Not, of course, that his death has negated everything he did to Alex. It hasn’t. After his death, although the GMC continued their investigation into his complaint, they had no witness testimony other than his supplied statement, which made it difficult for them to take any action against Alex. They could find no evidence whatsoever that Alex had known who Day was when she met him in Ibiza. When we attended the MPTS hearing last month in Manchester, they mentioned that the speed and frequency with which Day had spoken to the media was of ‘concern’ to them, as was his girlfriend’s supplied statement in which she noted Day’s determination to become a social media star and provide the two of them with a ‘platform’. David also supplied evidence that he witnessed Day force his way into Alex’s car outside the surgery, before she pointed at him to get out, at which Day tried to kiss her. Everything Day said was at worst a deliberate lie, and at best a fantasy that existed only in his head. I can hear his voice calling out to me again: “I genuinely couldn’t give a shit about your wife.” Bollocks, given he chose to end his life so close to our house. I still think he was in love – if you can call it that – with Al. Obsessed would be a better word.
‘I don’t think anyone around Jonathan could have predicted what he did.’ The coroner’s clear and calm voice draws me back to the room. ‘It was not a preventable death. Jonathan had long-term experience of managing his diabetes and was well aware of the risks of his condition and medication. The pathologist has given his cause of death as drug misuse. I am satisfied beyond reasonable doubt that Jonathan took steps to ensure he would not be disturbed and deliberately took his own life.’
I can’t look at his poor mother, I only hear her gasp with pain, and resolve to hug Maisie and Tilly more tightly tonight when I get home. His girlfriend stands up and walks out unsteadily, tears streaming down her face.
As the coroner records her conclusion of suicide, I swallow and stare down at the floor. I am so sorry for them but, thank God, it’s over. Thank God.
When I look up, I glance again at the journalist. He should thank his lucky stars that after he’s written this up, he gets to go home and forget about it tonight.
I walk back out into the bright spring sunshine and text the news to Alex. When it was first made public that it was a probable suicide, I was terrified that there would be a backlash against Alex, that people would think Jonathan must have been so ashamed by what had ‘happened’ that he’d killed himself, and because he’d chosen to do it near our house, it would only cement her culpability in people’s minds.
In fact, the reverse happened. A well-known tabloid ran an interview with his girlfriend that painted a picture of a vulnerable schoolboy who had never felt good enough for his domineering father, someone who might have easily developed an obsession with a strong adult figure who had shown him attention. I still struggle to align that profile with the boy I spoke to, who showed not a shred of remorse for the lies he had told and was obviously deftly manipulating the publicity and attention it was bringing him. But presumably if the thoughts of someone about to commit suicide were rational, they would be able to prevent themselves from doing it in the first place.
For Alex’s part, what scares me most is that her only mistake in all of this was to have a drunken one-night stand. There’s a lesson for us all there. I’m never going to cheat ever, ever again – because, while I don’t think for one second think my wife has lied to me about what really happened, I still can’t help but think she’s got away with this by the skin of her teeth.
There but for the grace of God.
* * *
‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him all day,’ Alex blurts, once Maisie and Tilly are in bed, having finally settled. Since we moved back into the town centre, it has taken them some time to get used to hearing the sounds of the family on our right through the walls. ‘I wish I could have prevented it somehow.’
‘You’ve said that so often, but he was ruining your life! And what could you have done anyway?’
She looks away. ‘I don’t know. Everybody makes mistakes and nobody deserves a death like that. No matter how badly he lied, I would have forgiven him, rather than this.’
‘Really?’ I am genuinely surprised.
‘Of course!’ she exclaims. ‘I was never interested in punishing him, or revenge. I just wanted people to know the truth.’
I get up, walk over to the cupboard and take out a wine glass. ‘That he was obsessed with you? That he’d never met anyone like you before?’
She sits up uncomfortably, as if someone has placed a hand on her shoulder when she wasn’t expecting it. ‘You keep saying that.’
‘It was obvious when I spoke to him outside his school and he got off on winding me up about you.’ I open the drawer and pull out the corkscrew. ‘I can count the people I dislike on one hand, but I really hated him.’
‘I was reading online earlier about narcissism and the dark triad,’ Alex says suddenly, watching me reach for the bottle and start to open it.
‘The what?’ I frown. I have no idea what she’s talking about.
‘The dark triad comprises three personality traits: narcissism, Machiavellianism and psychopathy. They all have a malevolent connection: if you have traits of one, you’re likely to share traits with the others. Narcissists have no empathy whatsoever in addition to thinking they are more special than everyone else. Machiavellianism is all about manipulation and the exploitation of others, displaying a total lack of morality as the individual focuses on their own self-interest, and psychopaths are completely remorseless as they pursue their antisocial behaviour.’
‘Sounds about right,’ I say, starting to pour. ‘He was an evil little shit, which is why I don’t understand you saying you wish you could have prevented what happened to him.’ I pass her the glass and cross to the fridge to get myself a Guinness.
‘He was only seventeen when it happened, Rob.’
I open the can and get my pint glass. ‘Young, yes – but seventeen is plenty old enough to know right from wrong. Even Tilly knows you don’t tell fibs.’
‘But does someone with those types of characteristics really commit suicide?’
I pause for a moment, then sit back down at the table. ‘Well, I still think it’s fucking weird that his deranged father came here at seven o’clock, out of the blue, and less than an hour later, his son is here too, apparently topping himself in the woods.’
‘It wasn’t you – was it?’
At first, I think I’ve misheard her, but as it registers, I blink in astonishment and sit right back in my chair with a slight thud.
She looks at me worriedly. ‘I won’t ever ask you this again, but did you do it? I promise I’ll never tell anyone – whatever happens. I just need to know. We talked about doing it – and I know we were only half joking.’
We’re right under Tilly’s bedroom, so I’ve already turned off the kitchen radio in case we wake her and, as we both stare at each other, the only sound is the churning of the water in the dishwasher.
‘You’re serious?’
She nods.
‘No, Alex, I had nothing to do with his death. I’ve made some huge mistakes, but honestly, even I’m not that stupid.’
‘I’ve never said you’re stupid. Far from it. You’re not complicated. There’s a difference. With you, what you see is what you get. At least that’s what I always thought.’
‘Until Hannah you mean?’
She nods.
‘I told you the next day what I’d done. You think I’d be able to hide something like killing someone from you? You think I’m even capable of that? Genuinely?’
‘I think you want to protect us and try to fix things. I think if you’d driven past Jonathan skulking around in the woods by our house on your way home from your Mum and Dad’s, you might have snapped. I’d kill to protect Maisie and Tilly.’ She lifts her gaze and looks unflinchingly right at me. ‘Without hesitation.’
‘OK, but you don’t think the police might have considered that scenario too? We’re all well aware I had a motive. They didn’t charge me, and they would have if they’d had the evidence.’ I pause briefly. ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Did you do it?’ I sound more defensive than I intend to. ‘Same thing, then; whatever happens I won’t ever tell anyone.’
‘Because I asked you and David to lie for me?’ she says quietly.
‘That, and the two sleeping pills you said you flushed down the loo. The same type that showed up on Day’s post-mortem.’
‘They’re a very common brand and I really did flush them away. We’ve been over why I asked you to lie already.’
‘I’m not asking you to go through it all again. I’m just asking if you did it?’
This time the pause is longer. ‘You’re right,’ she says eventually, ‘this is a horrible, stupid conversation.’
‘You started it.’ I can hear the hurt in my voice.