Her One Mistake(31)

I bite my lip as I think about what I should say. Exhaustion hasn’t just crept up on me, it’s surging toward me like a tsunami, and I worry that soon I will say whatever I need to to finish this interview.

Rawlings’s eyes look red. She must be tired too. Maybe she’d let me leave. Or maybe she knows more than she’s letting on and as soon as I show signs of failing to comply, she’ll arrest me and leave me no choice. In the end I decide it’s not worth the risk.

“Of course. We talked about plenty of things,” I say.

“Like what?” Her words sound aggressive, even if that’s not her intention.

“Well, I talked about my marriage a lot. Even though Tom and I separated two years ago, things hadn’t been good for a while.”

I’m sure she isn’t interested in the state of my marriage, but my flagging mind is drifting in and out of memories. When I see Harriet and me sitting on our usual bench in the park, the discussion that keeps invading my thoughts is the time I told her Tom and I were splitting up.

“Are you sure it’s what you want?” Harriet had said. “You can’t try counseling or anything?”

“We tried that,” I’d told her. “Well, once anyway. But I found out there’s someone else. It’s not an affair,” I added. “At least not yet, but he’s gotten close to someone, sending her messages. You know, ones that are inappropriate if you’re married.”

I told Harriet that I’d asked Tom outright about the texts, my heart in my mouth, desperate for him to tell me they were nothing. But Tom has always been too honest, and the flush that engulfed his face told me all I needed to know before he stammered an apology that they had been flirting.

“How come you look so sad?” I’d joked to Harriet when the mood had darkened.

“I always thought Tom was a good man,” she’d replied.

“He is in many ways. Just not one I can be married to anymore.” I smiled.

Harriet reached over and took my hand. “The children will be fine,” she’d said. “They have two wonderful parents who love them, and that makes them incredibly lucky. Besides, it’s better to come from a broken home than live in one,” she said. “Someone once told me that.”

I was conscious of the tears building up, but I let them fall. Just to have her total support was all the strength I needed.

“Not many people have what you and Brian have,” I’d told Harriet. It was the first time I realized there were benefits to the type of marriage she had.

Detective Rawlings is asking me if Harriet talked about her own marriage, and I tell her she didn’t.

Rawlings stares at me, waiting for me to continue. When I don’t, she suddenly says, “So tell me about the times you met up with Brian on your own?”

I look up, sitting a little straighter. I hadn’t been expecting that.

I hadn’t expected her to know. “It was just the once,” I say eventually. “Or twice,” I add when she continues to watch me carefully. “It was only two times.”

“And what did he talk to you about?”

I take a deep breath and release it slowly. I don’t know which time I should discuss. It’s probably better to focus on the second. “Brian came to my house two days ago,” I tell her. “I told Angela Baker,” I say defensively. “She’s the liaison officer on the case. . . .” I drift off because of course she already knows this. She probably knows about every conversation I’ve had with Angela and Captain Hayes over the last two weeks.

“Tell me about the other time,” Rawlings says. “When was that?”

My fingers reach out for my empty glass, twitching as I grab hold of it. I need to ask her for more water but surely she’ll know I’m wasting time, most likely think I’ve got something to hide. “Six months ago,” I tell her, twisting the belt on my cardigan as tight as it can go.

“And why did you meet up?”

“Brian came to see me because he said he was worried.”

“About what?” The detective leans forward.

“He said he was worried about Harriet.” I shrug. “It was nothing much.” I rub the heel of my hand against my right eye and glance up at the clock again. “Do you know how much longer you need me here?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“It would be helpful if we could continue,” she says, cocking her head to one side. We fall into an apprehensive silence.

Eventually I nod. “Brian said he was worried that Harriet was getting things wrong and forgetting things.”

“?‘Forgetting things’?”

“Yes, like where she had been. It didn’t seem to be anything major.” I give a thin smile, but she doesn’t smile back.

“Tell me what Brian said specifically.”

I chew the inside of my mouth until I bite too hard and can taste the metallic tang of blood.

“?‘Specifically’?” I release another deep breath that comes out as a sigh. “He told me Harriet was suffering from postnatal depression. I thought it was ludicrous, because if all he was worried about was the fact Harriet was forgetting things he’d told her, then he only had to speak to Tom. He would tell Brian I forget most things he says because I’m not listening half the time.”