by Lucy Dawson
‘Do you need a moment?’ she says, noting my distress.
‘Thank you. I’m OK,’ I answer quietly.
‘Well, say if you do.’ She notes something else down on her pad of paper. ‘In a minute, we’ll go through into the interview room and DI Travers – the same man who arrested you – will caution you, then ask you some questions that will be tape-recorded. I’ll advise you while we’re in there and going along. Mia, they’re going to ask you why Seth Tristan was half-naked. There’s nothing to be gained by protecting Seth’s reputation, certainly not at a cost to yourself. Could you tell me what happened?’
I think about sitting opposite Florence in her counselling room, disgorging details about Hugo I would never want anyone to know. I think about Seth telling me it was his turn to have his kids at the weekend, when I guess he was simply at home with his family, in the house my sister watched him walk into on Thursday night. So who even lives in the flat in Putney we had sex at? The one he said was his?
I don’t want to trust anyone with anything, ever again.
I should be on stage in the matinee right now, about to take a bow, performance over… the sound of applause. I wonder if everyone will think I was too hung-over to show up and couldn’t be bothered now I’m going to be a writing star? I want to be there, pretending to be someone else.
I do not want to think about what happened last night, ever again.
‘Mia?’ The solicitor looks at me.
I shift in my seat. ‘I already told you. He was drunk when he arrived, and upset. I don’t know what about. He put his hands on my neck. I was very frightened. I kneed him in the groin and when he let go I ran into the sitting room towards the door that was open into the garden, but he came after me. I grabbed a light and I hit him with it. He fell to the ground. I ran from the room, I slipped and hit my head. I don’t remember anything else apart from coming to in the hospital. I have bruising on my neck – I was obviously trying to defend myself when I hit him, which is what you called the unlawful act earlier, right?’
‘Correct. There is reasonable doubt, yes.’
‘That the unlawful act didn’t kill him, you mean? Because he died in hospital?’
She nods. ‘I would expect a post mortem to confirm the cause of death is wholly unconnected with the unlawful act, yes.’
I twist away from her and stare at the wall in front of me again, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. ‘After they interview me and they’ve gathered their other evidence, tell me again what happens then?’
‘The file is presented to the Crown Prosecution Service who decide if there is enough to charge you with and take this to trial in a court.’
‘And if you were reading a file based on what I’ve told you already, would you charge me?’
‘If I were a prosecutor?’ she says. ‘No, I wouldn’t run it. While I think I see where you’re coming from, you do need to be aware that when an allegation of a sexual offence has been made, the victim – in this case you – is entitled to anonymity in the press. Nothing could be published which is likely to lead members of the public to identify you. That’s also what I mean by protecting yourself. Yes, the information you’ve given me already is technically “enough” but with all of the details, I could apply instantly for reporting restrictions. Your father would like me to shut this down.’
I sigh and close my eyes. Do I want all of this tweeted, Facebooked, Insta’d, documented forever whenever anyone searches for me online? No, of course I don’t. Mud sticks. They’d probably lift the same photo of me and Seth I showed to Kirsty, the one of us grinning next to each other. I posted it on Facebook. I don’t think it makes any difference that it’s on my private page. I’d look like a psycho. This is me with my married boyfriend before I hit him over the head and he died!
‘He had his hand on my neck and he started to undo his trousers,’ I say flatly. ‘I knew he was going to try and force me to do something sexually that I didn’t want to. I kneed him in the groin and the rest happened exactly as I told you. I don’t remember anything between hitting my head and waking up in hospital, and that’s the truth.’
It isn’t, but I’m not telling her that. I’ve told her enough already.
NINETEEN
CHARLOTTE
I don’t tell Teddy and Clara when I get home. It’s too close to bedtime. They are cosily tucked up on the sofa with Dad, cuddled either side of him, watching a movie. Luckily they don’t hear me come in because the sight of them, so content, almost breaks me.
I assume they’ve already eaten as its past six o’clock, but as I walk quickly down the hall, into the steamy, warm kitchen I realise Mum is still cooking spaghetti. Every single pot and pan is in use and I’m immediately anxious that it’s so late. Clara and Teddy must be starving. My mother looks up to see me in the doorway, drops the spatula immediately, wipes her hands on my apron and crosses the room in three steps, pulling me into a hug. I am rigid in her arms. ‘Sweetheart! Oh Sweetheart!’ She says through muffled tears. She lets go just as quickly and takes several deep breaths. ‘But we must stop this now, you don’t want the children to see you upset.’
‘Here—’ She reaches to the side and grabs a bottle of wine next to the spaghetti sauce, slinging some roughly into a nearby tumbler. I shake my head but she ignores me and holds the glass out insistently.
‘No, Mum. It’s on the turn, only really good for cooking now.’ I push it away. ‘I haven’t eaten anything all day either. I’ll be sick. Is this nearly ready? Can I do anything?’ I look around me, desperate to get everything under control.
‘No, you can’t. It’s almost done, I promise.’
I cross the room and sit down at the table redundantly. ‘They’ve arrested his girlfriend.’ I don’t know why that’s the detail I choose to tell her.
Mum doesn’t say anything, just turns back to the sauce and I wonder for a moment if I’ve even said that out loud, as Flo walks back in. ‘Who would you like to stay with you tonight? I can or Mum and Dad will?’
‘You don’t want more sheets to wash,’ Mum says. ‘You stay, Florrie, you were here last night anyway. Why don’t you bring the children over to us for Sunday lunch tomorrow instead?’
Flo and I stare at each other.
‘Mum,’ Flo clears her throat. ‘Charlotte has just lost her husband.’
‘I meant bring the children over after you’ve told them in the morning, so that you have something familiar to do which isn’t threatening.’ She keeps her back to us and stirs vigorously.
Flo comes over and kneels down in front of me, taking my hands in hers as she looks up at me earnestly. ‘You tell them however you want to. We’ll be with you every step of the way. I’ll do the children’s baths and stories. They don’t know you were at the hospital. I told them you went to see a friend today. Can you cope with being around them, can you fake it, or do you need to go straight back out, or up to bed?’
Mum laughs. ‘Of course she’s not going to bed! That’s not a luxury you have as a parent, Florence.’
‘Mum!’ Flo rounds on her furiously. ‘Please!’
‘No, she’s right. It’ll freak them out even more if I do that. I’ll tell them tomorrow.’ I wipe my eyes again, get up and walk over to the sink, splashing cold water on my skin before patting it dry with a tea towel. I turn, but catch sight of the drying rack over by the window. Tris’s running gear is airing. ‘This is all my fault.’
‘I think perhaps that—’ begins Flo, but Mum rounds on me, holding up a hand. ‘No. I’m sorry – but no. These were his choices, Charlotte. Were you there when it all happened last night? No. Were you the one they arrested? No. So are you to blame? No.’ Mum looks me straight in the eye. ‘Now, you paint that smile on your face. It’s time to call those children into tea.’ She takes her apron off. ‘You can serve. I know you think I always dish them up too much. Clara! Teddy! Teatime!’
They come dashing through and she bends down, arms open, and scoops them up, laughing and cove
ring them in kisses. ‘Who is going to sit next to me?’ She twinkles at them. ‘And who is also having Nona’s chocolate sauce on ice cream, with marshmallows, for pudding?’
‘Me! Me!’ They both jump up and down, already thoroughly overexcited.
‘Come on then, my darlings!’ She rushes them over to the table. ‘I think spaghetti might just be my favourite tea too! If you had to pick your three best meals, what would they be?’
It’s an impressive performance and it works. The kids sit down and start to chatter away, oblivious to everything else. Flo shakes her head, gets up quietly and leaves the room. Mum ignores her, prattling on, and before the children have even finished telling her what their best meals are, she’s already got her phone out and is showing them some video she saw of a cat climbing up a door and letting itself in. I’m not sure if she’s doing it for them, or filling her mind up so she doesn’t have to think.
I make a start on the dirty pots and pans, scattered all over the side, when the doorbell rings.
‘I’ll go,’ Flo calls out.
‘It’s OK. I’ll get it.’ I dry my hands and make my way down the passage approaching the shadowy figure on the doorstep.
‘Mrs Tristan?’ A young woman smiles sympathetically at me as I open the door. ‘I’m from the Daily—’
‘You’re a journalist?’ I interrupt in disbelief.
‘Yes. Could I ask you about what happened yesterday regarding your husband’s?—’
‘Shut up!’ hisses a voice behind me and Flo steps round me. ‘She hasn’t even had a chance to tell her children yet. You people make me sick.’ She slams the door shut, shaking. ‘If it goes again,’ she turns to me, ‘you call me. I’ll take care of them.’
I flick into autopilot after that and we get through bedtime. Teddy hugs me and kisses me – tells me he will never stop loving me. Clara politely declines any songs. I’ve just turned her light off and am leaving the room when she whispers: ‘Mummy?’
I turn back.
‘Is Daddy coming home tomorrow?’ She looks at me enquiringly in the dark, her beautiful eyes catching the light I always leave on in the bathroom so they don’t get scared if they wake in the night. ‘Is he in Sheffield?’
‘I’m not sure.’ I smile, breaking into a thousand pieces inside. ‘I’ll find out what’s happening in the morning.’
‘OK.’ She snuggles down contentedly, clutching her cuddly dragon.
I manage not to cry until I’m downstairs, where I close the kitchen door so I’m sure they can’t hear me. Mum and Dad stay in the sitting room watching TV, and Flo hugs me. We cry together until, for the time being, I can cry no more.
I’m standing in the side passage stubbing out the remainder of the fag I’ve just smoked and deciding I must now give up properly, when to my shock I see our car suddenly pass the open back gate. I run down, in time to see Jim climbing out.
‘You didn’t need to bring it back today,’ I say in amazement. ‘I’m so sorry. That’s not why I messaged you earlier. I just thought you should know we’d found him, in case you were worried when he didn’t come back.’
‘I’m really sorry you had to do so much running around tracking him down. That must have been really stressful. He doesn’t deserve you.’ He flushes bright red the second the words are out of his mouth. ‘Anyway, how is he? Still in hospital?’ He passes me the keys.
‘Um,’ I bite my lip. How do you tell people? ‘He died this afternoon.’
‘What?’ Jim takes a step back from me and puts his hands on his head in shock.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Charlotte. I…’ he trails off. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘He was severely hypothermic when he was found.’
‘But it wasn’t even that cold last night!’
‘It was cold enough. He was right next to an open door and he’d been drinking. It doesn’t take nearly as much of a drop in the outside temperature as you’d think, apparently, and there were complications.’ I wrap my arms around myself. ‘Um, do you want to come in? Have a drink or something? I don’t know…’
‘Charlotte?’ I hear Flo say behind me. ‘Everything OK?’
I twist to look at her. ‘Yes, thank you. This is Jim; Jim this is my sister, Florence. I think you may have met actually? At the wedding?’
‘Oh, right.’ Flo relaxes again. ‘Hi.’
‘Hello again.’ Jim nods at her politely, obviously unsure if he should smile or not. ‘Listen, I’ve got his suitcase and laptop bag in the back.’ He gestures helplessly behind him at the car. ‘I’ll just… get it out for you.’ He moves quickly to the boot and retrieves them, placing Tris’s laptop bag on the case and pulling the handle up to keep it from slipping off.
‘Thank you. Now, that drink?’ I offer automatically, turning to the house.
‘No, no.’ He holds a hand up. ‘I don’t want to intrude. I’m going to get the train straight back into town.’ He gestures back down the hill, then hesitates and steps forward, drawing me into a brief tight hug. ‘I’m so sorry. I honestly don’t know what to say to you.’
‘I’ll be in touch when we know what’s happening about the funeral.’ These are unreal words. How does my mouth even know how to say them?
‘Of course. Goodbye, Florence.’ He turns to my sister, and she nods tearfully. He lingers though and it dawns on me there is something else he wants tell me after all, privately.
‘I’ll be right in,’ I say to Flo, who looks between us, realises we want her to leave and tactfully walks back into the house.
I turn back to Jim and, suddenly, I don’t want to hear it, whatever it is he’s going to disclose. I cut in quickly before he can say another single word. ‘I’m so grateful to you for giving Tris and I some space while we were going through our rough patch, and I know he was too. It was really kind of you.’
He looks down at the floor and says quietly: ‘He did love you all very much, you know.’
I manage not to say: by all of us, I assume you mean, me, the kids – and Mia? It’s not Jim’s fault for keeping quiet anymore than it’s Flo’s for telling me. These were our problems. No one else’s. Instead I say a simple ‘thank you’; grateful, at least, for the sentiment, if not the lie.
Up in our bedroom, once Mum and Dad have gone home – Mum was so twitchy it was setting me on edge, while Dad could barely look at me – and Flo has gone to bed, I quietly unpack Tris’s suitcase. I automatically throw his dirty clothes in the basket behind me. I remove his washbag and put it on his bedside table, for want of knowing what else to do with it. I take out the book he was reading, his cufflinks and watch case, both empty. They too go on his bedside table. I don’t switch on his phone. What would be the point? I am surprised, however, to find his wallet in the case. He went out on Friday night without it? Who does that – unless it’s someone wanting to stay anonymous, I suppose. I open it to find his cards, and in the change pocket, his wedding ring.
Feeling numb, I stare at it sitting in the palm of my hand, then cross the room and put it carefully in my jewellery box. I look through the rest of the sections and in the clear plastic window bit, find a picture of him and Mia kissing in a photo booth, where normally I know a picture of the four of us resides. I find our one carelessly tucked inside the flap of his mobile case – where some people put a credit card if they go out – presumably to be swapped over when he was ready to come back home. For display purposes only. Safe to say Jim didn’t go through his things first then… or perhaps he did. Who knows? I look at the picture of Tris kissing Mia again. She looks so happy. They both do. I’m sure she has one of the remaining four of the series of pictures, however, so she won’t need this one too.
I carry the photograph into our en suite, open the window, and pulling my lighter from my pocket, I set fire to the corner of the tiny image, dropping it in the sink as it starts to burn my fingers. I pick the ashes out and flush the remains down the loo. I don’t ever want the kids finding this and at least it’
s one less reminder for Mia to take care of, later down the line, when one day she opens a bag full of memorabilia and is jolted to see a picture of the man she thought she loved but is relieved to discover has no power over her anymore. She will remember how it felt to love him, but not the feeling itself.
I open up the laptop and look at his book files. He last worked on it on Wednesday. I also click on his notes.
To do:
Show, don’t tell what he has learnt. Resolution.
He must go home in last chapter.
See him open the door to the house/their future, and step in. End
I gasp out loud and tears flood my eyes so quickly I have to wipe them away so I can reread what he’s written, in disbelief. Even if that was what Tris wanted, the moment he slept with Mia it was never going to be our happy ending. He would have known that. These are just words… the end of a made-up story.
So he knows he would have a lot to lose if you were to find out about his extramarital relationship?
You’re wrong, DI Travers. He lied to me. He didn’t go there to end it. He went there angry, because the person he loved had hurt him and he wanted to hurt her back. Isn’t that how it works?
And yet…
He must go home in last chapter.
See him open the door to the house/their future, and step in. End
I read the words again. I hear him saying: ‘Charlotte, do you love me?’ I picture the look of surprise and pain on his face when I calmly agreed that we should talk about separation. We would have been doing that tomorrow night.
If I hadn’t known he was having an affair, if he’d come home from work on Wednesday and told me ‘out of the blue’ that he simply couldn’t bear our lack of intimacy a day longer and wanted to leave me because of it, would I have reacted the same way? No – I would not. I would have been devastated. I would have listened to him. I would have tried to fix it. We might have had sex that night. He might have come back in from the edge, deciding that trading me and the kids for Mia wasn’t worth it after all. He might have finished with her and I’d have been none the wiser. We would still be a family. My children would still have a father.
