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She scrambles to her feet, almost slipping, feeling as if this is it, she’s going to die, the same way Tom did. She’s stepped out of the house into the arms of Tom’s murderer and, sickeningly, she thinks she knows who it is.
‘Patrick?’ she says.
‘No. I’m not going to hurt you; I just want to talk to you. Are you Nicole?’
It’s not Patrick. She considers whether to scream for Anna, but he’s moved close enough to grab her. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Keep back.’
‘I’ll sit here.’ He lowers himself onto one of the sunbeds. ‘Please don’t run away. I saw your appeal online and I have something to tell you. It’s about your husband.’
‘What is it?’
He tells her a story about camping on their land the night before Tom was murdered. As he talks her eyes acclimatise and she’s able to see more of him and to make out his scruffy clothes and his unshaven face, the battered trainers. His small backpack lies in a limp heap beside the chair. He tells her that he met Tom in the woods, and Tom was angry with him because he’d lit a fire. ‘I was an asshole,’ the man says. ‘I behaved badly because Iknew he was right, and I felt like a twat. He was being nice to me, I mean, totally reasonable.’ She remains standing, feeling the evening breeze move around her, catching the smell of some sweet fragrance in the air, and listens to his words as if they’re a fairy tale, as if she’s being given something precious back, some minutes of Tom’s life that she thought were lost.
The man keeps talking. ‘When I don’t take my meds, I can be like that. I didn’t think much of it afterwards, but when I saw the news, I realised that it was him I saw. Because the thing is, I didn’t leave when he told me to. I came up to the house. I was angry at him. I thoughthewas being the asshole, a rich fucker, you know. So, I acted like I was leaving but I followed him up here to give him another piece of my mind, and I saw him on the sunbed, on this sunbed here. I was watching from over there.’ He points, indicating the long grasses abutting the edge of the decking. ‘And I saw that he looked unwell. He seemed alright down by the river but when I saw him up here, I felt guilty because he wasn’t quite right.’
Nicole can hardly bear to hear this; it’s hurting her, but she doesn’t want him to stop because she’s desperate to know. The man keeps talking, his voice low and confessional. ‘I was going to ask him if I could help him, like get him some water or something, but someone came around the house and your husband said “Hi” and so I shrank back into the shadows.’
She can imagine it. This man has barely emerged from the shadows to talk to her. He’s like an apparition.
‘Why are you here now?’ Her voice is a whisper. ‘Why didn’t you call the tip line?’
‘Because they’ll think I did it. I’m homeless. I live out here in the woods, not just here but in the area. I walk every day and I try to move on every few days. I was a student at Bristol Uni but I lost my way a bit. I made a girl feel uncomfortable. It was bad behaviour and it’s over. I got help and got diagnosed with something – it doesn’t matter what, but that’s why I live like this, so nothing like that happens again. I’m not a bad person. I wanted to tell you what I saw, but I can’t talk to the police. You understand?’
She feels as if someone has picked her up and shaken her so that all her joints, all the parts of her body, are a little loose and can’t be easily put back together. She feels that if the breeze gets any stronger bits of herself might blow away. Understanding other people isn’t easy just now.
There are lots of things she wants to ask, like how did Tom seem unwell? But one question is the most pressing.
‘Who did you see?’
73
FRIDAY
Olly
Olly strides into the kitchen. The detectives are sitting at the table. He recognises the female, Jen.
‘Evening,’ he says. ‘You’re working late.’
Jen smiles. ‘Sometimes that’s unavoidable. I’m sorry to disturb you.’
He takes a seat. ‘What can we do for you?’ Olly asks. He drums his fingers on the tabletop. Sasha serves a pot of tea and some milk. He notices her hand has a little shake.
‘Is your housekeeper here?’ Jen asks him.
‘She’s at the Barn, being a Good Samaritan.’
Jen nods. ‘And can you remind me of her name?’
He looks at her in disbelief. ‘Kitty,’ he says. ‘Don’t you keep a note of this stuff?’
‘Are you sure that’s her name?’ Jen asks.
He feels the smallest stab of danger and glances at Sasha. She’s looking at Jen attentively. ‘I’m sure,’ he says.
‘Has that name changed since you’ve known her?’
Sasha remains silent, leaving him to answer.
