Page 25

THIRTEEN

FRAN

‘So, what you’re actually saying is that I’m a suspect,’ I blurted out.

Gareth had droned on and on about police procedure and the overly complex ways that their cases are conducted for the whole car journey.

He’d insisted that I shouldn’t worry and just treat the interview as a conversation between me and a friend.

‘No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,’ he said, glancing away from the road he was driving along to look at me.

Lying wasn’t my husband’s forte, which was ironic considering his job revolved around being at skilled at detecting deceit in others.

His tell was a slight pause before speaking, a dead giveaway he wasn’t being entirely truthful.

‘Look, you were the last person we know of who saw Gordon O’Neill alive,’ he continued.

‘So you may have the critical piece of information that could solve this whole case, even if you don’t think so right now. ’

‘I just packed away his shopping, had some chit-chat that went on too long, and took out his rubbish. He grumbled something to me as I left, but that’s about it,’ I said.

I had replayed my fake memories now so many times that they did almost feel real.

‘I don’t know what more I can add at this point. ’

‘Okay? See, so that could line up with something else they’ve discovered or what someone else has said to them.

The truth of the matter, Fran, is that you didn’t kill him, so you really don’t need to worry.

’ Gareth spoke softly, trying to reassure me whilst we turned another corner on our way back home.

‘Although, I wish he’d died before we bought the house.

We could’ve got it so much cheaper that way. ’

I didn’t find his joke funny.

‘Truth of the matter is, I’m a suspect. I just have to find a way to prove to them it wasn’t me,’ I said matter-of-factly, feeling reassured, not by Gareth, but by my own self confidence.

Gareth opened his mouth to speak as if he had some retort planned, but he jutted his bottom lip out and just bobbed his head up and down instead. He was stalling.

‘Well…kind of, yeah. Everyone is a suspect. But you didn’t kill him, so you’re fine.’

‘But what if they think I killed him?’

He paused again. ‘They won’t. It will all work out, and it will all be okay,’ he said, comforting me one last time. ‘And like I say, you didn’t kill him, so you don’t need to worry.’

‘OKAY!’ I yelled, smashing my hands down onto the dashboard. Gareth jolted in shock and the car weaved across the road for a second, but he quickly regained control.

The car went eerily silent.

I didn’t mean to shout, but in a millisecond after the umpteenth time Gareth had paused and then told me that I didn’t kill O’Neill and not to worry, what had become something of a mild, irksome annoyance suddenly festered into anger, which evolved into a fearsome rage, which expressed itself in me abruptly and spontaneously combusting.

The idea that Gareth, even for a moment, could entertain the idea I might be a murderer filled me with a feeling I didn’t think I could even name.

Gareth carried on driving silently as I crossed my arms and twisted my body to look out the window.

‘Sorry, Beryl,’ Gareth said.

We had both admittedly forgotten that Beryl was still in the car, holding onto Tony, who had just come back from the vet’s.

We had seen her walking through the torrential rain as we were driving back from the cinema and had offered her a lift.

We didn’t want to ask what was wrong with Tony, but through careful eye contact that we had refined over the years of marriage, we thought that it may have been a broken penis since he had a strangely shaped cast around that general area.

‘Not a worry at all,’ Beryl said, her voice clearly a little shaken by the quick shift in tone on my part. ‘It is a bit stressful, isn’t it? A murder in our neighbourhood. Like something you’d watch on telly.’

We pulled into the driveway as Gareth, ever the gentleman, opened the car door for Beryl. Cradling Tony tenderly like a newborn, she slowly began to amble across the road towards her house.

I lurched out of the car, closing the door behind me swiftly to get some space from my husband, but found myself spinning around and jogging after Beryl.

‘Hey, Beryl,’ I said, calling after her. ‘Is Tony…okay?’

Okay, all right, I’ll admit it. Maybe I liked Tony a little bit. Maybe there was a small part of my being that actually cared for the well-being of the world’s most vicious and horny dog.

‘Well, we always thought that he hated Dalmatians. Turns out, he was quite physically attracted to them.’

‘Was?’ I asked.

‘He attempted to consummate his relationship with one, and it all ended rather painfully, shall we say,’ Beryl said politely, and then, as subtly as she could – for the sake of Tony’s pride, I’m sure – motioned her finger towards his man parts.

‘Enough said. Well, thanks, Beryl,’ I answered. I didn’t need to know any more. She wished us good night and walked across the road and into her house.

I paced into the house silently, walking into the kitchen, filling up the kettle, and as violently as I could, slamming down the switch to set it to boil. Gareth walked in behind me and gently placed his hand around my arm.

‘Hey, my love, are you okay? I’m sorry I went on about the whole thing for too long. I’m really sorry,’ he said, rotating me around to pull me in for an embrace. ‘I know between my job, the pregnancy thing, O’Neill, this has all been so stressful.’

He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt the anger in my body melt as I lifted my arms up around his shoulders and squeezed him tight.

I was sure that it was just that he didn’t want me to worry, but I couldn’t help but think that maybe, deep down, Gareth thought I was the murderer.

Of course, I was. But maybe it wasn’t so much about not wanting Gareth to know I’d killed O’Neill, but more about the lens of a murderer I feared he’d see me through if he knew the truth about everything.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, muffled, as he pressed his face into my shoulder.

‘It’s okay,’ I said, my fury beginning to dissipate. I squeezed him tighter. ‘You don’t think I did it, do you?’

I just wanted him to still see me as his Fran, his wife, not as a suspect in a case.

Gareth gave a chortle, placed both of his hands tenderly on my cheeks, and gently pushed his forehead against mine.

‘I’ve known you for years. Do you think I’d ever believe you could ever even hurt a fly?’

Somehow, the elation of knowing that Gareth loved me outweighed any kind of guilt I had lurking around in my subconscious.

It was nice to pretend that I didn’t have this weighing over me for a brief moment.

We held each other in the kitchen for a little while longer, both of us not wanting to be the first to let go.

‘Just remember, you’re not guilty, so there’s nothing to worry about, darling,’ Cecilia said as she walked out of the cubicle and joined me in washing her hands in the sink. I refused to call her ‘Cis’, the nickname Gareth had coined for her during training camp.

‘Yeah, thanks,’ I said, disinterested as we both stood uncomfortably at the sink, the sound of our hands squelching the ancient hand soap echoing around the bathroom.

I was grateful to use the absurdly loud hand dryer, its mechanical roar cutting sharply through the awkward silence.

One of the many uneasy moments Cecilia and I had experienced together since Gareth had first introduced us at a very tense board game night.

I left the toilets and hoped I might have lost her while she took the time to use Zeus’s almighty hand dryer, but alas, she suddenly reappeared behind me before I had a chance to get my bearings in the corridor.

‘Interview Room B, right? I’ll show you the way.’

I didn’t even have a moment to respond before she placed a still-damp hand on the small of my back and gently but firmly steered me down the police hallway. Interesting technique, but I’d be damned if I let Cecilia get any sort of power play over me.

‘So, has Gareth been investigating this case?’ I asked her point-blank.

She may have been shocked by the question, but she didn’t really show it. She just tilted her head to the side, trying to articulate an answer.

‘I think this is the kind of case a lot of us have had some sort of involvement in, but Gareth isn’t leading the investigation, for obvious reasons.’

‘Why?’ I asked, playing the fool.

Cecilia shot me a glance that did make me feel slightly idiotic.

In all honesty, I don’t think she meant it as such, but I decided I would add this to my ever-growing list of why I disliked her.

Part of me felt a tiny prick of doubt after what she’d said.

Had Gareth been involved in the investigation earlier on, but not told me?

Surely, he wouldn’t have kept that from me?

‘Here we are,’ Cecilia said, gesturing me to the wooden door adorned with a long piece of masking tape covering up a broken sign that presumably read Interview Room B .

‘Cool, thanks, see you around,’ I said, plonking myself down on one of the small benches outside the room. Cecilia gave a wry laugh as she pushed open the door and motioned for me to enter whilst holding on to the handle.

‘We’re ready for you,’ she said playfully.

God, was this meant to be another of her power plays?

I couldn’t tell. What she’d done wasn’t particularly mean or cruel, but there was just something about the way she did it.

I pushed myself off the bench, trying to appear unfazed as I walked in, ignoring that stupid smile of hers that I could see out of the corner of my eye.

Steve was already there, awkwardly munching on a chocolate bar, his expression fixed like he had just been caught in the act of some secret vice.