room with flickering light, enough to illuminate Ava’s face.
‘Marianne would have known that too; the risk she was taking with her colleagues.’And she’d done it anyway, so furious that even a pyrrhic victory felt better than outright loss.
‘Don’t think about that now. Forget her and all the rest of them.’
‘I should tell Peter. I have to call him—’
‘In the morning. You can barely keep your eyes open. Hell, you’re shaking. Come here.’ Ava pulls her close, warming Jean with her body.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Jean wakes in the morning, Ava’s face is slack, her breathing even. Slowly she extricates herself from the protective circle of those arms, careful not to jostle the mattress. She pads from the room, retrieving the phone from her handbag. Jean scrolls through the endless list of notifications. Calls from Naomi, Imogen, Cora. Messages of comfort and condemnation both, from virtual strangers. A text from Rhona declaring not only her continued respect, but an offer to stay at her parents’ beach house in Edinburgh. And – of course – an email from Peter asking to talk at her earliest convenience.
The screen darkens then, in power-saving mode. And Jean retreats to her office, closing the door behind her. She plugs the phone in and dials Peter’s number. He answers on the first ring.
‘Jean. Rhona told me what happened – are you alright?’
In spite of everything, he sounds relieved to hear from her. Jean squeezes her eyes shut. ‘I’ll resign. For the good of the firm.’
‘Not accepted.’ Peter doesn’t take even a single second to consider the possibility; to weigh up DDH’s options. ‘I want you as my successor. And if that’s not enough, think about the optics. A woman losing her job over a sexual misconduct scandal? One of the victims? Terrible. Enough to confirm all the worst rumours about DDH.’
‘Fuck the optics, Peter. I don’t deserve to stay, never mind take over the firm. Not after what I did to Marianne.’ Sweat prickles under Jean’s arms, pooling beneath her breasts – opening the windows offers no respite, summer blazing in the storm’s wake. She drinks in the soupy air with tight gulps.
‘I told you, Jean – you can’t keep blaming yourself for that. It isn’t healthy.’ The shuffle of footsteps: Jean can picture him pacing. ‘Will was the truly guilty one. And think about it: if you quit, he wins. Don’t let that old bastard’s ghost cheat you out of everything you’ve spent the last two decades working for.’
‘But I—’ A crack runs through Jean’s voice. She pushes the sweaty hair back from her forehead. ‘I don’t know how I come back from this. I don’t even know what to think, what to feel.’
‘Then take some time off – that’s not a suggestion, by the way. You’ve got enough leave accrued that you could take the rest of this summer if you need it. A holiday will be just the ticket.’ He sounds so certain. ‘I’d offer you Mandalay, but Caroline’s niece is honeymooning out there.’
‘I screw up and you’re rewarding me with a holiday? What’s next – we give Andrew a bonus next time there’s a discrepancy with his expenses?’
‘You didn’t fuck up, Jean. You didn’t start slinging mud back or escalate the conflict.’ Peter’s breath echoes down the line. ‘Consensus is that Marianne’s in the wrong here. There was a big stink on social media, and Minerva put out a statement about victim-blaming not aligning with their founding principles – no names mentioned, but the timing makes it obvious why.’
Jean’s heart pounds as if it means to smash through the wall of her chest and make a bid for freedom. She slumps against the wall. ‘Jesus. I can’t let Marianne lose a second career because of me.’
‘You may not have a choice. But I can reach out to Minerva on your behalf and say as much.’
‘Please do.’ Jean swallows, voice thick. ‘Right away.’
‘And you’ll take that holiday?’
It’s not the decision a managing partner should make; but Marianne will never be a managing partner or anything close to one, because of her. And Jean can’t let her lose a second career. ‘Anything. Just do it.’
‘Alright.’ Peter sounds almost as weary as she feels. ‘Take care of yourself, Jean.’
She finds Ava in the kitchen, still in her pyjamas, flipping a misshapen pancake on the stove.
