Page 63 of The Best Friend
Beth kisses my forehead, straightens up and returns to her seat. ‘Now, are you ready to let them back in?’
I swallow and nod. ‘No, but okay.’
After a gruelling two more hours of questioning with Beth by my side, and an uncomfortable night in a depressing cell, I’m released without charge at lunchtime on Saturday. Beth returns to the station to pick me up. Jared was going to come and get me, but I told him to stay with Joe. I don’t want my son to know what’s been going on. I don’t want him to get even a hint of it.
It’s strange to step outside into the daylight, after everything I’ve been through. The sunshine sears my retinas and the cold air stings my cheeks, burns my lungs. Yet it feels good to be outside, to be walking away from the station where I was made to feel like a criminal.
‘I’m parked over the road,’ Beth says, taking my arm and leading me through a lull in traffic like I’m a child incapable of crossing on my own. I gaze around at all these people driving their cars and vans, cycling, walking, getting on with their regular lives, while my own life is disintegrating. How does it happen that you’re going along perfectly fine, and then, little-by-little, events twist and conspire to pull you down until you don’t recognise anything from your life any more?
We walk along a quiet side street flanked with bland sixties office blocks until we reach Beth’s car. She opens the passenger door for me and I climb in like an old person, easing myself into the seat, somehow astonished by its comfort, and by its warm, clean leathery smell. Beth gets in beside me, closes her door and starts up the engine. ‘Let’s get you home,’ she says.
‘I’m scared.’ I fold my hands together to stop them shaking.
‘It’ll be okay.’ She takes her hand off the gear stick and places it on my knee. ‘They’ve released you, and they haven’t charged you. I’m sure that will be the end of it. And whatever happens, we’re all here for you.’
I nod, but the lump in my throat has returned.
‘Come on,’ she says, starting up the car again. ‘Let’s get you back home. The longer you dwell on things the more you’ll worry.’
‘Okay,’ I say.
Yet her words provide no comfort.
Beth drops me off, offering to come into the house with me. I tell her I’ve taken up enough of her weekend. That I’m sorry for everything. That she must be exhausted. That she should go and spend the rest of the weekend with her family. She waves away my apologies, telling me to call her anytime I want, and gives me a warm hug before driving off.
‘Mummy!’ Joe hurls himself at me as I let myself into the house. I pull him in close and squeeze him so hard I worry about squashing him. He doesn’t seem to mind – he squeezes me back equally tightly.
‘Oh, Joe Bo!’ I say, kissing the top of his head. ‘I missed you like crazy.’
‘Daddy said you went to your friend’s house for a sleepover.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But I’m very happy to be home now.’
Jared comes out of the kitchen. I see his eyes widen as he takes in my dishevelled appearance.
‘You okay?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘Joe, can you go and get me a glass of water, darling?’
Joe scampers off to the kitchen. Once he’s out of earshot, I tell Jared: ‘Beth thinks I’ll be fine. She doesn’t think they’ll charge me. They have no evidence.’
He shakes his head. ‘This is crazy.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Talking to my husband about being under arrest has to be ranked as one of the most surreal moments in my life.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asks. ‘I got you some soup. Waitrose leek and potato. And I bought a French loaf.’
Suddenly, I’m starving. I nod. ‘Give me ten minutes to jump in the shower.’
‘Okay, I’ll heat it up.’ He steps forward and kisses me. A brief touch of lips and a squeeze of my shoulder. What does that mean? Is he pleased to see me? Does he still love me like he used to? Are we still good? Butterflies flit across my stomach. Or maybe it’s just hunger.
Lunch was nice, if a little subdued. Just the three of us sitting around the kitchen table. Joe must have picked up on the vibe because he wasn’t his usual chatty self. Now, he’s upstairs playing with his Lego while Jared and I skirt around each other in the kitchen, clearing the lunch dishes. My hair is still damp from the shower, my skin clean and tingling. I feel more ‘normal’ even though the atmosphere between me and Jared is still strained.
Finally, I can’t stand it any more. ‘Are you upset with me, Jared?’ I ask, sitting down at the table and scoring the scrubbed wooden surface with my nail.
‘Upset?’ He turns and leans back against the kitchen units, arms folded across his chest.
‘Because it seems weird to me that I was arrested under suspicion of murder last night, and you’ve hardly said a thing to me since I got home.’
