‘Hadn’t he seen your car?’
‘I parked right at the end of the carport. You know how short the G-Wiz is – he can’t have seen it from the drive. My heart was thudding. I knew it was really bad – a boy in the boot. Dad was going through his pockets and the boy’s body was rocking, unconscious or dead. He searched until he found something I couldn’t see – a phone or a wallet – which he put in his own pocket. My mind was racing, thinking, why does someone go through a boy’s pockets – a boy who’s unconscious or dead? There was no explanation except the worst explanation.
‘Before I could run down to him, demand an explanation, the doors of the car had slammed shut and he had driven away. I went to the drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe to see what he’d stashed there. It was piles and piles of money, bound together with rubber bands in a plastic bag.’
‘So you took the cash?’ she says. I nod and she smiles wanly, saying, ‘At least it stayed in the family.’
‘I thought about all the things I could do: return to George Street and Will; pretend I hadn’t seen anything; tell the police what I’d seen; tell you; go to Helena. And not one of them seemed possible. I was butting up against each option and it was like being in a dodgem car, hitting the buffers. I thought about flying to Buenos Aires to find Rollo, and then I thought about telling him. The awfulness. Then I wondered if anyone would believe me. I wondered if I would seem mad, the destroyer of our family life. I wondered if in fact I had gone mad, and all of it was an apparition, that I should be sectioned. I looked at the money and I thought about disappearing. And it made sense. All I knew, Mum, you have to believe me, was that I wanted to run. My only impulse was to disappear, not to hurt you.’
‘But you did hurt me. You hurt me very deeply, Edith.’
‘I couldn’t bear knowing something that would destroy you, I didn’t want to keep his secrets but I didn’t want to betray him either. I couldn’t go back to Will and I couldn’t bear Helena, the confusion of that. I was trapped, d’you see? When I looked at the money he’d left, I knew that was my way of disappearing. Money could make it happen. I could vanish, I knew people who could help me—’
‘What people?’
I get up. I can’t look at her. ‘Another tea?’ I say, taking the cup from her hand.
‘What people, Edith?’ she says.
‘Never mind that. You don’t need to know what people. That money could make me vanish, as if the ground had opened up, and that’s what I wanted.’
I come back into the room with two steaming hot mugs. ‘What’s happened to him? Where are they keeping him?’ I ask.
‘He’s in Littlehey. Rollo will visit. We’ve instructed lawyers at Kingsley Napley.’
‘Is he all right?’
‘I haven’t seen him,’ she says, and I can see the torment written on her face. ‘I will though.’ She looks up. ‘I will see him. He’s still my husband.’
Her look is defiant and I stare at her. ‘After everything he’s done …’ I begin.
She frowns. ‘I won’t explain myself to you, Edith,’ she says. ‘I won’t justify how I feel to you.’
We are silent again, but it is not a comfortable silence.
Miriam
Saying it to Edith is the first time she has allowed herself to have the thought, and she is surprised by the force of her conviction. He is still her husband. One event cannot wipe away twenty-five years. Yes, she will visit him in Littlehey. It may take her some time, she may feel furious, betrayed, ashamed. But she won’t abandon him. Friends may let out the rope, but she will not.
‘How did he die?’ Edith is asking now. ‘Taylor Dent. What did Dad—’
‘Drowned,’ Miriam says. ‘In the river close to Deeping. I don’t know what his injuries were. He’d been on drugs – ketamine – which may have been what caused his death when he hit the water. Paralysed, effectively. Anyway, it’ll all come out in the trial.’
‘So he might have been alive in the boot of the car?’ Edith says, and Miriam can see the slow dawning on her face. ‘I could have helped him, if I hadn’t stayed hidden.’