‘ You haven’t got any friends, Jennifer. No-one. And I’m going to leave you, too. I don’t want anything to get in the way of your realizing how totally alone and helpless you are. ’
She was alone, Jennifer accepted. Totally. Clever of Jane to leave her, to think herself deeper into abandoned despair: to make mistakes like it had been a mistake to forget the numbness of Jane’s presence… There was an abrupt contradiction. No it wasn’t! Not clever at all. Alone she was able to think clearly – even the fog had gone – like she’d thought clearly before. Made decisions. What decisions were there to make now? The most important: the one never to forget. Wouldn’t give up. Never had. Never would. And not just for herself. Because there was someone. Emily. If she gave up she would be giving up Emily. Which was unthinkable. By herself she had to fight – find a way out – and make a life with Emily. Just the two of them. The only thing that mattered now. Herself and Emily. She could do it. Had to do it. There was no alternative. What about the other decisions she’d made, earlier? Still the same. And in the same sequence. Couldn’t plan anything about herself and Emily until she’d proven herself innocent. More difficult, now. There had been a motive. A reason everyone would understand: oldest story in the book. Hadn’t Gerald loved her, ever? All lies? Not all. It couldn’t have been all lies. Just sex then with Rebecca? She’d never thought Rebecca sexy. The opposite, in fact. Icy. Couldn’t remember their ever discussing men, talking about men sexually. Only remembered one man, an American broker. Wesley or Weston. Something like that. Flown over a few times, after Rebecca’s transfer from New York. Spent one weekend with them in Hampshire. Never laughed and wanted to talk metal futures all the time. What was wrong with the sex she and Gerald had? Nothing, she hadn’t thought. He’d liked sex, certainly. But so had she. Wanted it, whenever he had. Integral part of successful, ambitious people, a strong sex drive. Did whatever he wanted, like he’d done whatever she’d wanted. Maybe she should have known he’d need sex when they weren’t together. Why hadn’t he used hookers! It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d done that. Could have understood it: accepted it even. It wouldn’t have meant anything. A business transaction. That was the pain, not that he’d slept with someone else but that it had been someone she knew, believed to be a friend. Humiliating. The office would have known. Inevitable that they would. Laughed at her: about her. Gerald not getting enough at home, has to look elsewhere. He wouldn’t have wanted a divorce. Wouldn’t have wrecked their perfect life. Wouldn’t have hurt and bewildered Emily: wouldn’t have hurt and bewildered her. Just sex, that’s all it had been. Her own fault, for not realizing the risk. For being too complacent. Too late now. Gerald – Gerald who’d loved her but had an affair – was dead. Her life with him was dead, too. Had to start again. Rationalize it, accept it had happened and move on. Move on to her and Emily. Needed to get a lot of obstacles out of the way first. Jane most of all. Big mistake for Jane to have left: to have given her time. Couldn’t let her realize it. Had to pretend to despair: to be devastated. Wouldn’t be difficult. She had been humiliated: cheated. Gerald was a bastard, even if it was a casual affair. Not a problem to despise Rebecca. Bastard and a bitch. Easy enough to think like that. Had to be alert, for the tingling sensation: be even more alert for the gaps, when she could say things without Jane being able to interrupt.
Why had Gerald done it? Why hadn’t she been enough for him?
‘She’s crying,’ said the police constable.
‘She’s got every reason to,’ said the sergeant. ‘They always do when they get caught out.’
‘Why’s Mummy had to go away?’
‘Mummies have to, sometimes,’ said Annabelle.
‘When will she be back?’
‘I’m not sure yet. Eat up.’
‘I don’t want to eat up.’
‘And I don’t want you to be a rude girl.’
‘Don’t care.’
‘No story tonight then.’
‘Don’t want a story. Want my mummy.’
Chapter Ten
Jennifer timed the sedative demand with the care of the previous night and resisted Jane’s frenetic wake-up attempts even longer than before and felt better upon awakening than she had the previous day.
‘Told you I’d find a way.’ She didn’t care any more about the sighed reaction from the attendant policewomen.
‘ It won’t help you.’
‘You can’t control me all the time, can you?’
‘ Whenever I want.’ Without her being able to stop it happening both of Jennifer’s arms rose and in unison fell heavily back upon the bed. The police sergeant moved towards the door.
‘I’ll stop that happening, too.’
‘ You’re my puppet, Jennifer. Jump, puppet: jump puppet. ’ Jennifer managed to stop her arms jerking to the chant that time.
‘I can resist,’ insisted Jennifer, excited by the discovery.
‘ Not enough to stop me doing exactly what I want with you. And whenever I want to do it.’
‘Mistake, Jane! You’ve just admitted I’m right.’
For several moments Jennifer’s head cleared. Then, from a long way off, there began a distant sound that grew louder by the second, like an onrushing, siren-wailing train. Except it wasn’t a siren but a manic scream that rose and rose until Jennifer thought her head would explode, the pain so bad she screamed aloud herself. With her arm no longer tethered she tried to clamp both hands against her head, to close out the mind-splitting cacophony but couldn’t because it wasn’t coming from outside and her whole body convulsed with the vibration of the noise. The agony was so bad it was a long time before she became aware of restraining hands – an arm even encompassing her – and only then when the pain at last receded, as the sound passed. It was Peter Lloyd with his arm around her, a placating nurse on her other side. Both policewomen were at the foot of the bed, eyes bulged.
‘ Pissed yourself, Jennifer. Dirty girl! ’
She had. She was, in fact, soaked, sweat glueing the hospital smock to her, hair lank rats’ tails. ‘She screamed. I thought my head was going to burst. I’ve made a mess.’
‘It doesn’t matter: we can clean you up,’ assured Lloyd. Still with an arm around her, he squeezed her shoulder in added reassurance. He wouldn’t argue against the hospital board’s decision about the psychiatric examination. He hoped to Christ her lawyers agreed. The board’s problem, not his: his was avoiding any fall-out from what had happened yesterday. The Social Services business was her lawyer’s, too. Make sure the wounds didn’t become infected: that’s all he had to do. Then pass the problem on. It was still difficult to believe she could have done what she did. But then he’d never before treated – even seen – a murderer.
‘She wants to prove how helpless I am.’
‘ And I did, didn’t I! ’
‘We’re going to do some tests today,’ said Lloyd, pressing on, refusing any diversion.
‘ What tests? Ask him what tests? ’
Jennifer managed to prevent herself, seizing a victory. ‘To prove I’m sane?’
‘Part of it.’
‘I want to do that right away.’ At the nurse’s pressure she held out her least bandaged arm for a blood pressure cuff to be attached.
‘ What tests? ’ repeated Jane’s voice, insistently.
‘We must be medically sure you’re recovered enough for a psychiatric examination,’ explained Lloyd, unwittingly answering the question. ‘Your heart monitor has been stable throughout the night. That’s why we disconnected it.’
Until that moment Jennifer had been unaware the adhesive pads and their attaching leads had gone.
‘ You’re not…’ started Jane but the nurse was already releasing the cuff.
‘Fine,’ guaranteed the woman to Lloyd.
‘Because of the…’ started the doctor, then stopped. Determinedly he started again. ‘Because you’re officially facing a criminal charge, we’ve approached your lawyers. Invited them to participate…’