I rolled my eyes. “It sounds a bit trite, I know. Matt wasn’t a sociopath, anyway. He was just a weak, greedy man who wanted more than he had. And I’m not sure you can call An – my father a sociopath, either.”
“No?”
“No.” I looked out the window again. “I don’t know what he was.”
“Well, I know what Matt was.”
“What?”
“A complete and utter bastard.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “True. He certainly had a massive sense of entitlement.”
“And don’t even get me started on her.”
I pleated a fold of my napkin between my fingers. “She saved my life,” I said.
Becca sniffed. “Yeah, after trying to drive you crazy.”
“She changed her mind, though,” I said. “I think she realised she couldn’t do it. I think she came to warn me.”
Our food arrived at the moment and we both fell silent as the plates were placed into front of us.
“Can I get you ladies a drink?” asked the guard.
I fought the usual internal battle. One day at a time, Margaret had said. Just take it one day at a time. Only she knew how bad my drinking had been. Only she and Becca knew about Angus, and what had really happened that night in Cornwall. I hadn’t told the police. I couldn’t have coped with the resulting investigation and the media attention. And there was Aunt Effie to think of. Or that was what I’d told myself.
“Just water for me, thanks,” I said.
“Same here,” said Becca.
I pushed at the mass of scrambled eggs on my plate. I wasn’t hungry. “I wonder if anything she told me was true?”
“I doubt it.”
“I don’t know. She was so convincing. Surely no one’s that good an actress? And it would explain a lot... if she’d had that sort of a life.”
Becca rolled her eyes. “Perhaps that’s how Matt met her.”
I put my fork down. “Perhaps.”
“Ugh.”
“Well, yes. I wonder what he told her, about me.”
“God knows,” said Becca. “It must have been convincing.”
I sighed. “I was so stupid,” I said. “That’s what hurts most of all.”
“Come on. You weren’t to blame. You’re supposed to be able to trust your husband. That’s supposed to be part of the deal.”
“I wanted to believe it,” I said. “That was the clincher. I wanted it all to be true.”
“Well, of course you did,” said Becca. “Of course you did. That’s natural.”
I fell silent. Becca regarded me with sympathy. “Maudie, he had us all fooled. But don’t worry. It’s not like you could have spotted what he was doing, could you? Not really.”
I stared down at my half-full plate. “No.”
“Your defence will bring that up, won’t they? I mean, that is the defence, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said, slowly. We hadn’t yet talked about this and I wasn’t sure what to say.
Becca gave me a quick, penetrating glance. “You don’t sound too sure.”
“Well,” I said. I consciously made myself relax my hands. “The trouble is that the prosecutors–”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Yes?” Becca prompted.
I took a deep breath. “The prosecution’s case is that there wasn’t anyone else there. It was just me and Matt.”
Becca blinked. “What do you mean?”
I could feel my fingers tightening again and I took hold of my legs under the table.
“There wasn’t anyone called Jessica there as well. They’re saying she didn’t exist. It was just me and Matt. Just a common or garden domestic that went wrong.”
Becca was quiet for a moment. Then she laughed a little uncertainly. “That’s crazy,” she said. “There’s evidence–”
“There isn’t,” I said, interrupting her. “Or not much. A blonde girl on the CCTV, once or twice.”
“Well, that’s–”
“They’re saying it’s me,” I said, flatly. “It’s me on the CCTV. That’s their angle.”
Becca chewed her lip for a moment. I could see her flicking through the possibilities in her head, just as I had, and felt a rush of affection for her, even despite my anxiety.
“He knocked out her tooth,” she said. “Didn’t he?”
I felt the corners of my mouth pull in, in what was almost a smile.
“The police couldn’t find it.”
Becca was quiet for a moment. Then she sat up a little and smiled. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said, trying for briskness. “You and I, and your lawyer, know the truth, don’t we? We know she was there, don’t we? She was there, wasn’t she, Maudie?” When I didn’t answer immediately, she asked again. “Wasn’t she, Maudie?”
“Of course she was,” I said. I cleared my throat and said it in a firmer voice. “Of course she was there.”
“Right then,” said Becca. I saw her bite her lip again as she looked out of the window. Then she faced me, and smiled again. “I know it’s hard, but try not to worry too much. I’m sure it’ll all work out fine in the end.”
I tried to smile back. “I know. Thanks, Becs.”
The train rattled on. Beneath the table, my palms were marked with eight little reddened half smiles.
The sun was shining when the train drew into Penzance, although a strong breeze buffeted us as we stepped out onto the concourse. The harbour was a mass of yachts, boats, dinghies and fishing trawlers, all bobbing on an azure sea. I took a deep breath, throwing my head back against the dazzle of the sunlight.
We picked up the keys for our hire car and found it in the car park. I slotted myself behind the steering wheel. I drove carefully, tensely, looking out at the little stone cottages, the holidaymakers eating ice-cream, the far-off white peaks of the waves out in the bay. So familiar, yet so alien. I was glad Becca was there. I looked across at her and smiled when I saw she’d fallen asleep, her head lolling against the tatty fabric of the car seat, her mouth inelegantly agape. I looked back out of the window, and at the distant countryside beyond the houses and roads of the town.
We’d booked into a little guesthouse in the village, two streets over from the cottages Angus had once owned. One of them had become a bed and breakfast place, but staying there would have been too much for me. All the same, I stopped the car on the road outside for a moment. The two houses hadn’t changed much. One had grown a small extension and the creaky old wooden gate at the front was gone. The hedges had grown but not as much as I would have thought. Or was it just that I myself was taller? I could see my old bedroom window from where I was parked. I wondered what the reaction would be if I knocked on the door and told the occupants there had been a murder in their front room.
Becca had been sleeping deeply, lulled by the movement of the car. She woke up quite suddenly with a snort. “Ugh,” she said, wiping her hand across her face. “Sorry, I was fast asleep. Where are we?”
I put the car into gear and drove away. “Nowhere,” I said, “It doesn’t matter.”
The owner of the guesthouse was an elderly, bespectacled lady. I saw her looking at my scar as we signed the guest register.
"It's from a car accident", I said and smiled inwardly when she blushed and muttered something to cover her confusion. It no longer bothered me when people looked. Why would I care what they think?
We ate at the local pub that evening, the only one in the village, still thronged with ruddy-faced walkers sinking pints of stout. Afterwards, we walked slowly back to the guesthouse.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” said Becca, puffing a little as we climbed the stairs to our rooms.
“Thanks, but no,” I said. I smiled at her. “Seriously, thanks, Becs. I do appreciate you being here, more than you might think. But I have to do this on my own.”