‘A woman who was raped as she slept by a man she had been dating for a few weeks has helped to jail him by secretly recording his confession.’
‘Davis-Patton will go on the sex offenders register for life and was given a ten-year restraining order to keep him away from the victim.’
She had thought that maybe somewhere in her diaries, if she could bear to read them, there it would be. In black and white. Written in her handwriting on pages of truth. Of course, she was such a mess would she have wanted to admit her stupidity? Would she have actually wanted to inscribe the dirt and disgust onto paper?
And then, out of nowhere, in her Inbox of all places, in her ‘Recommended Articles’ email from ‘The Times’ (God bless them) is the article that tells her what to do if she does want the evidence. If she does want to hold it, hard and honest in her hands. On her phone of all things. On the record app. And just like that, she knows how she could get her evidence. But what then? What would she achieve? She doesn’t think he will ever come after her. Ever chase her. Ever lay hands on her again. But then why is she so scared? Why, when she sees him at a distance is she so filled with anxiety that leaves her shaking and a cold sweat forms on her back. Her hands twitching, her throat goes dry.
But what would him being called to attention about that horrible night achieve? He can’t be that stupid drunk boy now? Now he has a family. Now he is older.
No, nothing can be achieved by holding him to account. Can it?