“Mum did that to try and split you both up after she found out about the abuse,” Poppy argued, “we tried convincing Harry, but he wasn’t having any of it.”
“Yes, I made mistakes. But I would have tried anything to get my son away from you,” Yvonne added angrily.
“Even sending me to the Broadheads? They could have killed me.”
“Chance would be a fine thing,” Kim said under her breath.
“They weren’t going to kill you, Amelia,” Yvonne said, “John just asked them to scare you.”
“Why?” I said.
“In case you confessed,” Poppy answered.
“Well, I’d say all your schemes backfired slightly, wouldn’t you?” I teased ironically.
“Enough nonsense,” Poppy said forcefully, “We have done all this to expose you and the way you treated Harry. You deserve to rot for what you’ve done.”
“He got what he deserved,” I affirmed.
“Harry was the kindest man I’d ever met. He made mistakes, but largely because you forced him into them!” Kim shouted.
“He was a cheat.”
“No, Amelia. You just thought he was. You thought he was slipping away from you, but you were pushing him away the entire time.”
“He was weak. He saw a younger blonde woman and didn’t have the strength of character to say no.”
“Harry was the strongest man I’d ever met. He was strong enough to leave you.”
“He didn’t leave me though, did he?”
“Come on, Amelia. I was with him that night. He walked off to make a phone call to you, but he had no signal, so he was walking to find some. When he finally got through, he told you he was leaving you, didn’t he?” Kim said.
I’d already confessed to his murder, but that was one step too far. There was no way I was going to admit that. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Whatever she had planned for this revelation at the Brigg, it wouldn’t include that. If she didn’t have enough confidence in his love for her, I wasn’t going to be the one to give it to her. She could live the rest of her life not knowing, just like I would have had to.
“I’m not playing this game anymore,” I announced.
“It’s not a game,” Yvonne said, producing her phone from her pocket, which had been recording the whole thing.
“You are going to pay for what you’ve done,” Kim said victoriously.
If they had recorded the entire thing, I was done. I would go down for his murder even if he didn’t take a single sip of that water. I couldn’t hide behind my dark humour and matter-of-factness any longer. That wasn’t how my story should have ended: rotting in a jail cell. I was adamant that all of my actions were justified, given the context. I still didn’t feel a shred of remorse for any of it, even after all their persistent yapping.
I just hated the feeling that these three weak women had conspired against me and led me down this path without me knowing. They had planned every step and watched me like a rat in a maze as they poked and prodded me to get me to this moment. I would have done anything to have my revenge on them there and then, but I wasn’t in charge anymore.
The more I realised I’d lost control, the more the anxiety came rumbling back. I could feel my heart thumping through my chest and the familiar prickling at the back of my neck. I started hyperventilating violently, and instead of helping me, the three women almost started laughing as Yvonne stopped the recording. I crawled towards my bag to get my tablets, but Poppy kicked it further away. I could barely breathe anymore; all the anxiety and stress of the situation had hit me all at once. Poppy got her phone out and called the police, and I lay on my back, paralysed, waiting for them to arrive.
“I loved you, Harry,” I whispered to myself.
In the end, I knew I wasn’t the woman he left behind.
It was her.
EPILOGUE
KIM - AFTER
Harry? Come here!” I shouted playfully. Harry made his way over to me, giggling as he walked, but at the last hurdle, he tripped over, almost falling into the water of the pond I was squatting next to.
“Careful, Harry! You will hurt yourself,” I said, ruffling his hair playfully.
Harry, completely unperturbed by the fall, simply stood back up and started running around again. I wanted to show him the frog that was sitting by the side of the pond, but he was more interested in stomping around in the mud beside it. Even at three years old, he looked so much like his father, and it was uncanny. I thought it would have been difficult looking into the eyes of my son and seeing my Harry in them, but I saw it as a beautiful reminder of what I once had. I decided to give my son Harry’s name as soon as I looked into those eyes.
Not a single day went by without me thinking of Harry and the life we could have been living if she hadn’t taken him away from us. I refused to use her name. On the rare occasions that I was forced to mention her, I would only refer to her using a pronoun. I wanted my son to live his entire life without ever hearing that name if I could help it.
I tried to remember Harry how he was that night before he lost his life, the hope in his eyes and the sheer happiness he felt. Or the brief relationship we shared, which was the happiest of my life. I tried to drown out the negativity and focus on the present. The thing that got me through it was our son; he was an endless supply of love and affection, and I adored spending every waking second with him.
“Mummy, come look!” Harry shouted.
I followed Harry, and he had found a frog on his own, a great big slimy one, casually chattering whilst sitting on a log. I held Harry tightly as we entered a staring competition with the frog on a log, and he gripped back onto me lovingly.
“Aunty Kim, what have you found?” Freya interrupted.
“It’s a frog! And it’s sat on a log!” I enthused.
“Wow! That’s amazing!” Freya said with her mouth agape.
