My Husband's Wife(125)

‘And I don’t believe you.’ His voice hardens. ‘I want another one done, Lily. Or else …’

His voice trails away. But the implication is clear.

‘Are you blackmailing me?’

‘You could call it that.’

I put the phone down, my hand shaking. Joe isn’t just a murderer. He’s desperate. Dangerous.

And he’s not the only one.

What should I do now? Then I feel something inside one of the gloves.

It’s a key. One that I definitely recognize.

If I was in my right mind, I’d go straight to the police and hand over the gloves.

But instead I’m going to pay a visit.

To my husband’s wife.





62


Carla


Carla was packing. Fast. Furiously. Not the red stilettos. She’d wear them instead. Her favourite perfume too, for luck. First she’d go to the hotel, for that exclusive interview she’d promised to the newspaper. The advance would go towards her new future.

She was free. Free!

It was all working out. Far better than she could have thought. Poor naive Lily. Convinced that the rest of the world was good if only she could make it so. Carla almost felt sorry for her. Then again, she deserved it.

Lily needed to learn a lesson.

The jury had believed her. She had played her part well. Yet there were elements which had indeed been true. Ed, drunk with wine and jealousy, grabbing the knife. Her, pushing him away. Him, falling against the wall and hitting his head. Blood. Then getting up and coming at her again. Her, grabbing the knife in self-defence and lashing out. The knife in Ed’s thigh. It had just stayed there, sticking out of the flesh with its green handle.

Then she was running. Throwing the gloves in the bushes as she went.

If only she could have confessed in court. Self-defence. For that’s what it had been. But people knew they had argued – look how Ed had spoken to her at the last party in front of everyone. Suppose the law had not believed her? Far better to talk about the intruder. The other thing that had been true. The man at the door, whom she had rushed past.

Thank you for being there, whoever you were, she thought. It meant we could blame you for all the blood. All the horror.

Too much to think of.

The only way to cope was to blank it out. Tell herself it had happened as she’d said in court. Get on with her life. She would go to the States with Poppy. Rebuild their lives away from prying Italian and English eyes. Give up law too. She had had more than enough of that.

‘You.’

Carla jumped. ‘Lily? How did you get in?’

Lily tossed a key up and down in the palm of her hand as though teasing her. ‘I still had the spare. It was my house once. Remember? Before you stole it and my husband from me. You should have changed the locks, Carla. You and Ed.’

Carla began to shake. ‘You still had the key?’ she repeated.

Lily smiled. ‘That’s right. I gave it to a friend. He’s the man you saw at the door. He saw you throw away your bloody gloves. And he kept them for evidence.’

‘You’re lying!’

‘No.’ Lily’s voice was cool. Scarily assured. ‘I’m not.’





Lily


I hold the gloves up now in their plastic bag. ‘See? When they are analysed, the DNA will show Ed’s blood. Much more of it than was on your clothes. And they have earth on them too, from where you tried to hide them. Looks suspicious, doesn’t it?’

‘You can’t do that.’ Carla is laughing. ‘You can’t use them. The trial is over.’

‘You don’t really keep up with criminal law, do you, Carla? Employment is your speciality, I seem to remember. Well, the law has been changed. Some years ago, in fact. Way after the case I told you about – on purpose, by the way. Double jeopardy doesn’t always apply now, especially when there’s new evidence. Like fresh DNA. All I have to do is hand these gloves over to the police. Then you will be tried again. And this time you will go down for life.’

She’s still smirking. ‘If you’re so sure, why haven’t you gone to the police?’

I’m already beginning to think I’ve made a mistake there. ‘Because I wanted to see you face to face first. To tell you what I really think of you.’ My eyes are wet. ‘Poor Ed. He didn’t deserve to be murdered. You’re going to pay for this, Carla, if it’s the last thing I do …’

That’s when she runs at me, her eyes blazing like an animal’s. Her push is much stronger than her frame might suggest. I push her back. Then I wobble. Lose my balance. Trip over the spindle-backed mahogany kitchen chair that I once bought at auction. It’s yet one more thing that Carla has taken from me.

I put up my hands to protect myself, the key and gloves flying into the air.

Flash of metal.

Thunder in my ears.

‘This is the five o’clock news.’

The radio, chirping merrily from the pine dresser laden with photographs (holidays, graduation, wedding); a pretty blue and pink plate; and a quarter bottle of Jack Daniel’s, partially hidden by a birthday card.

The pain, when it comes, is so acute that it can’t be real.

A quick succession of questions race through my head. What will happen to Tom when I am gone? Who will understand him? How will Mum and Dad cope with another child gone?