And then she realised with a start that there might have been a trial like this for her own murder, but for their botched attempt at killing. If the knife had cut her throat as deeply as they had meant it to, then Alex would be here alone, her mum at his side, maybe her dad, watching on as people who had never known her talked about her. Or maybe her body would still be lying under the trees somewhere, like Vanessa’s had been for six weeks, decomposed, half-eaten by bush animals.
Her first retch was dry, because she hadn’t eaten anything that morning, but on the second she disgorged thick white sputum into her hands. She got up hastily, even remembering to make a weird attempt at a bow to the judge, who, she half-noticed, was looking up again, before hurrying towards the door, which a security guard opened for her. Although she had said nothing to Alex, she was certain he was behind her, and, sure enough, as soon as they were outside, his arm came around her shoulder, and she shrugged it off.
‘Amy!’
It wasn’t Alex who had just spoken. She was frozen like a hunted animal, fearing to look behind her, but her body responded like a reflex to her name and turned anyway.
Alex was turning too. And she was still registering the man’s face as he said, looking pale with shock, ‘I thought it was you.’
77
As she stared at the man, who was looking at her intently, it seemed she was destined to become Amy again. Everyone around her was forcing her back into her weak, tremulous body. It really was too much.
She recognised this man, but didn’t know from where, until Alex said, ‘Detective Thompson?’
The man turned to Alex. ‘Yes,’ he said, his features opening as he smiled, as though he were mightily pleased to see them. He looked from one to the other. ‘I didn’t expect to see you two here. Amy, the last time I spoke to your mother, you were still missing. Does she know you’re okay?’
Amy’s mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. She and Alex exchanged glances, each of them willing the other to talk, to tell the detective of their harebrained plan for her to find ‘closure’. It was ridiculous, Amy thought now – she would never find closure. She had done better in the last ten years through denial than she ever would by raking over the past again and again.
The detective looked at them and seemed to decide that they really shouldn’t have this conversation in an open space. They were quickly led down a labyrinth of corridors to a small, featureless room, with chairs around a meeting table and a water dispenser in one corner. Alex went over and filled two white plastic cups, returning to the table with them. Amy sat down and drank greedily, her throat objecting to the sudden coldness sweeping across it. Alex silently took her empty cup, got up again and refilled it for her.
The detective closed the door, and came to sit opposite them. ‘How are you, Amy?’ he asked. The concern on his face seemed genuine. ‘I’ve often thought about you, you know.’
She tried out a smile. It didn’t work. ‘I’m okay,’ she said quietly.
‘You’re here to see these men get put away,’ he said, a statement, not a question.
‘We thought it would be a good idea,’ she replied, putting her head in her hands. It felt far from a good idea right now.
She looked up again and the detective was nodding, but he didn’t say anything.
‘Will they?’ Alex asked, urgency in his tone. ‘Do you think they’ll be found guilty?’
They both watched Detective Thompson intently. He nodded. ‘They will,’ he said, no trace of doubt showing on his face. ‘Of course, the law can be strange… unpredictable at times. But unless something happens that we haven’t anticipated, and I can’t for the life of me think what, then this case is cut and dried. They’ll be in prison till they’re old men, if not until they die. Amy…’ he reached across and put his hand over hers, and she concentrated on not snatching it away, ‘… I think you were right to come,’ he said.
‘I don’t think I can stay, though,’ she replied, still staring at his hand on top of hers. ‘I thought it would be good seeing them there, but… the details… I can’t…’ She took her hand from under his and smoothed her hair down over her ears.
‘Amy -’ Alex began, but the detective held up his hand.
‘I can understand that, Amy.’ He paused and appeared to be thinking. ‘But the case is nearly over. The defence has almost finished, closing arguments won’t take long. Why don’t you stay in Perth, rest a while, and when the verdict is announced I’ll make sure you’re here for it.’
This sounded like something she might manage. She nodded. ‘Okay. Thank you.’
‘Of course.’ Detective Thompson got up. ‘Just give me your number.’
Alex pulled out a business card. ‘My mobile works here,’ he said, handing it over. ‘And we’re staying at the Crowne Plaza.’
The detective nodded. They shook hands.
‘Thank you,’ Alex said.
‘No problem. I’ll be in touch. It’s good to see you.’ Detective Thompson put a hand on Amy’s shoulder briefly as he left. He turned at the door. ‘If you haven’t already, Amy,’ he said, ‘phone your mum, love.’
Then he was gone.
By the time they got back to the hotel it was early afternoon, and jetlag was catching up with them.
‘What do we do now?’ Amy asked.
Alex looked embarrassed. ‘I might sleep for a few hours, then see if I can reach Chloe – if I leave it till teatime here, it’ll be early morning there.’
Amy nodded, then watched him lie on his bed and fall asleep. She was tired too, but she knew she’d never drift off, not after today. She couldn’t stop thinking about the court. The horrible details. That stupid witness. Those men… their blank, unrepentant faces…
Before she knew it, the bottles in the minibar were all empty.
She was sitting on the floor beside her bed, unsure how she had ended up there. She reached to try to get up, and sent an object crashing to the ground. She put her hand back down on the floor and felt a sliver of glass biting into it. As she watched, a red stream began to course along one of the lines in her palm.
In no time, it seemed, there were arms around her, pulling her up. Alex’s hair was ruffled, his eyeballs pink with tiredness. She watched as he looked down at the shards of glass on the floor, and then he picked her up and carried her the short distance to the tiny cubicle of a bathroom.
‘Thank you,’ she said wearily, over and over.
‘It’s okay,’ he shushed her. He sat her on the toilet and pulled her arm towards the sink tap, within easy reach. He washed the blood off and took a good look at her hand. ‘It’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘I’ll wrap it up.’
Once he had wrapped it in a flannel belonging to the hotel, he carried her back to the bed. She noticed a smear of blood on his neck.
‘Rest, Amy,’ he told her.
She tried to sit up, but her head had drums inside that began a frantic banging in response to the movement. She quickly lay down again. The fog in her brain was welcome; she much preferred it to clarity right now.
‘Sssh, Amy.’ Alex was stroking her hair. His voice became sludgy as she began to drift towards unconsciousness.
And then she told him. Why at that moment, she didn’t know. But she just couldn’t continue holding on to it alone any longer.
‘I had a baby, Alex,’ she whispered, pausing. ‘And then I did a terrible, terrible thing,’ she added, just before the world went black.
78
Chloe was at the office and finally getting down to some work, grateful that when she’d woken that morning
