by Alex Day
The question is, like what? Because we don’t know but while we are ignorant, the imagination – and the gossips – conjure up all sorts of unpleasant options.
Finally, on the Tuesday morning after the Saturday night, Miriam turns up in the cafe with the whole story, which she proceeds to lay before us both, Naomi and I, the rapt and attentive audience she always longs for.
Apparently, Dan was taken ill during the course of the reconciliation meeting with Charlotte, after they had eaten. By the time she got him to hospital, choosing to drive him there herself through the raging storm rather than wait for the ambulance, he was at death’s door. Miriam says that Charlotte wasn’t feeling too clever herself, and ended up on a ward for the night, but that she was nowhere near as bad as Dan.
‘But what was it?’ presses Naomi, insistently. ‘What could possibly have made them both so ill?’
Miriam pauses for maximum effect.
‘Poison.’
All the breath is knocked out of my body as if I’ve been thumped in the solar plexus.
‘Wh-what do you mean?’ I can hardly articulate the words, am struggling to make sense of what she has said.
‘Hemlock poisoning, so they’re saying. There’s no antidote but they pumped his stomach and did all the things you can do and by some enormous good fortune, Dan survived. Charlotte, too, though she was only minimally affected. Her life was never in danger.’
For once, Miriam is not speaking in exclamations.
‘Hemlock,’ I repeat, my voice wavering.
‘The very same!’
The exclamations are back. In some strange way, it’s reassuring.
‘What the ancient Greeks did for Socrates with. And what the killer used in Agatha Christie’s Five Little Pigs!’
It’s almost incomprehensible. Almost, but not quite.
Because poison has long been a weapon of choice for would-be murderers especially, for some reason, female ones. I should know, I did it myself. And my idea to use mercury on Charlie and Josephine came from an Agatha Christie book. But though I knew how angry you were, I still never thought you’d take it this far. Then I remember the text you sent and it all makes sense.
When the police come calling, I’m glad I’ve still got it to show to them. They’re glad too, finding it very interesting.
Sadly, I know from prior experience that however clever one thinks one is being, one always makes mistakes, leaves a trail, provides clues. That is bound to be as true for you as it is for anyone.
Chapter 41
Charlotte
It was a long, long night, the longest I’ve ever known. But Dan made it through those bleak hours of darkness, bravely battling the poison in his system as the wind and rain battled each other outside. My own suffering was not nearly as bad, just a little nausea. It was lucky I ate so little of the curry. Providence looked down on me when I decided to throw my no-carbs rule out for the night. I was so busy stuffing bread and rice and poppadoms into my mouth – tastes I haven’t had for so long I could hardly remember how good they were – that I only had room for a tiny taste of the massaman. Which was far too hot anyway. Everyone knows I hate spicy food.
He and I have been back home for a few days now, recovering physically. Mentally, I’m not so sure. Well, how quickly would anyone get over being poisoned? Not the actual toxins themselves but the toxic realisation that someone wants to kill you, that someone will do anything to get what they want.
And when I say ‘someone’, of course I mean you. The investigative tests have confirmed poisoning by hemlock. I think of when you inadvertently discovered the hemlock patch. I showed you how to identify it, warned you to be careful. You know exactly where it is, and it doesn’t take much of a brain to find out how to use it. A few internet searches and you’re sorted. You masked the mousy scent and bitter taste with the super-spiciness of that curry you cooked. I bet you thought you were being so clever.
Still reeling from the whole event, I haven’t even begun to think about what happens next. Dan’s already given a full statement to the police, as have I. I’ve told them everything, all the lengths you went to so that you could get your hands on my husband. How you invented all sorts of ways to spend time alone with him, to beguile him with your blondeness, your sycophantic flattery, your sympathetic ear.
At some point, it’s all going to come out in the local papers, isn’t it? I’ve already heard that reporters have been sniffing round. So far, just the ones from the provincial rag, the kind of low-calibre journalists who have to cover everything from the cat rescue centre’s annual fundraiser to the arguments over parking charges in the parish council meeting. But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time until the big boys come calling. This is the kind of story the tabloids kill for. A jilted divorcee. A wronged wife. A love triangle.
Perfectly correctly, the doctors kept stumm on the amount of alcohol in my system. It was quite clear we’d been through enough, Dan and I, and turning me in for drunk driving would have been in nobody’s interest. One, I didn’t crash so no harm done on the roads and two, I saved a man’s life getting him to hospital so quickly. So the hacks and journos haven’t been able to get their grubby mitts on that. Though even if they did, everyone would be on my side. There are occasions when breaching a taboo is necessary and correct – and this was one of them.
Likewise, no one seems to have picked up on the gambling so far. And Dan has already paid off my remaining debt in one fell swoop – £150K, more or less. Those terrible people have nothing over me now. That’s the power of money. A problem gone in the click of the fingers, a press of a button that transfers funds via Western Union to an anonymous recipient.
It’s been difficult to know what to tell the boys. For now, I’ve just said that rich and powerful men like Daddy make enemies because people are jealous and they don’t like the fact that he has more than they do. Those enemies sometimes do stupid, reckless, dangerous things and this is what has happened. But Daddy is stronger than all of them, he’s pulled through, and together, we’ll make sure that justice is done.
The boys seem to have fallen for that without too much awkward questioning. The only thing they’ve been really worried about is whether Dad is going to be all right. And me, of course. Which we are.
You’re the one who’s going to have to watch your back from now on. When I see you in the village, I can’t keep in my rage any longer.
Chapter 42
Susannah
‘Shame on you!’
The words, so clearly directed at me, induce an immediate rush of nausea. A hot flush suffuses my face. I want to remain cool, calm, and collected. But Charlotte’s fury is so great it cows me completely.
Resolutely, I put my head down and continue walking. I’m on my way back from the school pick-up so I have Luke in tow. I can’t bear for him to be involved. If I ignore her, she might go away.
Some hope.
‘Susannah, stop right now and look me in the eye,’ Charlotte demands, ‘and tell me since when it became OK to betray your best friend by sleeping with her husband.’
I didn’t know that she knew it was me. All the time since she’s been back from Corsica, there’s been no change in our relationship. That’s why I assumed it was Dan who returned the necklace – there were no signs that Charlotte knew. But she obviously does. It dawns on me that Dan must have told her. Unless she recognised it … in which case, she’s the best actress ever, not letting on in all this time.
She’s paused after the first onslaught, but now she opens her mouth again and what comes out is delivered in a dreadful, hideous high-pitched shriek like a banshee’s howl. ‘And then to try to kill us both with poison!’
The words hit me so hard it’s as if I’ve been winded. I gasp and struggle to breathe.
Luke tugs on my hand. ‘What’s she talking about Mum?’ he asks plaintively, pleadingly. I think I might vomit.
Thrusting my hand into my pocket, I pull out a £10 note. ‘Pop into the sho
p and get me some milk,’ I instruct, thinking on my feet. ‘And you can choose anything you want for yourself – a magazine, sweets, whatever.’
Too late I realise that this bribe will make Luke even more alarmed. The boys are never allowed magazines – too expensive – or sweets midweek. Looking scared and doubtful, he slips away towards the shop’s doorway.
‘So?’ demands Charlotte. ‘What have you got to say for yourself, you two-faced bitch.’
Her face is twisted into an expression as ugly as her language and she spits the words out as if they’re bullets.
I say nothing. Hot sweat suffuses my body and I can feel the stickiness of my armpits.
‘Susannah, you need to understand that Dan feels nothing for you, he never did, and he never will. Your cheap, underhand attempt to destroy my marriage was never going to work. And if you think you’re going to get away with trying to kill us both … how stupid are you? You’re nothing but a pathetic little worm who can’t keep hold of her own men so tries to steal other people’s. No wonder Justin left you, and Charlie. Anyone would walk out on such a worthless piece of shit as you.’
I muster all my courage and self-possession. ‘Charlotte, please let’s not do this now, in public, in front of a child.’ I flick my eyes towards the shop where Luke is presumably making his choice. ‘The fact of the matter is that Dan invited me back to your house where he proceeded to seduce me, all of his own free will. If you’re OK with that, and you’re able to convince yourself that it meant nothing, and to believe him when he says the same, well, good luck to you. And as for … for poisoning you both, if you think that you must be even crazier and more insane than you seem.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Luke emerge with a blue plastic bag dangling from his hand.
‘Now, this conversation is over and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone.’
With that, I seize Luke’s free hand and march towards our house, tears pouring down my cheeks and despair plucking at my heart. I’m shaking and trembling with anger and misery and embarrassment, and when I look down, I see Luke’s little face, white with concern, gazing up at me.
‘It’s fine,’ I say, feigning a conviction I don’t feel, and even I can tell that I don’t sound convincing. But I can’t do anything more right now, not even to mollify my child. ‘Don’t worry.’ I have to stop there because my voice is wavering and I can’t stop crying and this will only frighten Luke even more than he is already.
I’m facing up to the fact that it’s over with Dan, if it ever even began. I was stupid and gullible and I’ve been taught a lesson, big time.
But I didn’t poison them. I wouldn’t make that mistake twice.
Chapter 43
Charlotte
You walk off, leaving me standing on the road outside the shop, seething with undiluted fury.
The only satisfying thing about the whole exchange is that several people overheard. People who know who I am, and probably who you are, too. I’m not proud of my language – that was rather coarse and not the kind of image I like to portray of myself. But desperate times call for desperate measures and all that. I’m sure, once everyone knows the whole story, they’ll understand my use of a few fruity phrases.
I walk back to the house, head held high in righteous belief that I am the injured party here. I trusted you. I confided in you. Most of all, I didn’t see you for what you are and that is almost the worst of it. I always prided myself on being a good judge of character. Well, you’ve thrown that by the wayside good and proper.
At home, Dan is blindsided by the whole episode. He still can’t believe that anyone would want to poison him. That you would want to poison him. And he’s horrified that you’ve still got the gall to show your face around the village. We hunker down in the kitchen, me making chicken soup to aid his recovery, Dan in an armchair beside the Aga, wrapped in a blanket whilst making phone calls and hammering out emails. Not even a brush with death can keep Dan away from work for more than forty-eight hours.
‘I didn’t see it in her,’ he tells me again, as he has done many times already. ‘I just didn’t see it. She always seemed so nice, so kind, so …’ He falters, presumably aware that showering you with compliments is hardly the right approach right now. But I know what he means. It’s not just Dan. No one would have taken you for a murderer.
‘I’m so sorry, Charlotte,’ he says, for the umpteenth time.
I pause in my stirring of the pan and turn to him. ‘Forget it,’ I say, light-heartedly. ‘That’s what I want to do, and I recommend you do too.’
Of course this isn’t possible. There’ll be more questioning by the police, I’m sure, and then of course giving evidence at the trial. However much I wish it would all be over, that’s not going to happen for a while. In the meantime, I want to concentrate on me and Dan, on our marriage and our relationship. As if to seal this commitment, I bend forward to kiss his forehead.
The staccato ring of the doorbell makes us both jump. For a second, the fear washes over me and then I remember. Remember that it’s all sorted now, that there’s no one out to get me any longer, if there ever was. Quickly washing my hands and brushing them dry on my apron, I go to the front door and open it. Two police officers stand on the doorstep, one man and one woman. I smile at them and greet them warmly, inviting them in. They must need more information, confirmation of the details we’ve already given.
‘Don’t mind your shoes,’ I say indulgently, as if they are rare and favoured visitors, as I lead them down the hallway. I hesitate for a moment between taking them into the kitchen or the drawing room. In a split-second decision, I opt for the former; it’s homelier, cosier. It will plainly reveal to these officers of the law that we are a loving family that someone – you – has callously attempted to rip apart.
Pausing beside the door, I stand aside and gesture for them to go in. I smile, a bigger, more emphatic one now as their lack of response has begun to bother me. They don’t return the friendliness.
Typical police, I think, can’t reveal anything, can’t show any emotion, can’t indicate in any way whatsoever whose side they’re on.
In the kitchen, Dan’s armchair is empty. He’s clearly made a hasty getaway through the other door, presumably wanting to leave the coast clear for me to tell what I know. I imagine it’s not too nice for him to hear, over and over again, that the woman who threw herself at him, when rejected, tried to kill him.
‘Please sit down,’ I say, pointing at the chairs around the large table. That seems more suitable than asking them to sit at the island breakfast bar. The male officer is large, the female one even larger. An image of them perched on high stools and swinging round and round the way the boys sometimes do to annoy me pops into my mind. I look away whilst I suppress the smirk.
When I turn back, the residual smile slowly wanes away as I register their expressions.
‘Mrs Hegarty,’ begins the woman, sounding self-consciously and irritatingly officious. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of attempted murder. You do not have to say anything …’
Chapter 44
Susannah
Charlotte has been charged with attempted murder.
I am devastated, obviously. That anyone could have tried to kill Dan, that he nearly died – and that it seems that his own wife, my erstwhile friend, was responsible. But in another way, why should it matter to me? He’s sloughed me off like an old, outgrown outfit he has no use for anymore. Even before the ‘incident’, he’d been about to move back in with her – or at least, that’s the word she put about in the short period before her arrest, what she said the two of them had agreed during their curry-fuelled soiree.
His words to me as he seduced me – Charlotte doesn’t understand me, I can talk to you in a way I can’t to her – were as saccharine and hollow as a cheap child’s Easter egg. There was nothing to them, no substance at all. And yet, whilst I hate him, I also still love him. Most of all, I don’t know what to do without him. And
though I know that all the evidence points towards him dropping me entirely, there’s a part of me that clings to hope. Charlotte is on course to be convicted of attempted murder. Surely Dan won’t stand by her when he is forced to confront the fact that she tried to kill him.
When I hear that Charlotte has been let out on police bail, I’m terrified. I can’t stand to meet her again, can’t even begin to contemplate what else she might accuse me of. I know from bitter experience how long it can take for the wheels of justice to turn. Investigations drag on and prosecutions take forever to see the light of day. I remember from all those years ago how the time between being charged and going to court seems never-ending. So it does again now, as I wait with bated breath for Charlotte’s trial to begin.
But eventually, D-day arrives.
Charlotte has pleaded not guilty and I am called for questioning by her team. Though I am pure and innocent as the driven snow, it’s still mind-numbingly terrifying to be in the witness box. I force myself to keep calm, to answer clearly and concisely, to make sure my body language is that of a guiltless, though spurned, woman.
‘Ms Carr,’ intones the barrister. ‘You had an affair with Mrs Hegarty’s husband. You slept with him in Mrs Hegarty’s house, in her bedroom, in her bed. Is that correct?’
I swallow hard. This line of questioning is close to the wire. The jury will not look kindly on someone they will all too easily put into the category of brazen hussy. I survey their intent faces: seven women and five men. Women always judge other women more harshly; that’s seen time and time again in this kind of situation.
I do my best to look demure, to make them see that I was shamelessly exploited by a powerful and entitled man – which is in any case a version of the actual truth.