Yes, yes, thinking about it, all those years ago, when Kieron was only weeks old, it was Lisa who had spoken to Mark, Lisa who had called an ambulance. And yes, I was ill then, I was very ill, but… was that the whole story? Had they plotted against me? Were they plotting against me now?
I look up, find Blue Eyes.
‘I know I’m not well,’ I say. ‘Now, I mean. I do know.’
She nods. ‘You’re not, but—’
‘But just because you’re losing your mind,’ I interrupt, ‘doesn’t mean you’re losing all of it, does it?’
‘No, it doesn’t. Hold on to that, Rachel.’
There is delusion and there is instinct. There are visions and there are invisible things we’re absolutely correct in picking up from the very air. All those years ago, my mind had told me that I was throwing knives at my baby and it was mistaken. These last months, my gut had told me things were not right and my gut had been correct. It was this, this unnamed wrongness that had made me feel unstable and alone, without knowing exactly why. Mark not looking at me was not because he didn’t see me; it was because he was too ashamed. Lisa asking if I was OK all the time made me feel uncomfortable because I knew on some level that it was not because she cared. If you ask someone enough times if they’re OK, if they’re sure they’re OK, of course they’re going to start wondering if they’re not. Katie’s unrelenting angry tone, now that was more difficult to fathom. Was it because she knew about her dad and Lisa? Knew and couldn’t find the words to tell me.
And in all of this, what about me attacking innocent people? Killing innocent strangers? Here, to my absolute sorrow, my mind and my gut agreed: it was not delusion. It was not. It was a truth too terrible to think or swallow, but it was a truth all the same.
‘Over sixty per cent of communication is non-verbal,’ I say to Blue Eyes. She doesn’t write anything down, just looks, and listens. ‘But words seal things, don’t they? They let you hold those things tight. They live on the lines, where we’re safe. But there’s always what’s in between. The white space. That’s where we’re not safe. In the terrifying white space of all that isn’t said, all that isn’t sealed up in words. That’s why I called the police. That’s why I want to tell you everything. I need to seal what I’ve done in words. I need to put it on the lines.’
Amanda nods. There is no shush of traffic. No one rattling the handle to bring in cups of tea. There is not even a fly to break the silence.
‘So, Rachel. You went to work?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell me about that?’
I can and I do.
The homeless lad wasn’t on his bench; he was on the pub doorstep in a sleeping bag. I said the cheeriest good morning I could manage. The top of the sleeping bag unfolded. He was wearing a woolly hat.
‘Morning,’ he said and gave me the most generous, most beautiful smile I’d seen in a long time. His eyes were blue, like Kieron’s; I think I saw that for the first time.
‘Are you not cold?’ I asked him.
He shrugged. ‘A bit.’
‘I’ll bring you your tea, won’t be a tick. Or coffee, if you prefer?’
‘Coffee, please. Thank you.’
I returned his smile, unlocked the door and switched on the lights, which flickered and flashed. I stood in the lounge bar, my back pressed against the door. Empty chairs sat upturned on empty tables, the slot machine stood lifeless in the corner, spirits of amber and brown, yellow and clear, waited in their optics, upside down and doubled up in the mirror. Behind me, the latch clicked shut.
‘Please God,’ I said. ‘Please let me not be responsible for Anne-Marie. Please let it turn out to be someone else.’
Blue Eyes narrows her eyes, recrosses her legs and leans forward. ‘So, as late as Saturday morning, you still believed you hadn’t attacked or killed anyone?’
‘Yes, at that moment. Or hoped. Belief, hope – not much between them, is there? Both a question of faith, I suppose.’
‘Why do you think that was?’
‘Because my memory offered me nothing, not one shred, to make me believe that I’d done anything so terrible. Not then.’