I looked down at my hands. The terrace wall had broken open the scabs on my palms but there were no cuts from the glass I’d held, none at all.
I took a deep breath. I’d made my decision.
"You should go," I said. "Just go. Get out of here."
She stared. "But what about you?"
"Don't worry about me," I said. I looked at her, standing square-mouthed and crying like a child, and felt again that odd unfolding of steel within me.
"Just go”, I said. “I'll deal with this."
Epilogue
“I’ll have the smoked salmon and the scrambled eggs, please,” I said, handing the little plastic menu back to the guard. I looked across at Becca and raised my eyebrows.
“I’ll have the same,” she said.
I waited until he’d moved off down the train corridor. The carriage was quiet – this was the mid-week morning train to Cornwall and not many commuters or tourists used it.
Becca shifted uncomfortably. “Just as well it’s first class,” she said. “There’s no way I’d fit into an economy seat with this belly.”
I smiled. “You do look a bit as though you’re about to pop.”
“Oh well. Only two months to go.” She looked down at herself and sighed. “God, me, a mother. Who’d have thought it?”
“You’ll be fine,” I said. “You’ve always looked after me, haven’t you? You’re a natural.”
Another guard was moving down the corridor with coffee jugs in either hand. I smiled at him briefly as he refilled our cups and then walked away, staggering a little as the train rounded a curve.
"I'm sorry I haven't been round much," said Becca. "I'm just so damn uncomfortable I don't feel like walking any further than the kitchen at the moment. Even then, Martin’s doing most of the cooking."
"Becs, it's absolutely fine. I'm fine on my own, really. I'm used to it by now."
Matt's name hung in the air between us. Our eyes met for a second and then I looked away.
The guard came back down the corridor, proffering his coffee jugs again. As he moved past from our table, Becca spoke.
“How are you feeling about this?”
I looked down at the table. I tried to be honest about my feelings now, with people I trusted, but it took me a moment to formulate the answer.
“Upset,” I said slowly. “A bit churned up inside. Sad. But – but sort of relieved, too. That it’s finally at an end.”
Becca nodded. Then she said, even more cautiously, “And how do you feel about – about the trial?”
I picked up my coffee cup for the comfort of its warmth against my hand. The trial. Every time I heard that word I could see it in my mind’s eye, in thick, black capital letters. THE TRIAL. And there were other images that always accompanied it; wood panelled court rooms, a baying mob of journalists on the steps of the buildings outside, myself with my hands clenched on the side of the dock as the judge passed sentence upon me. There were sounds too; the thwack of the gavel as I was given a life sentence, the wail of sirens, the clang of the prison gate. The jeers and catcalls of the other prisoners. The sound of a key turning as I was locked into a cell.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be like that. But perhaps it would.
“I’m trying not to think about it much,” I said. “My chances aren’t good.”
Becca looked uncomfortable. “Surely your lawyer–” she began.
“He’s doing his best,” I said. I put the coffee cup down as my hand was starting to tremble. “But it’s not looking good.”
“Oh Maudie–”
“Please,” I said. I couldn’t deal with her tears as well as my own. “Let’s not talk about it now.”
We were silent for a moment as one of the other passengers came down the corridor past us. Then Becca spoke again, quietly.
“Do you think Matt always – always meant to do it?”
I put my coffee cup down. “What I really think? I just don’t know. I don’t think he planned it from the moment he met me. He must have thought he’d have a comfortable enough life as my husband; he knew he was marrying into money.”
“Well, yes,” said Becca.
I stirred my coffee. “He also knew I was vulnerable and a bit - damaged and when he started getting greedy, he saw how he could use that.”
“I don’t understand people like that,” Becca said. “It’s just beyond me. How could he be so cruel?”
I shifted uncomfortably, remembering I’d said exactly that to Matt on the night of his death. I always thought of it in those terms – the night of his death – as if his death was nothing to do with me, as if it had happened because of someone else entirely. I had to think like that – it was the only way of staying sane.
“I don’t know,” I said. I looked down at the flat brown circle of my coffee cup. “It’s a mystery. He was obviously able to detach himself from what he was doing. That’s what Margaret said. He could compartmentalise it all. Perhaps it started off as a game. You know, what would happen if Maudie died? He must have realised it was a possibility, more of a possibility that it would have been for any–” I hesitated, “-any normal young woman. He knew my history, he knew about my past. He knew about my mother and what happened to her. Perhaps he didn’t even have to suggest it to himself, perhaps he honestly thought it would happen. Perhaps–” I hesitated again. “Perhaps it was his way of controlling the situation. You know, pre-empting what he thought was going to happen anyway.”
“Oh, come on,” said Becca. “Please don’t give him that much credit. If he really thought that, why go to all those lengths? Why have an accomplice? He was trying to drive you mad.”
I hung my head. “I know,” I muttered. “I know he’s a bastard. Was a bastard. But seriously, Becca, I was so awful to live with, at the end. I mean, I was awful. It probably made it a lot easier for him.”
Our eyes met again. I wondered if she was remembering the scene in my flat, when she’d told me she was pregnant, and I’d overreacted. I was the first to look away.
“Maudie,” she said, patiently. “Your so-called husband was trying to convince you that you were insane. There’s nothing that you could have done, no way you could have behaved, that would excuse that.”
“Yes–”
“Yes, really. Stop blaming yourself. Haven’t you done enough of that for one lifetime?”
“Yes, I know–”
Becca arched her back, relaxed again and sighed. “You really had a bad deal with the two men in your life, didn’t you?” she said.
I looked out of the window at the countryside speeding past us. I could feel my chest tightening, as it always did when I thought about Angus. I tried to breathe deeply, but unobtrusively, as Margaret had taught me. Thinking of her prompted me to speak.
“Margaret said that could be why I ended up with Matt in the first place. You know, why I felt safe with him.” I found myself smiling, rather grimly. “Safe, I know. Stupid, isn’t it? But she said you’re often attracted to people who act in ways you recognise. Or you recognise patterns in their behaviour, without even realising you’re doing it.”
“Two sociopaths in the family,” said Becca. “How convenient for you.”