The Good Samaritan
Page 75

‘Hello?’ I shouted, taking deep, calming breaths as I pushed open the front door and pulled the key from the lock. ‘Is anyone around to give me a hand unpacking the shopping?’
The mention of shopping bags wasn’t the best way to lure two children and a husband into the porch. Nevertheless Alice appeared, carrying that bloody cat under her arm like a furry clutch bag. The anticipation of being reunited with Bieber had been one of the reasons why she couldn’t wait to move back in. Neither of Tony’s two rental houses had allowed pets and she’d missed him.
‘Where’s your sister?’ I asked as we carried the bags to the kitchen.
‘She’s still upstairs with Mrs Hopkinson. I won’t have to be home-schooled when I’m her age, will I?’ She dropped the cat to the floor and it hissed at me before strutting out of the room. One day, a canal and a bag of bricks would wipe that entitled look from its face.
‘I don’t think so, darling. If you don’t make stupid decisions like Effie then there’ll be no reason for us to take you out of school and hire a private tutor.’
Reassured by my answer, she began stacking the shelves with cans of vegetables and soups with military precision.
‘Labels showing,’ I reminded her. ‘Is your dad home yet?’
‘Uh-huh.’ She pointed towards the garden. ‘Why does he look so sad all the time?’
I spotted Tony, his arms outstretched and his palms flat upon the waist-high garden fence posts. He was staring into the distance across the playing fields. It was a common sight since my family had returned, as if he were wishing himself a million miles away from where he was now. I told myself he wouldn’t be like this forever, but as time marched on, my doubts began.
I’d hoped that ending another person’s life might have given us a common thread to bind us together, but we’d yet to reconnect. He remained repulsed by killing Johnny, while I’d never been prouder of him for protecting Henry and me. He’d shown me that, deep down, he would do anything for the people he loved.
I called to mind an image of Tony, two months earlier, standing over Johnny’s lifeless body and rolling him over so he was face up. I remembered how Tony’s expression had changed from pure rage to confusion when he realised the cut, bleeding, battered man wasn’t who he’d thought it was. Panic spread through him and he looked to me for an explanation.
‘You said it was Ryan,’ he began, eyebrows arched and forehead wrinkled.
‘It doesn’t matter who it is,’ I replied bluntly. ‘He was threatening to hurt us.’
‘But I’ve killed him! What did you let me do?’
‘It was self-defence. You were saving your family.’
Tony’s adrenaline was dissolving, leaving his arms weak and unsteady. I held them firm in my hands. His shirtsleeves and cuffs were smeared with Johnny’s blood.
‘Look at me, Tony. I will tell the police what Ryan’s brother was trying to do before you came. I’ll stand up for you. I’m your wife. I won’t let anything happen to you for trying to protect us.’
I helped him to a nearby bench, where he sat and held his head in his shaking hands as I called the police. Soon after, Johnny’s body was driven away in an ambulance and Tony was arrested on suspicion of murder and taken to the police station to be questioned. After being treated for shock, which I feigned, I accompanied a still-terrified Henry back to his room where he was calmed by staff and put to bed.
Then it was my turn to face a police grilling. Twice I left the interview to be sick as I recounted the horrors of the evening. By the time I was allowed to leave, there could be little doubt in their minds that Johnny had been threatening me and Henry in revenge for the death of his brother. It was Tony’s and my word against the actions of a dead man.
Alone in the interview room, I thanked God that I’d sent my husband an email before I’d left the house saying that I couldn’t wait to see him with Henry. The message, plus the others I’d sent that week claiming Henry was ill, had concerned and confused him enough to turn up at the care home. If he hadn’t found me, I hate to think what evidence Johnny might have recorded to use against me. I made a mental note to take flowers to his funeral like I had to Ryan’s, only this time the card would read I won again.
As Tony remained in custody overnight, the police brought our scared and perplexed daughters back to the family home for the first time in almost two and a half years. I gently explained the abridged version of what had happened and how brave their father had been.
Alice bought into it immediately and sought my reassurance our family was now safe. Effie knew when something didn’t add up. However, she was wise enough not to question me. She hadn’t admitted to seeking out Johnny after his brother’s funeral and spilling my secrets to him, and I wasn’t going to reveal that I knew. I let her wind herself up wondering instead. But if she ever brought up her gut-wrenching betrayal, I’d make it clear that along with her teacher’s blood, she now had his brother’s on her hands.
On Tony’s release the next evening, his explanation mirrored mine and I watched with quiet delight as the high regard Effie held him in crumbled. For the first time in her life, she knew he’d lied to her. Now Tony and I shared a level playing field where our daughters were concerned.
‘What did you tell the police?’ I asked him when the girls had gone to their newly decorated bedrooms, leaving us alone. He’d become a shadow, sitting in the near darkness of the dining room.
‘What you told me to say, that I was trying to protect you.’
‘And did they believe you?’
‘My solicitor says they’ll probably accept it wasn’t murder, but they’re investigating whether I used unreasonable force. I could still face a manslaughter charge.’
I regarded my broken husband and wondered how long it might take before I could repair him. He turned his head to look at me, but I couldn’t see his eyes. His voice was emotionless and detached.
‘Why did you want me to kill an innocent man?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know what—’
‘No,’ Tony interrupted. ‘Don’t do that. Treat me with respect.’
‘How much respect did you show me when you told Ryan about that social services psychiatric report?’ He didn’t reply. ‘Johnny was by no means innocent,’ I continued, ‘and he was trying to make me admit to things I didn’t do. He was as hateful as his brother.’
‘What did he want you to admit to?’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’
‘You made me a murderer. I have the right to know why.’
I considered unspooling like a reel of cotton until I was laid bare across the floor, admitting everything he wanted to know and more. I contemplated telling him how I’d encouraged Charlotte and many others to die, how I’d set up Ryan with the help of Effie, and even that I’d killed Janine. But the thought vanished as quickly as it appeared.
I turned towards the kitchen and flicked on the spotlights to illuminate the worktops. ‘Right, you must be hungry. Let’s see what I can rustle up, shall we?’
I removed a shrink-wrapped sirloin steak from the fridge and put some microwaveable potato wedges into a bowl.
‘Do you know why I think I was confused about you moving out?’ I continued. ‘Because you kept coming back to the house when I wasn’t here. I’d find a coffee mug I hadn’t used in the dishwasher, a pile of mail that I’d left in order of size that had been shifted around, and the bedroom doors closed. If you didn’t love me or want our life anymore, then you wouldn’t have kept returning. So I think I must have told myself you and the girls weren’t really gone. It’s funny how the brain can play tricks on you, isn’t it?’