When Andrea Constand awoke in the early hours of 7 January 2004, she didn’t know where she was. Her surroundings seemed, she says, “a strange and foreign place”. Weak and fuzzy-headed, she looked around and slowly realised she was in Bill Cosby’s house, on his couch, her bra around her neck, her blouse twisted, her trousers undone. She straightened her clothing and got up, then Cosby appeared in his dressing gown, offering a breakfast of tea and a blueberry muffin. Constand sipped the tea and took the muffin to her car.
“By the time I got home and into the shower to start my working day, I was in tears,” she says. “Why? Why would he do this to me? The next year was a journey of piecing that night together.”
