Yes, but… Amber, you don’t know anything about him, really. All these years you’ve lived together and really, you know no more about him than he knows about you. Not even what he gets up to while you’re at work. He could be doing anything. He could be doing a doctorate in astrophysics, for all you share the detail of your lives.
The morning has come and gone. She has sat and paced and lain and listened to the sounds of the world outside: to the shouts and the bang of car doors and the bellowing of fighting dogs and the rev of engines. To the late-night cries of drunks and the yells of school-bound children. Sometimes she speaks to the dogs, simply to reassure herself that she still exists. They raise their heads, thump their tails, and for a moment she is comforted.
Amber’s lying on the bed, half dozing with tiredness, when she hears a key in the front door. Sitting up, she swings her legs over the side of the bed, has to stop because the sudden movement has made her dizzy. She clutches the coverlet and closes her eyes until the moment passes, then calls out, ‘Vic?’
He doesn’t answer. She can hear him in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors, filling the kettle.
‘Vic?’
Still no answer. She finds her feet and goes downstairs.
In the kitchen, he has his back to the door, and is staring at his tea mug as though in a trance. ‘You’re home,’ she says. ‘Thank God.’
He doesn’t answer for a moment, then says, ‘Do you want a cuppa?’
She has to hold herself back from snapping. A bloody cuppa. ‘No,’ she says. ‘I don’t. I want to know what’s just happened.’
Vic shrugs, muscles bulging beneath his T-shirt. She steps forward, goes to… she’s not sure what. Hold him? Touch his shoulder? He shrugs her hand off as it approaches. ‘Don’t,’ he says. ‘I stink. I’ve not had a shower since yesterday.’
She snatches the hand back, stands uselessly in the middle of the kitchen. His back is rigid, but she notices that he’s tapping his foot restlessly as he waits for the kettle to boil. He’s tense, she thinks. He knows he can’t get away with just not talking about it. Even with me, the most unquestioning woman in history.
‘Have you eaten?’ she asks.
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘They order in from the Antalya. Whatever you want. I didn’t know that. Did you know that?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘Funnily enough, I didn’t.’
He hurries on, the words rattling out with the random intensity that suggests a headful of cocaine. ‘Yeah, well, that’s where they go. ’Cause they’re halal so they don’t have to worry about that. Don’t know what they do about kosher. Probably don’t bother. I mean. Do you know what the difference is, anyway? Kosher and halal? Anyway. I had a lamb burger. It was OK. And a fry-up for breakfast. They get those in from the Koh-Z-Nook. They put chillies in the eggs, if you ask.’
She interrupts. ‘Vic.’
He turns round at last. Glittering eyes, excited; like he’s just had a big night out and hasn’t come down yet. He looks like the man who’s won the jackpot. ‘What?’
‘What happened?’
She expects something; some reaction. Discomfort, embarrassment, shame – a need to explain. Instead she sees white teeth, the upper lip drawn back in a way that suggests a snarl as much as a smile, and eyes that hold no life at all. It’s the smile of a shark.
‘You know what happened, Amber,’ he says calmly. ‘Why are you asking?’
She stays silent, breathless. She doesn’t want to ask. Suspects that she knows the answer.
‘Been up all night, have you?’ He stares at her. His eyes flick up and down her body.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I have.’
‘And what have you been thinking?’
‘What d’you think I’ve been thinking?’
Vic turns away, back to the kettle.
‘I never know what you’re thinking, Amber. Because you never tell me. You’re the number-one secret keeper, aren’t you? You should’ve joined MI5.’
No, she thinks. No, he’s not going to get away with this. I’m not going to just… there was a reason why they took him away, and I want to know.
‘You owe me an explanation,’ she says. ‘Come on. I’ve been up all night and morning. I’ve been going out of my mind.’
He turns back and mocks her with his laugh. Props himself against the worktop, mug in hand, and crosses his legs at the ankles.
‘How can you be so…?’ she begins, falters, loses her thread. ‘Why are you being like this?’
‘You look like shit,’ says Vic. ‘It’s no wonder, really.’
‘No wonder what?’ She hears an edge of panic in her voice. ‘Vic, what have you done?’
He slams the mug down on the counter; hot tea splashes urgently into the air. She starts, then registers the momentary hiatus between the action and his face assuming a matching expression. He’s playing me, she thinks. He’s just pretending to be upset. He’s not feeling anything at all.
‘You’re sure you want to know? You won’t get to unknow it, Amber. Once you know, you’ll know for ever.’
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘I do. For God’s sake…’
He pauses for effect. Looks at her, gleefully. ‘You actually think it,’ he says. ‘You think I’ve killed those girls, don’t you?’
She feels it like a punch to the solar plexus. Feels the air hiss from her lungs, hears her back teeth clash together. It’s what’s been going through her head all night and all day since they fetched him away. How could it not be? Only a lunatic would refuse to countenance the idea, in the circumstances.
‘I don’t know,’ she replies guardedly. ‘Would you blame me if I did?’
A mirthless, bitter laugh: ‘True love, eh, Amber?’
‘Well, what would you think? If you were me?’
He smirks. Triumphant. Ready to pounce.
‘Do you want to know then?’ he says again.
‘Yes,’ says Amber, ‘I do.’
‘Go on, then. Ask.’
She fights for control. He’s loving this game. I don’t know why, but he’s loving it.
‘Right,’ she says, slowly. ‘Why did the police arrest you?’
The smirk again. ‘They didn’t arrest me.’
Deep breath. Count: one, two, three, four, five. ‘OK. Why did the police want to question you?’
Vic picks up his cooling tea and slurps a mouthful off the top, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘Why do you think they wanted to question me?’
‘Because they found your fingerprints on the mirrors…’
‘Right,’ says Vic. ‘So if you knew, why did you ask?’
She can’t stop a swearword leaking out. ‘Shit,’ she says. ‘Don’t be like this. I have a right to know.’
Vic laughs.
The tension is unbearable. She feels as though the tendons in her neck are going to snap in two. Again she breathes, again she counts. Vic really does seem high on something. Maybe it’s just adrenalin.
‘OK.’ She starts again. ‘Right, OK. Can I ask why they let you go, then?’
‘Because I told them why I was in there,’ he says.
‘Looking for me?’ she asks sardonically.
‘Hah!’ His laugh barks out. ‘No. But I was looking for something.’
‘Fuck sake, Vic,’ she says. ‘Stop talking in riddles.’
‘You’d better sit down,’ he says.
‘Why?’
No one ever tells you to sit down when it’s good news.
She leans her elbows on the tabletop and watches the tears drip on to the Formica. ‘Why?’ she asks, hopelessly. ‘Why, Vic? You don’t even like her.’