Silent Victim(8)

‘I was in prison,’ I blurted, feeling my muscles tense. ‘I’d done something terrible, but I didn’t know what it was. I woke up crying because Alex wouldn’t visit me.’ I pushed my food away, the thought stealing what little appetite I had.

Josh swallowed the bite of cheese sandwich he had been chewing. ‘That’s a bit heavy. Where did that come from?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, using the lie to facilitate a conversation I was dying to have. If I didn’t speak to someone soon I would explode. ‘It got me thinking. What would you do if you were married to someone and they did something really bad?’ To pose such a question to Josh was not out of the ordinary: we were forever discussing moral dilemmas to pass the time when the shop was slow. My heart beat a little faster as I waited for his response.

‘Ooh, how bad are we going? Bank robbery? Kidnapping?’ He rummaged around his lunch box, plucking out a Mars bar and a bag of crisps.

‘Nobody robs banks any more. Hmm . . .’ My fingers tapped the table as I pretended to come up with the act that had been on my mind all day. ‘Let’s say . . . murder. A one-off. In the heat of the moment.’

‘That’s tricky,’ Josh said, his eyes thoughtful as he soaked up the challenge. ‘I guess I’d stand by them, at least until I knew the truth. If I loved them then I’d like to think I’d stay, because someone I love could never do something like that on purpose.’

‘Top marks,’ I said. ‘Me too.’

‘Is this where you confess to murder?’

A flush rose to my cheeks as he broke the silence with laughter. ‘Can you imagine it?’ Josh said. ‘You can’t even kill a fly. I won’t go calling the police anytime soon. Now that sister of yours . . . she’s one to watch.’ He gave me a wink as Theresa strolled in.

‘What have I done now?’ she said, shrugging off her rain-speckled coat and hanging it on the back of the door.

‘Moral dilemma time. You’ve married the man of your dreams, but on your wedding night he’s confessed to murder,’ Josh said, embellishing my earlier scenario. ‘The cops are coming to lock his sorry backside up. Do you dump him or hang around?’

‘Dump him. Murder is murder.’ Theresa finger-combed her windswept hair, her words delivered without a moment’s hesitation.

‘This is the man of your dreams we’re talking about,’ Josh said.

‘I’d bang him first,’ Theresa laughed, mulling it over. ‘Maybe stretch to a few conjugal visits?’

I forced a laugh, the thought of prison continuing to make the prospect of food unappealing.

‘Aren’t you eating your lunch?’ Theresa said, taking a look at my discarded salad.

‘I had a big breakfast,’ I lied.

‘Really?’ She narrowed her glare, as if she somehow knew better. But then she did. Theresa knew many things about me.





CHAPTER EIGHT

LUKE





2002


I smiled at my own ingenuity as I glanced at Emma, who was sitting on her own in her usual seat at the back of the class. Lunchtime detention was an excellent excuse for having her all to myself. Emma, on the other hand, seemed unimpressed at being kept in for failing to complete her homework. It was the first time it had happened, but it was time to progress things between us and I could only do that by getting her alone.

‘Why don’t you sit up front so we can chat?’ I asked, standing from my desk. A recent haircut, a new set of clothes: I had made a special effort with my appearance in order to reel her in. Not that I knew who or what she found attractive; everything about her was closed off, hidden from view.

‘Yes, sir,’ Emma said, picking up the tin box containing her charcoal pencils.

‘Well don’t seem so thrilled about it,’ I smiled, bending down to retrieve a piece of paper that had slipped from her grasp. ‘Anyone would think you were being sent to the gallows.’

‘Sorry, sir,’ Emma said dolefully, taking her chair.

I leaned forward, grabbing the seat beside her. ‘What’s wrong? It’s not like you to miss handing in your homework. I thought you enjoyed our classes?’

‘I do,’ she said, earnestly meeting my gaze. ‘It’s just that . . .’ she pursed her lips, seemingly unsure of herself. Her barely brushed hair, her unironed shirt, her appearance gifted me clues.

‘Having a tough time at home?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded, and I smiled inwardly as I detected a slight wobble in her chin. ‘You live on Mersea, don’t you? Is that the east or the west side of the island?’ I asked, hoping the gods would favour me.

‘The east,’ she said glumly. ‘Nothing around but sky and land.’

It was exactly the response I wanted. Had she lived on the west, she could have benefited from the close-knit community that inhabited it. As it was, my little Emma was all on her own. After checking the coast was clear, I briefly rested my hand on her back. ‘You know what they say – a problem shared is a problem halved.’

‘But the homework . . .’ she said, glancing at the half-finished drawing of a drooping sunflower.

I removed my hand, marking the paper with my pen. ‘Consider it done. A-plus, your best work yet.’ I gave her a wink. ‘We’ve got ten minutes. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?’ I wasn’t really interested in her pitiful home life, but her physical presence was intoxicating. It was not often I was graced with such innocence in a fifteen-year-old girl. Her attention drawn inwards, my gaze crept to her skirt, which had risen above her knees. I looked at her face, now twisted with the effort of discussing problems that seemed buried too deep to reach.