Chapter 9
‘Paula?’
Paula’s head shoots up, a bewildered expression on her face. ‘I’m sorry, what was the question?’
The man sitting across from her peers over grandfatherly glasses that seem deliberately chosen to soften a sharp face. He gives her a small smile through thin lips. ‘I was asking what you’ve found hardest since you lost John?’
Paula tries to hide a smile. Lost. Lost! So many people have described his death like that. As if he’s gone on a long walk in the woods without Google Maps on his phone.
Paula knows exactly where he is. He’s in plot fifty-three of a grave site, about twenty miles from here.
It’s near a church, but it isn’t technically a church graveyard, more of a field.
The official church graveyard has long since run out of space thanks to too many ancient graves with leaning stones, featuring inscriptions and engravings you can no longer read.
So John’s ashes are buried in the grave-field next door.
Sort of like an overflow car park for the deceased.
‘Um,’ she hedges, sensing impatience from her children, sitting either side of her. ‘I suppose . . .’ – she searches for something that will satisfy the counsellor – ‘sleeping! Yes, sleeping. Sleeping is very hard since I . . . lost John.’
The counsellor nods gravely as Tilly reaches for her mother’s hand, squeezing it with sympathy.
It’s true enough that Paula’s found sleeping difficult.
But she’s always found sleeping quite difficult.
If she really had to put a pin in the hardest part of all this, it would probably be making decisions.
Were they always so impossible? Just trying to get dressed in the morning feels painful.
Jeans feel inappropriate for a widow, as do leggings.
A dress feels too frisky for a cloudy Tuesday morning of mourning, while skirts feel too formal.
Today, Paula’s opted for a dark blue blouse, with some cropped, tan trousers, but it took her nearly two hours to decide.
She ummed and ahhed for an age over a knitted cardigan, but ended up leaving it by the front door. She regrets that now.
Even before all this, when she wasn’t addled with confusing grief, Paula found choices quite burdensome. Even an everyday mundane choice of what to watch on telly had to fall to John.
John would’ve known the answer about the cardi. He was very good with decisions.
‘A lot of people find that, Paula.’ The counsellor is nodding kindly. ‘And grief can look different for everyone. You’ve stopped working, am I right? How has that been?’
‘Just temporarily!’ she says quickly, thinking with horror of last week’s aborted attempt at returning to the care home. She remembers Gary’s face as he told her to go. It was so humiliating. ‘I’m just on leave, just taking a little bit of time. I don’t know when I’ll go back. But I will.’
‘They don’t mind?’
Paula shakes her head. ‘No, no!’ she says quickly. ‘They’ve been very nice. They said to just let them know when I’m ready to return.’ She thinks again of Gary and his horror. His reference to her bringing with her a media circus.
‘Sometimes getting back to your usual routine can be a comfort,’ the counsellor nods wisely.
‘But there’s no right or wrong, Paula, so you should absolutely take your time with it.
There’s no rush, especially . . .’ – he looks awkward but it’s clear he knows.
He reads the papers – ‘given that you have some . . . er, financial security now. You have options. Take a beat to decide what you want.’
Paula doesn’t answer and he widens his gaze to include Tilly and Seb, asking her children what they’ve most been struggling with. Paula desperately tries to focus on their answers.
And fails.
After all, how on earth is a person supposed to concentrate on their dead husband, or on family grief counselling with a therapist called Gerald, when a stranger just accused you of murdering said dead husband?
Fancy that woman accusing her of such a thing! It’s absurd.
Paula replays Friday’s incident in her head, mentally re-watching Teddy as she moved around her kitchen in her tiny six-thousand-pound skirt. She sees her nice hair swishing around those monster-sized sunglasses, as she oh-so-casually talked about Paula killing John.
Paula wonders what she should’ve done differently in the moment.
Of course, she tried very hard to deny it.
She tried to tell Teddy she didn’t do it and never would.
She explained how much she loved John – dearly loved him!
– but the woman wasn’t having any of it.
She kept smirking dryly and winking, if you can imagine such a thing.
And what about the woman’s own confession?
About her missing husband? Could she really have murdered someone and buried them under the patio?
It’s impossible to picture that glamorous woman with the confusing American accent in her expensive skirt, holding a spade, covered in blood and dirt.
Apart from anything else, it sounds like an awful lot of hard work.
Since John died, Paula has been worrying a lot about mowing the grass in her garden.
She can’t imagine how she’d cope if she needed to dig a big hole for a body.
And why on earth would Teddy tell Paula?
After the woman left, Paula had attempted to do the right thing. For once, she’d made a quick decision, picking up the phone and calling the non-emergency police line. 999 felt too dramatic and Paula isn’t the dramatic sort.
‘Hello, can I take your name?’ the woman began.
‘Oh! Yes, my name is Paula and I’m—’
‘Hello, Paula, can I ask where you’re calling from, why you’re calling, and whether this is regarding you or someone else?’
‘Yes, of course!’ she’d paused then, before adding, ‘I’ve forgotten the questions, I’m afraid.’
‘OK, Paula, where are you calling from?’
‘My house. In Surrey. Do you need the postcode? My children get very frustrated when I don’t give them a postcode straight away.
They just want to put everything into Google Maps these days, don’t they?
But I’m not so good with the newer technology.
Tilly keeps trying to help me with Face ID on my phone but it never seems to know who or what I am—’
The woman on the phone interrupted her at this point. ‘Paula, are you able to raise your arms above your head and has your face dropped on one side at all?’
‘Oh no, I’m not having a stroke. I’m just not very good on the phone. I actually did think I was having a stroke recently! But it was just camera flashes going off. I remembered the letters you’re supposed to check for a stroke though. It’s ABC, isn’t it?’
‘Paula, can I ask why you’re calling?’
Paula held her breath for a minute. ‘I’m not entirely sure how to explain this.’
‘I understand, Paula, but don’t worry, I’ve heard everything before, believe me. There’s nothing you can say that would embarrass me.’
‘Right. Well . . .’ – she took a deep breath – ‘someone came to my house just now. The name was Teddy, I think. Although – for goodness’ sake – that wasn’t her real name.
It was . . . Oh, darn it, I’m afraid I can’t remember.
I’m useless with names, you know. I’m constantly getting my children’s names wrong.
You’d think I could tell the difference between them. They’re awfully different.’
‘Who’s different? Teddy?’
‘No, no, Seb and Tilly. My children. But I’m ringing about Teddy.’
‘Is Teddy a real person or a cuddly toy?’
‘Yes, a person. Sorry.’
‘Take your time, Paula. What’s happened to Teddy?’
‘Oh yes’ – she cleared her throat – ‘Teddy – I think it was Teddy. I’m fairly certain that was the name – Teddy’s won the lottery, like me—’
‘You’ve won the lottery?’
‘I didn’t mean to say that. Please don’t tell anyone!
I wasn’t going to tell a soul because my husband, John, he always said people would take advantage of us, but he was in a car accident and died a couple of months ago.
Goodness, can it be that long? Time goes by so quickly, doesn’t it?
And it took us quite a long time to get his ashes shipped over.
And his brothers got drunk at the funeral and told everyone about the money, and then Tilly thought it would be a good idea to hold a press conference—’
‘A press conference?’
‘I know! Can you imagine anyone thinking that would be sensible? For goodness’ sake!
But that’s when I thought I was having my stroke.
And it’s not ABC, is it? It’s FAST, I remember now because I looked up the T.
I thought it meant telephone but apparently it means Time.
Which doesn’t make all that much sense to me, what do you think?
Are you supposed to check what time it is?
How does that help? Anyway, I think Amy from the lottery talked Tilly into it.
The press conference, I mean.’ She paused.
‘I was very upset and overwhelmed, and I’m afraid I ran away.
And now the internet won’t stop talking about me, and my children are insisting I go to grief counselling with them. ’
‘It does sound like you need someone to talk to.’
‘That’s not why I’m ringing! The reason I’m ringing is this Teddy woman—’
‘Teddy’s a woman?’
‘Yes! It’s a funny name, isn’t it? I’m glad you think so, too, I thought I was maybe just being a fuddy-duddy. Tilly thinks I can be a bit old-fashioned about things, but it is a funny name for a woman in her forties, isn’t it?’
‘Paula, are you sure you’re not experiencing any symptoms of a stroke?’