“At the time it all made sense,” she murmured, her mind groping into the past.
“Who did you think it was?” asked Roz after a while.
“Someone you loved?”
But Olive shook her head.
“I couldn’t bear to be laughed at.
In so many ways it’s easier to be feared. At least it means people respect you.” She looked at Roz.
“I’m really quite happy here. Can you understand that?”
“Yes,” said Roz slowly, remembering what the Governor had said.
“Oddly enough, I can.”
“If you hadn’t sought me out, I could have survived. I’m institutionalised. Existence without effort. I really don’t know that I could cope on the outside.” She smoothed her hands down her massive thighs.
“People will laugh, Roz.”
It was a question more than a statement and Roz didn’t have an answer, or not the reassuring answer that Olive wanted.
People would laugh, she thought. There was an intrinsic absurdity about this grotesque woman loving so deeply that she would brand herself a murderess to protect her lover.
“I’m not giving up now,” she said firmly.
“A battery hen is born to exist. You were born to live.” She levelled her pen at Olive.
“And if you don’t know the difference between existence and living then read the Declaration of Independence. Living means Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. You deny yourself both by staying here.
“Where would I go? What would I do?” She wrung her hands.
“In all my life I’ve never lived on my own. I couldn’t bear it, not now, not with everyone knowing.”
“Knowing what?”
Olive shook her head.
“Why can’t you tell me?”
“Because,” said Olive heavily, ‘you wouldn’t believe me.
No one ever does when I tell the truth.” She rapped on the glass to attract a prison officer’s attention.
“You must find out for yourself. It’s the only way you’ll ever really know.”
“And if I can’t?”
“I’m no worse off than I was before. I can live with myself, and that’s all that really matters.”
Yes, thought Roz, at the end of the day it probably was.
“Just tell me one thing, Olive. Have you lied to me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The door opened and Olive heaved herself upright with the customary shove from behind.
“Sometimes, it’s safer.”
The telephone was ringing as she opened the door to the flat.
“Hi,” she said, thrusting it under her chin and taking off her jacket.
“Rosalind Leigh.” Pray God it wasn’t Rupert.
“It’s Hal. I’ve been ringing all day. Where the hell have you been?”
He sounded worried.
“Chasing clues.” She leant her back against the wall for support.
“What’s it to you, anyway?”
“I’m not psychotic, Roz.”
“You damn well behaved like it yesterday.”
“Just because I didn’t call the police?”
“Among other things. It’s what normal people do when their property’s been smashed up. Unless they’ve done it themselves, of course.”
“What other things?”
“You were bloody rude. I was only trying to help.” He laughed softly.
“I keep seeing you standing by my door with that table leg. You’re a hell of a gutsy lady. Shit scared, but gutsy.
