What Alice Knew
Page 28
‘But you told me he hadn’t?’
I paused, waiting for him to acknowledge, but still he didn’t speak.
‘And then later, at the end, when you asked about that sentence I backtracked and said I hadn’t said “and then”, that you must have been mistaken?’
He yawned and glanced ostentatiously at his watch.
‘And eventually you let it go?’
Sladden wanted it to be clear that he had a low threshold of boredom and I was crossing it.
‘Well, there was an “and then”.’
He breathed in deeply through his nose.
‘What I should have said was …’
I glanced at the floor as if for encouragement, or maybe the truth, but neither was to be found on the dirty lino. Sladden was still slouched against the wall, showing no interest.
‘My husband slept with Araminta Lyall on the Saturday before she died and then—’
My voice cracked momentarily. Despite himself, Sladden leant forward. His lips were moist. They quivered imperceptibly.
‘I killed her.’
The cell had a camera high up, a caged bulb, a steel door with a peephole. The smooth-edged table was fixed to the floor.
I sat on the chair facing the door. My handbag and necklace and the silver bracelet Ed had given me on our wedding anniversary had been taken away by a policeman barely old enough to be out of school, also the laces from my pumps. He seemed almost embarrassed to be asking for them. I made it as easy for him as I could. I was exhausted and yet sitting there, waiting for the circus to begin, I felt whole, free in a way I hadn’t since the moment in the Soho burger bar when I sussed the identity of ML xxx. It was as if I had finally landed and at last I could relax. Everything was calm, everything still. After all the tears and the talking, the bitterness, the shouting and despair, the silence of the cell was oceanic. There was nothing left to hurt me. I had paid my debt to Marnie. I would never paint again. Not in prison. Not whenever I got out. Not ever. There was a time when that would have been the life sentence, but that time had gone. It had cost too much. I couldn’t handle the failure that every portrait, every painting, every work of art must be. Hope crushed anew. I had had my turn on the wheel.
What had Ed said? ‘Sometimes there is no right and wrong. Sometimes there’s no possibility of a perfect outcome.’ He understood. He always had done. Would Nell and Arthur ever understand why I had taken the rap for Ed? Would they accept that one of us had to go down, that for all of us this was the better way and in the end for me it was the only way? Life isn’t only what you see in front of you. It takes place in the margins, in the lines between the squares. They would survive. Teenagers are more resilient than their parents want to believe. I saw them again through the kitchen window eating at the island, Nell leaning into Ed, his arm around her, Arthur’s forehead on the wooden top, rocking with laughter – the ease, the self-sufficiency, the love.
I pictured my father alone on the cliffs, silhouetted against the horizon, light spilling off the water, a piercing wind, the humbling sea. What had he written on his Beachy Head postcard? That it was the only way the rest of us could continue as we must, the only way we could live the lives we had to live. He had taken responsibility, as had Matt in his own fragile way. They understood love.
My hands were on the table, palms facing up. Which was my lifeline, reaching out for happiness? There was so much I didn’t know. Why do caterpillars become butterflies? How far can a woman run? None of it mattered any more. The only truth is that the colours fade. But there is relief in powerlessness. It absolves responsibility and gives wings to imagination. It rejects tragedy.
A door banged. A rumble of voices moved down the corridor. The key turned in the lock, smooth as pearl. Sladden, hatless, but still in his natty coat and snakeskin boots, was followed into the cell by a policewoman with a notepad. I nodded at her but she didn’t respond. Sladden waited by the door, gazing at me, saying nothing. It was as if he wanted to frame this last moment of peace, the face of a killer before the carnival began. I stared evenly back as though I was sitting for my portrait. I could be generous with my time. Eventually he sighed, pushed a hand through his slicked hair and said,
‘Prove it.’
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. In the tender darkness I saw the colours that shine, a kingfisher that flew.
Acknowledgements
Many people, advertently or otherwise, contributed to the writing of What Alice Knew. Prime amongst them is Susanna Wadeson of Transworld, who may have glanced despairingly at her watch when I introduced myself at a party and said ‘I have written a novel’, but who has subsequently proved the most brilliant editor and guide, a character and narrative obsessive. Lizzy Goudsmit has been equally incisive and long-suffering, similarly cold-eyed. This novel would not be whatever it is without them.
I would also like to thank Becky Hunter, who has been a whirlwind of energy and sound advice. She is part of the wonderfully talented and welcoming team at Transworld. It is hard to imagine better publishers.
Next there are my work-in-progress readers, too numerous to name but you know who you are, who read and critiqued not only What Alice Knew in various states of undress but also previous unpublished work. Without your insight, encouragement and generosity, this ship might never have set sail.
Finally, I would like to thank Emily, whose belief may have wavered but whose support never has, and Martha, Madeleine and Louis, who give me more than they will ever know.
About the Author
T. A. Cotterell read History of Art at Cambridge University. He was a freelance writer and now writes and edits for the research house Redburn. He is married with three children and lives in Bristol.
Reading Group Questions
In this novel Alice is confronted by some very challenging decisions and a number of issues that could affect any one of us. The following are just some of the questions you might like to consider:
‘A portrait is a quest for the truth. It spares no one.’ One of the central themes of What Alice Knew is honesty. Where does it come into play in this novel? Is there an overarching message about the importance of truth?
Do you empathize with Alice? In her shoes, would you have made the same choices?
Marnie’s revelation about their schooldays forces Alice to confront her memory of the past and the ways in which her instincts have failed her before. How does this affect Alice’s actions from this point onwards?
What Alice Knew focuses on family and relationships. How does being a mother affect Alice’s decisions? Did your opinions of Alice change after we see her interact with her own mother at Highlands?
Relationships are at the very centre of this novel and yet neither Alice nor Ed have many friends. Why do you think this is?
I sounded like my mother, which was half what I intended. No one was better at closing a conversation through sheer breeding.’ In what ways is Alice the product of her background and class?
Do you sympathize with Ed in this novel? Imagine if What Alice Knew were told from his perspective – how might your feelings about his and Alice’s relationship be altered?
Do Alice’s views on portrait painting seem valid to you? Do they influence the way you consider portrait painting generally?
On a number of occasions Alice reminds us that it is important to her to protect her family – not just Ed, Nell and Arthur, but also Matt and Bridgey. But are there mistakes that simply cannot be forgiven? Are there lines that we shouldn’t cross, not even to protect the people we love?
The final line reads: ‘I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. In the tender darkness I saw the colours that shine, a kingfisher that flew.’ How does the author use the kingfisher as a metaphor in What Alice Knew?
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First published in Great Britain as an ebook in 2016 by Transworld Digital,
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Copyright © T. A. Cotterell 2016
T. A. Cotterell has asserted the right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
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Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473542488
ISBN 9781784162399
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