My Darling

‘Yes.’

‘Was everything all right between you and Mr Covington?’

I bite my lip. ‘Not really. We’d been having a few problems.’ Her eyes tighten. ‘He was having an affair with Emma Stockton, our neighbour. I had caught them together several times. I told him I was going to leave him.’

‘When?’

‘Yesterday evening.’

‘How did he react?’

‘As he always does. Says he’s sorry. That he can’t bear it if I leave. That he’ll never stray again.’

‘So he has been unfaithful before?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you like to tell me more about your relationship?’

I push back tears. ‘It’s too painful to talk about right now. All I can say is I loved him so much.’

She stirs in her chair. ‘Where were you this evening?’

‘At Josephine Brooker’s house, 76 Vale Way – at a meeting of the Henley book group.’

‘All evening?’

‘It started at seven thirty p.m. I left at ten thirty p.m.’

Seven thirty, the time you are always home on Wednesdays, Stereotype.

‘Are you happy for me to contact your book group to verify that?’

‘Of course I am, yes.’

She leans forwards. ‘So you came home from work briefly, did you, before you went to book group?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you didn’t see your husband?’

‘No. I didn’t see him until … until …’ My voice is breaking now.

‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt your husband?’

‘No. Not really. Everyone always loved Tomas.’ I pause and shake my head slowly. ‘I suppose Emma must have been upset, if he had finished with her. He told me he was going to.’

Memories

Home from school. Walking into the kitchen to see Mother. She turned from the kitchen sink, where she was peeling potatoes, to greet me. Mother, but not Mother. A monster stood before me. Right eye swollen. Lids closed. A kaleidoscope of purple and black bruising decorating her face.

I went to the fridge, poured myself a glass of milk. I sat at the kitchen table.

‘Mother, you’ve got to do something about this.’

‘About what?’ she asked.

My hand shook. I spilt the milk. It skimmed across the table like white blood. I took a cloth from the sink and wiped it up. She walked towards me, and stood in front of me.

‘I opened the cupboard at the back of the garage too quickly, and the corner of the door banged into my eye.’

‘Do you expect me to believe that? If you don’t do something about it I will.’

She put her hand on my arm. ‘I’m begging you not to, Emma. It’ll only make things worse.’

42

Jade

Into my bedroom at the Red Lion. Body trembling as I throw myself across the four-poster bed. Tomas, I cannot get you out of my head. Remembering you when we first met, after hooking up on Tinder. Watching you walk into the café in Sunbury, thinking I was punching above my weight. Your golden looks. Your flat torso. Shoulders as broad as bricks. So much better-looking than me. I knew as soon as I saw you that I would never be able to keep a man like you. You smiled at me and my insides twisted.

I smiled back. You kept on walking towards me. You sat down opposite me.

‘How do you do? I’m Tomas.’

‘I’m Jade.’

‘Jade, how should we start?’

‘Tell me a few things about yourself.’

‘OK then. I’ve never dated on Tinder before. But I’ve never met anyone I really, really want to be with, so I thought I’d give it a try.’

Silence fell. You looked embarrassed. You grimaced.

‘Go on. Next thing,’ I pushed.

You shrugged your shoulders. ‘Do we have to do this?’

‘Yes,’ I insisted.

‘Can’t we just have a normal conversation?’

‘No. Because I’m spiky.’

‘I like spiky.’

‘Actually, I’m aiming for sardonic wit but it always comes out wrong.’

You put your head back and laughed. ‘I like you, Jade. I think we could have fun.’

And we did, for a while, back then. We married quickly. Our wedding was a small affair, as we were both only children with no surviving parents. It was easier that way. Just us and our witnesses, two friends from work, at the local registry office. Afterwards we ate at a trendy Italian restaurant near the river. We were so full of love for one another. So sure it would work.

I lie across the four-poster bed and sob. Loud, body-wracking sobs. Fighting for breath, too emotionally wrought to give way to the soft release of tears. I see your wound. Your blood gushing. And my sobs increase.

Then I see you in our bed with Emma. Face contorted with passion. And I know what I did was right. You betrayed me. You didn’t deserve to live.