by Lodge, Gytha
And then Aidan said, “Please.” He looked at her with such a soft, sad expression that she found her resolve crumbling. She wanted to hear what he had to say in spite of herself.
But she wasn’t going to sit down. Not yet. She stood in front of him and shrugged. “What is it that you want to say?”
“I know exactly why you did what you did,” he said, fixing her with a calm, steady gaze. She couldn’t help noticing the shadows around his eyes. She wondered if he’d been sleeping as little as she had. And she couldn’t help seeing all over again how handsome he was.
She tried to look away, but it was hard. Particularly when he started speaking again.
“I know exactly why. Because it all seemed like a pack of lies. I had lied about some of it. Or at least hidden some of it. But I need to tell you the full story, because it isn’t as simple as it looked. Will you please just let me?”
“If you tell me, first of all, what you were doing in here with Maeve,” she said. She folded her arms across herself.
“With Maeve?” he asked, mystified. “I was waiting for you. She let me in. I think she took pity on me and…Look, don’t blame her. I explained everything and she realized we needed to talk. Which we do.” He watched her with what looked like momentary anxiety, and then he said, “Let me make you a cup of tea.”
He went to the kitchenette and flicked the kettle on, and then opened and shut the cupboard before going to the sink and lifting her blue polka-dot mug out of it. He started to wash it, and it seemed stupid to stay standing while he did it, so Zoe sat in her armchair and tried to rally all her defenses. She brought to mind that picture of him and Greta. She held on to the sick sense of discovery.
She tried as hard as she could to force back the part of her that badly wanted there to be a reasonable explanation for it all. She shook her head, quickly and hard. There was no reasonable explanation. She knew what she’d seen.
Aidan brought the tea over, one hand on the handle and the other steadying the edge of the mug. She was pleased to see that his hands were shaking as he put it on the coffee table in front of her. But it was such a strange thing, seeing him again after three weeks, and here, where they’d spent so much time together. She felt like it couldn’t be real.
“Let me start with what I didn’t tell you,” Aidan said. “I didn’t tell you that Greta doesn’t want her parents to know anything about the breakup. I know it sounds like she’s making an excuse to keep it quiet, but I don’t think it is. There’s never been anything but acceptance from her. She knows that we’re done.”
“You aren’t done,” she said icily.
She left the tea where it was, steaming very slightly. She’d been looking forward to a drink once she got home, but it was as if he’d made her a cup full of deliberate forgetting. She would happily go thirsty rather than take it.
“Greta and I are finished,” he said firmly, “but I understand entirely why you think we aren’t. The photo looked like a couple on holiday. And I hadn’t told you she was going to tag along still. She’d bought the ticket months ago, and we tried to get a refund. We didn’t manage it, but we did get separate rooms and both of us thought that it would be OK.”
“Well, it wasn’t fucking OK,” Zoe said. “It wasn’t OK at all. You went. On holiday. With your wife. No part of it is OK. And whatever you two decided in your cozy little chat at home means actually nothing.”
“I know,” he said with a sort of despair. “I know it wasn’t. It wasn’t OK and I knew that, and that’s why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d be upset about it, but I felt like it was the one thing I could do to be kind to her when I was breaking everything apart.”
“Why did you need to be kind,” Zoe asked, “if she agreed? It was a relief, wasn’t it?”
“For God’s sake,” Aidan said, a loud and harsh explosion, and suddenly he felt uncomfortably close. Frighteningly so. Zoe flinched backward as he slammed the other mug down onto the counter. “Are you really that naïve?”
She found herself staring at him, her heart pumping wildly. What was he doing here? Why had Maeve let him in? He shouldn’t be here, never mind looking at her with this cold, hard fury.
And then the fury seemed to dissolve, and he said, “I’m sorry. I’m such a bloody twat. I’m…I’m so sorry.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Of course you don’t know how it feels to divorce someone. It’s still heartbreaking, even when you want it. It’s still hard to say goodbye to eighteen years spent with someone. You’re an empathetic person. You must understand that. We both cried our hearts out, and she probably had plenty of moments of doubt, wondering if breaking things off was the right thing. I was there for a few of them, and I had to be firm. It made me feel like shit, but I needed to do it for you and me. And now…” He was suddenly half crying, his voice hoarse and angry and choked up. “Now I’ve done it, and I’ve messed it up, and I’ve lost you. Every hard thing I’d done to finally be with you was for nothing, because of one stupid fucking photo.”
Zoe found herself looking at her hands, moving one finger at a time as she hung absolutely torn between sympathy and a refusal to give in. It was awful to see him dissolve into tears. He was never emotional if he could avoid it. He would so often retreat behind sarcasm.
But he’d told her she was the one person he could be vulnerable in front of. And it was more than she could stand to hold back from him as he sobbed. The memory of his anger and her fear fell away in a moment.
She put her arms around him and tucked her head into his neck, close to his ear.
“Don’t,” she said. “It’s all right. It’s not…I’m not lost. I’m not. If you can just be honest with me, we’ll make it work. We can make it work. I promise.”
It felt so good when he turned and pulled her into a wet, salty kiss that it didn’t even feel like stupidity. Even when she opened her eyes and saw Maeve standing in the doorway, watching them with a weird, intent expression.
Without needing to be told, Aidan knew it was the police calling. He should have gotten there first and picked up the phone. The reality of it hit him the moment Greta had lifted the handset.
She had only just come in from the garden after a good hour spent hacking away at the Buddleia. They were both “working from home” today, and Greta tended to use his presence as an excuse to do house things instead of actual work. Aidan usually joined in or frittered his time reading newspapers. Today, though, he’d sat and watched her through the kitchen window, barely glancing at the newspaper he’d laid out on the table.
“Jesus, it’s cold out there,” she’d said as she closed the door behind her. “I’m not doing any more today.”
Aidan smiled at her. “You’ve done plenty. Would you like a coffee?”
And then the phone cut through their conversation, and she placed the gloves on the worktop before picking it up. Aidan found himself fixated on her reactions, frozen and staring like a cornered animal.
“Hello?”
He loved how she answered the phone. The cheery lilt to her voice that had more of her Hungarian accent than any of her other speech. It felt like his heart was breaking as he heard her say it. He knew what was about to happen. He knew what the sounds on the other end of the line meant.
Greta glanced over at him. “Yes, he’s here. Why do you need him?” There was another pause, and Aidan watched her face grow very still. “OK. We’ll be here,” she said.
She hung up and turned to him with an expression of confusion. It was almost childlike, and so very unlike the anger he’d braced himself for.
“Who was it?” he asked.
“The police,” she said. “They’re on their way.” There was a pause. “Why are they on their way?”
He could see that she was afraid of what he was going to say. They were united in that for a moment at least.
Even now, faced with the ine
vitability of being exposed, he felt his whole body resisting him. There was still a small part of his mind that wondered whether he could cover this up. Whether he could meet the police outside and pretend to Greta that he was needed as a witness.
But he knew, in reality. He knew it was all going to come out. The only weapon he had left was being the one to tell her, so he could at least try to explain some of it from his point of view. If that was even possible.
“Come and take a seat,” he said. “I’ll explain.”
He waited until she was sitting opposite him, and then said, “I need to tell you something.” It was easier if he didn’t look at her.
“OK…” There was a false lightness to her reply that only made him feel worse.
“You will have every right to hate me. And I need you to know that I accept that. I…I’ve done something so stupid…” His voice was shaking, and he was humiliatingly close to crying. He couldn’t cry. It wasn’t fair to cry when she was the one about to hear this. “I had an affair. With a student at the university.”
There was a pause where he could hear her breathing, and then she said, “What the fuck, Aidan?”
He couldn’t help looking at her. Her eyes were bright, but her skin was pale, as if he’d drained the life out of her.
“I know,” he said. “There’s no…there’s nothing I can say that will justify it. It was a terrible thing to do and I tried not to so many times. I knew it was wrong. But it wasn’t here, and somehow I convinced myself that it wasn’t connected with us, and it didn’t affect us….”
“It didn’t affect us? You were putting your cock into someone else, and it didn’t affect us?”
It was more hurtful than he could have believed. He felt a rush of defensiveness. “Please don’t say it like that,” he said. “It’s not…it’s not necessary. It’s done.”
“It’s done? The affair?” She gave him a piercing look. “Because she dumped you? Because guilt finally crept in?”
“Because she’s dead,” he said, and he choked on the words. “Because someone killed her. And it should have been over before, anyway. We broke up over and over….”
“Oh my God.” Greta rose and walked away from him. She turned on her heel and then back again, her hand up to her mouth. “Someone killed her,” she said, as if trying to make herself believe it. “What? How is that even real? Is this more bullshit?”
“No. I wish I…It’s been on the news,” he said. “It’s real and it’s horrible. It’s such a fucking mess. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Greta. I’ve ruined everything.”
She turned toward him. “Do they think you killed her?”
“I don’t know,” Aidan said. He almost felt like laughing for a moment. A little bubble of hysteria that rose and burst and was gone again.
She stood absolutely still, watching him, and then said in a whisper, “Did you kill her?”
He was genuinely stunned. Of all the questions he’d been waiting for, this had never even crossed his mind.
“Greta, for God’s sake,” he said. “Of course I didn’t. You know I didn’t! I’m not even capable—”
“How do I know?” she fired back. “How am I supposed to know that? I thought you’d never hurt me. I would have…have bet everything that you would never do that to me. Not you. I used to tell people…” She turned away, a catch in her voice. “I used to say, ‘I don’t ever need to worry about that. Not with Aidan. He’s the most loyal person I know.’ ”
“I’m so sorry,” he said again. And, God, it was awful. It was worse than he’d thought it could be. She was hurting and he couldn’t do anything to make it better. “I didn’t think I could, either.” He half rose to move toward her, but she wouldn’t look at him.
“How old was she?”
“Twenty-seven,” he said.
“For fuck’s sake.” Greta turned and kicked the bottom of the fridge, and then kicked it again. “You fucking pathetic cliché.”
“I know,” he said desperately, standing up fully. “I know.”
“Why?” she said, swinging on him. “Why did you do it? What was so wrong that you needed that?”
Aidan opened his mouth but found himself at a loss. “It…I don’t even know. I don’t know, Greta.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “You must have been pretty unhappy to go and screw some student. What is it? Do I have too many grays? Too much cellulite?”
“No,” he said, and he took a step toward her. “Greta, I love you. And I’ve never thought you were anything but beautiful. Never. You’re the most amazing person…” The end of the sentence was choked off by emotion, and he tried again. “I’ve tried to…to work it out. To work out what’s wrong with me. The only thing…” He swallowed. “The only thing I’ve ever felt is that maybe you don’t care about me that much. When things are going wrong. When I’m suffering or hurt or just…failing. And I know it’s pathetic. I know it is. And the only thing I can think of is that I got sympathy from Zoe in a way that maybe we’ve forgotten how to give each other.”
Greta stopped pacing and stared at him. “So I don’t care about you? When I’ve been here, year after year? When I’ve been with you as your mum got sick, and been with her, too. And of course I cared about her, but I was doing that for you, Aidan. I’m your wife, and I was…This is bullshit.”
She turned away from him and stalked into the hall.
“Where are you going?” he asked, and he came after her with real panic running through him.
“To get you a suitcase,” she said. “I want you out of my house. I hope the fucking cops take you.”
“Please don’t.” He rushed and grabbed at her arm as she turned the corner onto the staircase.
“Don’t touch me!” she said, and it was so close to a scream that it made him flinch.
“Please, Greta. Please don’t kick me out. I’ll go. If I have to go with them and convince them that I didn’t do it, then I will, and then I’ll find somewhere else. I’ll give you space. I know I deserve it. But please don’t throw everything away.”
She gave a half laugh, and leaned over the banister to spit at him, “You threw everything away, Aidan. I’m just the one dealing with the fallout.”
Aidan put a hand out to the wall and tried to find some steadiness in it. It felt like there was a great gaping hole somewhere nearby. It was going to swallow him. He couldn’t breathe properly with the fear. She didn’t even know the worst of what he’d done. She could never know. She could never, ever know.
* * *
—
THE HOUSE LOOKED serene as they arrived. It was a large, square, expensive-looking place, even on a road full of expensive houses.
Chilworth Drive was not somewhere Jonah had ever been. It was the sort of place that gave the impression it didn’t do crime. The reality, of course, was different. Jonah may never have been there, but he’d been called to crimes that were both violent and petty on streets like this.
He climbed out of the car ahead of Hanson and Lightman. The squad car pulled up on the road beside the house, disgorging the two uniforms they’d brought as backup. Jonah knew the sergeant and constable vaguely, but wasn’t entirely sure of their names. They only ended up working together at times like these.
He nodded to the sergeant and then made his way to the front door. There was a pause before it was opened, and, when it was, it was flung back with startling force.
Aidan’s wife, a tall, slim figure, stood there with eyes that blazed.
“He’s here,” she said. “You can have him. I’ve packed his suitcase, and if you want to ask me any questions, you’re welcome.”
She stalked away from the door, and Jonah felt undeniably awkward as he stepped inside. Aidan Poole was at the foot of the stairs, his face a picture of misery. Jonah wondered how much of it was feigned.
He shi
fted to allow the other officers inside. “Aidan Poole, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Zoe Swardadine.”
* * *
—
THERE WAS ALREADY a trio of onlookers on the other side of the road as Aidan was loaded into the back of the squad car. A middle-aged dog walker, a power walker, and a woman in slippers, who looked like she’d come out just to gawk. Jonah didn’t envy either of the Pooles this public spectacle.
Jonah himself hung back to speak with Greta, though he began to suspect that his quiet explanations of the process weren’t getting through to her. She was standing just outside the door, watching the scene and shifting constantly on her feet. She seemed not to know what to do with her arms, which she folded and unfolded repeatedly.
In the end, Lightman suggested that she should come inside and have a cup of tea. Although Jonah was eager to begin questioning Aidan, he felt they owed her some support. She’d just been told two pretty awful things about her husband, after all.
So Jonah let his sergeant guide her into the sitting room, while he and Hanson hung back in the hall. Something in Lightman’s manner seemed to soothe her. She was able to sit down, and to ask him what would happen and what she should do.
Lightman explained that there was counseling available to her, and that she might want to call someone.
“Could you stay awhile?” Greta asked, her eyes steady on him.
Jonah met Hanson’s gaze. She rolled her eyes and he tried not to laugh. “Ben’s magic touch,” he murmured.
The sergeant extracted himself a minute later, having promised that he’d be on hand if Greta needed anything.
“Tenner says she calls within twenty-four hours with some kind of crisis,” Hanson said as they got back into the car.
“I’m not taking that bet,” Jonah said, and Lightman just shook his head, smiling very slightly.
* * *
—
“MR. POOLE,” JONAH began, “I’m now interviewing you as a suspect in the murder of Zoe Swardadine, which I want to know you understand in full. It’s important, given you’ve decided not to bring a solicitor.”