The Woman Next Door(25)

And then Hester is right next to her, firmly taking her hand with her own small dry one. She leads her to the table, where she almost forces Melissa into a chair.

‘Put your head between your legs,’ she says, pushing Melissa’s head downwards.

The irritation at this – all this touching – finally forces Melissa back into control of herself.

She is going to be fine. Fine.

She gently bats Hester’s hand away and goes to pick up her glass of vodka, which she almost downs in one go, enjoying the sharp coldness slithering into her belly.

The alcohol instantly calms her. Her hands have stopped shaking at last. Melissa now regards her neighbour, who is staring at her intently. What is she thinking? What is she going to do?

She gets a funny mental image of a couple of gunslingers in an old Western. But it’s not funny really. Nothing will ever be funny again.

The fridge hums noisily into life, breaking the bubble of silence that seems to surround them and Hester speaks.

‘Melissa,’ she says, ‘who is that man?’

Melissa reaches for the glass and almost throws the last inch of vodka into her mouth. ‘He’s …’ she croaks. ‘He’s someone I knew a thousand years ago. I let him stay last night because he had nowhere to go, but I never expected …’

Jamie’s body seems to be obscenely large and present in the room.

He is dead.

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead …

‘Hester, what am I going to do?’ she whispers.

‘Everything depends on whether someone is likely to come looking for him,’ says Hester, surprising Melissa so much that she looks up sharply. ‘Are they? Did anyone know he was here?’

The implications of Hester’s words sink in. Melissa puts a knuckle to her lips and bites on it until it hurts and she has to stop.

Surely she doesn’t mean …?

But maybe this is the right question. She has no idea anymore.

Melissa swallows. ‘I don’t think so,’ she says. ‘He’s just come out of prison. He said he had nowhere to go and wanted somewhere to stay for a while.’

Just for old times’ sake. C’mon Mel.

She stands abruptly and goes to pour another, smaller, draught of vodka, before returning to the table and sipping it, slowly.

‘Well I can’t see that there would be any benefit in going to the police,’ says Hester. ‘Much better that we just deal with it ourselves.’

Melissa nods, waiting for her to expand on this thought, which she can’t seem to understand.

‘I mean,’ says Hester patiently, ‘we need to think about getting rid of it.’

Melissa stares at the other woman.

The idea is so seductive and so terrible she feels her eyes prick with tears again, which she blinks away.

‘You seem very calm about all this!’ she barks finally with a hysterical lilt to the end of her sentence. She snatches up the glass to take another sip of the vodka. But it has all gone. It’s probably for the best. The alcohol was starting to dull the edges a bit too much and she needs to stay sharp. ‘Are you really suggesting we don’t tell anyone?’

Hester gives a small sniff. ‘I read a lot of books,’ she says. ‘Plus, I watch television. We have done nothing wrong, Melissa, but it could look bad for us. I have nothing much to lose, but you … well. Think of everything you have. Think of Tilly!’

Bad for us? This all feels discordant; a bum note in a musical score, but Melissa is too befuddled and shocked to question it.

Hester continues, ‘You could lose everything you have. Your beautiful home, your family. Everything you’ve worked for, all gone, because of one moment of self-defence.’

Melissa nods eagerly, her vision fracturing with the tears brimming in her eyes. Hester’s voice is soft and mellifluous. She is right about how much Melissa has to lose.

But, self-defence?

It may have felt like it in that brief, sickening moment, but Melissa knows enough about the law to know the definition doesn’t encompass what really happened.

How could anyone ever understand? She eyes Hester, desperately. She needs her. The thought of Hester backing away is more than she can stand right now.

The sound of the front door opening blasts terror through her now and her hands fly to her mouth, blocking the small shriek that rises from her throat. She and Hester stare at each other with wild, wide eyes.

‘Only me!’ trills Tilly from the hallway. ‘Forgot my phone!’

Melissa’s frozen muscles somehow unlock themselves and she flings herself towards the kitchen door and out into the hall.

Tilly is reaching for the bright pink iPhone on the hall table. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes shine. She looks like a visitor from a clean, healthy place. Everything about her is wrong and unwelcome.

‘Oh hey!’ she says, glancing up in a too-loud voice. ‘Not stopping. God, Mum, you look like shit. Are you all right?’

‘Just a bit … hung-over.’

Melissa is astonished to find that her lips and mouth and lungs can work together to make normal words. If they sound strange then Tilly is too distracted to notice. She is already gazing into the long-cracked screen of her phone with a look of concentration.

‘Aw, well, have a bacon sandwich. That usually sorts you out,’ she says vaguely. ‘See you tomorrow.’