Judith nodded stiffly. She resented the conversation, resented it deeply.
‘You were fifteen when that happened, Jude. Now you’re forty. Of course you should tell Rocky what happened with Miriam. You don’t need me to tell you that. But, you know, keep it to yourself if you want to. If you want to, you can spend the rest of your life making bad decisions and blaming those decisions on your shitty childhood. You decide to do that and I guarantee you, you’ll find a hell of a lot of people who will cheer you on. You can go online and surround yourself with people who will tell you that you’re right to pity yourself, that you’re right to be angry, and that every shitty decision you make is justified because once upon a time, you were a victim.’
Judith’s cheeks were burning. She was angry, so bloody angry.
‘Or you can look in the mirror and recognise that you have been making your own decisions since you were eighteen years old. That’s more thanhalf your life, Jude. More than half the time you’ve spent on this earth, you’ve been the only one in charge. You can own that, and then you can decide to leave your baggage here, and decide what kind of person you want to be in the world. Someone who makes the world better, not worse.’
‘That’s all beautifully put, but I don’t know what my shitty childhood has to do with anything.’
Katy picked up her glass of wine, finished it in one long swallow, then put her glass down on the table. She folded her arms, and her face settled into a fixed expression. She looked like she was bracing herself for more blowback. But after a moment she started speaking again.
‘You don’t like weak women. Or women you see as weak. You’ve had all the training, and you’ll say all the right things about victims’ rights and all the rest of it, but deep down, there is a part of you that believes they should be like you.’
‘Like me. Give me a break.’ Judith said half-laughing, shaking her head, but there were tears in her eyes too. Shockingly. Unexpectedly.
‘Yes. You think everyone should be able to fight back as hard as you did. As hard as you can. But you’re missing the whole point.’
‘What’s the point?’
Katy leaned forward. Her eyes met Judith’s.
‘The point is, youarestrong, Judith. You’re strong, and you’re smart, and you’re brave and you can be fierce as hell. Yes, you’re too impulsive, but mostly it works out because you’re bloody good at what you do. And you should be using all of that to fight for the people who don’t have those gifts. Sometimes you do that—I’m not saying you never do it—but not enough. Maybe these people, they don’t have the strength you have, or maybe they had the strength beaten out of them, or maybe circumstances have just put them at the lowest ebb they’ll ever be at in their lives when they meet you. And you’re there. And instead of sitting in judgement on them, Jude, you should be putting your hand out and lifting them up.’
Judith swallowed against the lump in her throat. She wanted to say that she wasn’t that brave or strong, actually—that she was just as much of a mess as the next person— but she wasn’t sure she could talk without emotion getting the best of her, so instead of talking, she sipped her wine. Minutes passed. They sat in silence.
‘I wish I’d known about her mother,’ Judith said in the end. The words surprised her. She didn’t know they were coming until they were out.
Katy picked up the bottle and topped up their glasses with a steady hand. ‘You think you would have treated her any differently?’
Judith ignored that question. ‘It just seems wrong, that I didn’t know.’
They fell silent as Oliver opened the door and came out onto the porch carrying two large bowls with generous portions of pasta, a hunk of garlic bread plonked on top of each.
‘It’s just spag bol,’ he said, deprecatingly.
‘Excuseme,’ said Katy.
‘Apologies. It’s spag bol mostly made by the great Katy Cirillo, and garlic bread made by me.’ He put a plate in front of each of them. He picked up the bottle of wine. ‘And I’m stealing this, you wenches, before you finish it. Share and share alike, you know.’
He disappeared back inside. Katy looked after him fondly.
‘He’s the best, really.’
They were quiet again for a few minutes. The only sounds were birdsong and distant traffic. Judith shifted her weight in her seat.
‘Could you do it?’ she asked.
‘Do what?’
‘What Ruth’s done. Assuming I’m right about her, that is. That she’s murdered one man, set up another.’
Katy frowned.
‘If you had a very good reason. If someone killed Bianca or Nico, for example.’
‘Don’t even joke about that.’
‘No joke. I mean, if someone killed someone you love, would you go after them the way she has? No compromise, no quarter, just her version of justice.’
