Chapter 28
BETH
Now
‘Is Daddy gone work again?’ Poppy asks, the second she runs into my bedroom, launches herself at the bed and scrambles up. It’s five a.m. It’s Saturday. Sadly for my sleeping patterns, she can’t differentiate between weekdays and weekends. Last night when I tucked her in I’d asked her – in a moment of desperation – to please give Mummy a lie in in the morning, and if she was awake before the light came through her curtains, to stay in her bedroom and play with her animals. It was a long shot, and one which has failed. Not that I was sleeping anyway, or even resting peacefully; my mind is far too busy working its way through every possibility, every path our lives might now take.
‘Yes, Poppy – I’m sorry. He’ll be …’ I’m about to say, ‘home soon’, but I shouldn’t lie even further to her. I can’t make false promises. ‘He’ll be gone for a bit longer,’ I say, the words sticking in my throat as I know even this might not be exactly true. If he’s charged, it’ll be a while before a trial, then if he’s convicted …
A sharp pain shoots through my temple. I can’t let my little girl grow up without her father like I did.
Fucking hell, Tom.
Nerves prevent me eating. I sit watching Poppy devour her breakfast, queasiness consuming me. Rain, or perhaps hail, pelts against the windows – I haven’t even bothered to draw back the curtains to look. Hardly any light penetrates the heavy dark-green material: I’m hiding away from the world, tucked away in my cottage. A part of me wants to burrow even deeper into the depths of self-pity, but I have Poppy to think about. The relevance of today will no doubt overshadow everything, though.
Today is the day.
Eleven hours to go.
Maxwell calls to ‘prepare me’ for either outcome: Tom coming home, or Tom being charged with murder. Strangely, I’m equally scared for both eventualities. Maybe it’s not so strange. I should give myself a break – these have been the most stressful and difficult days of my adult life; of course I’ll be feeling uneasy, nervous – whether he’s released without charge or not. Maxwell also says that, in theory, they could charge him and still release him on bail until his trial. This to me seems the worst option. How would we cope? How would we be as a couple if he’s back home, but charged with Katie’s murder? I can’t even begin to imagine how our usual day-to-day routine would be upended, or what conversations we’d have. I ask Maxwell if, given the nature of the charge, they’d even consider bail. Surely they’d detain him immediately? A man accused of murder would be deemed be a risk – to himself, if not to others?
‘It could go either way, Beth,’ he says. ‘It’s an historical crime and Tom has no criminal record: no previous convictions; nothing that’s brought him to the police’s attention prior to this. The man has never even had so much as a bloody parking ticket. He’s squeaky clean.’
‘Apparently he isn’t, Maxwell, or we wouldn’t be in this situation, would we.’ My throat tightens. How can he be glossing over the facts that, one, Tom was arrested, therefore the police must have some form of evidence against him; and, two, that he lied about going to work. And about God knows what else.
‘Well, I was about to add a caveat. As I mentioned before, Beth, the detectives are holding back certain evidence and it’s possible that whatever that is might lead to bail being denied.’ Maxwell’s voice sounds strained. Why do I get the impression he’s the one holding something back, not the police?
‘Has Tom asked you not to tell me everything because he’s worried I won’t cope with the truth? Are you sure there’s not something I need to know about him?’
‘He’s your husband, Beth. You should know him best.’ I catch a hint of sarcasm, maybe even an accusation, buried within his words. He’s right, of course. I should know him better than anyone else. The fact I’m not jumping up and down in protest – shouting about the travesty of his arrest, adamant about his innocence – doesn’t look good. Doesn’t show what a wonderful, supportive wife I am.
‘I do know him, Maxwell. And he’s a good husband and father,’ I say, firmly. ‘I told the detectives that when they first spoke with me, and I’ll tell anyone else who asks the same thing. Tom wouldn’t have done anything to Katie.’ My conviction seems a little too late; I hear a deep sigh from Maxwell on the other end of the line.
‘Then trust in the justice system, Beth. If Tom is innocent the evidence can only be circumstantial at best.’
My heart dips. Alarm bells ring in my head. ‘If he is innocent? Don’t you believe he is?’
‘Of course, of course. I’ve known Tom a long time and he’s given me excellent financial advice. He’s never come across as someone capable of causing serious harm. But they’re still investigating and judging by what they say they have on him, and what they’re still looking into, I’ve no real way of telling which way this will go. But, rest assured, he’ll be given the best legal counsel, whatever happens later.’
I hang up and pace, wringing my hands, which are unsettled and fidgety like my thoughts. I just want this evening to hurry up – I need this to be over. I wipe down the kitchen table and take Poppy upstairs to get her dressed. Then, while she’s playing animal hospital with her toys, I slump down on the sofa in the lounge and put the radio on for background noise. The morning news is a welcome distraction. Other people’s problems, not my own. Although, as the
