I sat there for a moment, trying to calculate how much I’d actually had to drink. Was I really safe to drive us home? I felt sober enough, but it had probably been somewhere between two and three glasses of champagne in total. That should be OK, shouldn’t it, with all the water and food?
And so I drove the car back to Montpellier Terrace, and amazingly there was a space right outside the house, and I manoeuvred the car into it and turned off the engine. As I did so, Thea and Nell opened their eyes simultaneously, Nell suddenly shrieking that she needed the loo, reaching for the door handle, and I leapt out too, realizing I was in desperate need of a wee myself, telling her I’d race her, and she laughed and scampered up the path to the front door. Thea was climbing out of the car herself at that point, so I left her to it. She’d get herself and Zander inside OK, I reckoned … she was drunk, but not entirely incapable. And as I chased Nell into the coolness of the hallway, something in me hoped that maybe outside Thea would be making a bit of a mess of it. That she’d trip, or stumble, as she came up the path with the baby, that the neighbours would see, that somebody else as well as me would have a little word with Rupert about the state his wife was in, would add fuel to this fire I was building, this fire that would bring my friend back to me. The fire that, as it turned out, burned out of control instead, and nearly destroyed my friend. Nearly destroyed all of us. A fire which clearly, I now realized, was still smouldering, ready to flicker into life again …
There were beads of sweat on my forehead now, and I wiped them away with the back of my hand, wondering vaguely how it was possible to be so cold and yet sweating at the same time. I took another gulp of whiskey, not even enjoying the taste anymore but needing it, needing the oblivion it was slowly bringing, the events of that sticky September afternoon still racing through my mind.
It was pretty well documented what happened next, of course. Or what the police thought happened next, anyway. When they questioned us, afterwards, I told them the last thing I remembered was falling asleep. And when they asked about the events leading up to that, and asked me why I had got into the car with Thea, knowing how drunk she was, I realized that she must have told them that it was her … that she had driven us home. She’d obviously been so drunk she simply didn’t remember … she’d just assumed that she’d been behind the wheel. It was her car after all – I suppose it was a natural assumption.
And so I’d gone along with that. I could hardly say it had been me, not at that stage, could I? What would be the point? A drink-driving charge was the least of Thea’s worries, and I relied on my licence so much for work. I wasn’t even sure if I had been over the limit, not when I’d driven the car home, but we’d drunk more since then. If I was breath-tested, would they believe me if I said I’d been fine at the time? I didn’t know how far the police would go to prove that someone was drink-driving, but what if they went to the pub we’d had lunch in, asked people, waiters, bar staff maybe, if they’d noticed how much we’d both drunk? I had no idea if they could do that or not, but what was the point in risking it?
So I just agreed, said Thea had driven. I lied and said I hadn’t realized she was so drunk, that if I had I would never have let her drive, that I would never have left her alone to look after Zander, to bring him inside …
I’d lied to them. I’d lied to everyone. All I’d wanted to do was teach Thea a lesson, shake things up a bit. But what I’d done that day, the consequences of it … my stomach heaved, and I took a deep breath, willing it to settle. My glass was empty again. I stared into it, my vision blurring, then jumped as a hand gently touched my arm.
‘Penny for them, Red?’
The Bill Nighy guy was standing next to me, looking at me quizzically. I straightened up, pushing my hair back off my hot forehead, and felt a sudden surge of recklessness, my eyes roaming from his full lips to his taut biceps, the flat stomach under his close-fitting black sweater.
‘I’m Isla,’ I said, and held out my hand.
31
THEA
‘What time is Millie coming, Mum?’
I looked up from my laptop.
‘Around one thirty, I think. So in about ten minutes?’
‘Ace! I’ll be up in my bedroom, OK?’
‘OK, darling. I’ll send her straight up when she gets here.’
Nell, grinning, nodded and raced from the room. She seemed absolutely fine this morning, bright and cheerful, with no mention of last night and her sudden appearance downstairs, shaking and screaming. I wondered if she even remembered it – she had seemed to be sleepwalking, and she hadn’t said a coherent word as I’d comforted her and guided her back to bed, stroking her back gently until the sobs subsided and her eyes closed again. The incident had reinforced my concern about her state of mind, though, and I decided I had to talk to Rupert about taking her back to see Karen Ballerton. One session had clearly not been enough.
I picked up my phone, checking for new texts or emails for the umpteenth time today, but there was still nothing from Isla. I hadn’t heard from her since she stormed out of here last night, even though once I’d calmed Nell down I’d called repeatedly, left a voice message and several texts, apologizing and asking her to please call me back. She was obviously way too pissed off to oblige, though, and I didn’t blame her.
What had I been thinking of, suggesting that maybe she could have been lying to me about what happened? How could I have thought even for a second that my friend for so many years could have done anything to hurt me? It had seemed logical at the time, to ask everyone who was there that day, but I now realized I should have left Isla off my list. It was just ridiculous to think that she—
‘BRRRRING. BRRRRING.’
I jumped as the doorbell rang, and leapt from my seat to answer it, foolishly hoping that I might see Isla standing on the doorstep. It was, of course, Millie, Greg standing behind her holding her overnight bag. The girls were spending the afternoon here with me, but Rupert was due to collect them at five, with plans for a theatre trip to Bath before a sleepover at his place. Mia wasn’t part of tonight’s plans, and for that I was grateful. Nell was in a fragile enough state at the moment without the stress of meeting Daddy’s new girlfriend, and I was pleased that Rupert seemed to be aware of that, and was taking things slowly.
‘Millie, welcome! Nell’s upstairs, do you want to go on up?’
Millie beamed up at me, her golden bob sleek, freshly brushed. Annabelle always did turn her children out extremely well.
‘Hi, Thea. Yes, please. Bye, Daddy!’
She turned, standing on tiptoes to peck her father on the cheek, and he bent down to meet her.
‘Bye, baby. Have fun.’
Millie scooted past me and thundered up the stairs, and I watched her disappear then turned to Greg.
‘Greg … I need a quick word. Have you got time for a coffee?’
He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged.
‘Sure. Shall I just leave this here?’
He waved the overnight bag awkwardly at me, and I nodded.
‘Yeah, just leave it in the hall. Come on through.’
He wiped his feet vigorously on the doormat and came in, dropping the bag and following me down the hallway to the kitchen. I flicked the kettle on then crossed the room again to close the kitchen door. I don’t want Nell or Millie to hear this, I thought, a rush of nervousness making my stomach roll. I busied myself making the coffee, making idle chitchat over my shoulder about the weather and weekend plans, then, placing the two mugs on the table, took a deep breath.
‘You might want to sit down,’ I said.
‘Ohhh-kaaaay.’
Greg, who’d been leaning against the kitchen counter, suddenly looked wary. He looked very handsome today, I thought, as he crossed the room to sit down opposite me. He was wearing a pale blue denim shirt which somehow made his eyes an even deeper grey, and his hair looked as if it had been recently cut, tightly cropped at the temples, a little longer on top. A memory flashed throug
h my brain, an image of my hands gripping that head as he thrust into me, his cheek rough against mine, and I felt an unexpected little shiver of desire. I’d been drunk, very drunk, the night Greg and I had slept together, the night we conceived Zander. But I knew the sex had been good. Not something to think about now, though. Bloody hell, Thea. Concentrate.
‘What’s up?’
He looked nervous, fingers running around the rim of his coffee mug.
‘I … I just wanted to talk to you about … about the day Zander died. You know I’ve had a sort of amnesia? That I haven’t been able to remember much, well, anything really, about that day?’
He nodded.
‘Yes. So I’ve heard.’
‘Well, recently I’ve started having, I don’t know, flashbacks, little bits of memory coming back. And it’s confusing me, you know? Because what I’m remembering doesn’t quite seem to fit with what everyone says happened that day. And the trial’s only about a month away now, so I’m trying to get everything clear in my head. I thought it might help to talk it through with everyone who was around that day, here in the house I mean. Do you mind?’
I was trying to keep my voice calm, steady, but even I could hear the tremor of anxiety. Greg shifted in his chair.
‘Flora mentioned something about this, after you had her round? And Annabelle too – she said she bumped into you, had a coffee. But I didn’t really get it. I thought it was pretty obvious what happened, wasn’t it? Thea, I know it was an accident, OK? I know you’d never hurt a child, your child. Not deliberately. I mean, everyone was shocked, horrified but … well, we’ve known you for years, and terrible things happen to good people, and we’ve tried not to judge …’ He shifted again, looking uncomfortable. ‘But … well, OK, if you need to go through it, if it will help. But I was out in the garden, with Rupert, when … I mean, I don’t know what I can tell you, Thea.’
I was silent for a moment, looking at him. And then – and I had no idea why I said it, where it came from – I simply said quietly: ‘You know, don’t you, Greg? You know he was yours?’
He jerked backwards, as if I’d hit him. For a few seconds his mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, like a fish struggling to breathe on land. Then he said: ‘I … I didn’t know, not for definite. But I guessed, yes. He just looked so … so like me. So like my kids. But – are you sure, Thea? How can you be sure?’
His voice sounded tight, as if something was squeezing his throat. I stared into my coffee. I’d have to confess everything now, I supposed. But what did it matter, at this stage?
‘I went through your pockets, when you left your coat in the hall one day. I found a comb with some hair in it. Had a DNA test done. He was yours all right. Well, 99.9999 per cent definitely anyway, they said, to be precise. Which is about as definite as you can get.’
His eyes widened, eyebrows raised.
‘Wow, Thea. Little miss detective or what?’
‘I suppose. Sorry. For sneaking around I mean. And for doing it without your permission. I should have told you. But you know, I was thinking of Rupert … and Annabelle, of course. Actually, I suppose I wasn’t thinking straight really for a while there, if I’m honest. I was feeling depressed, struggling to cope, and I just didn’t see the point in telling anyone. I thought it would just make everything worse, split up my marriage probably, and yours. And you never said anything, and Rupert never did. So … well, I just kept quiet,’ I finished lamely.
Greg reached a hand across the table and rested it on mine for a moment, then withdrew it again.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘Thank you for telling me, finally. And please, don’t apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry. I am, you know? I’m so, so sorry. I did wonder, right from the beginning, when Millie came home and said Nell’s mummy was having a new baby. I wondered then, if it could be mine, the timing seemed to fit, you know, after we … but then you never said anything, so I just let it go. But when I saw him, that first time … I knew, Thea. I just knew. He was … he was so beautiful.’
His voice cracked, and I realized he was crying, his eyes brimming with tears. He stood up, turning away from me, and I stood up too.
‘Greg … Greg, please don’t cry.’
I could feel myself starting to go too, my throat tightening, and I needed to try to keep emotion out of this, finish this conversation. I walked closer and gently took his arm, turning him back round to face me. He wiped his face with both hands, shaking his head.
‘God, sorry. What a moron.’
‘You’re not a moron, it’s fine. Here, let me get you a tissue.’
There was a box on the worktop and I pulled out a handful and handed them to him. We both sat down again, and Greg took a deep breath.
‘OK, so … you said earlier, you’re starting to remember things? What did you mean by that?’
I thought for a moment, wanting to choose my words carefully. I didn’t want a repeat of last night with Isla.
‘It’s just the timeline. The order things happened in, I suppose. It’s a bit hard to explain, but … when you arrived with Millie that day, Greg, that was at around five thirty, right? Can you talk me through what happened, after you got here?’
I knew the timings by heart by now. He crinkled his brow, looking puzzled.
‘OK, well … yes, it was about five thirty, I suppose. Rupert opened the door to us, said hi and so on. Then Millie ran straight upstairs to see Nell, like she did today. Rupert asked me if I fancied a beer while I waited for her, and I said yes, so we came through here to the kitchen and he grabbed a couple out of the fridge. Then we headed out into the garden.’ He gestured towards the back door behind me. ‘It was cooler out there, nice and shady under the tree. It was hellish hot that day …’ His voice tailed off. ‘Shit. Sorry.’
He covered his face with his hands and groaned.
‘It’s OK, honestly. I’m sorry, to ask you all this. But … what happened then? Anything you can remember?’
He raised his head, looking at me in silence for a moment.
‘We had a bit of a row,’ he said.
‘Who did?’ I was taken aback. I didn’t know anything about a row.
‘Me and Rupert. Well, not a row exactly. But he started … well, not accusing me, not exactly, but insinuating …’ He paused.
‘Insinuating what?’
Another pause.
‘Insinuating … well, that I fancied you. I can’t remember what he said, not the exact words. But he sort of implied that he thought I fancied you, and to keep off. It was all jokey at first, but I suddenly got scared, Thea. I thought … does he know? Does he know what we did? Or at least suspect? I mean, Zander didn’t look like either of you, not at all, did he? So I wouldn’t have blamed Rupert, for being suspicious. I suddenly wondered if he suspected, was testing the water maybe, seeing how I’d react. And instead of just laughing it off, moron that I am, I got defensive. Asked him why on earth I’d want you when I had a beautiful wife like Annabelle …’
I snorted. ‘Thanks.’
‘Oh shit, I didn’t mean it. You know I fancied you, Thea. It would never have happened if I hadn’t. I’d always thought you were gorgeous, every time I saw you, right from the beginning at that first school gathering we went to when the girls were small. I was just trying to protect myself, and you I suppose …’
‘OK, OK, I was only joking. So how long did it go on, this row? What happened next?’
‘Well, as I said, it wasn’t really a row. But the next thing, it was about six fifteen, I think, well, we heard the screaming. Flora, screaming. And we dropped the beers and came running in, and—’
He stopped talking abruptly. I nodded, swallowing hard. I knew the rest.
‘So … from the time you arrived, you and Rupert were together the whole time?’ I asked.
He frowned.
‘Errrm … yes, I think so. He went back in to get another couple of beers at one point but that was just into the kitchen. Only took a few
seconds. Why?’
I shrugged. This had been a waste of time. All of it was just a waste of time, wasn’t it? I’d destroyed my friendship with Isla, was probably going to destroy what was left of my relationship with Rupert next. And for what? A desperate attempt to convince myself that I didn’t kill my child. That somebody else was responsible. What the hell was wrong with me? I needed to let Greg go, leave it, stop digging. He was a victim in this too, if you thought about it, wasn’t he? He’d lost a child, just as I had.
‘Nothing. Just trying to get everything clear. I’m so sorry, Greg. Sorry to make you relive it again. I know it’s not easy, for any of us. But especially you, especially now you know for definite. I’m so sorry, Greg. For your loss. Sorry for both of us.’
‘So am I. And for Zander. I know you had your problems, Thea, but what happened to Zander … it was terrible. I can’t … and now I know, that he really was my son …’
Oh God. I felt the tears welling again and swallowed them back. Greg was clearly trying to control his emotions too, his fists balled on the table in front of him, eyes fixed on the smooth wood, his breathing laboured. We both sat there for a few moments, then I exhaled and stood up.
‘I need to get back to work. Thank you for that. I … I’m so sorry, Greg. For everything.’
He stood too, shaking his head.
‘So am I,’ he whispered.
32
GREG
I drove home in a daze, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles were white. Zander was my baby. My son. My fourth child. My dead child. Deep down, I’d known it from the start, known it from that very first time I’d seen him lying there in his pram, but I hadn’t dared admit it even to myself, not really. I’d looked, and known, and then cast the thought out again, refusing to allow it to stay, terrified of what it meant.
I’d tried to avoid looking at him after that, sick with fear, with guilt. Wishing he would just go away. Wishing he wasn’t there, that he didn’t exist. And then, the day he actually did stop existing, my initial reaction to his death horrified me. Appalled me, then and now, every time I thought about it, every time I let my mind go there. Because my first feeling, the first emotion that hit me when I saw that tiny body in Flora’s arms, wasn’t one of grief, or loss, or sadness. My first reaction was a second, just a brief moment, of overwhelming relief. He was gone. I’d wanted him gone, and it had happened.
Am I Guilty? Page 21