Хилари Боннер - The Cruellest Game

‘There is one but I don’t know what it is,’ I said. ‘And do you think we could talk about this another time? I’m on bail for child abduction and attempted murder. I can’t really be bothered with an insurance claim.’

‘Of course,’ he said quickly.

I waved an arm at our desecrated kitchen.

‘I don’t suppose you have any idea who may have done it?’ I enquired casually.

He still didn’t speak for a moment or two. I stared at him. He looked away from me. Was there the merest flicker in his eyes of some expression that I couldn’t quite work out? I wasn’t sure.

‘Of course I don’t,’ he said eventually.

‘The first time, when I heard sounds downstairs, I wondered if it might be you,’ I told him.

‘Me? Why on earth? Why would I steal into my own home in the middle of the night? It is still my home, you know.’

‘So you might think,’ I said.

He winced.

‘Surely you can’t hate me that much, Marion?’

‘Oh yes, I can.’

He did not really react to that, instead speaking again very quickly, as if something had just occurred to him.

‘So that’s why you checked if I was really on Jocelyn, because you suspected me of breaking into my own home.’

I made no response.

‘I still don’t understand why you would think I would do something like that,’ he repeated.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps you wanted to frighten me. Maybe you thought if I was frightened I would need you more and let you properly back into my life.’

Even as I spoke it sounded pretty lame.

‘I would never want to frighten you, Marion, not for any reason, ever,’ he said.

‘But you have frightened me, Robert. You lied to me and deceived me, and you couldn’t do anything more frightening than that. All that we had together I now know to be a lie. We’ve not only lost our son but also the entire foundation of our family life.’

‘It wasn’t like that...’ he began.

‘Oh yes, it was,’ I said. ‘Look, I just want you to go. I do not want you here under the same roof as me. Can you not understand that?’

‘But I know I can help you, Marion. I want to give you support. And there are practical things I can help with too. I mean, are you sure you have the best possible solicitor? I’ll pay, of course—’

‘Robert, I am more than satisfied that Marti Smith, the woman you saw, is an excellent solicitor. In any case, it doesn’t really matter, because I am innocent of everything I’ve been accused of. And surely, even in this mad crazy world I suddenly seem to inhabit, innocence must count for something.’

‘Well, of course, of course,’ he said.

‘I do hope so,’ I replied.

He took a step towards me, eyes imploring, reaching out with both hands. I took a step back. It wasn’t even deliberate. Just the involuntary reaction I now seemed to have to the man I had so loved.

‘Look, in any case, it doesn’t matter what you’ve done, whatever you’ve done,’ he said. ‘I would understand, after what has happened. Anyone would. I know how overcome by grief you have been, we both have. Then you began to doubt me, in every way. I understand that too. You had good cause. And it was entirely my fault. So if you were responsible for any of this, then I am as much to blame as you.’

Even after all that had happened I found myself mildly shocked.

‘I just told you I was innocent,’ I said. ‘And I cannot believe that you of all people would think any differently. How could you even begin to suspect that I may have had anything to do with abducting a child and letting him half freeze to death?’

‘No, of course not, I only wanted you to know I understood, and I only meant...’ He stumbled over his words, unable to finish the sentence.

‘Oh, fuck off, Robert,’ I said.

He backed away at once. It was probably only the second time I had ever sworn at him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘Of course I know you wouldn’t do anything like that. Of course I do. But if you didn’t, then who did?’

‘Who indeed, Robert?’ I repeated. ‘I’ve already asked you that question. You’re every bit as likely to know as I am, if not more so.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

I sighed. ‘I’m not really sure, Robert,’ I said. ‘I’m not really sure of anything any more. Except that I do not want you here. Just leave, will you.’

He looked shifty.

‘And where do you suggest I should go?’ he enquired.

‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘As long as you’re not here with me.’

‘Can I at least take the car?’

‘I don’t have it, you bloody fool. The police are still crawling all over it, looking for some obscure piece of evidence with which to pin an unspeakable crime on me.’

He looked quite aghast at that.

‘I’ll call another taxi then,’ he said.

‘Right. And go and wait in the sitting room, will you. I don’t want to have to see you.’

He left the room without another word. About forty-five minutes later I heard a vehicle pull into the yard, presumably a taxi, and the front door open and close.

Robert left without attempting to speak to me again. I locked and bolted the door behind him.

It was almost eight o’clock by then. In a strange flash of practical lucidity I remembered that I had no transport of my own and called American Express to ask them to send my new card to Highrise after all. Then I spent a couple of hours just sitting at the kitchen table staring into space. I didn’t dare switch on the TV. I was afraid of seeing the news and of what might be on it. Eventually I set the new alarm system, and took myself off to bed, dosing myself with zolpidem and whisky. Only as I climbed under the duvet did I realize I had made no further enquiries about Florrie. I could have done with her company and the close proximity of her warm furry body. Instead I had thoughtlessly left her to spend another night in kennels. However, I was sure she would forgive me under the circumstances and I would do my best to get her released the following day.

Slightly woozy, I buried my head in the pillows, pathetically grateful for the warmth and comfort of a proper bed, but I slept only fitfully. It seemed like only an hour or so later that there was a loud hammering on the front door. I guessed I must have been asleep then, and awakened by the hammering, as I’d heard no sound of a vehicle pulling into the yard.

I looked at the digital radio on the windowsill. In standby mode its display panel featured an illuminated clock. The time was just before 7 a.m. I got up and walked to the front of the house and peered through the landing window. It was still dark but the security lights had come on. I could see a car parked in the yard, but whoever was banging on the door was standing inside the porch out of my eyeline.

I wondered who would be calling at that hour, and for a moment was anxious that my mystery tormentor may have returned. But I reminded myself that he or she was not in the habit of knocking. Then I heard the rattle of the letter box and a powerful male voice calling out.

‘Come on, Mrs Anderson, open up. Now.’

Of course it must be the police, I thought. The car outside was not a marked patrol car, but the voice had that note of accusative authority about it that I was beginning to get used to.

I made my way downstairs, using the remote control fob to deactivate the alarm system, then unlocked and opened the old oak door.

An angry-looking young woman stood on the doorstep flanked by two young men. The woman began to shout at me and one of the young men immediately started taking photographs.

I blinked in bewilderment. Bizarrely, I wondered what I must look like. I was wearing my pyjamas and had merely thrown my dressing gown over my shoulders as I left the bedroom. My hair was all over the place. I knew that I had dark hollows beneath my eyes, in contrast to the deathly pale of the rest of my face. And my cheekbones now jutted out almost as if they were razor blades beneath my skin and might break through at any moment. I never carried much weight, but I had become painfully thin, far thinner even than Marti Smith.