I reached down and took Ronan’s hand. ‘Ronan, how did this happen? How did we get to this?’
I could feel him shake beside me.
‘You must be running on empty,’ I said. ‘You know, you need to look after yourself now too, don’t you? You’ll run yourself into the ground …’
I’d no sooner said the words than I realised that they were grossly inappropriate in the circumstances.
Ronan looked at me, his face crumpled, and my heart sank until I realised he wasn’t angry or horrified at my tactlessness but laughing. That hysterical, grotesque laugh that comes from grief and exhaustion. It was almost like a madness and I held him in a hug until he gave way to tears.
I held him until the shaking subsided and then I told him he really did need to get home and get a good rest.
‘You’re right,’ he nodded. ‘I’ve barely closed my eyes since this happened. I’m scared to let my mind wander and I want to be there for my parents.’
‘You’ll be no use to your parents if you burn yourself out. The best thing you can do for you, and them, and for Clare’s memory right now is to look after yourself. Can you get some of those sedatives the doctor gave your parents? Take them, sleep away the afternoon?’
He nodded as another car pulled up further down the road and I heard the opening of their car door.
‘More ghouls come to gawk,’ he said. Is that what he thought of me? That I’d come to ‘gawk’?
‘Maybe they just want to pay their respects,’ I said softly. ‘None of us have been prepared to deal with any of this.’
He nodded, hugged me and walked off, a dejected figure, heading back to his car as I stood and watched him while a couple carrying another bunch of supermarket flowers walked towards me. Ronan was right, I thought, looking at the flowers on the dusty ground. Clare wasn’t here. She should never have been reduced to this.
I crouched down to read the cards on the flowers. They were full of the usual trite phrases of condolence. There was a plain white card tucked into the ribbon around the forget-me-nots, wrapped in cellophane. I picked it up and read the words written in black ink:
I blinked at it, confused. It gave me the creeps. I shuddered just as Ronan had done. What was it supposed to mean?
I heard a cough from the couple who were behind me, fought the urge to tell them to back off and give me space. Was I getting in the way of their rubbernecking? I stood up, wiped the tears from my eyes and walked back to my car, not so much as acknowledging them as I left, just letting the words I’d read play over and over in my head.
Taking a deep breath to settle myself, I picked up my phone and googled the phrase, trying to find some context. It seemed to be a bastardised version of a quote from the philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, but it still didn’t seem to make any sense when it came to Clare.
I pinched the bridge of my nose to fend off a headache. Then noticed a missed call was logged on my phone. I half expected it to be Paul, calling to ask when I’d be back. My stomach lurched when I saw it was from Michael and that he’d left a voicemail. My hands shaking, I put the phone to my ear and listened.
‘Rachel, I’m so sorry. I’ve had all sorts of problems. Please call me back as soon as you can. I need to know you’re not angry at me.’
This was the moment in which I could choose where I went from that point, if I’d do everything I’d promised myself just the night before, where I’d focus on my marriage and my family. I could ignore his call. He’d understand, eventually. It was in my power. But those promises had been made before I’d seen the scratches on Paul’s arm. That changed everything. And hearing Michael’s voice just confirmed that.
I called his number and he picked up within two rings. He didn’t give me the chance to speak before he started talking, his words falling over each other.
‘Rachel, I’m so sorry. I dropped my phone in the sink on Thursday and I couldn’t get it to switch on. I had to stick it in a bowl of rice to dry it out. I didn’t have your number to call you from another phone and my laptop’s on the blink, so I couldn’t even send you an email or a message.
‘I got your message about the flowers just before it happened and I’m so sorry. I just wanted to do something. I watched the press conference and it’s just beyond belief. I’m so sorry. What must you think of me, especially after Wednesday night? You probably thought I was the worst person in the world.’
He sounded so genuinely upset, I just closed my eyes and let his voice soothe me. The knowledge that he hadn’t been ignoring me, or huffing with me, came with such a sense of relief that I felt the need to see him as quickly as I could.
‘Can I come and see you?’ I asked.
‘Of course you can. Can you come now?’
‘I’ll be with you in ten minutes,’ I told him and we ended the call.
Even though I knew Paul would be expecting me home shortly, even though I knew the girls would be awake and wondering where I was, I selfishly needed to see Michael more than I did them, so I set off for his house.
I parked at the rear of Michael’s house, aware that it was daytime and that my car could easily have been spotted by passing traffic. He was waiting for me at the back gate and quickly ushered me inside. I fought the magnetic urge to reach for his hand as we walked up the garden path, knowing we had to be careful. Once inside, I allowed him to pull me into a hug and, to my embarrassment, I started crying. He held me and rocked me as I let go of the tension I’d been carrying with me all morning.
He didn’t make promises that it would be okay, only that he’d be here for me when I needed him. When I broke away from his embrace, he led me to his kitchen, where he sat me down and made a cup of tea. He fetched me a glass of water and some paracetamol for the headache that had just kicked in.
He listened as I told him about going to see where it had happened. About the bizarre note. He listened as I told him that I suspected Paul may be cheating on me.
‘How would you feel – really feel – if he was?’ Michael asked, his green eyes staring intently at me.
‘I suppose it would be hypocritical to say I’d be hurt?’ I said, knowing that it was.
Michael shrugged. ‘I don’t think it’s hypocritical. You’re allowed to be hurt. But would you be devastated? Do you, given everything, envisage yourself staying with him in the long term?’
This was a loaded question, of course – whatever answer I gave would have ramifications for Michael and me.
‘I’m not sure what I think,’ I told him.
He shifted in his seat as if my answer annoyed him.
‘It’s like there’s so much going on in my brain at the moment – so much that I’m trying to process – that I don’t know … my brain can’t work anything out. I know we’re broken,’ I said, raising my eyes to his again. ‘Paul and me. I know that there’s probably no coming back from this, but my brain’s too full of what’s happened to Clare, wanting the police to catch her killer, wanting to get her body released and her home to her family … My brain’s just so full of that to know how I truly feel about anything else.’
He sighed, looked downwards, brushing back a curl that had fallen across his forehead. ‘I’m sorry. I know I’m expecting too much from you at the moment. I’m being selfish. The last thing I want to do is to cause you any more upset and stress. What we have is good, and it’s fun and pure – I don’t want it to make your life tougher.’
I reached out and took his hand, turned it over in mine and bent forwards, kissing the heel of his palm gently, breathing in his scent. ‘It’s not you who makes my life tougher,’ I told him. ‘You’re the good thing. You’re the positive.’
He put his hand to my cheek and I revelled in the feeling of it against my skin, closing my eyes to breathe him in. I felt the gentlest touch of his lips on mine and I was lost to him.
‘It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way about anyone,’ he said. ‘If ever.’
My phone rang, a Nineties dance tune jerking us from the intimacy of the moment. Julie was calling me. I grimaced at my phone where it sat with my car keys. I didn’t want this interruption. Michael looked at it, then at me.
‘It’s Julie. You should answer. I imagine she needs you a lot right now.’
I knew he was right, so I answered to hear her, almost hysterical, on the other end of the line.
‘Rachel, have you seen the news? Brendan showed me. It’s in the paper … It says that someone slit Clare’s throat so deep they almost cut her head off …’
At that I could hear her start to hyperventilate.
‘Rachel …’ she gulped. ‘Is … that … true? Did someone do that? Is that what … happened? Rachel!’
I listened as my friend retched and vomited on the other end of the phone. The taste of bile was in my own mouth. Instinctively, I put my hand to my throat. I didn’t even have to try to imagine the horror – an image was there in my head. Clare gasping for breath. A knife. Jesus Christ! This man was an animal.
‘I’ll be with you in ten minutes,’ I stuttered, hanging up. ‘I have to go,’ I told Michael. ‘Some newspaper has printed horrific details of what happened to Clare. I’ve no idea if it’s true. Jesus! I hope it’s not true. Julie’s beside herself.’
‘I understand,’ Michael said, standing up. ‘You have to go. This has to come first for now. Look, maybe we should just take a break. I don’t mean stop altogether, but just put it all on pause until this settles. I need you, but others need you more.’
I blinked at him, trying to comprehend what was happening. Was he calling a halt to whatever this was because I was going to help my hysterical friend? Because I was choosing her need over his? He looked away from me and I asked myself had he just been lying to me all along – broken phones and battered laptops, and never feeling like this about anyone else, but let’s just hit the pause button? I didn’t need this game-playing. Or whatever it was.
I didn’t trust myself to respond, so I simply grabbed my keys and walked out of the back door, leaving it swinging behind me.
If he called after me, I didn’t hear him. All I could hear was my blood rushing through my body and the echoes of Julie’s hysteria as she relayed to me what she’d read.