by Jane Corry
And how I then said those fateful words.
I wish you had never been born.
Daniel went very quiet then. Just stared at me for what seemed like ages and then left the room. Dabbing on foundation to cover my tears, I flew down the stairs.
I stop. Compose myself before I continue with the final part of the story.
On my way out, Mum caught me. ‘You look nice,’ she said, casting an eye over my top. ‘But you’ll need your coat. It’s cold outside.’
I’d been so desperate to leave that I’d forgotten. Now I grabbed it from the rack.
Her voice quivered. ‘Are you going out with Daniel?’
‘No.’ I spat the word at her, flushing hotly as though I was telling a lie. ‘I’m meeting someone else.’
Her colour was as high as mine. ‘Promise?’ she said.
‘Of course I promise. Daniel’s … he’s somewhere else.’
This is the difficult bit. The bit which is so hard to say that the words choke my throat. But I have to. I’ve reached the end of the road. If I don’t do it now, I will never be able to do it.
Ross is holding my hand. I take a deep breath.
‘When I came back – early as it happens, as the date hadn’t been a great success – Mum was hysterical. They’d found a note from Daniel. It just said, Gone. Did I know anything? Had he run away? That’s when it came to me. He’d have gone to our place. Our special place.’
Ross squeezes my hand as the words stream out of my heart.
‘He was hanging in his red jacket from the stable rafters with Merlin nuzzling his feet. And do you know what was on the frozen ground?’
Ross shakes his head.
‘My doll. My old doll. The one I used to carry everywhere with me. Amelia. He must have gone back to the house to get it from my room and write the note. And I know why. Amelia would have made him feel I was with him at the end …’
As I speak, I get a glimpse of Carla as a child, questioning me about my doll in the taxi when I’d taken her home from the hospital. ‘Do you still have her?’ she’d asked.
‘No,’ I’d told her. It was true.
I’d asked them to put her in Daniel’s coffin.
Grief at allowing myself to remember is now overwhelming me. It chokes my throat. Makes my breath come out in small, desperate gasps. I see my father. Sobbing. Unable to believe what his eyes showed him all too clearly. I see my mother, clasping her arms around her body and rocking back and forth on the ground, repeating the same phrase over and over: There’s got to be a mistake …
I turn to Ross. ‘Don’t you see? It was my fault. If I hadn’t gone out with that boy from school, Daniel wouldn’t have killed himself. That’s why I never allowed myself to date anyone else. Not until the millennium when my father told me it was time to move on.’
‘When you met Ed,’ says Ross quietly.
‘Exactly. That’s why I became a lawyer too. Not just to put the world to rights. But to put myself to rights. I wanted to make sure I never made a mistake again.’
I stop.
‘And then,’ prompted Ross softly.
‘Then I met Joe Thomas.’
64
Lily
Dear Lily,
I am truly sorry for everything. I did things I should not have done. And I did not do things that they said I did. Either way, I am paying for them …
That’s right, there’s a postscript to this story.
No one knows how Carla survived. The extent of Joe Thomas’s wrath was horrific. One member of the jury had to be carried out when she saw the photographs.
One thing is sure. The Italian Girl will never look the same. Gone is the beautiful skin. Instead, it is a mass of scars. One eye will never open again. The mouth droops slightly on one side. Only the glossy dark hair remains.
Life is a long time. Especially when beauty is no longer on your side.
CRIME OF PASSION
EX-CON AND HIS LAWYER IN MURDER PUZZLE
ARTIST’S WIDOW EMBROILED IN KILLER SCANDAL
The headlines went on for days. There had to be two trials, of course. One for Joe. And one for Carla.
Luckily for her, Carla found a new white knight. Her real father. A man who had had nothing to do with Carla previously because he had a family of his own. But when his children left home and he got divorced, he hired an investigator to trace his daughter. By that point she was in Italy. He decided not to take it any further then, but he was sentimental enough to buy the portrait which his man had cleverly discovered in a small London gallery. The Italian Girl, it was called. But the accompanying paperwork had named the sitter.
Carla Cavoletti.
For a time, the portrait sufficed. But then, when he read about Carla’s first trial and heard about Francesca’s death, his conscience finally kicked in. He put up the bail money. Forced Carla’s grandfather to keep it a secret, to say it was his money.
Then, after she was convicted for assaulting me and for Ed’s murder, he had the guts to step in openly. To reveal himself. The papers had another field day.
ITALIAN GIRL’S FATHER PROMISES TO CARE FOR GRANDDAUGHTER
Glad as I was for Poppy with her little gummy smile, being looked after by family while her mother serves her time, I try not to think about any of this as I go about my daily life.
I’ve had enough of the law now. My new family counselling practice has boomed. Tom is years ahead with his mathematical skills, apparently, but still has toddler tantrums if his shoes are moved from their proper place. I have to remind myself that, according to the experts, I ought to use the word ‘melt-down’ rather than tantrum, because the latter denotes a certain wilfulness. I also have to remind myself that Tom honestly can’t help it.
But Alice, his new school friend, has helped. We all like Alice. She has similar issues to my son. She understands him. Perhaps one day they’ll be more than friends.
Meanwhile, there’s Mum and Dad, who are getting older and talking about selling the house. And Ross, of course. Ross, who has become a regular visitor to the house. Never imposing. Never pushing. But often there. Even after my confession.
Like today, when he brought me the letter from Carla. I take a deep breath and read the rest of it.
… I am writing to say that I am to get married again as soon as Rupert’s divorce is through. The wedding will be in prison, but it does not matter. Rupert does not mind that my face is different. He loves Poppy as if she was his own. (She is not.) My solicitor says that Life does not always mean Life.
Please forgive me.
I hope you can find it in your heart to wish me happiness.
Yours,
Carla.
I put down the letter on the grass. It flaps in the wind and then blows away. I make no attempt to chase after it. It means nothing. Carla always was a good liar. Yet there’s something still nagging at me. Something isn’t quite right …
‘Chewing gum, Sellotape, scissors, sharp implements?’
I’m back in prison. A different one from the last. And I’m not wearing my lawyer hat. I’m a visitor.
‘Hands up, please.’
I’m being searched. Swiftly but thoroughly.
Now a dog is walking past with his handler. He pays no attention to me but sits silently next to the girl behind. She is led away. Apparently that’s how sniffer dogs work. They don’t bark or growl. They simply sit.
‘Why are you here?’
I’m sitting when Joe Thomas comes in. He’s thinner. And somehow he looks shorter. He is looking at me stonily. I should be scared. But I’m not. There are plenty of people around us.
‘I want to know exactly what happened.’
He sits back in his chair, tipping it, and laughs. ‘I told you. Told everyone at the trial.’
I allow my mind to go back. To the time when Carla was convicted of assaulting me and murdering Ed. To the trial a few days later, when Joe was sent down for his assault on Carla. And for being an accessory to Ed’s murde
r.
Unbelievable, isn’t it?
But that’s what happened. Joe stood up in court, at Carla’s trial, and said that he had met her at Tony’s funeral (another mourner had come forward to confirm they’d been talking) and that they’d stayed in touch. Later, he swore that Carla, aware of his criminal background, had hired him as a hit man, promising payment when Ed’s life insurance came through. They’d agreed that he would come round on a certain evening. But when he had got there, she had been in a terrible state – and he had soon seen why. Carla had already stabbed Ed herself. In the thigh. Then she’d run, leaving him, Joe, to take the blame.
Carla vehemently denied this. Instinctively I felt it didn’t ring true either. I didn’t really see Carla as the type to hire a hit man.
But the prosecuting barrister was good. Very good. The persistent questioning finally made Carla break down and admit that, yes, she had plunged the knife into Ed. He’d picked it up first, she had sobbed. She thought he was going to hurt her out of jealousy over Rupert. It was self-defence. But she definitely hadn’t hired Joe as a hit man. That bit was a lie.
It didn’t wash with the new jury. The lies she’d already told made certain of that.
I’d been terrified that Joe would implicate me. But as soon as he said that about Carla hiring him, I knew he was doing it to protect me. I suppose the key should have been another clue. The one he posted back to me, inside Carla’s washing-up gloves. At the time, I thought he was encouraging me to take my revenge.
Now I wonder if he was giving me a ‘get out of jail free’ card.
Joe explained his presence at Carla’s house by saying he went there to demand his money. And that he’d found Carla hurting me.
But I know differently, of course. He’d come back because of me. Joe must have suspected I would go to see Carla after opening the envelope with the washing-up gloves inside. He wanted to make sure I was all right.
I’m painfully aware that if he’d told the truth about any of this, I’d be in prison too.
But that’s the problem with lies. As I said at the beginning, they start small. And then they multiply. Over and over again. So that the white lies become as black as the real thing. Yet his lie has saved me.
Amazingly the jury believed Joe. It helped that, on the night of Ed’s murder, there wasn’t any sign of a forced entry. So it made sense that Carla had let him in voluntarily.
Life, he got, for conspiring to murder Ed and for his assault on Carla. The same as Carla got for murdering Ed. The same as Joe should have got for poor Sarah Evans.
You could say it was justice. But I’m not so sure. That’s why I’m here.
‘I know you weren’t telling the truth. I want to know what really happened.’
He grins. Like we’re playing a game, just as we had at the beginning when he made me work out the boiler figures.
‘Touch me.’ His voice is so low that I barely hear it. Then he says it again. ‘Touch me and then I’ll tell you.’
I glance around. The officers with their folded arms. Women talking urgently to their partners opposite. Couples not talking.
‘I can’t.’
‘Look.’ He’s staring straight at me. ‘Look to your right.’
So I do. The woman next to me has her foot up, in between her partner’s legs.
‘I won’t do that.’ I’m flushing. Hot.
‘Then I won’t tell you.’
This is blackmail. Just as he’d tried to blackmail me over the DNA and the key.
I look again. The officer nearest me is making her way to the offending table. She’s not looking at us.
‘Quickly,’ he says.
My heart starts to speed up just as it had on the seafront when Joe took my key. A wave of desire starts to seep through the lower part of my body, even though I try to crush it.
Then the stables flash into my mind. Daniel with his limp neck. Amelia, my doll, lying on the ground below my brother. And Merlin with a puzzled expression on his all-knowing, dear old face. Killed by Sarah Evans’s murderer – or as good as – in an attempt to scare me.
It’s a wake-up call. A distinct prod back to sanity.
‘No,’ I say firmly, my feet still on the ground. ‘No. I won’t. I’m through with all these games, Joe. They’re over.’
A brief look of disappointment shoots across his face, followed by an ‘if that’s the way you want it’ shrug.
He makes as if to stand, and then appears to change his mind.
‘OK. You’re lucky. I’m feeling generous today. I’ll still give you a clue.’
‘I told you.’ I almost thump the table. ‘No more games.’
‘But this one, Lily, is in your interest. It will give you peace. Trust me.’ His smile chills me to my bones. ‘Watch my finger. Carefully.’
He is tracing a number on the table top. There’s an 0. And then a 5. And then, I think, a 6.
‘I don’t get it.’ Tears are pricking my eyes. I feel sick. Visiting time is almost over. I thought I might get closure coming here, but I haven’t. Instead I’m trying to get sense out of a madman.
‘Look again.’
0. Definitely.
5. Or so it seems.
6.
056.
‘Five minutes,’ barks the officer behind me.
Joe darts his eyes towards the clock. Is that a clue?
Try, I tell myself. Think about this puzzle like your son does. See it from another angle.
‘I don’t know,’ I sob. ‘I don’t know.’
Other inmates are beginning to look. Joe sees it too.
He’s speaking. Slowly. Quietly. Like a parent soothing a child.
‘Then I’ll tell you. It means nothing. Sometimes we see clues in things that are not there. The simple truth, Lily, is that you’re a good person, deep down. But you were weak that night. Hurt. Scared. That’s why you let me take the key. I knew that if I did something terrible using it, you’d never be able to forgive yourself. Well, now you can. So I meant it when I said that I didn’t have to use the key. That’s why I posted it back to you.’
There’s a glimmer of hope inside me. ‘Honestly?’
I realize for the first time that I don’t really know this man. I never did. Yes, he may look similar to Daniel. Speak like him. But he isn’t Daniel. He’s a killer. And a liar.
He grins. ‘It’s true – Carla opened the door before I could use your key. She was clearly making a run for it.’
‘So it wasn’t my fault that Ed was murdered?’
He shakes his head.
‘But why say you were hired as a hit man?’
Another grin. ‘I knew I would get convicted for my assault on Carla, so I figured I might as well try to take her down with me.’
‘But it meant you got a longer sentence,’ I whisper.
‘Yeah. Well.’ He shrugs. Joe looks embarrassed. ‘Let’s just call it my penultimate act of love for the woman I could never have.’
‘Penultimate?’ I whisper.
‘Yes. And this is the final one.’ He leans closer. ‘Carla was convicted for killing Ed because she plunged the knife into him. Wasn’t she?’
I nod.
‘But the knife was found on the ground.’
I think back to the questions in court when this very point had been raised. Yes, Carla had said at last. She had knifed Ed. She couldn’t remember what had happened next. It was all such a muddle …
‘When I went round that night, Lily, the knife was still sticking in Ed’s leg.’ Joe is speaking very slowly. Very deliberately. ‘The silly woman had just left it there. You’re not meant to pull a knife out without the right medical knowledge. Did you know that? It can cause far more damage.’
I can hardly breathe.
‘I went back. After I saw Carla drop the gloves I returned to your house. I needed to find out if there was anything that could incriminate me. I waited outside behind a hedge for a few minutes, but no one seemed to have noticed the door being ajar.
That’s the great thing about those big houses. They’re set back from the street. Perfect targets for burglars.’
He says this so flippantly, I can barely disguise a shudder.
‘I went in. Couldn’t resist a look at him. Then I realized he was still breathing. I kept thinking about how much he had hurt you. So I did it. I yanked out the knife. Blood shot out. He made this weird gurgling noise …’
I look away, choked with distress.
‘Then I scarpered. Later, I burnt my clothes and gloves – I’d brought my own of course. And waited for the police to track me down.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I couldn’t believe it when she was arrested. And then I heard you were defending her. For a while I thought you were playing the system. Trying to make her look innocent but using that bumbling brief to discredit the case and make sure she got convicted. I sent you Carla’s gloves to help you. But because, as it turns out, you didn’t use them, she got off.’
‘So you really killed Ed,’ I say slowly.
‘You could say that all three of us did.’ His black eyes are trained on me firmly and squarely.
I wince again.
Joe is stretching out his hands to me now. I hesitate. Then I allow the tip of my finger to touch his. Just briefly. Much as I might try to fight it, Joe and I will always be bound together because of our shared history. He may have been in prison when we first met while I was on the outside – just dipping my toes into this new, scary world of double-locked doors, long corridors and prison guards. But because I was trying to get him out of there, it had felt like us against the rest of the world.
Add our one stupid tryst on the Heath, Tom’s birth, Ed’s murder, Carla’s conviction. You can see why the lines between right and wrong have become so blurred.
‘I love you,’ he says with those black eyes focused firmly on mine. ‘I love you because you understand me.’
Daniel used to say the same.
But look what happened.
‘I can’t …’ I begin.
‘I know.’ Joe’s grip tightens on my hand.
I tug it away.
‘You’ve more strength than you realize, Lily.’ Joe seems almost amused. Then his face saddens. ‘Take care of my boy.’
