Weeks later, he helped us decorate a Christmas tree in the living room. Lily had turned four at the beginning of December, and I was painfully aware of how underdeveloped her speech still was. Other people had commented on her quietness, asking me why she wasn’t yet attending a pre-school, but my answer was always the same – that she didn’t legally need to start school until the age of five, and she was doing just fine, thanks for asking.
The truth was, I knew it would be better for her to be mixing with other children her own age, but the longer I’d left it, the harder it had become. When I had moved to Llangovney, I’d had no intention of being there indefinitely, but as time went on, I had come to realise that I had nowhere else to go. Wherever we moved, I would face the same problems of finding somewhere affordable to stay and earning enough money for us to live. The longer we stayed in the village, the more I was forced to accept that this might become home.
After Lily had gone to bed – much later than usual, her excitement at the Christmas tree lights and the snowmen we’d lined up along the front windowsill having a similar effect to feeding her a selection box and a bottle of lemonade – Damien and I sat on the sofa and talked.
‘You could do with some better lights,’ he said, studying the tree.
‘They’ll do for now,’ I told him. ‘It’ll only use up more electricity.’
He smiled, though there was sadness rather than humour in the expression.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Nothing. You just talk like someone much older sometimes.’
I was twenty-four, but I knew what he meant. I realised I wasn’t like a lot of people my age, though young people were few and far between in the village. It seemed that as soon as any teenager reached school-leaving age, they were out of there, hurriedly shaking off the sleepy life lived by the locals. There was a time when I might have been desperate to do the same – the old me affronted by the thought of living this kind of life – but for a long while nothing had seemed so appealing as fading into the anonymity of a rural existence. I had taught myself how to disappear.
‘That’s probably Lily. I’ve had to grow up quicker.’
‘It must be hard, on your own.’
I shrugged. ‘We get by.’
Damien had never asked where Lily’s father was, though he knew enough to realise that Lily never saw him. He seemed respectful of my privacy in a way I wasn’t used to, having grown up with parents whose demands to know my life’s every detail had been suffocating. There was something comforting in the space he afforded me, yet part of me wanted to tell him everything, to spill my secrets in the space around us so that nothing could ever emerge to come between us.
Damien was only three years older than I was, yet his life was so different to mine. He shared a rented house with a friend he’d known since college. His leisure time was filled with cycling and running events, which he often did for charity and always for the challenge. I had looked at his social media profiles though I had no accounts of my own, and in every picture, he seemed surrounded by people. No matter where he was training, he tried to make sure he saw his mother once a week. His father had died when Damien was just nineteen, of a brain tumour that killed him within months of diagnosis. Once I knew this, Damien’s seemingly relentless training seemed to make more sense. He pushed his body to the limit to prove the life that was in it, testing it, keeping the blood pumping through his veins. I both admired him and felt saddened by it.
‘Can I ask you something?’ He reached a hand to my forehead, his fingers lightly tracing across my skin, and I knew what he was going to ask me.
‘Depends what it is.’
‘How did you get this?’
The scar he was referring to was one of many, though it was the only one that anyone ever seemed to notice. I had been lucky; they were fine and silvery, like glittering stretch marks, and they had faded quickly over time; in certain light, even the worst of them was barely visible. Strangely, it was in dimmer lighting that it became more apparent. I had only been asked about it twice since being in Llangovney – once at the pub by a customer I had never seen before and hoped never to have to encounter again, and once by Elaine at the B and B. On both occasions I had lied, but with Damien I allowed the truth to emerge.
‘Car accident.’
‘Shit. It must have been a bad one?’
I nodded. ‘That was when Lily’s father died.’
Damien’s fingertips had still been on my forehead, still brushing over the route of the scar, but he pulled his hand away then, his eyes fixed on mine.
‘God, Jenna, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.’
‘I don’t really make a point of telling people. The longer I can keep it all from Lily, the better.’
He moved his arm to encircle me, and I turned into him, feeling the heat of him warm me. I felt happier than I had in a long time, the kind of contentment that I’d first known when Lily entered my life, but which before then had been alien to me.
‘Thank you for telling me.’
‘Oh, you’re very welcome,’ I said, trying to make light of a moment that could easily alter the mood of the evening. I didn’t want to be maudlin or to ruin the time we had together by offloading my life’s miseries onto him. There were things I knew I would never tell him; things I had never told anyone.
‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘It means a lot, doesn’t it? It means you trust me.’
We sat in silence for a while, his arm folded around me, my head resting on the warmth of his chest.
‘Lily’s a lovely little girl.’
‘She is. I don’t know what I’d do without her.’
‘Does she look like him, like her dad?’
I wasn’t surprised by the question; I had already realised it was one I was going to face on multiple occasions as she grew older. Her hair was thick and dark like his, her eyes the same shade of almost-black. She was already beautiful, and so nothing like me.
‘Just like him.’
There was another moment’s silence, this one less comfortable than those that had preceded it. Damien kissed the top of my head, then he said something that I had been both longing and dreading to hear; something I knew would change everything.
‘It doesn’t have to be just the two of you forever, you know.’
His fingers rested on my chin as he tilted my face towards his, and when he kissed me, I allowed myself for the first time in a long time to abandon my thoughts of Lily’s father.
Fourteen
I was kept in custody for as long as the police were legally able to detain me and greeted on Tuesday evening with the news that I was to be released, once again under investigation. I desperately wanted to see my family, to explain to them that I was being framed. I needed to tell them all how much I loved them, and that anything they might hear about me was a lie. The police weren’t going to look for evidence that I was innocent; I already felt certain of that. DS Maitland was intent on bringing forward a charge against me, and I was trapped in a battle of me versus them, not sure who I could trust. The police’s focus was to find evidence of my guilt, and while there was someone out there readily assisting them in this goal, I feared I was facing a fight I had already lost.
Sean came to meet me at the station. Amy was waiting in the back seat of his car, and when I climbed in beside her, I allowed her to put her arms around me, not caring by that point what I looked like. I hadn’t showered, and had barely eaten, any efforts to function like a normal human blocked by the thought that if I was charged – if this went to trial and I was convicted – I would go to prison. Lily would hate me. Amelia would grow up without a mother. My marriage would be over. This would be my life, indefinitely, alone.
‘God, you poor thing,’ Amy said, still holding me in a vice-like grip, her words breathed into my greasy hair. ‘We’re going to sort this out.’ She pushed me away, holding me at arm’s length and urging me to make eye contact. ‘I promise you we’re going to find out what the hell is going
on.’
She meant well, but my fear was that only the police would be able to uncover the truth. The chances of us being able to prove that someone had framed me for attempted murder, as well as finding out who that person was, seemed remote.
‘Surely when the forensic report comes back and there’s nothing linking Jenna to that knife, they’ll have to stop all this?’ Amy met her brother’s eyes in the rear-view mirror before he looked away and pulled out from the station’s car park. He wouldn’t admit it, but we all knew it wouldn’t be as straightforward as that. The knife had been found in a property that belonged to me, and that alone was incriminating enough.
‘I just want to go home,’ I told her, fastening my seat belt. ‘I want to see Damien and the kids, I want a shower, I want something to eat. Everything else can wait.’
From the corner of my eye, I saw Amy deliberate over saying something more before deciding to leave me alone. I appreciated everything she and Sean were doing to try to help me, but even being there with them in the state I was in – emotionally and physically – was a humiliation I could have done without. I wondered how many more would follow. Soon I would have to explain all this to Damien, to Lily, to Amelia, though I was sure that Damien at least would already know what had happened.
I realised that while I’d been at the station, my suspicions about Damien and Laura had been put on hold. I couldn’t think about them just now, not with everything else that was hanging over me, though I wondered if Amy knew anything. If she did, it would really feel like the final betrayal – the one that might tip me over the edge.
‘Did they tell you Damien came?’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday, but you were being interviewed. Sean told me he’d been.’
I wondered why he hadn’t waited, but the thought that he had at least been there was some consolation. The thought that the police were trying to unsettle me – withholding information that might have offered me some form of reassurance – was affirmation of my lack of faith in them. ‘He’s really worried about you.’
But not worried enough to stay, I thought again, though I had no idea whether he would have been allowed to see me anyway. I bit the inside of my lower lip so hard that I tasted the metallic tang of blood on the tip of my tongue. Damien had been looking after Amelia, but I still felt, fairly or unfairly, that he could have made more of an effort to see me. His absence spoke louder than any angry recrimination. Already, it seemed, he had found me guilty; or had his feelings for me changed so much that he couldn’t bring himself to show me the support that would once have come effortlessly?
‘What happens next?’
‘You wait to hear from them,’ Sean said. ‘When you do, contact me before you do anything else, okay?’
I should have taken heart from that, but it was impossible for me to envisage a scenario that didn’t involve the worst possible outcome. His casual attitude was only adding to my sense of hopelessness. It was easy for him; he was off home now to his beautiful house and his secure family unit, his life as he had woken to it that morning still recognisable and safe. My future was hanging from a thread as fine as a spider’s web, my family already fragmenting under the pressure of what had been so unexpectedly dumped upon us. I wanted to scream with the unfairness of it all, to empty my lungs so that everyone would hear the noise of my innocence and would keep hearing it until the world began to believe in its truth. Instead, I turned my head from Amy and stared unseeing through the car window.
We remained in silence for the rest of the journey back to my house, and when Sean stopped the car outside, I thanked them both before climbing out. Amy said she would call me later, but I already knew that if she did, I wouldn’t answer. Whatever conversation with Damien awaited me, it was guaranteed to be long and intense, and we needed to have it alone, free from interruption.
I turned the key in the door and breathed in the familiarity of the house. I was sure that Damien, in my unexpected absence, would have done everything he could to keep our daily routine functioning as normally as possible. He would have put the girls first, as I wanted him to, though I couldn’t escape the crush of rejection that weighed on me with the knowledge. I still didn’t know why he hadn’t waited to see me when he’d gone to the station the previous day, and I could only reassure myself with the thought that the police must have turned him away.
There was the sound of voices from the kitchen, the radio on the windowsill babbling in hushed tones. I took off my shoes and jacket and walked down the hallway, wondering what sort of welcome would greet me.
Damien was sitting at the table, his laptop open in front of him and an array of papers scattered around. He closed the lid when he saw me; the action filled me with anger. I wanted to ask him about Laura, and what was going on between them, but I knew I was in no position to question him.
‘Amy told me you came to the station.’
Something flashed behind his eyes – guilt? Sadness? I couldn’t read it. I couldn’t read him any more, not in the way I once thought I could. I waited for him to stand, to come over to me and offer me some sort of physical comfort, but he didn’t move. He looked at me as though he wasn’t sure of who I was, as though a stranger had just walked into the kitchen and he was uncertain whether to let her stay or ask her to leave.
‘Have you been charged?’
I shook my head. The relief that flooded his face was obvious, and yet he still looked away. I watched him bite his bottom lip, his teeth clamping down until the flesh turned white. Whether he was angry at the situation or angry with me, I couldn’t tell.
‘I am so sorry,’ I said, realising as soon as the words escaped me that I sounded as though I was about to make a confession. ‘I don’t want any of you to be going through this. All I tried to do on Friday was help that woman, and then…’ I couldn’t find the right words. And then what? And then she decided to make a false claim against me? She decided to try to ruin my life?
But why? None of it made any sense.
‘Amy said there’s not much evidence,’ Damien said, keeping his eyes averted. ‘That’s got to be a good thing, surely?’
‘I hope so.’
I saw him flinch and realised my response was the wrong one. I didn’t know what was right; I had no idea what to say to him. ‘How was Amelia this morning? I thought she might not have gone to school.’
‘She didn’t want to go, but I thought it’d be the best place for her. Try to keep some sense of normality.’
‘Where is she now?’
I’d assumed she was upstairs in her bedroom or watching television in the living room, but if she was here, she’d have heard my voice and come into the kitchen.
‘Mum offered to give her tea.’ He glanced at his phone, checking the time. ‘I’m due to pick her up soon.’
I tried to push back the flicker of resentment that sparked in my stomach at the mention of Nancy. I wondered what had been said in my absence; whether she’d made attempts to turn Amelia against me.
‘And Lily?’
‘College. They’ve got a rehearsal.’
Lily had applied to the Royal Welsh College of Music & Drama for the following academic year, and her drama group was deep in preparation for a production of Under Milk Wood. It continued to amaze me that the quiet girl who had barely spoken until the age of five had grown into a confident teenager who seemed to come alive on the stage. I could have tried to take credit for the way in which she had bloomed, but I knew that much of it had been down to Damien’s influence.
Damien shifted in his seat. ‘So what happens next?’
‘I wait.’
I wished that he would get angry, question me about the knife; that he would blame me for bringing the police into our home and inflicting this suffering upon our family, yet he did none of those things. He had always been level-headed, never falling into self-pity when things didn’t go his way or getting angry when something affronted him; instead, he dealt with life and all its blows
with a calmness and practicality I had sometimes envied, wishing I could be as controlled when faced with something unexpected or unjust. As a firefighter, he had been required to stay calm under pressure, and though the incidents that had challenged him most had happened before we met, I had heard enough to know that he was regarded with respect and admiration by his former colleagues. Even after the accident that had forced him from the fire service, I had rarely seen him angry, though I realised everyone had a breaking point. I was still waiting to see what Damien’s would be.
‘Why is this happening to us, Jenna?’
The question, though it was one I could find no answer to, filled me with hope that maybe all wasn’t lost. He had asked why this was happening to us. Surely this meant that he still felt connected, that we were still a team, and that my troubles were his, intertwined, to be solved together.
‘I don’t know. I wish I did.’
But in my head a voice screamed, Why didn’t you stay at the police station? Where did you go after you left? Who have you been with?
‘You don’t believe I did it, do you?’ I asked, needing to hear him say it, to be reassured that he was still on my side. He knew me better than anyone else did; if he didn’t believe in my innocence, no one would. But he didn’t answer my question; instead, he reached for the papers on the table beside him, pushing things aside until he found what he was looking for – an A5-sized plastic wallet. When he opened it and tipped out its contents, it appeared to hold nothing of any interest – just a few envelopes.
He placed each one in front of me. His first name was handwritten on each. I moved towards the table, bending down to read them.
‘What are these?’ I asked, sliding a small scrap of paper from the first. Damien said nothing as I read it.
The Accusation: An addictive psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist Page 9
