She looked at Gavin sympathetically and gently touched his shoulder. Her eyes looked warm with a hint of curiosity in them which he did not wish to satisfy. Which he could not satisfy. How could he possibly tell her -?
"What's wrong with you?" she asked and held his gaze until he looked away and started biting his lower lip.
"I - can't - tell you," he finally managed, adding, "Your dad ...". What?
"Knows," feeling cowardly he shook his head and sighed, and Cully nodded. She would ask her dad. She could see that something was horribly wrong here, and something had to be done.

"Dad - what's wrong with Gavin?"
Barnaby pouted and heaved a sigh. He had always known that this day would come, and he now knew that this was not going to be easy. But Cully would never give up until he had told her, so he began:
"I ... know it was wrong, and I am ... truly sorry. But - I couldn't help it. We ... had been out and he had far too much to drink, so I - drove him home and let us in, and there he was - completely drunk. He'd even handcuffed himself accidentally. It was ridiculous. And - you know me, probably better than I do myself. I always felt strongly for him, and - God - he was so handsome lying there, so I ... took advantage of the situation."
Cully gaped and was not quite sure if she had got him right, "You raped him?"
"I wouldn't call it that..."
"DAD!"
"I said I was sorry... I shouldn't have ... but it's too late for that now, isn't it?"
"DAD! Have you seen him? He's miserable!"
"I know."
"You should talk to him."
"He'll be all embarrassed."
"So what?! You can't go on like nothing happened, can you?"

Gavin opened the door and stared at Cully Barnaby holding out some white roses to him. Surprised, he took the flowers and stepped aside to let her into the flat.
"I know about the ... rape ... he told me," she said and clenched her hands. He sighed with relief. Strange that Barnaby should tell her openly about all this. Strange, too, that he did not feel at all exposed. He felt sorry for Cully knowing her dad for what he was. For what he could be.
"It must have been terrible for you," she said and held out her hand to touch his. He nodded and she offered to listen if he needed to talk.

"Thanks," he croaked and nodded again, "I ... think I need a ... shower first. Why don't you just make yourself ... at - well". At home sounded out of place, but she understood and walked over to the sofa while Gavin walked away to have a few moments to himself before facing the dreadful conversation.

Drying his hair, the t-shirt slid up and gave a free view of his belly – very light skin, marked by dark bruises in some places – and Cully frowned, "What happened to your belly?"
Gavin gulped and pulled down the shirt, knowing that she would not accept 'nothing' for an answer: "On some occasions he decided to burn me … on others he just … lashed his belt at me". "Who?" The moment she'd asked, Cully realised whom Gavin was talking about, and she felt sick. Her dad had never mentioned torture.
"It … doesn't matter now," he said and tried to smile. But there was something more.
"Occasions. You mean there was more than one …"
He nodded and his smile grew sadder. So after all, Barnaby had not been entirely honest with his daughter. He had left out bits of the story – but then, that really did not matter now.
"You must report him."
"NO!" was the very decided reply, "I could never do that."
"Why not? He hurt you!"
"He also threatened my career."
"No, he wouldn't do that."
"Oh yes, he would." Like he had threatened his life, hurt his feelings, destroyed what little there was left of his self-respect. Like he had invaded his daily routine - by menacing him at the station, tricking him into derelict houses or lonely woods or simply by coming round to his flat. At night. When he was asleep (if he was). On weekends. When he tried to find some peace.
"Dad?!"
He nodded again, unhappy to be the one to finally tell.
"Gavin, I don't understand this."
"Me neither."
"Do you … like it?" That was a good question. And NO would have been the categoric answer, but after all Bernaby was his boss and he was far too scared or too much of a coward to stand up against him.
He shrugged, "I got used to it".