“Tell me about the memorial.”
There’s a pause as Lisa collects her thoughts. “We sat with Ali’s family. I didn’t get through it all. I panicked and left halfway through. I felt sick.”
“Did you feel it was good to have been there?”
“I’m glad I went, for her parents.”
“And for you?”
“Yes, I suppose so. It did bring it all back, the attack. But when I remembered her as she was before it was… comforting.”
“You say you panicked.”
“I was so anxious, scared of seeing people I’d recognise, people I hadn’t seen since Ali… died. And I hadn’t eaten for days. It wasn’t really a panic attack. I felt sick and I had to rush out. I went to the grave and said I was sorry to Ali – for leaving her, for her dying and me not, for not saving her. It seemed to help, saying sorry. Even though she wasn’t actually there, I felt close to her, beside her grave.”
He leans forward, hands on his knees, and looks intently at her. She notices how clean his fingernails are.
“Do you believe you could have saved her?”
“Yes… no… I don’t know really. Her brother thinks I could have.” She describes the incident with Connor.
“Do you think what he said is true? That you always wanted her life?”
“No, definitely not. I didn’t want her life. She was my best friend, but I wasn’t jealous, ever. We were really close, but I didn’t want to be her.”
“So you don’t accept that part. What about the other part? What makes him think you could have saved her?”
“I don’t know…” She stops to think and something dawns on her – a flash of understanding, a hazy memory, floating. She’s shocked into silence.
“Lisa?”
“No, it’s… I really don’t know.” Her mind is racing, chasing after it, but it slips away.
Graham lets it go, though he knows she’s thought of something, she can tell. She’s familiar with his ways, now. It’ll come up again. By then, maybe she can be sure.
“Has it occurred to you that he may be looking for a reason, like you?” he says.
“A reason why she died? Yes, probably. I was the only other person there, so he blames me. His sister’s dead and he’s grieving, trying to make some sense of it. Perhaps he’s just lashing out. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I know all of this.”
“It’s possible. What do you think?”
“When he said it, it was a real shock. I thought that perhaps he knows. Perhaps he picked something up from the court hearing or the sentencing or something. Did something else happen that night that I can’t remember, that makes him think it was my fault?”
He makes a little steeple with his fingers and touches his mouth to his thumb knuckles.
“You could ask him,” he says.
*
She doesn’t want to see anyone. She leaves the house only to take Riley round the block. She can’t face Jessica. Or John. Everything is too much for her and she hates the feeling of helplessness.
She’s in mourning for Ali. It occurs to her that a year after Ali’s death, this is the first time she’s really faced her grief. It’s been triggered by the memorial. She’s knows this. She just misses Ali.
She wants only the sanctuary of her home and the companionship of her dog. She ignores both the TV and the computer, surviving on tinned soup and buttered toast, boiled eggs and tea.
A knock at the door pulls her from her reverie. A walk with Jessica is her first time out properly since the memorial service. Jessica is wearing bright colours, a pink T-shirt and white jeans, and she looks different, younger, more relaxed.
Once they’re away from the road, they let the dogs off the lead and follow them down the path towards the lake. It feels so long since they’ve seen each other.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so off the radar. I promise this isn’t going to be how things are. I know you’ve got your own situation and I should be there for you. It’s all just so much right now. The memorial was harder than I ever imagined.”
Jessica stops walking and hugs Lisa. She holds tight as the tears start to fall. “It’s okay, Lisa, I’m here.”
They break apart and Lisa wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. She tells Jessica about the confrontation with Connor.
“I thought the memorial was going to be hard enough,” Jessica says. “But that was cruel, on top of it all. What was he doing?”
“People behave differently when they’re grieving, I suppose. His mother warned me he wasn’t coping well.”
“Well, it hasn’t been a walk in the park for you,” Jessica says.
“It’s been terrible for all of us.”
They negotiate a gate into the field at the back of the lake and take the footpath to the hill behind Lisa’s house. The dogs race ahead.
“Tell me what’s happening with Mike.”
It’s hard to believe it’s already five months since Jessica arrived unexpectedly at Lisa’s front door, her face battered and bleeding. “Quite a lot. We’ve seen the mediator twice. Mike refused to engage with the process. He sat there not making eye contact, shuffling through his papers. I think he only comes along because he thinks I might take him to the cleaners. Not that I could, even if I wanted to.”
“Have you managed to make any progress?”
“He wants to sell the house. My parents, bless them, have offered to help me buy him out. I’m not sure though, there’s still quite a big mortgage on it and I don’t know if I can take it on. I need a job first.”
“So you’re going for a divorce?”
“Definitely, that’s why we need to get all this agreed. I think I’ve got grounds.” She gives Lisa a wry smile.
“Will you leave the area? He was brought up round here, wasn’t he?”
“I want to stay here. I suppose he might decide to settle here again, but I doubt it. It’s much better for his work to be in the city, near the airport.”
“I hope he stays away – and I’m glad you want to stay.”
“I’m kind of fond of the place,” Jessica says. “I’ll apply for a teaching job in the area, anything part-time. It’s late in the academic year, but you never know.”
“You’ve been so brave,” Lisa replies. “I’m proud of you.”
“I just want my life back. It should never have got so bad, but now I can finally be myself. It’s hard. Of course, a part of me would take him back in a second. But I have to remember why I’m doing this. What happened. I deserve better,” she says. “We both do.” She squeezes Lisa’s hand.
A family passes them on the path, two children on brightly coloured bikes, their helmet-clad heads huge on small bodies, their legs pumping. They stop to let them by.
“By the way,” Jessica says when they’re out of earshot, “I don’t think he’ll bother you again. He seemed pretty embarrassed about it when the mediator mentioned you. I think he’s over that stage now; he just wants to get it sorted.”
“Good. How do you feel about him now?”
“I’m relieved he’s gone. All I feel for him now is contempt. I hate his flashy jewellery, his designer clothes and his fast car. I hate the way he licks his lips when he’s nervous. His tongue looks like a pink slug. Isn’t that awful?” She flashes a look at Lisa like a guilty child.
Lisa laughs and it feels strange, as though there’s a crack in the mask she’s been wearing all this time.
*
As a distraction, she forces herself back to her desk in an effort to catch up on the time missed – she’s been ‘off sick’ for far too long and she can’t afford to lose the income. They’ll stop giving her the work if she becomes unreliable. She sits for hours at her desk. It’s July now, and warm, so she leaves the kitchen door to the garden open and a gentle breeze drifts through.
In the early evenings she walks, sometimes with Jessica and Bobby, but more often on her own with Riley. The walking calms her. Gradually she begins to feel just a
little more objective about Connor’s accusations, a little more accepting of her grief.
Down by the lake families sit and picnic on the green spaces, their laughter echoing across the water. In the winter she’d been grateful for the lack of people and when the weather changed, she’d felt her sanctuary had been invaded by these strangers. But now she’s accustomed to the presence of others, the gentle hum of background noise.
Nature has woken up. Ducks gather together and bobbing lines of their offspring paddle after their mothers, dipping and calling. Lisa’s rewarded on occasion by the flash of a kingfisher dipping across the edge of the water and dragonflies playing in the reeds, iridescent colours flashing in the bright sunlight.
As much as she can understand Connor’s grief, his questions are still there. In the back of her mind, emerging often to be turned over yet again, to be pulled apart and examined and put back together. There are still no answers.
*
The shopping’s heavy and she feels a twinge in her side as she puts the bags down and gets out her key to open John’s front door.
“Only me,” she calls.
“Come on through.”
She goes into the kitchen, where the back door is propped open, the light falling in a lopsided square on the floor. Seeing John sitting outside, she puts the kettle on and gets to work putting the shopping away. These days he has help with the housework, so the kitchen is generally clean and tidy and his washing and ironing is done for him. Lisa still helps with the shopping, though. She likes the excuse to keep an eye on him.
With the warm weather, he’s been out more, going to the social club and meeting with friends. But today his cough has returned and he seems tired, so she makes him a cup of tea and offers to cook him some soup for supper while she’s there.
“Would you, dear? That would be so kind. I’m really tired today.” His eyes look paler than ever and the hand holding the mug shakes slightly.
“How long have you had that cough?” she says. “That’s what’s wearing you out. Perhaps you need some antibiotics again.”
“Couple of days, not too bad. I don’t want to bother the doctor again, he’s far too busy to bother with a cough.”
“Let me know if you need me to call him, or to get you something from the chemist though. Tomato soup?”
She warms the soup and makes buttered toast and sits with him at the kitchen table while he eats. She knows he likes the company and she’s finished work for the day.
“It’s my birthday next week,” he says, wiping an orange streak of soup from his chin with a paper towel. It leaves a faint glow on his pale skin. “I’m really getting ancient. Eighty-nine! Can you believe it?”
“Do you have any plans?”
He shakes his head. “Well, I’m not going dancing, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll get a cake, and Jessica and I will come and eat it with you. And Riley, of course.”
“Cake! Well, that would be rather nice, thank you. Don’t get eighty-nine candles though, will you?” He chuckles at his joke.
While she clears up he sits in his armchair and dozes, and when she’s done she signals to Riley, closes the back door and leaves quietly.
*
“Mum?” She tries to mask the anxiety in her voice. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Go on then.”
“You went to the hearing, didn’t you?”
Lisa’s mum has come to visit for the first time. When she moved to the cottage, Lisa had needed her new home to be hers alone, a safe haven to live, work and rebuild her life. She wanted the space to recover, a quiet place to reflect.
Somehow though, the summer warmth has opened up her defences and she’s tidied the spare room, placed fresh flowers on the chest of drawers and cleaned the house from top to bottom. Her mum is impressed. She’s been given a full tour of the house, admiring the cosy sitting room, the tidy garden and the views.
They’re sitting at the kitchen table, cups of tea already poured.
“Yes, I did,” her mum said. “I sat in the gallery with the Mayfields. It was… difficult for all of us.”
“I’ve never asked you about it, but I’ve been wondering. What was it like? What happened?”
“Are you sure you want to know? It might upset you all over again. And I don’t know, but there’s something different about you. You seem lighter.”
“Yes, I’m sure. I think I’m ready to know now. Can you tell me about it? I think it might clear up a couple of things for me.”
*
A month after the event, Lisa was still in hospital recovering and the court hearing was due. Her mum had called Ali’s parents and they’d travelled together.
“Did Connor go too?” Lisa says.
“Yes, all three of them. We sat together in the public gallery, in the front, so we could see everything.”
“Could you see Fergus?”
“Yes. When he came in, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He seemed so young – just a boy, really – and he was nervous, fidgeting all the time, looking at the floor mostly. Not at all how I’d imagined him. His mum was there too. I felt sorry for her.”
“Did they question him?”
“No, he didn’t get to say anything really, throughout the whole thing. They asked him for his plea at the beginning, and he said guilty to both crimes – grievous bodily harm for you and manslaughter for Ali. Then it was all the prosecutor. He talked about the night it happened, starting with you and Ali at the pub. He went through the evening in detail.”
“Can you tell me? It might help me remember.”
“Well, he described you arriving, what you were drinking and where you were sitting. It was very factual, matter-of-fact. You both left shortly after ten o’clock, stopping at the shop near the flat to buy milk. Fergus caught up with you outside the shop.”
“Yes, I remember that far. Did they say if he followed us on purpose?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“So what happened after that?”
“He came to the flat, rang on the bell, you both saw him from the window and you went down to let him in – to use the toilet. When he came out of the bathroom, he wanted to stay and talk. He went to the kitchen for some water and while he was in there, he picked up a kitchen knife.” Her mum pauses, takes a deep breath. Lisa takes her hand across the kitchen table.
“But he couldn’t remember anything after he came out of the kitchen. There was no explanation of what happened from then on. We waited – we were hoping for more, but they said he had no memory. Poor Diana, it must have been agonising for her.”
“But he did remember taking the knife? And grabbing me?”
“He remembered picking up the knife. I don’t know if he remembered grabbing you. That wasn’t mentioned. They started talking about forensic evidence after that.”
“It seems so weird that he didn’t get questioned,” Lisa said. “I suppose that was all behind the scenes. But what if he was lying about not remembering?”
“That would have been up to the police to find out, I imagine. All we had to go on was what the prosecutor said. There was nothing about the police questioning. Because he was willing to plead guilty, they only needed to present the facts, so the judge could make her decision.”
“So what forensic evidence was there?”
“Apparently there was evidence that Ali was standing by the window, I don’t know what it was. When they caught him, Fergus said she’d jumped.”
“He said she jumped? But why would she jump? He must have pushed her. He was lying! Ali wouldn’t have done that, Mum, you know that, right?”
“Well, I suppose she could have been so frightened, she panicked – but anyway, he changed his story. There was evidence he touched her and she fell backwards out of the window onto the steps. It certainly didn’t seem like she jumped. It’s more likely she was pushed, or just fell by accident, trying to get away. She died from a head injury.”
“Oh God
, Mum.” The tears fill her eyes, threaten to fall.
Her mum’s tearful too, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “I know. Poor Ali. And terrible for her family, having to hear it described like that.”
Lisa squeezes her mum’s fragile hand in front of her. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
“I had to, you couldn’t possibly have gone.”
Lisa sits and thinks for a moment, digesting the information. She can see the scene at the flat, feel his breath on her neck, his hand in her hair. And Ali – Ali is there, close to them, screaming, pleading for Lisa’s life. But after that, nothing. Why won’t it come back to her?
“How did they know he’d touched her?”
“Your blood was on her T-shirt, and his DNA. Transfer, they called it.”
“And where was I while this was happening?”
“They found you on the floor by the coffee table, unconscious and bleeding. That’s all they said.”
“And this was all from the prosecution? Fergus didn’t say anything?”
“He didn’t have to. He’d already admitted both crimes.”
“But they believed he couldn’t remember? Didn’t they question that?” Though her own memory is buried, a side effect of the trauma she’s suffered, she can’t believe that the same has happened to the man who caused it all. He must be lying to protect himself – to avoid being tried for murder.
“Not in court. Whatever happened, it seems that because he admitted both crimes, there was no need for him to say anything at the hearing.”
“So,” she says, trying to sort out the confusion in her mind. “Even though neither of us could remember what really happened to Ali, he pleaded guilty to manslaughter? Why would he, if he could get away with saying he didn’t know?”
“Because he’d been in contact with her, and because of what he’d done to you. It was obvious he’d behaved in an extremely violent way, threatening your lives. They reckon his behaviour caused Ali to fall and die as a result, which is manslaughter.”
“And he admitted grievous bodily harm for attacking me?”
Dare to Remember: Shocking. Page-Turning. Psychological Thriller. Page 15