Chapter 10
TEN
TASHA
‘So you killed your neighbour because he objected to your planning permission?’ There is no emotion in Detective Sató’s voice. No disbelief or accusation. It’s just a question, the same way she’s asked every question in the weeks since Jonny’s death – calm and methodical, giving nothing away.
My throat closes – an invisible fist squeezing my airway. The sob comes from nowhere, guttural and shuddering. We swore we wouldn’t talk to the police. Not one word except to give our alibi. And yet here I am. ‘Yes,’ I whisper.
How will this end?
I feel like I’m navigating a cliff edge at night with a blindfold, one wrong step from plummeting. Any step now and hands will reach out and shove me over.
Hot tears streak down my face. My nose runs.
The tissue in my hands is soaked through, disintegrating in my damp fingers.
I reach for another from the box Sató nudges towards me across the table.
The interview room is cold and windowless, lit by a strip light that hums above me like a warning.
The walls are painted a shade of pale grey that is somehow both clinical and grubby.
One wall is dominated by a two-way mirror.
I try not to think about who is watching.
The table is scratched laminate, its edges dented.
The chairs hard plastic. I wonder if Georgie’s and Beth’s rooms are nicer.
‘What’s the time please?’ I ask, pretending like it’s not the second time that question has slipped from my lips since Sató took the seat opposite me in the tiny interview room and I stumbled through my confession.
The detective glances at her watch, and it strikes me how composed she is. How self-assured, not a hair out of place. Another woman who has her shit together, as Georgie would say.
Like Georgie and Beth. They trust their judgement, stand by their decisions.
They don’t question every thought that races through their mind.
They don’t shut themselves in the bathroom, sink to the floor and cry five times a day.
I bet they don’t throw themselves at their husbands the moment they step through the door, desperate for a break, terrified they can’t make it through another hour.
‘It’s eleven thirty,’ Sató replies.
Only eleven thirty. Panic claws through me, like a thousand flesh-eating insects crawling over my body.
It feels like I’ve been here for hours and hours.
Is Lanie awake from her nap now? Is she grumpy, wanting her milk?
Are Matilda and Sofia wondering why I’m not with them?
Is Matilda crying? The weight squeezing my chest is crushing.
I can’t cope.
Can’t breathe.
It’s too much.
I close my eyes, scrambling for my happy place. Those green rolling hills. But all I see in my mind is this room.
‘Tasha, look at me.’
The command in Sató’s voice has my gaze snapping to her face.
I give a gulping apology and wipe my eyes.
‘I need you to calm down,’ she says. ‘Tell me what’s going through your mind. Tell me why you’re so upset.’
I try. I take deep breaths, but how do I explain this? This buried-alive feeling I’ve lived with for so long? No air. No escape. ‘Because I killed someone,’ I reply, trying to give her the words she wants to hear.
‘Why don’t you tell me about the night of the quiz?’ Sató suggests, her voice still even. If she’s annoyed, she’s not showing it. ‘I have a list of over fifty people who have stated you were with them for the entire evening.’
I press my hands in my lap, gripping them together to stop the tremor that’s taking over my body.
The PTA. I don’t know why I ever agreed to it.
I don’t even have time to keep my own life in order, let alone bake for cake sales or organise fundraising events.
But no one says no to Georgie. Not even Marc.
Take a day off to run the barbecue at sports day? Sure. Collect the fireworks from the wholesaler on the one evening that week he’s home early enough to tuck the girls in? No problem! He never hesitates. Never sighs or complains.
I try not to notice the way his smile comes easier for her.
The way his posture softens when they talk, always a little flirty, but then isn’t that just Georgie’s way with everyone?
Nate is the same. They really are the perfect couple.
The way he comes on the school run just to spend those extra minutes with Georgie and Oscar.
The way Georgie looks at him. How are they still shiny and new, and Marc and I are…
tired? Worn out, it feels like most days.
‘Tasha?’ Sató’s voice is a jab in the ribs.
‘I snuck away,’ I blurt out. ‘Beth was in the toilet because of her morning sickness, and Georgie was being Georgie. Doing everything ten times faster and better than anyone else.’ I try to keep the bitter edge from my voice, but it’s there anyway.
‘I was delivering the food platters to start with, but then everyone was settled and the quiz was underway, and I was on kitchen and clear-up duty.’ I stop myself saying more.
‘Sorry, what did you say the time was please?’ The question slips out before I can stop it.
I can’t keep hold of what Sató is telling me.
The detective’s eyes narrow a fraction. ‘It seems the time is important to you, Tasha. Why is that?’
Fresh tears brim in my eyes before falling easily down my face.
I can’t put it off any longer. I draw out the clear plastic sandwich bag with the yellow silk top inside.
The fabric is stiff in places and creased all over from being stuffed behind the washing machine.
I place the bag on the table, and despite the fact I’m giving Sató all the evidence she needs to charge me for murder, I’m glad to be rid of it.
‘This is what I was wearing,’ I whisper. ‘This is what I wore when I killed Jonny.’
Sató stares at the yellow top, the colour of spring sunshine. The colour Marc always says he loves on me. ‘La mia bella,’ he said when I wore my yellow top the evening I left for the quiz night. The blood patches have dried to a muddy red.
I see the detective’s mask of calm slip for a moment. See the tension lurking beneath it.
‘For the recording,’ Sató says, ‘Mrs Carter has placed an item of yellow clothing on the table, which appears to have bloodstains on it.’ Her gaze flicks back to me. ‘Whose blood is that, Tasha?’
‘Jonny’s,’ I reply.
‘I’m going to pause the interview now so we can take this item of clothing into evidence. Then you’re going to walk me through every minute of the night of Jonny’s murder again.’
I scrunch my eyes shut, bite my lip and nod.
‘It’s eleven forty-five by the way,’ she says as she stands, opening the door and motioning for an officer to help.
I close my eyes again. Am I losing my grip on reality?
It feels like another hour has passed. How is time moving so slowly in here when the hours slip away like sand through my fingers when the girls are at school and Lanie at nursery?
They’ll be hungry now. They like an early lunch.
Jam on toast for Matilda. Ham-and-cheese crackers for Sofia.
Lanie in the high chair chewing on the toast crusts. The longing for them is visceral.
When will I see them again? Will I ever—?
I drop my head in my hands and stop trying to fight the sobs. Sató wants to rake over every minute of the quiz night.
She doesn’t know that Jonny’s death was just the start.