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She shakes her head. A no – but also she’s fed up with me. ‘Did you speak to Glenn’s ex-wife?’ I press.
‘She’s in Sardinia,’ the detective says. ‘Hasn’t been back to England in years. As I said, we’ve cleared the family.’
‘Adri, this is good news,’ says Pete. ‘It was an accident. The simplest solution is often the correct one, right? Some kids joyriding – that makes way more sense than some kind of planned attack.’
‘But the letter …’ I hate how whiny I sound. How pathetic.
‘Are yousurethere’s nothing else you can say about Ibiza that might be helpful?’ Pete asks, reaching over and squeezing my knee in what he thinks is a reassuring manner.
It only makes me retreat further into myself. I wish Icould tell Pete everything that happened on that island. But it’s too late. ‘There’s nothing,’ I say.
The detective’s eyes flick to the clock on the wall behind me. She’s probably got other, more pressing cases to work on. ‘If anything else comes up, Mrs Wendell, you know how to reach us.’
Pete stiffens beside me.
‘It’s Ms,’ I say through gritted teeth.
The detective bows her head, gesturing us towards the door, ushering us out. We drive back to my flat in silence. Pete wants to check in on Ethan, so he comes in with me. I allow him to do bedtime after we collect him from nursery, then wait for him to come back downstairs.
He’s staring intently at his phone when he walks into the living room, a small smile on his face. A smile? After all we’ve gone through? That’s when it hits me: I’ve been the one living through the nightmare. As far as Pete is concerned, Ethan had a knock but he’s made a full recovery. A massive shock for sure, but the sense of danger has passed. He’s even running again.
For me the danger still feels so very present.
‘I’ve decided Ethan and I can’t stay here,’ I tell him.
I brace for a protest but surprisingly Pete nods, as if he’s seen it coming. Well, that’s hardly a surprise. I’ve barely slept since Ethan’s accident, terrified of who might know my address.
He slips his phone into his pocket. ‘Where will you go?’
‘Um, my old university landlady has an annex in the Lake District, Ambleside. She’s offered me and Ethan the place. There’s an outdoor shop there hiring a running consultant.’
‘What about your training? Are you still doing UTMB this year?’
I shake my head. ‘No more. I’m not going to race.’Ever again, I think to myself.
Emotions war across Pete’s face. ‘Are you sure?’
I nod. My running career was over the moment I went to that training camp. The police can tell me all they want that what happened to Ethan wasn’t connected. But I am always going to blame myself for not being there.
STOP RACINGOR SUFFER.
So I’ll stop.
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I say. It hurts me more than I realize too. A tear rolls down my cheek. I take a deep breath and box up the sadness.
He reflexively reaches out to wipe the tear away, but I pull back. He sighs. ‘Adri, help me understand. What happened in Ibiza, really?’
I almost melt. I feel the truth lying thickly on my tongue. He was once my husband. He is my son’s father. It might not have worked between us, but I once trusted him with my life. I should be able to trust him now, shouldn’t I?
But – like in the police station – the story sticks there, refusing to come out.
Maybe the facts don’t even matter now. Justice can never come. I will forever be the Runner who Lied. But I can take that. At least no one else is going to get hurt by him ever again.
He watches my face. He knows me. He knows I’m not going to break – not now, not ever.
He pulls his hand away. ‘If you insist on keeping secrets, Adri, how can anyone help you?’
He strides towards the front door. But I have one more question for him.