The Three Women

by Valerie Keogh

  ‘Are you okay?’ Megan stood in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have told you.’

  Beth rubbed her neck. ‘My Fed rep said much the same thing.’ She didn’t add that she hadn’t really believed him. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Stupid, stupid question. ‘I don’t know. Leave it in the hands of fate, I suppose.’

  Crossing to her, Megan put a hand on her arm and then, almost without thinking, they were holding each other. ‘What a mess,’ Beth said softly, her chin resting on her friend’s head. ‘What an utter mess.’

  ‘It’s all my fault. That one stupid foolish lie.’ Megan pulled back to stare at Beth with tear-filled eyes.

  She wanted to scream, yes, all your damn fault. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t true. Not really. Okay, Megan had started a chain of events with that awful deception but Beth and Joanne had chosen the paths they’d followed. ‘We’d better go back inside.’

  Arm in arm, they returned to the lounge where Joanne had obviously been thinking about what had been said. Her expression was grave, her voice weary, yet her words were sharp. ‘I can’t believe you were so stupid, Beth. How on earth did you think you’d get away with breaking the law?’

  Beth sat and glared at her. Her life was a disaster, and now she was going to be lectured to by a prostitute? She guessed Joanne had read her mind when scarlet slashes appeared across her very pale cheeks.

  ‘What I do isn’t illegal,’ Joanne said angrily.

  ‘No,’ Beth sneered back, ‘you don’t pick up kerb-crawlers, do you? You fuck strangers in posh hotels instead.’

  The tension in the room was electric, both women glaring at each other, flint in their eyes, their mouths twisted into a snarl. Megan, hovering nearby with a look of desolation, held a hand out towards each friend. ‘Please, let’s not do this.’

  Beth shut her eyes and let her breath out in a loud sigh. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her mouth twisted in regret. ‘My life appears to have turned upside down.’

  Megan reached for her hand and grabbed it. ‘Tell her.’

  Beth opened her eyes and looked at her blankly. ‘Tell her what?’ She saw the sympathy in Megan’s eyes and realised what she meant. Graham. For a few hours, she’d forgotten about him. Of course, Joanne didn’t know about him or, in fact, about Trudy. Beth gave Megan’s hand a squeeze. ‘Okay. I will, if you will.’

  ‘What are you two on about this time?’ Joanne said. ‘Pardon me if I’m finding some of this hard to understand, I’ve had a bit of a difficult day.’

  Beth looked at Joanne. Maybe she shouldn’t put more stress on her.

  ‘Tell me,’ Joanne said. ‘It can’t make this day any more crap.’

  ‘Graham’s left me,’ Beth said bluntly, there didn’t seem any point in prettying it up. No matter what way she said it, it meant the same thing, he’d left her. Left. Such an ugly, horrible word.

  The irritated tense look on Joanne’s face faded and there was no anger in her voice when she spoke. ‘Oh, Beth, I’m so sorry. You always seemed so good together. What happened?’

  ‘You know what my hours are like. Erratic and long. He always thought I gave too much to the job, you know, he’d never have guessed how true that was.’

  ‘Maybe now you can get back together?’

  ‘You mean now I won’t be a police officer? He can come and visit me in prison instead?’ She held a hand over her mouth to stop the howl of anguish she knew was hiding inside.

  ‘I’m not criticising, Beth, really, I’m not,’ Joanne said, ‘but what possessed you to risk your career by doing something so stupid as to plant evidence? You must have known you’d be caught eventually.’

  Beth put her hand flat on her forehead. Her head ached but it wasn’t migraine this time, just the stress of this hideous never-ending day. ‘I’ve been doing it for years, maybe I got careless, I don’t know. You’ve no idea how many times we had the right guy but couldn’t prove it. The soul-destroying guilt when the bastard walked free. The devastation of the victims when we told them they’d not get justice.’ Beth looked across at Megan. ‘Every time,’ Beth said, lifting her hand and pointing a finger at her, trying to make them understand why she’d done what she’d done, ‘every bruised and battered person I saw, it reminded me of you that night, and I knew I had to do something. So, I did.’

  Beth gave a shaky laugh. ‘Now I wonder, how many of those injuries were self-inflicted, and how many times I was fooled by a desolate face.’ Her voice trembled. ‘I’m not blaming you, Megan, I made my own choices but I can’t ignore the truth. How many innocent men did I help put away?’

  30

  Megan looked down. Beth wasn’t blaming her but she didn’t have to, she had enough blame for herself and the weight of guilt lay heavily on her shoulders. All of these things because of her deception. How could she bear it?

  ‘I’m not blaming you, Megan,’ Beth said. ‘I made my decisions; they just happen to have been made for the wrong reasons. Anyway, now it’s your turn.’

  Megan blinked. Her turn? ‘Oh, yes, yes, of course.’ She glanced at Joanne and then looked back down, at her hands. ‘There must be something in the air,’ Megan started, eyes focused on her entwined fingers and on the diamond ring she still wore because she couldn’t bear the finality of taking it off. Looking up with tear-filled eyes, she knew she didn’t have to say more.

  ‘Ah no,’ Joanne said, ‘not you and Trudy? That’s impossible!’ Her eyes narrowed as she tried to put it all together. ‘But, wasn’t it the reason you told us about that night, because Trudy insisted you had to be honest with us to have any future together?’

  Tears gathered in Megan’s eyes. ‘It seemed it was too little too late. She called me a pathological liar.’ Megan gulped. ‘She was so cold, so hard, and looked at me with such contempt.’ A tear ran down her cheek; she didn’t brush it away.

  ‘Oh no,’ Joanne said, ‘I’m so sorry. Maybe–’

  ‘No,’ Megan said firmly, ‘there’s no maybe. She asked me to move out by Friday. Insisted, in fact.’ Rubbing her tear-filled eyes with one hand, she took a deep breath. ‘It was as if she’d turned into someone else, someone I didn’t know at all.’

  ‘I’ve told Megan she can move in with me,’ Beth rushed to say. ‘It’ll give her some breathing space until she sorts herself out.’

  Megan hoped Beth didn’t see her automatic look of horror at the thought of living in her tiny shabby home. It was an option she had to consider short-term. Long-term, she’d no idea what she’d do. She’d no savings; how incredibly stupid she’d been. The fact was she’d be lucky to be able to afford to rent anything as big as Beth’s place. And buying wasn’t an option. She caught Joanne’s pitying glance. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, wishing she believed it. How could she be, with the weight of all she had to bear? And to bear it all without Trudy.

  ‘What about your parents?’ Joanne asked. ‘Couldn’t they help?’

  Megan shook her head. ‘The fees for the nursing home they’re in are astronomical. There’s very little left.’ She stood. ‘I’m shattered, I need to get some sleep. Would it be okay if I stayed until the morning? I’ll need to leave early.’

  ‘You’ll both need to stay,’ Joanne said, shuffling unsteadily to her feet. ‘There’s a bed in the room where I’ve shoved my clothes, one of you can sleep there if you can make your way through all my stuff to get to it. The other will have to make do with this sofa.’

  ‘The sofa’s fine for me,’ Megan said.

  ‘You sure?’ Beth said. ‘I don’t mind taking it.’

  Megan gave her a grateful glance. ‘Thank you, but it’s a better fit for short people.’

  As Beth and Joanne headed up the stairs together, Megan saw Joanne sway wearily and Beth slip an arm around her waist. ‘Hang on to me,’ Beth muttered, matching her steps to her taller friend. Megan took a deep breath and followed behind.

  Minutes later, Joanne directed bo
th women to the cupboard where she kept spare sheets and towels. There was no more talking, as if they’d said it all, and there were no more words left to try to make sense of things.

  ‘I’ll be leaving very early,’ Megan said, with an armful of linen. ‘I’ll try not to wake anyone.’

  Joanne stood in the doorway of her bedroom and lifted her wrapped arms. ‘You won’t wake me. I’m going to take a couple of sleeping tablets, otherwise I’d never get to sleep. Do either of you want one?’

  ‘Yes, please. It might help,’ Beth said.

  Megan declined. ‘I took two last night and couldn’t wake up this morning so I’ll pass, thanks.’ She wanted to say more: to apologise, beg forgiveness, plead for mercy and understanding. Instead, she reached out a hand and rested it on each of their shoulders before turning and heading down the stairs.

  In the lounge, she eyed the bloodstained sofa and with a shrug dropped the linen and sat down beside it. She could hear the low mumble of Joanne and Beth’s voices and wondered if they were talking about her.

  She swallowed a sob, afraid they would hear and come down to offer sympathy or pity. Neither would make her feel any better, neither would make everything all right again. And that was what she wanted. For everything to be okay. To be as it was. She wanted the life of promise she’d had only a few days before. It wasn’t fair to be punished so badly for something stupid she had done so long ago. She flopped back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling.

  Nothing was ever going to be the same again. Her life was over.

  Matt Peters. Megan had not thought about him in years. If he’d tried to contact her, to insist she went back to clear his name, she’d have gone. Of course, she’d have gone. Her lie was never supposed to involve him; she’d made them promise, how could she have known they’d go back on their word. He had three children, according to that article Joanne had plastered around the walls. Three young children, left without a father because of her. She shut her eyes, swallowing the rush of bile that flooded her mouth. ‘Oh God,’ she murmured, wishing He were someone she believed in. Not that He could help. There was nobody who could turn the clock back twenty years and let her make a different choice.

  Overhead, doors opened and closed, floorboards creaked and water rattled in the pipes. The sounds died away and silence settled over the house, broken only by Megan’s ragged breaths.

  She waited another hour for Beth and Joanne to fall into their medicated sleep before she stood. There was no way she was going to sleep, not with her head buzzing. Opening the door quietly, she climbed the stairs, placing her bare feet carefully, listening for any squeak or creak that might disturb them. Crossing the landing to the room Joanne had so bizarrely decorated, she went inside and shut the door behind her before switching on the light.

  It must have taken Joanne hours, Megan thought, turning and looking around the room. Matt watched her from every angle. She reread both articles, they didn’t tell her anything more. Accidental death. Megan murmured the words, grimacing. Now, unfortunately, she knew better.

  She reached out and traced the man’s smile with an unsteady finger. The harm she’d done. Too much to absorb. With a final look around, she left the room, closed the door quietly behind her and went back downstairs. She sat on the edge of the sofa for a long time… thinking of her future. There seemed, suddenly, no point in returning to London. With the weight of such guilt on her shoulders, how could she possibly prosecute the crimes of others? No, her career with the Crown Prosecution Service, her lifelong dream, was over.

  She could have coped with that. It would have been difficult, but there were other avenues she could have gone down with Trudy by her side. Without her, she couldn’t even contemplate such a long and lonely journey. The very thought frightened her. No, there was only one option left.

  When the first streaks of daylight crossed the room, Megan stood and moved to look out the window. It was time to go. She picked up the bundle of clothes she’d brought down from the bathroom. They were creased and stained but she pulled them on without a thought. With her shoes in one hand, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. She hesitated, before nodding slightly as if agreeing with the thought that had popped into her head, and went back upstairs to Joanne’s shrine to the dead man. Inside, she very carefully peeled one article from the wall, folded it and tucked it into her jacket pocket.

  Minutes later, she was in her car.

  31

  Beth slept heavily thanks to the two pills Joanne had given her and woke feeling groggy with her mouth dry and head thumping. Groaning, she held a hand over her eyes and wished she could make it all go away, everything: Megan, Joanne, the mess she’d made of her career. Everything. Except Graham, him she wanted back.

  Crawling from the bed, she opened the bedroom door and listened. If either of the others were awake, they weren’t making a sound. Beth crossed to the bathroom, turned on the cold tap and scooped a few handfuls of water to drink, a glance in the mirror telling her she looked as bad as she felt. Shaking her head, she returned to the bedroom and lay down, hoping a little more sleep would get rid of the fog in her brain. It was a lost cause; as soon as her head hit the pillow, images of Megan and Joanne’s distressed faces flitted through her mind.

  Giving up the attempt, Beth got up. She retrieved her creased dirty clothes and wondered about borrowing a clean outfit from Joanne. They were a similar size and she certainly had enough to spare. Of course, now she knew exactly why she had so many gorgeous clothes. ‘Maybe not,’ Beth muttered and, ignoring the stains and the distinctly unpleasant smell, she dressed and headed downstairs, hoping coffee would make her feel more awake.

  The kettle had just boiled when the kitchen door opened and Joanne appeared, her skin an unhealthy shade of grey, eyes bloodshot. A silky white robe was belted loosely around her waist. She’d removed the makeshift dressings from her arms and there were flecks of fresh blood on the robe that said some of the cuts were still bleeding.

  ‘You didn’t sleep?’ Beth asked, spooning coffee into two mugs and trying not to look at the criss-cross of scabbed cuts on her wrists.

  Joanne sat at the table and rested both arms on top, wincing a little as she did so. ‘Not for a long time, and not for long enough,’ she finally answered. ‘I feel pretty awful.’

  Beth put a coffee in front of her. ‘It’s been a tough few days, Joanne.’ She waited until her friend had drunk some coffee before asking, ‘Are you going to be okay?’

  Several sips later, Joanne looked at her with the hint of a smile. ‘Do you mean am I going to try again?’

  Beth put down her untouched coffee. There seemed to be no point in being subtle. ‘Well, are you?’

  ‘A man killed himself because of what I said–’

  ‘That’s not–’ Beth started to say.

  Joanne reached across and grabbed her hand. ‘No, let me finish. He killed himself because of what I said. It didn’t matter that I truly believed he had raped Megan.’ Joanne lifted a hand to her eyes and wiped away tears. ‘You think that’s why I tried to kill myself but, you know, it wasn’t really.’

  Beth posed the obvious question. ‘So why then?’ She watched Joanne’s mouth twist as if the words were too difficult to say.

  Finally, Joanne spoke. ‘You said it was remembering what happened to Megan that night that made you determined to see that justice was done, even if you had to plant evidence to ensure it was. But it isn’t Megan I’ve remembered all these years. At least, not only her.’ She brushed tangled hair back and looked at Beth with a strange smile. ‘It’s Matt’s wife who has haunted me. When I told her what he’d done, including all the filthy details that I made up, there was such pain and hurt in her eyes. It’s her face I’ve seen all these years when men seemed to be sincere, the ones who wanted me to stop what I was doing and settle down. Maybe even have children. Her face that made me keep living the life I lead. Because why would I put myself in a position to feel such pain and disappointment?’ Joann
e lifted the coffee to her trembling lips and put it down without drinking. ‘And now? I feel like I’ve wasted the best years of my life for a lie, and I’m finding it hard to live with that. But, no,’ she said with an attempt at a smile, ‘I’m not going to try again.’

  Beth didn’t believe her; she watched the way Joanne’s gaze shimmied away rather than meet her eyes. ‘It’s not too late to change your life, Joanne. It’s going to take a little time to absorb everything that’s happened. Come back to London with me, stay with me for a few days, we can talk.’

  Joanne gave an unamused laugh. ‘I think your house is going to be a bit full, isn’t it?’ She tilted her head and gave a genuine smile. ‘Do you really think Megan will move in with you? Even for a short while?’

  Beth ignored the question. ‘Fine, well, I’ve no need to rush back to London. Megan doesn’t have to move out until Friday. Until then, I’ll stay here.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Joanne said with a careless shrug. ‘Speaking of Megan, did you hear her leave?’

  ‘No. She’s gone?’

  ‘She said she had to leave early to get home to change and into the office by nine, so I assume so.’ Joanne frowned. ‘I hope she has; I really don’t want to speak to her for a while.’

  ‘Maybe I should check, she slept through yesterday and got into trouble,’ Beth said, pushing her mug away. At the lounge door she listened before pushing it open. It was empty. Megan had gone. Good, she thought, because she didn’t think Joanne could take any more angst and she knew she couldn’t. She shut the door and turned to go back to the kitchen.

  She’d taken a step when something drew her to the staircase. Had she heard something? She stared up, put a foot on the first step and then the next, pulled upward by a strange compulsion to keep going. At the top of the stairs, she looked at the door of the room where Joanne had made that terrible suicide attempt, remembering that awful moment when they’d opened the door and seen her lying there, the knife hanging from one hand. The knife… the knives, they were still in there.