Page 31 of The Man Upstairs

“Doesn’t know what? What did he do to you, Rosie?”

Time for honesty. I caught my breath before I spoke.

“I threatened him. I told him that next time I’d go to the police, no matter what, and I’d catch him on camera, and I’d tell them, and I wouldn’t let it go.”

“Good. And then what happened?”

“I called him weak, and then I went to bed. I thought that was it. I put my earbuds in, so I couldn’t hear them, and I went to sleep, but then…” I struggled to speak. “He came in, in the dark. He pinned me down and told me that he’d make me pay if I did anything like that. He said he’d fuck us both up, me and Mum, and he means it. I know he means it. But I don’t know what to do.”

With that, it all collapsed and the sobs came. I always tried to stay strong, always, but I couldn’t hold it back. Years of fear and hurt spilled over and caught me in its grip, but so did Julian. He sat next to me on the sofa and he pulled me into his arms, and held me tight.

He didn’t rush me, or try to get me to speak some more, just rocked me gently, cradling my head against his chest, and it felt like everything I’d never had. Comfort. Strength. Care.

“It’s ok,” he told me, and for once I believed it. “I’m going to make sure it’s ok. You’re safe now.”

I kept crying, letting it flow free, and it was beautiful to let the fear loose, without a mask disguising it. Scottie was too dangerous for me to handle. I’d tried a thousand times, and tried with Mum too, but I couldn’t make it work. I couldn’t.

I pulled away when I had enough composure to get some words out.

“Are you going to call the police? He’ll deny it.”

Julian shook his head, his hands on mine, squeezing.

“You don’t need to worry about what I’m going to do, Rosie. Just trust me. I’m going to make sure it’s ok.”

I nodded, managing a smile.

“Thank you.”

It was when I leant back on the sofa that I realised there were cushions behind me. I shifted so I could see them. Their beige and gold brocade brought out the tone of the tattered leather.

“Let me go and get you a drink,” Julian said, and got to his feet. “What would you like? Tea? Coffee? Orange juice? I have some cordials, too.”

It seems a lovely set of cushions weren’t the only things he’d bought today.

“Orange juice would be great, please.”

I took another look at the cushions when he disappeared into the kitchen. They were gorgeous. He had a new lamp too, standing tall in the corner. Its brass frame was elegant, and the shade was rich and red.

“Here you go,” he said as he returned with my drink.

The juice was lovely. One of the ones with juicy bits in. I smiled after I’d taken a decent swig.

“Seriously, Julian. I’m sorry I came up here. This isn’t your problem.”

“On the contrary,” he told me. “I’m very glad you did. This is very much my problem now, and I assure you I’m going to remedy it.”

He sounded so strong.

He smiled as he looked down at my PJs. I was in fluffy socks with no shoes.

“At least you’re ready for bed.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be getting any sleep, somehow.”

“I think you should try anyway,” he told me. “Some rest will do you good. You can sleep soundly here.”

We sat in the most comfortable silence I’d ever known. I didn’t feel panic, or despair. I felt exposed in my utter rawness, and there was a sense of relief in it that defied all logic. All fear.