The Couple at No. 9(102)

I don’t know what I thought I was trying to achieve by flirting with Sean. I never fancied him for a second, but I wanted to make Rose jealous, I suppose, to make her realize she loved me. She needed me. And then, at the fireworks display, I noticed the way she looked at me. It was cold, detached. As though she’d had enough of me. I was so hurt by it that I couldn’t stand to be near her. So I walked away, got lost in the crowd. When she noticed I was gone she didn’t even seem that concerned. She just took Lolly’s hand and moved through the crowds towards home.

I walked around the village for a bit, trying to gather my thoughts, hoping that Rose would miss me, would realize that we were right for each other. I hoped by the time I’d got back she’d be so scared about Victor she’d agree we needed to leave together. A new life away from there.

When I eventually returned, Rose was pacing the little kitchen, her face white. She had a knife in her hand. She looked like a beautiful but unpredictable horse that was about to rear or bolt.

‘There you are!’ she hissed, as soon as I walked in. ‘How could you just leave me like that? You know I was scared with Victor on the prowl.’

‘Rose,’ I said, gently, walking over to her, my hand out to calm her.

‘I saw him!’ she cried. ‘He was in the garden.’ She waved the knife around.

I walked over to the kitchen window. The garden was empty. As I’d known it would be.

‘Rose. Darling. Put the knife down. There’s nobody in the garden.’

‘You … you …’ Her jaw was clenched and she was shaking with fear. Or was it rage. I couldn’t tell. ‘Where did he go? What did you tell him?’

‘We need to leave, Rose,’ I said instead. ‘Now Victor knows where you are …’

‘You know that’s not true,’ she hissed, her eyes flashing.

‘Please, Rose. You’re overreacting …’

It was the worst thing I could have said. She began to accuse me then, of lying, of manipulating her. ‘I should never have trusted you,’ she said. ‘Joel was right.’

I was so hurt by her words. ‘But we love each other.’

‘This was a mistake,’ she spat. ‘I have to put Lolly first. You need to leave. You and Sean …’

‘There’s nothing between me and Sean. What are you talking about?’

‘It’s over. I want you to leave. Now!’

‘I … What?’ I couldn’t believe what she was saying. ‘Are you ending things with us?’

‘I don’t trust you,’ she said sadly, but she put the knife down on the worktop with a shaky hand. ‘I’m sorry, Daphne. I love you but I don’t trust you. I think you lie. And,’ she wiped tears away from her eyes, ‘I can’t do this any more.’

This couldn’t be happening. I’d thought I’d found the happiness I’d always craved. The family I’d always wanted. To lose Rose was one thing, but to lose Lolly as well? I loved that little girl like she was my own.

‘I’m not letting you leave me,’ I said, coming over to her and pulling her into my arms. ‘We love each other.’

‘I think I need a clean break. Start again.’

‘You can’t,’ I wailed. She pulled away from me and swiped at her eyes. Her wavy hair fell over her shoulders. She was shorter than me by about two inches and she looked small and frail in that moment. I was desperate. I needed her to see that she was making the biggest mistake of her life. ‘We know too much about each other,’ I began.

‘Oh, don’t start that,’ she said. ‘That’s not going to wash with me any longer. You can’t prove that I killed Neil.’

Then she started accusing me of all sorts. Manipulation and lies about Sean. She had guessed, my clever, sweet Rose. I’d underestimated her.

I knew then that she’d never forgive me. That I’d lost her.

It was an accident.

Just like Susan Wallace’s death had been an accident.

She pushed past me. She went to walk away.

And all I knew was that I couldn’t let her go. And I couldn’t let her take Lolly.

Red flashed in front of my eyes. It happened in one swift movement. I grabbed the kettle, the cast-iron one we used for the hob, and swung it against the rear of her lovely head. She fell backwards, as though in a faint, her eyes open in surprise as she collapsed in my arms. Too late I realized what I’d done. And I held her as she died. I held her and I cried and I told her I loved her. Over and over again. Because it was true. And apart from Lolly, and then, years later, Saffy, I never loved anyone else.

When I’ve finished talking Lolly is staring at me in horror, her mouth hanging open and tears rolling down her cheeks. And I realize I’ve said it all out loud. I’ve told this lovely woman, this amazing person, whom I love like my own daughter, that I killed her real mother.

Saffy – my kind, thoughtful granddaughter – is holding my hand. And despite everything I’ve just told her she doesn’t let go. I can see Rose in her. The same guile and innocence and faith. And I hope that I haven’t destroyed that in this sweet child.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, my mind painfully, awfully lucid in this moment.

Because the truth of it is, my mind has always been more lucid than I gave them reason to believe. Don’t get me wrong, I have dementia: my brain is foggy and forgetful, and I don’t recognize people I know, people I love. But when I do have those clear, perfectly sharp moments, I remember a lot more about the past, about what I’ve done, than any of them have ever given me credit for.