‘How long have you been lovers?’ asks Manon gently.
‘Lovers?’ says Helena with a soft laugh. ‘You make it sound so enchanting. It was one night – well, a night and a day – it happened twice, that’s all. A mistake, a terrible mistake. The first time she seemed affectionate, at least. She said, “It’s always been you.” But then, last Wednesday, she was out of it. I couldn’t even tell if she loved or hated me. Please, I don’t want anyone to know.’ She starts to cry. ‘My parents …’
‘It’s all right,’ says Manon. ‘We’re asking you solely for the purposes of this investigation. There is no reason for your parents or anyone else to find out. Did Edith instigate it, the relationship?’
Helena nods, the back of her hand to her mouth, her chin trembling.
‘And when was this?’
‘A week ago. I mean, the Saturday before this one.’
‘So that would be the tenth?’
‘I s’pose. She came to my flat late – about 2 a.m. – she was drunk and she, well, she kissed me.’
‘And did things progress?’
‘Yes, but I’ve never been with a woman before,’ Helena says in a rush.
‘And after that Saturday?’ says Harriet.
‘She came again on Wednesday in the day. She was much more distracted, much more … not herself at all.’
‘Not herself how?’
‘Sort of reckless. Kamikaze. I felt as if she was using me, as if she hated me. She wouldn’t look me in the eye. She’d brought a bottle of wine and we ended up in bed. When I said, “What about Will?” she snapped, “It doesn’t fucking matter.” Then she left very suddenly, as if she’d changed her mind.
‘Did you want things to continue? Is that why you went home with her on Saturday after the pub?’
‘I don’t know what I wanted. I felt, feel, confused. Chewed up and spat out, if I’m honest. I feel … mortified. I never thought anyone would find out. I swear to you, I left her in her kitchen. We didn’t even talk about it. I didn’t even have the guts to mention it. I wish I’d left her in Cambridge now. I wish I’d come back to Huntingdon by myself.’
Helena
Standing on the station steps, she blinks into the low sun, which flashes off the car roofs like knives. She can see slices of Will Carter striding towards her – his hair, his chin, a black donkey coat and scarf, but not his eyes.
Will bedded down in her lounge in the early hours of this morning, after his police interviews were done, and when she’d gone in to draw the curtains around 7 a.m., while he was in the shower, the room smelled thickly of unfamiliar male. She folded his sleeping bag and laid the pillow neatly on top, and when he came in to get dressed, she retreated to the kitchen to brew them a pot of strong coffee. They sat at the breakfast bar, hollow-eyed, going over the night’s events.
He won’t want to stay with her after this. She can’t make out his expression – is there mistrust already? – because of the distorting shards of sun. She can hardly breathe at the thought of what he is about to find out. He jogs up the station steps.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks, taking her elbow. ‘You look awful.’
‘It’s just,’ she says, ‘a bit rough in there. Scary. What’s happening.’
‘I know. They want to re-interview me for some reason, God knows why. I’ve told them everything about five times already.’
‘I guess new stuff keeps cropping up,’ she says. She is grateful to the flash and glare for obscuring his face.
‘Well,’ he says, ‘I’ll see you back at the flat. Is it OK if I stay another night with you? Our house is cordoned off.’
‘If you want to – why don’t you see how you feel?’ She puts both hands over her forehead to create a visor. ‘Listen, Will, the police – they’re saying all sorts, trying to poke about and stuff. Don’t listen to them – I mean, not all of it can be true.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘I’m just saying, some of it is just trying to get a rise out of you, y’know? See how you’ll react.’
‘I don’t understand,’ he says.
‘Doesn’t matter, forget it.’
‘Look, I better go in. I’ll catch up with you after.’