The Rose Petal Beach (52 page)

‘The children, you told me so many times, you didn’t want to leave your children.’

‘If I loved my children so much, why wasn’t I spending all my spare time with them instead of sneaking off to screw around? I didn’t just cheat on Tami, I stole time away from my children as well. And I used them to get what I wanted – sex – without ever having to commit to you. I told you, I am a disgraceful human being.’

‘I don’t believe you. I think you’re saying all this to get Tami back. I think you’ve panicked at the thought of not seeing your girls every day and you’ll say and do anything to get your wife to let you come home.’

‘Tami’s divorcing me. She’s not going to take me back, under any circumstances. She’s told me that and she’s right to. I’ve lost her and much as it hurts in ways I had no idea I could hurt, it’s what I deserve.’

‘But if you’re not getting back together, why haven’t you called me? Why … ?’

He lowers his head, embarrassed. He really wasn’t going to call me. He really wanted nothing to do with me. He would have ended things by not speaking to me again. Even though I was ill and he knew it, even though we’d been together for nearly two years, longer if you count the build-up, he would have never seen me again.

He doesn’t love me.

He never loved me.

The Earth is splitting in two, right beneath my feet. I can feel the vibrations of the seismic shift, I can hear the groan as it is rent asunder, I can sense I am about to fall. I have nothing to hold on to, nothing to stop me from falling into the underworld. I betrayed my best friend for a man who never loved me. Who used me. Who lied to me. And, worst of all, colluded with me in lying to myself. No wonder the world is falling apart. I have ruined everything on a poisoned promise. Even when I was being wheeled into the
operating theatre I thought I had to get better so he and I could be together. Even as I told Tami I was a terrible, selfish person who would do anything in the name of love, I thought of the future Scott and I would have together, how we would cuddle in bed someday and look back on this awful period of our lives and how we eventually came through it. Even,
even
when I fell into that depression, I had visions of telling him about it and him taking me in his arms, kissing my forehead and telling me he’d never make me feel like that again.

I have been living on a promise written on water, I have been pinning my recovery and my hopes for remission on a man who has already proved himself a liar and a cheat. Instead of relying on me, I relied on someone else.

I nearly sacrificed my life for love. And it wasn’t even real love.

‘You’ve cheated on Tami before, haven’t you?’ With the world splitting in two I can see so much more clearly.

He nods without raising his head. Can’t face me. Can’t look me in the eye and admit he lied and lied and lied. Spineless prick.

‘Did you tell Tami about the others three days ago?’ I ask him.

He sharply raises his head, because I’m talking about her, of course. It’s always been her.
Always
. He just didn’t realise it until she was no longer his to have whenever he chose. ‘Yes, why?’

This is the real reason why I came to see him. It wasn’t for closure, it wasn’t to see him and to get him to remember what he felt for me. It was because in my flat of silence and loneliness I kept seeing her face. I kept thinking how broken she seemed. I kept thinking of the woman who had literally held my hand through the hardest few weeks of my life sitting in her kitchen, looking as if she was about to fall off the edge of the world. I came here for my friend.

‘Because, and this is the reason I came to see you, three nights ago I came down to the kitchen in the middle of the night and she was sitting in the dark with a tall glass of what looked like neat vodka or schnapps.’

‘Was she all right?’

‘No, she really wasn’t. I was actually scared for her,’ once I got over my horror at being asked to leave, ‘because she looked so distressed and haunted. She said something about old traumas being added to, I didn’t really understand what she meant until now. And then I told her about texting you because I needed closure. Added to Mirabelle’s death I think she’s under so much strain she might break down or harm herself.’

‘How has she seemed in the past few days?’ he asks frantically.

‘I don’t know, she asked me to move out that night.’

‘What? And you just left her like that? What is wrong with you? And why didn’t you tell me this before?’

‘I don’t know, but it could be something to do with the fact
you won’t answer your fucking phone,
’ I reply, with the silent [
Cockhead
].

‘Oh, Jesus Christ, I’ve got to speak to her.’

‘Yeah, you do.’ I hook my bag on my shoulder and slip my hands into my pocket. My fingers close around a pebble that Anansy brought me back from the beach once. It’s smooth. It must have been on that beach for more lifetimes than I can imagine, being smoothed and weathered by the sea and nature. Stroked and bashed. It’s about the size of the lump and area they removed from my breast. Small, but incredibly significant.

I’d said thank you to her and had put it in my pocket to return to the beach because she didn’t know the importance of leaving things in nature as you found them, of not upsetting the balance by removing things. But that’s what nature does all the time, it takes things away from you all the time and you’re supposed to work out if it’s for the best or not. I had to have part of my breast taken away to keep me well. I’ve had to have Scott taken away because he was never mine in the first place.

And I’ve had to have my complacency taken away to remind me that I need to embrace everything I’ve got: I can’t rely on anyone else wanting me to live as much as I do. I’ve got a life, I need to live it.

‘Thanks, Beatrix,’ Scott says, and means it.

I nod at him as I go through the door. I nod so I don’t reply with a not-so silent, ‘
Whatever, cockface
.’

‘Now here’s what I don’t understand, Mrs Challey,’ Detective Sergeant Harvan says after hearing my tale. ‘You stayed with a man who was accused of rape. How on Earth can you live with yourself?’

‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘I thought they were having an affair and I thought she lied out of revenge for him ending the relationship. When I found out the truth, I asked him to leave.’

‘Was Mirabelle dead by then?’ she asks.

I glance down at the table, start to worry at the space where my wedding ring should be. ‘Yes.’

‘Did you kill her?’ Detective Wade asks.

‘No.’ I don’t sound as forceful or as angry as an innocent person should when I say that. But I am innocent.

‘Shall I tell you what I think happened?’ Harvan says.

I nod.

‘I think that you were very drunk and very angry. But because you’d decided to make it work with the rap—sorry, with your
husband
, you had no choice but to take that anger out on Mirabelle. So you got tanked up and went over there maybe not to kill her, maybe simply to talk. And let’s say that it did all happen the way you said it did, I don’t think you left after she went upstairs. I think you were still raging and went upstairs after her to demand an explanation for the text messages. She dismissed you and that enraged you. You grabbed hold of her and tried to push her head under the water. She fought back, maybe even hit you in self-defence, and you lost control. After all, here is the woman who had ruined your life, apparently slept with your beloved
husband.
And now she was hitting you.

‘I think you pushed her head under the water to teach her a lesson and when she came out fighting, promising to tell everyone what you had done, you knew you couldn’t let her do that. You thought of your children and how they’d already been traumatised by seeing Daddy carted off by the police, now you were going to be taken away as well, so you realised the only way to shut her up once and for all was to finish what you had started.’

I am shaking my head throughout her monologue, horrified that she can see it like that. Does she really think that someone would carry out a killing so easily?

‘That’s not what happened,’ I say.

‘Sounds more than possible to me,’ Detective Wade chimes in.

‘That’s not what happened. I left. I didn’t go upstairs.’

‘What would you say if I told you we found evidence of you not only going upstairs but also into the bathroom?’

I stare directly at her and then move my gaze to him. Bluffing. I know bluffing when I see it. Especially after being told green was red for so long by Scott, I have to trust my own judgement first and everything else last. ‘I’d ask you why hadn’t arrested me, even now, when I’ve admitted to having been in the house the night she died.’

They had that finishing each other’s sentences thing going on then, but with looks this time. They are wondering if the stupid housewife-type person sitting in front of them will eventually fall for their bluff or if they should give up on it.

‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do now, Mrs Challey,’ Detective Sergeant Harvan says.

‘Because there’s no doubt at all in our minds that you killed Ms Kemini,’ Wade says.

‘We’re going to go back over all the evidence we have with a fine-tooth comb, we are going to find something proving once and for all that you’re the one who murdered Mirabelle. In fact, we’re simply going to find proof that you were in the bathroom. And then we will arrest you, Mrs Challey. Be prepared to spend a very long time in prison.’

‘You won’t find anything because I didn’t do it.’

‘We’ll see, Mrs Challey,’ Wade says.

‘We’ll see,’ Harvan finishes.

‘You can go now,’ Wade says.

‘But it’d obviously be extremely unwise to book any sudden holidays or trips away from Brighton,’ Harvan says.

‘And trust me, we will know if you do.’

‘My daughters are in London,’ I say.

‘Well you’ll have to find a way to get them back without you actually leaving Brighton,’ Wade replies.

‘Good luck with that,’ Harvan says.

I have a new burden upon my shoulders. I am free, I know I didn’t kill her. Talking about it had put the final few pieces into place. But she is still gone. And she died knowing that I didn’t believe her. That is the sort of pain that will stay with me for ever.

‘I didn’t do it,’ I say at the door. ‘I could never do that.’

I shouldn’t have expected any more than the silent contempt I receive in reply.

Outside the police station is my husband.

I pause at the top of the stone steps, wondering if he is real. If he isn’t then I do not know who has magicked him here because it was not me. He is pretty much one of the last people I want to see right now.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, remaining on the steps.

He approaches me, a troubled frown upon his brow, his mouth a straight line of worry, his whole demeanour tense and anxious.

‘Beatrix came to see me at work,’ he says without lingering over his mistress’ name in the way I would expect him to. ‘She was worried about you and thought I should check you were all right. She was scared you were going to harm yourself. She said the last time she saw you, you seemed so haunted. I’ve never seen her so concerned before. It terrified me.’

‘How did you know I was here?’

‘I’ve been trying your mobile for ages, and then I called the school to find out how the girls seemed and if you’d said anything to them or if anyone at the school had spoken to you this morning. When they told me the girls hadn’t come in, I panicked. I had this sudden flash that I’d never see you again. I called your mother and basically dragged it out of her. The girls are fine, by the way, so you don’t have to worry about them.’

I haven’t told my mother the truth about what Scott has done, just that he’s working away for a bit because we haven’t been getting on. I could feel a grandmother-class ‘I told you so’ building up behind her face and had slipped off my kitchen stool and went running in to speak to the girls before it detonated all over me.
My mother was expert at making one ‘I told you so’ so comprehensive it would cover all the tiny little moments I hadn’t listened to her in the past as well as any that might arise in the future. I told her I had to go to the police station to talk to the police about my friend who had been murdered. I told her that the police had questioned lots of people but because I knew her so well, and I had seen her on the day she died, they wanted to talk to me for a bit longer. And I didn’t want to rush things to get back to pick up the girls from school. I didn’t tell her that it was probably me that did it because I didn’t know for sure if I had or I hadn’t. I didn’t tell her I had to tell the police what I knew because it was eating me up inside.

I’d hugged the girls as if it was the last time I would see them outside of a prison, but didn’t say any big dramatic goodbyes because I didn’t want to scare them.

When I was eleven years old I spoke to the boy version of the man I was going to marry for the very first time. I often wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t told him he could be whoever he wanted to be, he didn’t have to behave like a thug just because his brother did. Would he have gone to university? Would we have become friends who became lovers who became a couple who shared a loss that made them pledge their futures to each other? I often wonder if Fate would have found a way to make our paths cross and cross and cross again until the fabric of our lives was so intertwined with each other we’d end up where we are now. Him guilty of the most appalling behaviour, me suspected of murder.

I wonder if there would have been any way for Scott and I to have lived a life without each other in it?

He comes closer to me and my body suddenly aches with the longing to be in his arms, inside the small space in his heart I want him to have reserved for me. It would be so easy to melt into him, let him take away my burden. Easy and complicated: every time I forget, I’m reminded again that he did this. He brought our lives to this point. He is the one who began my life and led it to here.