Guilt

by Amanda Robson

  Two steps into the living room with its two leather sofas, shiny granite kitchen nestled in the corner. I see your body there, Zara. Will its bloodied alabaster tangle ever go away? I walk past your ghoulish image, still smelling your blood.

  Towards my bedroom. I open the door slowly. My bedroom, but not my bedroom. Mother has tidied it. She told me in one of her visits how she had scrubbed and cleaned the flat. It was tidy anyway but now it is almost empty. I stand looking across my bedroom. The bed still shouts towards me. The bed where Sebastian and I had sex. The bed where he raped me. I can’t bear to look any more.

  I go into your bedroom, Zara. Again antiseptically tidy. But traces of you still stab me. Mother has left a few of your possessions in place. Your favourite perfume. Your make-up in a bowl. Your hairbrush containing a nest of perfect golden brown hair, waiting for you to return. As if Mother couldn’t bear to throw them away. My heart stops. Why did I want to come back?

  The landline rings. I rush back into the living room to pick up.

  ‘It’s Mother. Are you all right?’

  My stomach tightens. I want peace. I want space. I want to be left alone.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lie. How will I ever be fine again? ‘I’m just going to watch a bit of TV and go to sleep.’

  Silence reverberates down the phone line, pressing against my eardrum.

  ‘All right,’ she says eventually. ‘I’ll ring again in the morning.’

  ‘Thanks Mother, love you.’

  ‘Love you so, my darling.’

  Her voice is overly intense. Her words curl around me and strangle me. What doesn’t she understand about me wanting to be on my own? Not just want, need. I need to be alone, with a feral intensity. I sigh with relief as I put the phone down.

  I flick the remote and the TV comes on. Images flicker across the screen in front of me but I am not watching it. I have not had alcohol in so long. Suddenly I want a drink. Maybe some alcohol will relax me, make me feel better. I walk across to the cupboard in the kitchen area to see if there is any in the flat. I open the cupboard door. Everything is in a jumble just as we left it. My heart stands still. I see a bottle of Rioja at the back. Rioja, Sebastian’s favourite.

  And I am back. Back to the first time you brought him to the flat.

  Sebastian Templeton. Dark and swarthy, needing a shave. Wearing designer jeans: pale blue, with carefully placed rips. Well-worn brown suede boots. Black cashmere round-neck sweater. A black stud in his left ear – subtle but quirky. Designer stubble cutting into me as he kisses me. The smell of mint. He had just cleaned his teeth.

  I remember pouring us a glass of wine each, sitting in a row together on our sofa to drink it, Sebastian in the middle. The bastard. The damage he has caused us. Hands trembling, I reach for the bottle from the cupboard. I open it and pour myself a tumbler full. No half measures tonight. I knock it back almost in one, too quickly to taste it properly, and then I go and lie on the sofa, letting the images from the TV in front of me slide across my mind and anaesthetise it.

  155

  Sebastian

  I see her silhouette through the window blinds. Drinking wine. Typical. She always drank too much wine. I know she is alone. No one else has entered the flat, and I have been watching the flat for hours. I look at my watch. Now is the time. Time to pay her a well-deserved visit.

  156

  I must have fallen asleep. Suddenly I am awake, head a little fuzzy, aware of the doorbell ringing. The sound drills into me like an electric shock. Who knows I’m here, except Theo and Mother? Is it Mother, so super worried that she is paying an impromptu visit? I walk through the flat to the front door.

  A mass of black hair greets me through the crusted glass window of the door.

  Sebastian.

  Sebastian come to talk to me.

  At last.

  I open the door and he is here, standing in front of me. For a second I forget what has happened. For a second I forget you are dead, and I expect you to be standing behind him. Then I remember, and my blood runs cold with dread. Dread of the past. Dread of the future. Pure, unadulterated dread.

  ‘May I come in?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘We need to talk.’

  He steps into the hallway. He pushes his dark eyes into mine. They do not simmer like they used to.

  ‘Not exactly like the old days is it?’ he says.

  The pain of what has happened solidifies in the air between us. I don’t reply. I step through our compact hallway. He follows me. He flops onto the sofa and crosses his legs, not as flamboyantly as he used to. I sit on the sofa opposite him.

  ‘Why didn’t you come and see me when I asked?’

  His face stiffens. He shrugs. ‘Why did you want me to?’ he asks.

  ‘I wanted to explain what happened,’ I continue. ‘I wanted you to forgive me.’

  His eyes solidify. ‘I will never forgive you.’

  His words sear into me. Is that what I really wanted – his forgiveness? Most of this was his fault. Maybe I wanted to castigate him, to blame him, and assuage my own guilt.

  ‘I will never forgive you,’ he repeats.

  We sit in silence for a while. A silence louder than sound, that burns against my skin. I cut through it.

  ‘You shouldn’t have told her.’

  He smiles his slow, Machiavellian smile, without moving his eyes. I watch him slowly, slowly put his hands together on his knee and intertwine his fingers. I watch restless fingers doing a slow dance together, stroking, playing, like they once played with my body.

  ‘You’re in denial if you think Zara’s death was my fault,’ he says.

  A scream is rising in my head. I breathe deeply to push it away. ‘I begged you not to tell her. That’s what set her off. That’s why she nearly killed me,’ I say through clenched teeth.

  ‘I wish she had killed you,’ he hisses.

  His words stab into me. ‘This isn’t about me. You broke her heart. That’s what I wanted to stop.’

  ‘I loved her, you know. More than anything.’

  My body aches. Pain upon pain. Pain of mind and body, interlinked. ‘Then why did you play around with me?’ I ask.

  ‘I wanted her to be free of you.’ His eyes, his body, spit with hate. ‘I wanted her to kill you. Then she and I would be free.’

  ‘Free how?’ I ask, body trembling.

  ‘Free of you, you bitch.’

  ‘But, but …’ I splutter, ‘if Zara had killed me she would have gone to prison.’

  His eyes are mad. His eyes are wild. His fists are clenched. ‘Why? You haven’t.’

  ‘But I didn’t attack her.’ I pause. ‘She attacked me. That’s why I haven’t gone to prison – because I was innocent.’

  He grins, lips laced with acid. ‘Such faith in the legal system is touching. Don’t you think there might be an appeal?’

  ‘Theo would have warned me about it,’ I snap back.

  ‘Theo. The effeminate angel Gabriel who’s looking after you.’

  He is mocking me with his voice. With his eyes.

  ‘Let’s keep Theo out of this,’ I say.

  ‘The guy’s mad. He’s been following me for weeks. Thinks he’s one step ahead of me but he’s not.’ He pauses. His eyes are so hard, so dangerous. ‘So where were we? Ah yes. I remember. Zara should have killed you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I whisper. I sit with my head in my hands, feeling weak inside.

  ‘She had nothing to worry about. I would have got here and set up the crime scene to make it look like self-defence; hurt Zara a bit with gloves on, and then covered my assault weapon with your prints.’

  ‘What you’re saying is ridiculous.’

  ‘No it isn’t.’ There is a pause. ‘Two can play your game, Miranda.’

  ‘But I wasn’t playing a game, Sebastian, I was telling the truth.’

  ‘All truth is relative, Miranda. Surely you know that? You were so infatuated with me I could have done anything to stitch you up.�
�

  ‘You’re wrong, Sebastian. I wasn’t infatuated with you; I tolerated you to please Zara.’

  ‘So infatuated with me, you went to great lengths to kill her. The prosecution were right, weren’t they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You are still in love with me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You were the unstable one. Crying in bed. Panic attacks.’

  His face is blurring in front of me. I cannot see him but I can still hear him.

  ‘You still want me, don’t you?’ he taunts.

  I know I must walk away.

  ‘I remember you groaning with pleasure beneath me.’

  ‘Be quiet, Sebastian, please.’

  Tears are rolling down my cheeks now. My whole body is trembling and I know I must get away from him fast. I walk quickly towards the door of the flat, trying not to panic. I turn my head back.

  ‘I don’t want you, Sebastian. I never did,’ I tell him.

  He rushes towards me and grabs me. I struggle to get away from him but I’m powerless. He drags me to the corner of the kitchen counter where I was with you, Zara. He has my hands clasped behind my back with his left hand; in his right he has a knife – I see the glint of its blade in the electric light.

  ‘Let me do what Zara should have done.’

  My hands are seconds away from the carving knife in the drawer behind me. I know it’s there. I know I can kill him, this man I hate. This man who I have dreamt and fantasised about killing. I can finish him forever, right now, if I struggle, if I fight. My hands pull away from his grasp. I reach into the drawer and grapple for the knife.

  But my fingers don’t quite reach it. I am tired. So tired. Too tired to fight another case. I allow them to go limp. It will be easier to die. Last time I so wished I had. It’s been so hard being alive without you, Zara. Sebastian is here, granting my wish. I don’t resist any more. The knife moves closer. I see the look of satisfaction in his eyes.

  157

  ‘Police. Drop the knife.’

  Sharp, sudden words ricochet into the air like bullets.

  The knife doesn’t move. His eyes are fixated on my neck. He is contemplating pushing it in. He must be. It hasn’t moved. Sebastian, I am ready. Ready to die.

  158

  Sebastian

  ‘Drop the knife or I’ll shoot.’

  Words shouted from nowhere. Plenty of time to slash her in the jugular before they shoot. We’ll both be dead but I don’t care. Death will bring peace. Death will bring love. My fingers tighten around the knife. Oh Zara I am getting my reward. Miranda looks so weak and scared. Is that how you looked my darling, before she killed you?

  159

  The knife clatters to the floor. I step back. I am trembling. I am faint. About to collapse. A slender policewoman with dark brown hair and almond eyes catches me in her arms. She guides me towards the sofa and I sink into it, body trembling.

  Somewhere in the distance of my mind I see that Sebastian is cuffed, hands behind his back. Two officers are flanking him and removing him. My trembling is increasing. He so nearly killed me. I cannot believe I am not dead. I stroke my face with my hand. The skin of my face is warm and solid. I am still here, I tell myself. Still thinking. Still breathing. A siren pounds across my mind. They are taking him away. It is his turn to be incarcerated.

  The dark, slender police officer sits next to me on the sofa and puts her arm around my shoulders.

  ‘How did you know Sebastian was here?’ I ask.

  ‘Because of Theo. Your barrister.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ My whole body is shivering but I feel hot.

  ‘Theo was very concerned about Sebastian Templeton. He’d done a lot of undercover work on him during your trial and he was very frightened he would attack you as soon as you came out.’ There is a pause. ‘He predicted this.’

  Even though I am sitting down, the blood is rushing from my head and I fear I am about to faint. I bend over and put my head in my hands. ‘I didn’t,’ I mutter. The blood rush calms. I take a deep breath. ‘How did you know he was about to kill me?’

  ‘CCTV surveillance. We had officers outside waiting. All arranged by Theo Gregson, your barrister.’

  Theo. Thank God for Theo. The police officer continues explaining. Her words are fading out now. I’m not listening properly. I am thinking about Theo. She is droning on about psychological profiling. Trauma. Loss. Distress. And then somewhere in the mist of her words I hear: ‘You need to make a statement.’

  ‘Right now?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s probably best while it’s all fresh in your mind.’

  ‘I wish it wasn’t in my mind. I never wanted any of this.’

  ‘It won’t take long. It’ll soon be over.’

  ‘It will never be over. My mind will store it.’

  The slender police officer’s eyes are soft with concern. ‘You’ll move forwards. One day bad memories with be tangled with good ones.’

  ‘I will never have good memories again,’ I tell her.

  She doesn’t reply. Her face just looks soft and sad. She pulls her notepad and pen from her pocket. ‘Come on, let’s do this.’ There is a pause. ‘And then I’m afraid we will have to ask you to leave the flat. It is now a crime scene. Forensics need to come here tomorrow. The flat must not be disturbed.’

  A crime scene. Again. My flat, a crime scene. My whole life has become a crime scene.

  ‘Do you want me to contact your mother? Understandably you are very shell-shocked. Get her to come and get you?’

  ‘No. I’d rather be alone.’

  ‘I’ll text Theo then, get him to come and take you to a hotel? How about that.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say and smile limply. I can’t cope with my mother’s emotion right now.

  ‘Let’s get started.’ She pauses and takes a deep breath. ‘Please Miranda, tell me everything you can remember that happened from the second you returned to the flat.’

  I close my eyes. I lean back in my chair. My mind is on replay. My words start to spill.

  ‘The doorbell rang. It was Sebastian, to talk to me.’

  As I repeat what happened to the police officer I see it all again. I hear his every word, so graphically, as if I have stepped inside a movie screen that is real. Now I am back at that moment when I first began to fear he was going to kill me. He was looking at me with such hate. Eyes and face like acid. I don’t tell her the moment I thought about killing him. That bit is too painful. Too private, adding to my guilt. My words float through time until I am back at the end.

  ‘Let me do what Zara should have done, he said.’

  I saw the knife moving closer. I felt the start of the cut. The look of satisfaction in his eyes as the knife started to plunge.

  ‘Police. Drop the knife.’

  He didn’t move.

  ‘Drop the knife or I’ll shoot.’

  He loosened his grip. The knife fell to the floor.

  ‘I stepped away. I lived,’ I tell her, my voice suddenly louder.

  I stepped away. I lived.

  Sitting here with the police officer, who is taking notes. Still trembling and shaking. My life thin and watery, as if I am only just moving along inside it. As if, at any moment, I will be pushed away and no longer exist. Sebastian’s knife coming towards me again. His eyes turn into yours, Zara. His knife becomes yours. I should have stabbed him, not you. My life as I know it would still be over, but his would be too.

  160

  Sebastian

  Something was wrong. I tried to tighten my fingers around the knife, and plunge it into her neck, but I dropped it. The shouting had startled me. The knife clattered to the floor. The pigs were on top of me. All around me. Before I realised what was happening I was cuffed. I was crying, because you are gone, Zara, and I will never have you back.

  They arrested me. You know the spiel. Everyone knows the spiel; we’ve all seen it so many times on TV.

  ‘You are charged with the attempted mu
rder of Miranda Cunningham. You do not have to say …’

  My mind blanked as a young female officer spouted the meaningless words. They bundled me into the back of a police car, attached with cuffs to the arm of a tall thin male officer. The young woman was the driver. Across Bristol to the custody suite. Late Friday night, people tipping out of the pubs. People with lives to live. Rowdy groups of drinkers. My tears had stopped now. I could no longer feel moisture on my face. But I was still crying. Crying inside. And now I am in a cell with no windows in the custody suite.

  161

  I have stepped outside the crime scene, which once upon a time was my flat, accompanied by the police officer. I have been allowed, under her supervision, to pack a small bag of clothes and toiletries. I am in such a state – goodness knows what’s in it. Knickers. Toiletries. A photograph of you, Zara.

  As soon as the police officer saw Theo Gregson here, walking towards me, she made herself scarce and left. Theo Gregson is beginning to push my fears away, filling my mind with his smile, with his shoulders, with his runny honey eyes. I move towards him. Our bodies touch. I clamp myself against him.

  ‘Theo.’

  His body is taut and muscular, hard and reassuring. Maybe there is some point in living.

  ‘Thank you so much.’

  He kisses the top of my head. I feel his lips on my hair, so gentle, so comforting. I cling to him more tightly.

  ‘I was told you don’t want to be with your mother tonight,’ he almost whispers.

  I look up at him. He holds my eyes in his.

  ‘I really can’t face her worry right now; I can hardly face my own,’ I tell him.

  ‘My flat is just over the road.’

  ‘So close?’

  His eyes dissolve into mine.

  ‘So close, we could have almost met before.’

  If only. If only I’d met him before I became so damaged. If only I had met him in another life.

  ‘Before I became so full of problems?’