Woman with a Secret by Sophie Hannah Read Free Book Online Page A

lying and cheating Gilligan did that created the occasion for his apology. People who say sorry tend, on the whole, to be those who have made mistakes, often serious ones. If the fact of their having done something wrong dictates that we mustn’t accept their apologies, doesn’t that mean there’s no point in anybody apologizing for anything ever again? Should contrition be banned outright?
    Keiran Holland doesn’t think so. If he did, I might have more respect for him. Personally, I’m a fan of the centuries-old tradition of acknowledging one has fucked up and resolving to do better in future, but I respect a man who can hold a consistent line on an issue, however outlandish. Keiran Holland is not that man. As usual, he simply hasn’t thought it through. Indeed, what he claims to have wanted from Gilligan was a better apology, one that was less “weaselly.” Holland wanted the pure, special stuff: contrition of the highest grade.
    Would he have forgiven Gilligan and lobbied for the lifting of his ban if he’d gotten the abject grovel-fest he was after? No—as evidenced by his response to Gilligan’s subsequent more fulsome apology, which can be summarized as “He’s only groveling now because he saw that his original rubbish apology wasn’t cutting any ice, therefore we must continue to haul him over the coals forever.” Forgetting that Inspector Javert is nobody’s favorite character in Les Misérables , Holland omits to explain why a perfectly worded apology that follows cheating at sport plus a flawed apology is unacceptable, while arguing that the very same perfect apology after only cheating at sport would have been ideal. Logically, it doesn’t stack up.
    While I agree that Gilligan’s use of the word “oversight” in his initial statement and in relation to deliberately pumping himself full of banned substances before each race was an evasion at best—indeed, I said so here —what I find remarkable is that Holland seems to have no idea why Gilligan’s first reaction to being exposed as a sinner might have been so inadequate. The apologies of disgraced celebrities tend to be, don’t they? “I’m sorry, but . . .” when there isno possible “but”; “I’m sorry for the part I played” when no one else played any role at all; “I’m sorry if certain people were offended” when only those under general anesthetic could fail to take offense, so unquestionably vile was the transgression. I hope I’m not the only person who has noticed that deficient apologies seem to be perennially in vogue. There’s an obvious reason for this—so obvious that I’m not going to waste time explaining.
    I’m keen to know why Holland is so lacking in compassion where Bryn Gilligan is concerned. What is it about the combination of drug taking and cheating that he so objects to, when he has no problem with either one in isolation? He cheated on his wife for at least six months with Paula Riddiough , former Labour MP and saboteur of her only son’s education (though to be fair, any red-blooded male would be tempted by the luscious Paula), so it can’t be Gilligan’s prolonged dishonesty that bothers Holland. A cheat himself, one might hope he would show a bit of leniency toward his underhand compadres. I’ve had the misfortune to be married twice —to Princess Doormat and Dr. Despot —and I cheated on them both with gay abandon of the heterosexual kind. It’s a sad fact that however beautiful the woman you marry, you will always meet one who is more or equally beautiful, eager to wrap her limbs around you and possessed of the additional appeal of being not-your-wife. So . . . having said all that, am I shocked to the core that Bryn Gilligan broke the rules in order to win races? No. How could I be, as a rule-breaker myself? To paraphrase the well-known adage, I read news stories about the repugnant behavior of famous people to know that I am not alone.
    Is it the drugs, then, that Keiran Holland