Ipswich
10th August: The night of the murder
Emma
The blood is immediate and shocking. I let go of the knife at once, horrified by what I have done, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling the soft push of the blade as it slides into her abdomen, sickly and wet. The noise of the baby crying has stopped, but someone is screaming, and I realise it’s me – an earthly, unnatural sound. Caroline is making a noise, too, but it’s quiet, a low, guttural groan. I ease myself out from underneath her, knowing I have to call the ambulance, do something quickly, stop this from happening.
‘Caroline!’ I say, ‘Caroline!’ She doesn’t answer, keeps her eyes shut and clenches her hands to her stomach, her fingers around the knife. Her body is folding in on itself like one of the paper dolls I used to make with Mum when I was little. The blood is pooling onto her white blouse, and her face, already pale, is paler still, as white as the walls of this silent, empty flat.
I kneel beside her, put my hands to her face, not knowing what to do, how to stop what is already happening. I want to remove the knife, to pull it out of her body but I’m scared that if I do so the wound will deepen and I will cause even more damage. It looks so brutal, embedded in her stomach like that, and I feel the panicked tears come to my eyes. What have I done?
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I say desperately, but her eyes are squeezed shut with pain and when I put my face close to her mouth, I can hear that her breathing is ragged. I look around for my phone but I don’t know where it is, it’s not in my pocket, and I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do.
She opens her eyes, just for a second, and I stare into them, dark brown pools of pain.
‘Phone,’ she says, gasping, and on cue, there is a buzzing noise and I see it, on the side next to the kettle, the rose gold case winking at me as though nothing has happened. The notification is from Mum, telling me that she’s leaving book group soon, will stop at the shop on the way back. She thinks I am at home; so does Dad, unless he has been in my room. He won’t have, they never do any more. ‘Popping to shop en route. Do you want anything?’ the message says and I feel a twinge inside because Mum is always trying so hard, so hard to be close to me, and I won’t let her because I’m so angry with her for letting this happen, for letting Dad stray.
Caroline groans again, and I steel myself to dial 999, because I have to, don’t I? I have to save her life. But I’m scared. I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do when they come – to run, to stay. If they’ll arrest me, if they’ll believe my story. I swallow. I’ll call 999 in a minute, but first I need someone to help me, to tell me what to do. I need to call the one person who I know I can count on, the one person who will help me. My fingers slippery, I press the numbers and hold the phone to my ear.
‘Please come,’ I say, ‘something’s happened.’ My voice breaks, and I begin to cry.