‘What’s wrong with us?’
They had returned to Meredith’s cottage after the police had taken their statements. Meredith parked her Morris Traveller in the car park, and both of them gazed momentarily at the space that had held Ralph’s car before the police had towed it away.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked flatly as they trudged down the steps to the cottage gate.
Pete rubbed a hand across his face, as if he was trying to wipe away the memory of Andrea’s body in the water.
‘Did a gypsy put a curse on us as babies, or something? I mean, what the fuck is going on? It doesn’t make sense. It’s as if everybody we get close to is being bumped off.’
As Meredith jiggled the key in the lock, he turned away to look over her cottage garden, a riot of hollyhocks and tea roses that blurred into a floral cloud. He blinked hard and took a deep breath.
‘“Everybody we get close to” is a bit of a stretch,’ Meredith said, her voice sounding as strained as he felt. ‘And you’ve got me. I know it’s not the same as a wife or anything, but at least we have each other … I don’t think I would ever trust anybody else.’
Poor Meredith, he thought. Her trauma had been stitched so well into the fabric of their lives that he just didn’t see it any longer, like the invisible mending that their mother used to do on his school trousers; like the hole in Meredith’s hand that he no longer noticed, because after a while it had become too painful to see. His head was a mess.
‘Andrea and I kissed last night when you were in the loo,’ he said, heading straight for the living room and flopping down on the sofa, as he always did. He put his face in his hands. ‘It was so bloody lovely. And I told you she invited me over, right…? I was so excited. I thought at last something was going to happen; that it was time, that I’d been right to wait and not rush it. And now she’s fucking dead. How can she be dead?’ His voice cracked. ‘And her baby. Can’t stop thinking about that little baby too, it’s just so…’
Meredith knelt at his feet and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. ‘I know,’ she said. She was crying too; he could feel her hot tears on the skin below his ear. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s not fair, it’s just not fair. She was such a lovely person, and could have been so right for you…’
They wept together, rocking, taking comfort from their closeness, as if their grief was halved by sharing it.
Eventually Meredith sniffed and sat back on her heels, scrubbing her eyes. ‘I still haven’t told the police that I slept with Ralph.’
Pete blew his nose with the cotton hanky he kept in his pocket for when he had hay fever. ‘Shit, Mez. You can’t now. Especially not after Andrea. They’re going to think you’ve got something to do with it!’
‘That’s crazy, why would they? Ralph and Andrea were both my friends. Why the hell would I ever drown them? I suppose it depends what the post-mortems show. At the very least they’d have me for obstructing the course of justice, or withholding evidence, or something.’
‘That Davis guy would probably forgive you anything. I doubt you can do any wrong as far as he’s concerned.’
‘He might be a fan but he’s a cop first, Pete. I mean, seriously – you think if I’d killed them he’d, like, just let me off with a warning because he had all Cohen’s albums?’
Pete stood up slowly, like an old man, a hand in the small of his back. ‘I’m not thinking straight. I just keep seeing her…’
‘Me too,’ Meredith said, idly tracing the edges of her scar with a forefinger. Pete had long ago observed it was a thing she often did when she felt unhappy, as if she was reading her pain like Braille. Meredith drawing attention to it herself was pretty much the only time he ever noticed it these days. ‘How are you going to go back to the barge after this? I don’t know how I am.’
Pete sighed heavily. ‘I don’t know either.’ He walked towards the kitchen and opened the fridge door. ‘I’m not hungry, but we haven’t eaten all day. What have you got in?’
‘Eggs. Might be a bit of bacon left. I really don’t want anything though, apart from wine, and I don’t even have any of that.’
‘Is that all? You need to go shopping.’
Meredith leaned on the kitchen door frame and scowled at him. ‘Well, sorry, Pete, but I’ve had other things on my mind.’
He turned, egg box in hand. ‘Are you wondering…?’
‘What?’ They held each other’s gaze. Meredith put her damaged hand defensively behind her back.
‘That,’ Pete said, glancing towards her concealed hand. ‘You are, aren’t you? And you were after Ralph, too. I tried to ask you then but you cut me off. But we can’t not talk about it now. You’re wondering if he—’
‘Don’t.’
‘You have to tell—’
‘No! There’s no way. It was a lifetime ago!’
‘But you said that twat at the record company found you last year.’
Meredith’s face had turned a sickly yellowish colour, and Pete felt compassion flood through him like an adrenaline rush. He put the eggs down on the counter, went across and hooked his arm casually around her neck. ‘Tell them what happened, Mez. It’s important. It’s probably nothing to do with it at all, but…’
‘Yeah. OK. I’ll tell Gemma about it. And about me and Ralph.’
‘Promise?’
‘Um … I’ll try.’