Chapter 18
She was now back at home in her own bed, but the truth was inescapable: she’d got naked with a man she barely knew, a man who had been convicted of the most heinous and violent act a man could commit.
When she had left his house earlier that evening, she had been convinced he hadn’t done it and had gone to bed believing this, but now, with the darkness, came the doubt.
She kept her eyes squeezed shut, though she knew it was futile; there was no way she was going to be able to go back to sleep, not after the shot of cortisol she had given herself.
She breathed deeply and evenly from her diaphragm, telling herself that what she was feeling was an old, evolutionary response, a relic from the past; this was the time of the night when humans were biologically programmed to be alert and ready to fight or to flee from a nocturnal predator – a lion or tiger, perhaps.
She got out of bed and went into the kitchen, where she switched on the fairy lights that she used to decorate a vase on the windowsill, then filled the kettle.
As it boiled, she walked herself through everything that had happened that afternoon.
While Joe was in the bathroom, she had got dressed and gone downstairs into the kitchen, where he had found her a few minutes later.
He had made tea – more tea – and then he had sat down at the table next to her and told her that he thought they should keep what had happened between them.
He didn’t touch her, or even look at her, as he spoke, and Eve had thought to herself, So that’s it, then.
I’m being dumped. But she had seen the conflict in his eyes.
He would have to tell his probation officer, he’d said, if their relationship was to continue to be a physical one, and that wasn’t what he wanted for her.
Eve had nodded, imagining the conversation he would have with Debbie Stroud, who was no doubt unused to many women sticking around after being told that the new man in their life had been to prison and was ‘high risk’ and dangerous.
She would think Eve stupid, or reckless, or desperate, or mad, or all four things.
Eve couldn’t help but wonder, too, what her colleagues and family would think of her, especially Mackenzie, who already managed to find a million ways to be critical of her mother.
Joe had detected her disappointment. ‘You make me feel things I didn’t think I’d feel again,’ he had said. ‘But there are too many problems, too many obstacles.’
He didn’t want Eve’s personal life to be aired in public, or for her to be tainted by the stigma attached to him, or restricted by his licence conditions.
He had a night-time curfew, for one; he couldn’t even take her out for dinner.
Over time, with good behaviour, he might be a little freer, but he didn’t feel free and he didn’t think he ever would, not unless and until he was able to successfully overturn his conviction.
Until then, he had nothing to offer a woman.
Eve had opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself.
This was the truth – his truth – and anything she said to the contrary would seem false and trite.
And besides, he was right: there would be shame for her in going out into the world as a couple.
How could there not be? She would be sustained for a while by the memory of what had happened between them – she might even enjoy hugging their secret to herself – but was she ready to face the world if someone found out?
‘Do your lawyers think you have a case?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know yet,’ he said. ‘I’m seeing someone on Friday. She’s been waiting for the papers. It takes time,’ he said. ‘All of it. It takes so much time.’
Eve nodded. ‘But they must think there’s something there, to even be considering it?’
‘I hope so. But my lawyer said she won’t know until she gets disclosure of everything she’s asked for from the police.’
Eve had wanted to ask about his previous appeal, but could tell that Joe was emotionally spent, so she’d got up to leave, saying she had lesson planning to do before tomorrow, and he had looked sorry that she was going and at the same time relieved.
Then, as if reading her mind, he’d told her that the appointment with his solicitor on Friday would be here, at his home, and had asked Eve if she wanted to be there.
‘In your capacity as a lawyer, in case anyone asks,’ he said.
Eve had been pleased. Friday was her quiet day at college and she would be able to move things around and get away for a couple of hours.
‘You can be my innocence project,’ she’d told him. ‘Some academics have them.’
As she left, they’d kissed awkwardly in the doorway – a chastened kiss on the cheek, nothing more.
She had walked back home across the Parks.
As she entered her street, she’d wondered if anyone had seen her leaving Joe’s house and had almost expected the detective to appear on her doorstep again.
She had got a little paranoid about it and spent a few minutes walking up and down the road, peering inside the parked cars.
Now, she made herself a cup of chamomile tea and took it into the living room, where she settled down on the sofa, pulling a throw over her and a cushion beneath her head.
It was still dark outside, but the moonlight was streaming in through the window, bringing with it an aura of comfort and a reminder that Joe was asleep – or awake, perhaps?
– on the other side of the park. She closed her eyes, remembering how hurt he had looked as they lay, side by side, in bed together, how he’d clung to her hand and the way he had trembled, and it occurred to her that if he was a fake and a fraud – and a murderer and rapist – then what would be the point in trying to convince her of his innocence?
Yes, she knew the law, but he already had a lawyer, so why would he need her?
And that was a very good question, wasn’t it, because if he were the kind of man who could do what he was accused of – tie up a woman, gag her, violently rape her and kill her – how could he be capable of genuinely caring for a woman as an individual?