My husband and I are back in our wedding night suite after nearly 27 years of marriage. It should be cause for celebration, and I am smiling.
However, inside I feel a gnawing sense of trepidation. The decor has changed — it’s funkier, modern — but it still takes me back.
Last time we were in Room 345, at St Ermin’s Hotel in Central London, in the autumn of 1997, Phil was 24 and I was 27. I was in
After six months of waiting, hoping, worrying, the email finally arrived. I took several deep breaths to calm my racing heart before clicking on the attachment. Scanning through the opening paragraphs of HR jargon, I reached a paragraph bluntly entitled: ‘Rape’.
It read: ‘Despite trying, [we were] unable to speak to the alleged perpetrator.’ There were a few further lines noting that my experiences must have been ‘difficult’ and that I was ‘brave’ for taking part in the investigation.
And
