We walked quickly over the dewy grass, the park now deserted since the gates had been locked. We climbed back over the railings and my daughter led me to the taxi rank on St Giles where we got into the first available car. She flashed me a glorious smile that in any other situation or on any other occasion I would have relished. Only, now, my mind was whirring with what lay ahead.
We sat side by side in silence. The driver talked inanely about football and about some politician who had hit the news. It was clear he hadn’t recognised me or Zoe and I was grateful for that. I felt we needed this time alone without the media hype, without the police. If I could have captured that moment I would have. I wasn’t sure that anything would ever be the same again.
‘Zo,’ I whispered, ‘is everything okay? Is everything okay at home?’
She squeezed my hand. ‘More than okay, Mum.’
I nodded, looking back out at the shifting scenery as we moved from the city of Oxford further into the country, the orange lights slipping past us as we entered the black wilderness of trees and undulating lanes.
As we entered Chilcote, I held my breath. I wasn’t sure what I expected to see but everything appeared as normal and I took some heart in that.
We approached our house, passing the small cul-de-sac where our tainted cars sat, and pulled up outside. The house was dark except for one light upstairs. My eyes immediately flicked towards it, my stomach churning with dread.
‘Come on, Mum,’ Zoe said calmly, ‘can you pay the driver?’
I looked up and realised he had quoted the fare to me.
‘Sorry?’
‘That’ll be twenty-five, love.’
I didn’t even question the round number.
‘You all right? You seem a bit out of it,’ he quipped.
‘Mum.’ Zoe had got out and popped her head back into the car. ‘Come on, slow coach.’
I delivered a weak smile and got out on the other side, closing the door slowly. The taxi driver immediately drove off, giving us a wave.
Zoe came up alongside me and took my hand. ‘Come on, Mum.’
I wished Stephen would open the door. Why wasn’t he opening the door? Surely he would want to see us? My brain fizzed with unanswered questions. Had he already seen Zoe when she went to the house earlier? Surely he wouldn’t have let her out of his sight again?
Zoe and I walked up to the front door and she felt around her pocket for her key. It was as if we had just returned home from a shopping trip.
She deftly unlocked the door and pushed it open. We were greeted only by the hum of the fridge and the intermittent flashing of the smoke detector overhead.
‘Stephen?’ I called out, my voice breaking.
Zoe flicked on the overhead light in the kitchen and I walked in there, dazed. Only hours ago I had sat at the table confessing my affair with Robert. Now, it looked as if Stephen had cleaned up the broken glass, the whisky had been tidied away and a note lay on the table.
I moved closer, my legs threatening to give way.
My dearest Freya,
I am sorry. I just can’t bear the guilt any more. I’ve lost everything – you, our daughter, all our money – and I can’t go on. There’s nothing left, no savings and a pile of debt it would take a lifetime to repay. I wasn’t having an affair, Freya, I’m a gambler. I tried to stop so many times, but I couldn’t. I have gambled my family’s life away, and the shame is unbearable.
Please forgive me,
Stephen
I felt a sob mounting at the back of my throat and I looked at Zoe, fearful of what I had driven my husband to do. All those conferences, all those trips, and he was gambling! The lavish gifts, the secrecy about the household accounts – it all made sense now. How could I have been so blind? Was I so caught up in my own life that I had ignored my daughter and driven my husband to suicide?
‘No!’ I cried out as I ran from the kitchen and up the stairs, the only guiding light coming from the bedroom. As I pounded up the carpeted stairs, my foot caught the edge and I fell forward onto the landing. I looked back to see Zoe standing calmly at the bottom of the stairs. As I brought my head in line with the master bedroom door, I saw Stephen’s shoes. A wail of despair left my mouth and I collapsed on the floor. I dragged myself over, desperate to save him, if I could.
Stephen lay on the floor, his face peaceful, as if he were having a rest, the blueish tinge around his mouth the only sign of death.
Then I noticed the bronze statue that normally sat on the mantelpiece in the living room, to one side, just peeping out from under the bed, inches from Stephen’s hand. Zoe had come up behind me and rested her hand on my shoulder.
‘Mum.’ She looked at her father with such dispassion, I felt sick.
‘Zoe…’ I started, needing answers.
‘I came home, saw Dad in the window, watched him for a while from outside.’ She delivered this news in staccato chunks as if to make it easier for me to digest. ‘I saw him writing a note, getting some whisky off the side and your pills from the drawer.’
She was right: I had barely noticed through shock that the blister pack of anxiety pills lay on the bed. Not one remained. The whisky was almost finished. He had overdosed on the very medicine that was meant to help someone through bad times.
‘You saw him do this and you do nothing?’
She shook her head. ‘I came upstairs and I watched him die.’
‘Zoe…’ I breathed through hot, heavy tears. ‘You could have…’
‘Don’t say it, Mum.’ Her voice hardened. ‘He was his own worst enemy.’
My eyes darted to the bronze figurine once more. ‘The statue? Is that from the living room?’
‘I’ll show you.’ She smiled.
Like a child, I followed obediently down the stairs and through to the living room. She rolled down her jumper sleeves and stopped at the entrance to the room.
‘Now, I think you might be more upset by this.’ She tilted her chin. ‘But you don’t need to be, because we can be together now.’ She lifted her hair to show me dark red markings on her neck that had been hidden by her hair. ‘He tried to strangle me, Mum. I couldn’t let him do that.’
I let out a long, shaky breath, my body cold with fear and shock.
As she walked forward again, she talked. ‘I sent Robert a text from Dad’s phone so that he’d come over.’
‘What did it say?’ I whispered, my voice hoarse.
‘That he knew about you and Robert, that he wanted to talk. I told him to use the French doors at the back in case any press were still around.’ She nodded. ‘Robert agreed right away. Of course,’ she shrugged, ‘Dad didn’t answer the door because…’ She pointed upstairs. ‘Well, you saw him.’
‘Robert came in here.’ Zoe laughed. ‘He was quite surprised to see me again. Anyway, it didn’t take long.’
I pushed past Zoe now, my breathing laboured and rushed into the room. The back of a figure slumped against the sofa was undeniably Robert. I gasped in anguish as, even by the light of the moon, I could see that he was dead.
‘Robert,’ my hand rushed out to his face.
‘Stop!’ Zoe said, running up behind me and pulling me backwards. ‘You can’t touch him. The police will think you’re involved. It will all be fine, as long as you do exactly what I say.’ She was breathing raggedly. ‘I’ve checked, Mum. He hasn’t got a pulse. He’s dead.’
I lay back on the carpet, stunned. My own daughter was telling me how to avoid going to jail for murder. She had planned every step of it.
‘Zoe,’ I said, pleading, as I brought myself up. ‘Did he really try and strangle you or was he trying to defend himself?’ Hot tears coursed down my cheeks and when she didn’t answer, I let out a wail. ‘This is wrong. This is so wrong, my darling girl.’
She sat next to me now and took my hand. ‘No, this is good. It means we can be there for each other.’
Nausea rose inside me and I leaned over, retching.
‘Mum, are you okay? You’re going to be okay.’
I breathed deeply through my nose. ‘Darling, listen to what you’re saying. You let Dad die, you killed Robert. This is bad, so bad.’ I had resorted to treating her like she was five again. ‘We must tell the police.’
She looked at me, hurt. ‘You would tell the police after everything I’ve just done for you?’ She let out a loud whimper. ‘I would go to prison for life.’ She shook her head. ‘Then, you’ll lose everyone. You’ve lost Dad, Robert, you’re likely to lose your job, and then you’ll have lost me. You’ll have nothing left, nothing at all.’
I felt wave upon wave of crushing despair. ‘Zoe, do you know what you’ve done? I don’t think you understand.’
‘I do! I do! I’ve brought us back together.’
I rose, shrugging Zoe’s hand off. ‘I have to ring the police, we have to think rationally here.’ I paced across the floor, then went into the kitchen. I could hear Zoe’s urgent footsteps behind me. As I went to grab the phone, I saw Zoe pull a knife from the block on the side and slash the phone wire.
‘You can’t do this, Mum. I won’t let you.’
I sobbed. ‘We have to tell the police.’
I took my mobile out of my coat pocket and was relieved to see I had a signal. She went to take my phone but then changed her mind and stepped back instead.
As I waited for the phone to connect, she said, ‘Mum, this is your last chance to show me you love me.’