The press conference was timed to hit the evening news. Paul questioned whether or not it was wise for me to watch.
‘It’s not going to tell you anything you don’t already know,’ he said, but of course he didn’t know that for certain.
‘I’m just trying to protect you from further upset,’ he said, when I told him I felt I had to watch.
‘My upset isn’t going to go away, Paul. That’s not how it works,’ I snapped at him.
‘I just don’t see why you have to torture yourself with the details,’ he said. ‘Once you hear things, you can’t un-hear them. They’ll stick with you.’
‘All of this is going to stick with me anyway,’ I told him.
I already couldn’t imagine a time when I could close my eyes and not think of what had happened. I didn’t see things the way he did. The more I knew, the less my mind would wander. My imagination could be a dark place. How did he not know that about me? After all these years.
‘Well, I’m going to take Beth and Molly out for an hour. I don’t want Beth being upset more than she already is.’
His intentions were good, I saw that, but he was naive to think that Beth wouldn’t access the press conference feed when she got the chance from her phone or tablet. The reality of the modern world was that we couldn’t protect her from it. Nonetheless, I agreed with him. I wanted time to absorb it all by myself. I didn’t need his commentary, his tutting and judgement.
They left and I poured a glass of red wine before sitting down in front of the TV. The press conference started, and I saw Ronan and Mr Taylor sitting behind a table alongside Patricia and two men, who I presumed to be police officers. A uniformed officer spoke, detailing where the investigation was and asking for the help of the public in tracking down Clare’s killer.
‘We’re in the process of checking phone records, CCTV evidence and other information brought to us by the public, and we’re confident that the person or persons responsible for the horrific murder of Clare Taylor will be caught and brought to justice,’ he said.
He went on to urge anyone with information about Clare’s movements in her last few hours or who may have witnessed anything out of the ordinary in the area surrounding Coney Road on the night prior to her death to come forward.
‘No matter how inconsequential the information may appear, it could help us close the net on this dangerous killer quicker,’ he said.
I listened to the words of the policeman, but my eyes were constantly on Ronan and Mr Taylor. Their gaze never left the table in front of them. I watched as Mr Taylor wiped his eyes repeatedly. Watched as Ronan looked forward and held up a picture of my beautiful friend – in which she was smiling to the camera, looking carefree and happy.
He read from a prepared statement: ‘My sister, Clare, was a bubbly, generous and loving person. She was a devoted daughter to my parents, a devoted sister to me, and a much-loved aunt to her niece and nephew. She was loved by both her friends and her work colleagues. She’d never have willingly hurt anyone in her life. As her family, we’re at a loss to try to understand why anyone would have done this to her. My parents will never get over what’s happened,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘We ask anyone, anyone at all, who has any information about whoever did this to come forward as soon as they can and to allow our family some sense of justice.’
The policeman spoke again.
‘The person who did this would have sustained some injuries during the attack. There’s evidence that Ms Taylor tried to defend herself. It’s probable that the person responsible would have had Ms Taylor’s blood both on his or her clothes and on their person following the killing. Police believe that Ms Taylor was brought to Coney Road by car and she sustained her fatal injuries at the roadside. The car this person was driving would also likely be spattered with Ms Taylor’s blood and would require a significant deep clean.
‘If you’re protecting someone, the time to come forward is now. Police can be contacted by calling 101 and asking to speak to the inquiry team at Strand Road. Alternatively, members of the public can call the Crimestoppers anonymous line on 0800 555 111. Given the nature of this murder, we believe the person responsible to be a highly dangerous individual. The sooner we can have this person in police custody, the better.’
CCTV images of Clare were flashed on the screen. She was standing at a checkout, a bottle of wine in one hand. She was seen pushing a strand of hair behind her ear and smiling at the cashier.
‘The footage we’ve shown you was taken on the evening before Ms Taylor’s death at around 7 p.m. These images are from Chill Off Licence at the DaVinci’s Complex on the lower Culmore Road. We know that Ms Taylor didn’t return to her apartment that evening. We believe that her killer may have been known to her and that on the evening preceding her death, she may have willingly gone to meet with this person.
‘Police are examining a number of lines of inquiry at this stage, but we’re extremely keen to speak to a man Ms Taylor was believed to be in a romantic relationship with. We’d ask that man to make himself known to police to help with our ongoing investigation.’
‘So you believe the perpetrator to be a man, then?’ a reporter asked from the scrum.
‘As I said, at this stage of the inquiry we’re examining a number of lines of inquiry and haven’t ruled out the possibility the killer was a female. However, given the extent and nature of Ms Taylor’s injuries, we do know the killer would have had significant body strength. We also know that she’d recently begun a relationship with an unidentified male who has yet to make himself known to us.’
The policeman continued speaking, but my eyes were transfixed on the now still image of my friend, smiling at the camera, not knowing what had been lying in front of her. It took me back to the last time I’d spoken to her and just how happy she’d sounded. She couldn’t have had any idea of what kind of a man he’d turn out to be. What he’d do to her. The death he’d give her.
I shuddered, thankful in that moment for a safe and boring life. Paul and I may not be madly in love with each other any more – truth was, I wasn’t even sure we were in love with each other at all any more – but we knew we were safe together. We had our girls to hold on to. We had our perfectly nice life in our perfectly nice house with our perfectly nice jobs. Surely there was something to be said for that?
I glanced at my phone again. Still no reply from Michael. He was probably hurt at my reaction. I doubt it was what he’d have expected. I chewed on my thumbnail, looked at the flowers on the table. I thought of how I’d felt with him on Wednesday night – the delicious thrill that came with breaking the rules. The eroticism of touching someone new for the first time. Of hearing how he moaned and sighed as we’d had sex. How he sounded different to Paul. How he’d felt different to Paul. How the newness of him was an all-encompassing assault on my senses.
But it was more than that, surely. It wasn’t just sex – after all, we’d only just, after two months of meeting in secret, gone to bed together. It was the newness of the relationship. The friendship. It was how he looked at me and didn’t see, above all else, a mother and a wife and a tired housekeeper. He didn’t see me and remember the figure I used to have, or that my breasts used to be firmer, my hips neater. He saw me as the person I was – and without any of the ties of time and duty, he still wanted me.
But it hadn’t been real, had it? False names in my phone. Stolen moments. A fantasy that could only hurt other people. I needed to decide to be happy with Paul and work on that. Stop looking for what I didn’t have and make what I did have work again.
I picked up my phone and my finger hovered over the ‘block’ button as I looked at Michael’s number. With one touch I could erase him from my life. I could make my excuses and pass my evening class responsibilities to someone else. It wasn’t as if we needed the money. I could use those nights to spend more time with my husband. Encourage him to come home more during the week, do things with me. Be a couple again.
We’d been in love with each other once, after all.