Julie

That night, 2007

Here’s what I remember.

I remember Harry laughing at me when I asked for the keys in the hotel lobby. He grabbed my arm then, and dragged me out to the car. I screamed abuse at him, vile, nasty words, while he held his tongue and manhandled me into the passenger seat.

I bit his hand and he yelled that I was a fucking bitch.

The two of us, utter disgraces.

He buckled me into the car even as I tried to fight him off, then slammed the door with such force that it nearly came off the hinges.

When he got in on his side he was silent again, hands gripping the wheel, jaw clenched in the face of my continued verbal onslaught.

He drove fast.

I hated that he was being silent and ignoring me. It gave him the upper hand. He was making it clear that I was the crackpot, unable to control my rage, humiliating myself.

I stopped yelling and started to cry. The thoughts that had gone around in my head so often over the last few months resurfaced. When we got home, I was going to do it. When Harry fell asleep, I was going to lock myself in one of the rooms and take a load of pills. End it all.

I don’t think I meant to say it out loud, but maybe I did. Perhaps I wasn’t as determined as I thought – maybe I was frightened that I would actually commit suicide and self-preservation kicked in.

‘I’ll kill myself,’ I whispered.

‘What did you say?’ he said.

‘Nothing.’

‘Julie, what the hell did you say?’

‘I said I want to die! I want it to end, Harry. It’s the only way I’ll be rid of you. I hate you. I hate you almost as much as I hate myself. I can’t live this life any more. This twisted fucking loyalty we have, this co-dependency. I can’t do it.’

‘Julie.’ His face was ashen. He brought the car to a halt.

‘You know what I wish? I wish Richard Hendricks had killed me. Then it would have been all over. I’d never have known that he meant more to you than I did. That your bank meant more. I wouldn’t have … I wouldn’t have killed the baby. I killed my baby, but it should have been me. Not that little innocent. You were wrong. When it bled out of me, I knew I wanted it. I didn’t just want to be pregnant. I really wanted that child, and I didn’t understand until it was gone.’

I was crying hard and he with me.

He tried to console me, struggled to put his arms around me.

‘I despise Richard Hendricks,’ he said. ‘I only left him at the bank so I could make him suffer. I keep telling you.’

‘And how dare you?’ I sobbed. ‘How dare you use what happened to me like that? You don’t care for me. You’re a liar. Don’t touch me. Just get me home. Now!’

He gave up and started the car again.

‘I’ve always loved you, Julie,’ he choked, as he began to drive, tears streaming silently down his cheeks. ‘Don’t you know that? I can’t live without you. I couldn’t live with myself if you … if you hurt yourself because of me.’

I snorted, so drink-sodden that I couldn’t even hear the real emotion in his voice, just the same hollow words he’d repeated over the years.

‘You don’t know how to love!’ I spat. ‘You’ve lied to me for years, Harry. Made me feel like I’m paranoid and crazy when I’ve known I’ve just known that you’ve been screwing other women. If some woman knocked on our door tonight and dropped her knickers, you’d be in there in front of me, still denying it. Look at how you were with that girl on the dance floor. You have no control over yourself. I’ve been so loyal to you. So faithful. “I can’t live without you.” You make me sick.’

‘I married you, Julie,’ he said, his voice thick. ‘You’re my family. My only family. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry you feel this way. But you’ve hurt me too. I want us back. I wish we could go back to the way we were.’

I saw her before he did.

A girl. Long blonde wavy hair. Petite. Ahead of us on the long, empty stretch of road.

‘Is that the girl you were dancing with?’ I cried. ‘I can’t believe this. Go on, then. Stop and ask her. You can pick up where you left off. Ask her to come home with us, Harry. I can watch. I’ve no dignity left. Let’s stop pretending. You can have her in our bed. Go on.’

‘Stop it, Julie!’ he cried. ‘Stop it.’

‘You wanted her, didn’t you? Well, go on! I’m giving you permission.’

‘She’s nothing, Julie. Nobody. I would climb over her to get to you.’

‘Prove it.’

The words hung suspended in the air.

‘Prove you’d do anything for me, Harry. Prove how much you love me. Show me those women mean nothing to you. Show me she means nothing and I’ll stop drinking. I’ll love you again.’

‘Jesus, Julie.’

He put his foot on the accelerator so we would speed past the girl and she’d be behind us.

And then it happened.

She was metres from us.

I leaned over and grabbed the wheel. He shoved me back into my seat, furious.

‘I said, fucking stop!’ he roared, and tried to right the car.

It was too late.

That’s what I told myself, afterwards.

Our car was on top of the girl before he had time to straighten it on the road.

I don’t like to think of the look in his eyes in those last few seconds. When she turned and he saw her full on – a young girl, not the girl he’d danced with but a total stranger, yet one who looked like me. And his hands, just for a second, loosened their grip on the wheel so the car didn’t veer away but instead hit her full on.

No. It wasn’t intentional. Was it?

Just because she looked like his wife and he was so angry.

Just because I’d told him to prove his love for me.

I had grabbed the wheel. It was deliberate but it was also just stupidity. Drunken, maniacal stupidity. An unforgiveable moment of madness.

But … the night of the Crimecall episode, when Harry was huddled on our floor, tormented, in agony, and we looked at each other.

I knew really.

He’d let the car hit her.

He’d done it because I wanted him to kill her, to prove all the other women meant nothing to him.

He’d done it because he hated me in that moment and wanted to kill somebody.

He’d done it because of me.