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We say our goodbyes soon after and I’m angry at myself for granting Paul the power to scare me like that. Will I ever be truly free of him, or are our lives now destined to remain entwined? I had hoped that by seeing him this last time, I was now free to get on with living. But now I’m not so sure.
Maybe Dr Chambers was right and I should think about that PTSD counselling. I naively assumed I was in control of my thoughts and my moods but Paul has proved how quickly he can creep inside my head. And while I’m at it, I might also look into cognitive behavioural therapy. From what I’ve read, it might goa long way to helping ensure my past doesn’t dictate my future. It’s time for me to embrace life instead of simply getting by at the expense of others. I know I can’t change overnight, and sometimes I might get it wrong. Actually, there’s no ‘sometimes’ about it. Of course I’m going to get it wrong, as it’s hardwired into my brain to put my needs above everyone else’s. But I’ve never tried to be the best version of myself before. And I no longer have an excuse not to.
For now, for today, I’m going to concentrate on the fact Paul is behind bars and likely will be for the rest of his life. Meredith and I are safe. And that is all that matters.
CHAPTER 68
CONNIE
Well, this feels strange. It’s the first day I’m not being reliant on my walker and I’m only using a crutch. It’s kind of liberating, but my brain is convinced that if I loosen my grip even slightly, I’ll fall over. So I’m clutching the handle so tightly that my fingers are starting to cramp.
For a winter’s day, it’s refreshingly mild, so I decide to walk from Hampton-in-Arden’s train station to Meredith’s house. It’ll also help me reach the daily steps goal my physio Zara has given me. That girl is half my age but nags me like a parent harping on at a child to finish their homework.
A mobile person might take ten minutes or so to reach Meredith’s, but for me it’s double that, and then some. Zara warned me there’s a chance I might always need a walking aid in some form. I never quite pictured myself as a forty-three-year-old reliant on a cane for balance, but if that is the case, I can handle it. It’s not the worst thing to have happened to me. I have survived my mum, I have survived myself and I’ve survived Paul. If none of that killed me, a stick won’t either.
I think about our prison confrontation a lot, especially the part where he didn’t deny killing other women before Eliza Holmes. However, he didn’t admit it either. I’ve ummed and ahhed about telling Krisha about it, and about his friend Derek and the role he played in identifying Paul’s potential victims. If there are others, I bet he knows who they are. But by pointing the finger at him, I’ll be putting myself at risk of investigation, as Derek has the video Paul recorded of me holding a pillow over Paul’s mum’s face. So even though it doesn’t sit easily with me and contradicts my new, more honest approach to life, I’ve decided I have little choice but to let it go.
It’s time I pushed both Paul and Derek out of my head, so I think about Meredith instead. I’m really looking forward to seeing her again. We speak regularly by phone and text, but this will be the first time we’ll have been together in person since before the accident.
Accident, I say to myself. I don’t know why I use that word. Being deliberately thrown to what was supposed to have been my death is hardly anaccident. But it’s easier to call it that than to keep saying ‘since my attempted murder’. It’s nice to have people like Meredith in my corner who really care about me. She and my neighbours have been there for me at my worst and I’ve never been surrounded by people like that before. It’s why I’m so single-minded about not screwing up my future.
I also want to see Meredith to thank her. Because not only am I picking up the will I left at her house, she has also offered to lend me the money to hire a solicitor to ensure everything is done properly. She wants to make sure all the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed. Initially I refused, because for once, I wanted to do something for myself. But I had a change of heart. This is different. I’m not trying to con her out of anything and I intend to give her back every penny as soon as Gwen’s money is paid into my bankaccount. And she’s right when she says there can’t be any cutting of corners when it’s something this important. If this is going to be a new start for me, then it must be done properly.
I’d like to buy her something to show my gratitude. I’m not sure what yet, perhaps a nice piece of jewellery to remember Gwen by? I make a mental note to subtly enquire if she prefers necklaces, brooches or bracelets.
There’s a list of things I want to do with Gwen’s money. And buying myself a car is at the top of it. Nothing flashy or expensive, a cheap runaround will do. Then I can wave goodbye to buses and trains and go where and when I please, not when a timetable dictates. Next will be headstones to mark the graves of Paul’s victims Eliza Holmes, Lucy Holden, Alice McKenzie and, of course, Gwen. Regardless of what Paul claimed these women confessed to him, they were still casualties and their lives deserve to be marked. Walter and Fran were both cremated so I plan to leave some flowers in the places where their families told me their ashes had been scattered.
Finally, I’ll pay to change my name by deed poll from Rachel Evans to Connie Gwen Wright. I am so far removed from Rachel that I truly believe any trace of her died the day Paul threw me over the bridge. Perhaps in some weird, sick way, he did me a favour after all.
I’ve also decided to keep Gwen’s house and remain in Avringstone. That she was killed there doesn’t put me off. There are plenty of ghosts who haunt me already, so one more won’t make a difference. And eventually, I’d like to volunteer for a charity that helps families and friends of those living with dementia-related conditions. I don’t know if my criminal record will stop that from happening, but I’ll ask about.
I pick a bunch of yellow chrysanthemums from a bucket outside the supermarket and pay for them out of my government compensation money for being the victim of a violent crime. The cost ofliving, travel expenses and my inability to earn elsewhere have taken a huge chunk of the £6,782.48 I was awarded – don’t ask me how they came to that figure – but I have around £1,000 left which, if I’m careful, should last me until my inheritance comes through.
And a few minutes later I arrive at Meredith’s front door, my right leg pulsing, my left exhausted, but my spirits high. I knock and wait, and when there’s no response, I try again. Again, nothing. That’s strange. I check my phone and I definitely have the right date and time. I cup my hand to the window and try to peer inside, but the curtains are drawn. I return to the front door and after a struggle, I lower myself to my knees and look through the letter box. Nothing appears out of place in the hallway.
There’s a gentle but twisting tug in my stomach, the one that has a habit of appearing when I think of Paul. His last words to me were referring to Meredith. ‘You never know who might suddenly turn up on her doorstep, unannounced,’ he warned.
‘No,’ I say aloud, shutting him down before he has the chance to spook me again. ‘Stay in control.’
‘Meredith?’ I shout through the letter box. ‘Are you there? Meredith? Can you hear me?’ It’s only then that I notice my hands have begun to tremble. It’s happened on occasion, and my surgeon has put it down to nerve damage. But it feels different today. Ominous, even.
‘Everything alright?’ comes a voice from behind. I know it’s not Paul, but I jump nonetheless. I turn to see a postman, an envelope in his hand and a bag across his shoulder.
‘I’m not sure,’ I say, and ask if he can help me to my feet. ‘I think something’s happened to Meredith because I’ve been knocking and there’s no answer.’
‘She moved, didn’t she?’ he replies breezily.
‘No, she didn’t. I spoke to her on Monday. She was right here, in the village.’
He shrugs. ‘Well, I had a conversation with her as the removal men were loading her stuff on to the back of a lorry and taking it away.’
‘What lorry?’
‘It said something about house clearances on the side.’
I shake my head. ‘You’re mixing her up with someone else. Meredith Harper, she lives here at number 23. She has done for most of her life.’
‘And that’s why I know I’m right,’ he continues, now defiantly. ‘This has been my round since 2015. I’ve known her all that time.’
