Silent Victim(18)

‘I was crazy about you,’ I said, the embers of old memories stirring inside. ‘I still am.’

‘I don’t deserve you. I never have.’ She sat with her shoulders hunched, her eyes wet with tears. It was as if the memory was bringing her back to the old days, to the person she once was.

‘Dad’s funeral was reported in the papers. It must have played on his mind, seeing a photo of me at his grave. A few weeks after that, he turned up here.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Here? In our home?’

Emma slowly nodded. ‘I was out by the oak tree – I’d decided to do some digging, make a start on the vegetable patch I’d been talking about. He must have followed me there from the house. We argued. He said that I had messed up his head, that it had been terrible for him after I left. The next thing I knew he was lunging at me, grabbing me by the throat. I couldn’t breathe. It was muddy and he . . . he slipped. I thought he was going to kill me . . . I had no choice.’ The whites of Emma’s eyes flashed in the darkness, filling me with dread. She took a breath, panting now. ‘I hit him with my shovel. I only wanted to keep him down long enough for me to get away. He fell backwards, into the ditch. That’s when everything went quiet.’ Emma’s voice shuddered. ‘At first I thought he was playing a trick. Then I saw the blood seeping from his head. I . . . I didn’t mean to kill him. It wasn’t my fault.’ Her words were cut short as a sob caught in her throat. Her chin trembling, she took another faltering breath. ‘I covered him up, told myself I’d go back the next day and sort things out. But after a couple of days I’d buried it so deep in my mind it was as if it had never happened at all.’

I shook my head. I had so many questions. Had she checked for a pulse? Was she sure he was dead? Did anyone else know? But she carried on talking, her voice barely a whisper.

‘I wanted to tell you. But not long after, I found out I was pregnant. How could I have a baby in prison? We’d been so desperate for a child. I couldn’t do that to you or our baby. So I put the past behind me and tried to forget about him.’

‘Until now,’ I said. All the pieces of the puzzle were coming together.

She nodded, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve. ‘I wanted to leave. But I was scared that the new owners would dig up the land and it would all come out. What good would come of that? He’s dead. I hate myself for it but there’s nothing I can do.’

As she drew her eyes away, I couldn’t help but wonder if I really knew my wife at all.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EMMA





2017


I finally drew the courage to look my husband in the eye. At least he was still here. I had half expected him to turn on his heels and walk away. He had paled in the aftermath of my confession. He was not the only one. I felt as if I had aged ten years. I stared at my lap, feeling empty inside, just as I had done after Jamie was born. But this time it was not a baby that had been expelled from my womb. It was a piece of myself that I had given away. Alex made no attempt to take my hands as he had done earlier. It was why I had withdrawn them when I began to speak. I could not bear to feel him pull away from me, as I knew he would. Alex was a good man with a strong moral code. He would struggle with what I’d done. But there was more than just me to take into consideration. My gaze fell on our family portrait above me on the wall. To the left, another framed picture, taken hours after Jamie was born. Our little king was now asleep in his bed, oblivious of our torment. I took a deep breath, trying to control the tremor in my body. I had thought it would make me feel better to offload the secret that I had carried for so long. It was as close as I could come to telling the truth. Judging by the look of disbelief on Alex’s face, it was just as well I’d been circumspect. I don’t think he could have taken any more. I sat in silence as he rubbed his face, washing away the ugliness of what I had shared. I looked at my watch. It was only half past one, but it felt as if a lifetime had passed before he spoke again.

He mumbled something about it all making sense, citing my reluctance to sell. As we talked it through, I was forced to recall how I felt after what I had done. He was searching in the darkness for a hint of regret, a flicker of empathy for the man I had killed. I had to provide him with the answers he wanted to hear.

‘I was devastated by Luke’s death. I blamed myself for everything. But it was a burden I didn’t feel equipped to handle. When I came home, I forced the memory aside. That night I showered and scrubbed my body until it glowed pink. I remember you asking me if I’d been allergic to my moisturiser because my skin looked so sore.’

‘I don’t remember,’ Alex said, with a slow shake of the head.

‘Don’t you see? That’s what happens. Your mind casts away memories of no value.’

But my words were unconvincing. Being forgetful was one thing. Rewriting history was another. I was a murderer and I had learned to live with it. But I could not lose my family. I needed my husband to stay strong to keep me on the right path. As Alex stared into space unblinkingly, I wondered if it was too late.

I reached across the void and touched his hand. I had not realised I was crying until my tears tapped the throw which was wrapped around me. ‘What do we do now?’

He cleared his throat. ‘I need to go there.’ His voice was cold and robotic. ‘I need to see it for myself.’