She closes her eyes and swoops the knife in a graceful, determined arc towards her stomach.
‘CARA!’ Simon shouts in fear, and strikes out across the room. He grabs her arm, forcing her hand to twist outwards and the metal to flash as the blade changes direction. He stumbles though, and knocks her completely off her feet. They crumple to the floor and I hear Cara exclaim ‘No!’ in disbelief, and then sit up, confused, her hands empty and open, as if she’s praying.
Her eyes widen with horror and she looks at Simon – we both do – lying on the floor, slumped in the foetal position. All I can see is the arch of his back, the back of his head, and his knees drawn up to his chest. Cara starts to shake her head and whisper: ‘No, no, no… I’ve stabbed him,’ she says in disbelief. Her whole body starts to shake, and she slams backwards violently, banging into the kitchen cupboards, instinctively trying to get away from the sight in front of her.
‘Cara,’ I shout. ‘CARA, listen to me! I need you to listen. Use my phone, call an ambulance right now.’
She simply stares at Simon in horror and shock as if she can’t hear me.
‘CARA! We need help. We need to help your dad. Can you hear me? I want to help you, Cara!’
She looks up at me, then reaches out and picks up the bloodied knife, wobbles to her feet, comes over and slices through the tape on my wrists, round my ankles and middle, then lets it clatter to the floor next to Simon, as she herself half collapses, half slumps back down, devastated.
‘Where’s my phone?’ I demand, and she points to the basket on the side that I keep the odds and sods in. Rifling through it, I grab it and dial with shaking fingers.
‘Hello? Ambulance please. A 52-year-old man has been stabbed. I can’t see… I don’t know. No higher than that, I think, but lower than his heart. Simon? Can you hear me? I don’t think so, no. No, there’s no danger now. It wasn’t like that,’ I glance at Cara, ‘it was a suicide attempt. The knife has been removed, yes. Yes, it’s—’
I give the operator our address and place the phone on the floor for a moment. ‘They’re on their way. Can you hear me, Simon? I need to lift your shirt so I can see what’s happened and help you.’
He moans as I untuck it and, horrified, I can’t help but audibly say ‘Jesus Christ’ – as I see a deep, single wound, blood oozing from it.
‘No, no,’ he mumbles. ‘Leave it, I’m OK. You shouldn’t do this – not after your mum.’
‘Shhh,’ I say and return to the phone. ‘I’m not sure if his stomach looks swollen or not. Possibly. Simon, don’t try to sit up – and don’t look either.’
‘I feel sick,’ he says. He looks clammy and pale.
‘I’m not surprised.’ I make a huge effort to keep my voice steady and calm. I get up to grab a handful of tea towels from the drawer, but Simon reaches out and knocks the phone from my hand. It clatters across the floor.
‘What are you doing?’ I say in astonishment, thinking he’s in shock. ‘They’re helping me to help you. I need—’
‘Jess. Shhh. I’m OK, Cara,’ he says. ‘It’s all OK. You didn’t do this; it was my mistake. I’m fine. Don’t cry, darling.’
I glance up at her; she has silent tears streaking down her face.
‘Go and open the front door,’ he says; he’s starting to breathe rapidly. ‘Watch for the ambulance, for Jess, and wave to them as soon as they turn into the road, OK? Go now.’
She does as she’s told, immediately.
He turns his head to me. ‘Jess, she needs to go home. This is going to ruin her life forever if she’s here when the police arrive. She’ll be arrested to keep her safe from herself – they’ve done that with Louise before. They’ll do her for the GBH to you,’ he swallows painfully, ‘no one will believe she was trying to kill herself, and if I die it will all go to court. She’ll get manslaughter or worse. Please.’ He closes his eyes and grimaces.
‘You’re not going to die,’ I insist, trying to mask my fear. ‘You’re doing just fine.’
‘Please send her home now, before it’s too late. Tell them it was me – all the things she did – that I was the one who was waiting here for you. I attacked you, and then tried to kill myself in front of you. They’ll find everything at the house Cara told you about. It’ll convince them. I’ll take it all for her. She’s just a kid. She’s a good girl.’
Frightened tears are forming in my eyes. ‘I can’t, Simon.’ I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t lie for you again. I’ve got a little boy to think of, and the truth always comes out.’
‘No, it doesn’t. You’d be surprised by what you can get away with. Please, Jess,’ he whispers. ‘She didn’t mean to do it and you know that. She didn’t push Beth either, I promise you. That’s Louise lying, not Cara. Tell her to go home now, before it’s too late.’ He tries to reach a hand out. ‘I’m begging you! Send her home. Help me look after her, please!’ He’s becoming increasingly distressed and starts trying to sit up, but it’s clear he’s in too much pain.
‘Simon, there’s a knife right there covered with her fingerprints!’
‘Of course it is, because I took it from our house. She lives there with me.’
I shake my head. ‘It’s not enough. Her prints will be all over this house too.’
‘Because she came the day before yesterday to warn you what she’d found at home, to tell you I was watching you. You didn’t believe her. Louise has annihilated her. She’s grieving and lost. She needs help, not prison. You can do this, Jess. Please. She’s Beth’s sister. Help her. Just tell them I did this to myself.’
‘Please,’ I whisper, ‘try not to talk. It’s too late now anyway, I think they’re here. I can hear voices.’
‘Fine, so just tell them the truth then.’
He reaches out, curls his fingers round the knife, and before I realise what he’s about to do, plunges it deeply into his gut, and then quickly does it again, before the knife clatters onto the floor.
I cannot move. I literally can’t move a muscle. I am too shocked to breathe.
‘Jessica?’
Someone is calling me.
‘Jess?’
I manage to look up to see Ed standing in the doorway holding a set of keys in his hand with the estate agent’s gaudy tag hanging from them. ‘I needed to get the spare Grobag and you’ve taken my keys by mistake. Sandrine’s sitting crying on the doorstep, she’s—’ He looks down and sees Simon. ‘Whoa.’ I watch his eyes travel to the knife. ‘Oh Christ. Shit! What’s happened? Is this him?’
‘I think he’s just killed himself,’ I say in disbelief and I start to shake violently as I look down at Simon, who is now lying still and quiet on the kitchen floor. ‘Is he dead?’
Ed rushes over to me, then gasps. ‘You’re hurt.’ He reaches out to touch me. ‘What’s he done to you? Get up; get away from him.’ He puts his hands under my arms and tries to pull me to my feet.
‘That girl isn’t Sandrine. She’s his daughter, Cara. She’s been pretending to be our au pair.’
He doesn’t seem to hear me. ‘Get up, Jess. I don’t want you next to him like this. Come on.’
‘She was going to kill herself and he stopped her, now she’s lost him too. He’s right – she needs help, not arresting.’
‘She definitely needs help. Something psychiatric that’s way beyond us. You’re not thinking straight yourself, Jess. Good girl, that’s it – stand up – no, look at me. LOOK at me, not him.’ He starts to lead me towards the door. ‘I want you away from here. Just keep looking at me, OK? Everything is going to be alright. OK… now, I can hear sirens. They’re here.’
‘I can’t lie.’ I grasp my husband’s arm desperately. ‘I can’t do it.’
Ed looks at me in bewilderment. ‘Lie? About what?’
I don’t answer, but look back over my shoulder at Simon. He hasn’t moved.
‘Jess – you must tell the truth, alright? Promise me?’ Ed says urgently. ‘The truth, Jess, and then everything will be alright…’
Epilogue
Eleven Months Later, Sunday, 19 November 2017
‘She’s in here. You’re sure you’re OK? Ready to do this?’