JP

I watched the scene unfolding in the sitting room like it was another car crash.

I didn’t want Harry McNamara to murder his wife, but I wasn’t able to move a muscle to help her. He was leaning over her on the couch, his arms straining as he held her down, but I couldn’t see what he was doing. Did he have his hands over her mouth? Around her neck? Was he smothering her with a pillow?

Within minutes, he fell back on the floor. She lay there, unmoving.

Every part of me started to shake.

I had just witnessed somebody being killed and had done absolutely nothing to stop it.

What did that make me?

I didn’t know what to do. Should I ring the police?

While I stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to process what had happened, the wife got up. Using the back of the sofa, she pulled herself into position and sat upright, swaying for a minute.

I couldn’t make sense of what I was looking at. Harry was on the floor, his shoulders heaving like he was crying. Had he tried to kill her but not been able to do it? Was she still at risk? I would act this time, I swore to myself. If he tried again, I’d smash the window in if I had to.

But … she didn’t look frightened. Not of him, at least. She looked like she’d just seen a ghost.

She dropped off the couch on to her knees and crawled beside her husband, then wrapped her arms around him.

She was comforting him. And then he placed his arms around her.

The two of them sat like that on the floor, rocking together.

I watched, completely at sea, not knowing what had happened or why and unsure what to do next. I started to weep.

It was messed up.

I’d come here to get the truth for my sister. What had I found instead? That there was something rotten inside of me. I couldn’t think straight and I couldn’t stop the tears. I lowered the binoculars and turned on my heel.