That day, the one that had led to this cell that tonight felt like a coffin, she had been in the swamp. She barely remembered it, just the immense effort of hauling herself out of bed, her body as heavy and useless as a sack of wet earth; of trudging to the shop; of making herself go for a swim because that was her pledge. And now she was here and she couldn’t swim in the sea or chop wood or walk in the cold rain. She knew she mustn’t let herself be pulled back into the dreary horror of herself, but she was hanging on by her fingertips.
Seven
“They took everything away.”
Shona was slightly out of breath. She sat down opposite Tabitha but her eyes were darting this way and that, taking everything in with an expression that was both nervous and excited. She had put on a blue satin shirt and large earrings; her bobbed chestnut hair shone under the sour lighting. Tabitha could smell her perfume. She looked fresh and pretty and out of place. Faced with her, Tabitha felt small, shabby, plain and grimy. She couldn’t remember when she had last washed her hair, and it hadn’t been cut for months. However thoroughly she brushed her teeth, the inside of her mouth felt furry. There was a cold sore on the edge of her lips: she needed fresh air, crisp apples, green salad, nourishing vegetable soup.
“They’ll need to go through them all. Did you manage to get everything?”
Shona nodded. Her earrings swung. “I think so.”
“It’s so kind of you.”
Shona took a little piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it in front of her.
“I wrote down how much it cost. Is that OK? Things are really difficult for me right now.”
You weren’t allowed cash in prison. Tabitha thought hard.
“Talk to Andy,” she said. “Andy Kane. I gave him some money for building supplies. He should be able to pay you.”
“I’m sorry.” Shona bit her full underlip and Tabitha had a memory, as clear as yesterday, of standing in a queue with her outside the swimming pool in town. They must have been about twelve. She couldn’t remember why they had been there together; they hadn’t really been friends at school. But she could remember the heat of the day and she could even remember that Shona had been wearing a cropped, short-sleeved top whose tightness emphasized her developing breasts.
“There are two types of skin,” Shona had said with high seriousness. “Oily or dry. What’s yours?”
Twelve-year-old Tabitha put her fingers to her cheek. “I don’t know.”
“I’m oily,” said Shona. “That means I’ll have more spots but won’t get all wrinkly when I’m old.” She leaned in and examined Tabitha’s face. “Dry,” she said.
Tabitha looked at Shona’s skin now, eighteen years later. It was smooth and lustrous.
“Tabitha?”
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
“I feel really bad about asking for the money back.”
“That’s fine.”
“I was worried I’d be late. It took me longer to get here than I thought. It’s only about forty miles away but the roads are narrow and there was this huge lorry in front of me almost all the way.”
“It’s kind of you,” said Tabitha. She could feel her familiar impatience building up inside her.
“I’ve got a few phone numbers,” said Shona, and she took another piece of paper from her pocket. “Andy’s and Terry’s. I didn’t know who you wanted. And I got the vicar’s number as well.”
“The vicar’s?”
“I thought you might want it.”
“Right.”
They stared at each other.
“How are you?” asked Shona eventually. “I mean, how are you? You must be . . . I mean, just, well, I couldn’t believe it.” She stopped. Her brown eyes suddenly filled up with tears. Tabitha had the horrible feeling she was about to lean across and give her a long, perfumy hug.
“Nor me,” she said and sat back, out of reach.
“Is it awful in here?”
“It’s not great.” She didn’t want to talk about that. She took a deep breath. “People know I didn’t do it, right? That this is just a dreadful mistake.”
“Well, I know.”
“What about other people?”
“You know what villages are like.”
“What are they like? I’ve only been back in this one for a few weeks.”
“People like to gossip. Even little things can seem exciting. And this—well, nothing like this has ever happened in Okeham. My God, on the day, well, you can’t imagine!”
“You were there?”
Shona frowned. “Don’t you remember? I was supposed to be at work but I got stuck because of the tree coming down. It was terrible timing—two of my mums were expecting.” Shona was a community midwife. “Anyway, it’s still all anyone is talking about.”
“So what are they saying?”
“I don’t know, just that it’s awful. Things like that.”
“What are they saying about me?”
A flush suffused Shona’s smooth skin. She leaned across the table slightly, made as if to put a hand on Tabitha’s arm, changed her mind.
“Don’t think about that.”
“Is it that bad?”
“No! But you’ve always been your own worst enemy, haven’t you, the way you charge in. You put people’s backs up a bit.”
“Do I?”
“It’s just you don’t let sleeping dogs lie. I’m on your side though,” Shona said. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
“Tell people it’s a mistake. That I’ll be back soon.”
Shona nodded.
“Because it’s mad,” Tabitha went on. “I mean, why would I kill Stuart? There’s absolutely no reason. The prosecution will see that.”
“Of course they will. Of course.”
“I’ve got a solicitor who seems clever.”
“That’s good,” said Shona.
“Yes.”
Silence filled the space between them. The woman at the table next to Tabitha was leaning toward the man opposite her and sobbing. She was pleading with him, but Tabitha couldn’t make out the words. The man merely looked bored.
“Andy’s very upset,” Shona said. “He’s practically the only one in Okeham who doesn’t like talking about it, even though he was the one who . . . you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You two are close,” said Shona.
Tabitha knew
