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IT: OK, so you’ve got evidence for that Golightly woman, that David guy and the tramp kid. OK. Happy? I have no chance, I get that. I mean, who can compete with the mother of a murdered child? No one. In the Top Trumps of Victimhood, she holds the winning card, even if she did keep a file of death in her kitchen and go around chatting up strangers in the dark. People always prefer the underdog, the down-at-heel middle-aged woman, over the younger model when it comes down to who to believe. That’s just sexism, pure and simple. All the blame cast on me for no other reason than that I’m more attractive. Well, I’ll tell you something. As far as I’m concerned:
Rachel Edwards steals husbands, not me.
Rachel Edwards ruins lives, not me.
Rachel Edwards is a murderer, and I’ll tell you how I know.
I should have said it straight away. I should have told you, but I could tell you were trying to pin all this on me. But I saw Rachel Edwards go into the park with that girl. I saw her but I said I didn’t because only a fool would put themselves at the scene of the crime. I said I wasn’t there but Iwas. I was, OK? Isawher. I know you don’t have the CCTV, but I was there, I did see her, I swear. And the next day, when I read about that girl in the paper, I knew it was her, Rachel, Rachel Edwards. I couldn’t believe it when you didn’t trace it to her. Middle-aged woman, little black dog, walks the streets, talks to strangers, keeps a file of death? Just how much evidence do you need? It was exhausting. I would never have killed so many if you’d done your fucking job. Two more deaths and one near miss… and even then she had to do your job for you, turn herself in. I know you’re under-resourced, but honestly, you’re as stupid as her blind, trusting husband, to whom I dropped enough hints to sink a battleship. I’m telling you, Rachel Edwards killed Jo Weatherall. Rachel Edwards, do you hear me? I might be a murderer but she’s a murderer too.
57
Rachel
One year later
Amanda Frost recrosses her legs and fixes me with that blue gaze. It’s almost a year since I turned myself in. I’m off the antipsychotics now and this third type of HRT suits me a lot better than the other two, thank heavens. Sometimes the drugs do work.
‘Like we’ve said,’ Amanda says, with the air of a lawyer summing up, ‘sometimes it’s not one thing that can result in such extreme outcomes, but a number of things. And often it’s something relatively small that tips us over an edge we’ve been teetering on for some time.’
‘LikeCrackerjack.’
‘LikeCrackerjack.’ She smiles. ‘You have a wonderful support network. You have people who love you. How do you feel about Katie leaving? Liverpool, isn’t it?’
‘I’m OK. I’m all right. I mean, she’s a lot less angry since the counselling and I know I might have thought I couldn’t bear for her to leave, but I saw what her not leaving meant, not following her path, and it was terrible. And I know she’s academic, but it’s stage make-up she loves and that’s what she should do. You’ve got to follow your heart, haven’t you? Do something you’re passionate about. And I’ll be glad to get shut of all her props, to be honest – they’re taking over! I just want her to be happy. I’m following her now, by the way. On Instagram, I mean. Me and 4,000 others. She’s an influencer, did I tell you? Whatever that is.’
‘And Liverpool isn’t too far away.’
‘Not too far away, no. Half an hour on the train, not even that. She can still be independent but she’s near enough if she needs us after… after everything. And she can still be here for Kieron’s anniversary.’
‘Which is next week. Are you doing anything specific?’
‘We’re going to scatter his ashes and play his favourite song.’
Her eyebrows go up. ‘Where?’
‘Town hall.’ I smile. ‘The pond.’
Her eyebrows, which had barely landed, are up again. ‘What’s your thinking?’
‘I’m thinking that hate is going to eat this world up if we’re not careful. And what we need is love. The town hall is where Mark and I got married. It’s where we registered our children’s births. It’s where I took them to feed the ducks when they were little, watched them play. That place was always love for me and I’ll not have it ruined. I’ll not have it ruined by hate.’
‘You’re reclaiming it.’
‘I suppose I am, yes.’
When she says goodbye, there are tears in her eyes, as there have been at other moments when we’ve spoken. She is in her late thirties, as I thought, and she has two kids, two little girls. This last year, as I’ve got better, I have managed to make her laugh more and more. I know she’s here if I feel things getting on top of me again, and I know I’ll see her for my follow-ups, but now it’s time for me to go.
‘Thanks for everything,’ I say. There are tears in my eyes too, but I’m sure you’d guessed that.
‘Good luck, Rachel. I wish you every possible happiness. You deserve it.’
‘I’ll miss you.’
‘And I you.’
We hug each other like old friends. When we part, I give her a little wave, then I go out of her office and close the door. As I step out onto the street, I burst into tears so violent that I have to sit on the kerb for a few minutes to compose myself.
‘You all right, love?’ someone says.
