My Husband's Wife(130)

Carla Cavoletti.

For a time, the portrait sufficed. But then, when he read about Carla’s first trial and heard about Francesca’s death, his conscience finally kicked in. He put up the bail money. Forced Carla’s grandfather to keep it a secret, to say it was his money.

Then, after she was convicted for assaulting me and for Ed’s murder, he had the guts to step in openly. To reveal himself. The papers had another field day.





ITALIAN GIRL’S FATHER PROMISES TO CARE FOR GRANDDAUGHTER


Glad as I was for Poppy with her little gummy smile, being looked after by family while her mother serves her time, I try not to think about any of this as I go about my daily life.

I’ve had enough of the law now. My new family counselling practice has boomed. Tom is years ahead with his mathematical skills, apparently, but still has toddler tantrums if his shoes are moved from their proper place. I have to remind myself that, according to the experts, I ought to use the word ‘melt-down’ rather than tantrum, because the latter denotes a certain wilfulness. I also have to remind myself that Tom honestly can’t help it.

But Alice, his new school friend, has helped. We all like Alice. She has similar issues to my son. She understands him. Perhaps one day they’ll be more than friends.

Meanwhile, there’s Mum and Dad, who are getting older and talking about selling the house. And Ross, of course. Ross, who has become a regular visitor to the house. Never imposing. Never pushing. But often there. Even after my confession.

Like today, when he brought me the letter from Carla. I take a deep breath and read the rest of it.

… I am writing to say that I am to get married again as soon as Rupert’s divorce is through. The wedding will be in prison, but it does not matter. Rupert does not mind that my face is different. He loves Poppy as if she was his own. (She is not.) My solicitor says that Life does not always mean Life.

Please forgive me.

I hope you can find it in your heart to wish me happiness.

Yours,

Carla.



I put down the letter on the grass. It flaps in the wind and then blows away. I make no attempt to chase after it. It means nothing. Carla always was a good liar. Yet there’s something still nagging at me. Something isn’t quite right …

‘Chewing gum, Sellotape, scissors, sharp implements?’

I’m back in prison. A different one from the last. And I’m not wearing my lawyer hat. I’m a visitor.

‘Hands up, please.’

I’m being searched. Swiftly but thoroughly.

Now a dog is walking past with his handler. He pays no attention to me but sits silently next to the girl behind. She is led away. Apparently that’s how sniffer dogs work. They don’t bark or growl. They simply sit.

‘Why are you here?’

I’m sitting when Joe Thomas comes in. He’s thinner. And somehow he looks shorter. He is looking at me stonily. I should be scared. But I’m not. There are plenty of people around us.

‘I want to know exactly what happened.’

He sits back in his chair, tipping it, and laughs. ‘I told you. Told everyone at the trial.’

I allow my mind to go back. To the time when Carla was convicted of assaulting me and murdering Ed. To the trial a few days later, when Joe was sent down for his assault on Carla. And for being an accessory to Ed’s murder.

Unbelievable, isn’t it?

But that’s what happened. Joe stood up in court, at Carla’s trial, and said that he had met her at Tony’s funeral (another mourner had come forward to confirm they’d been talking) and that they’d stayed in touch. Later, he swore that Carla, aware of his criminal background, had hired him as a hit man, promising payment when Ed’s life insurance came through. They’d agreed that he would come round on a certain evening. But when he had got there, she had been in a terrible state – and he had soon seen why. Carla had already stabbed Ed herself. In the thigh. Then she’d run, leaving him, Joe, to take the blame.

Carla vehemently denied this. Instinctively I felt it didn’t ring true either. I didn’t really see Carla as the type to hire a hit man.

But the prosecuting barrister was good. Very good. The persistent questioning finally made Carla break down and admit that, yes, she had plunged the knife into Ed. He’d picked it up first, she had sobbed. She thought he was going to hurt her out of jealousy over Rupert. It was self-defence. But she definitely hadn’t hired Joe as a hit man. That bit was a lie.

It didn’t wash with the new jury. The lies she’d already told made certain of that.

I’d been terrified that Joe would implicate me. But as soon as he said that about Carla hiring him, I knew he was doing it to protect me. I suppose the key should have been another clue. The one he posted back to me, inside Carla’s washing-up gloves. At the time, I thought he was encouraging me to take my revenge.

Now I wonder if he was giving me a ‘get out of jail free’ card.

Joe explained his presence at Carla’s house by saying he went there to demand his money. And that he’d found Carla hurting me.

But I know differently, of course. He’d come back because of me. Joe must have suspected I would go to see Carla after opening the envelope with the washing-up gloves inside. He wanted to make sure I was all right.

I’m painfully aware that if he’d told the truth about any of this, I’d be in prison too.