“Nice to meet you, Harry. I’m Amelia,” she said.

IV

THE HANGED MAN

AMELIA

And there it was. My instincts at the funeral were bang on. I knew there was more to Kim’s story than just being an old friend. An surprising pang of jealousy washed over me, as Harry had never even mentioned her name to me. I curiously found myself examining her closely and comparing myself to Kim. She was pretty, a lot prettier than I was. Kim was closer to Harry’s age, too, about five years younger than me, at least. Above all else, Harry had always told me he went for brunettes.

I did suffer from a great deal of paranoia in our marriage, primarily because I thought that Harry was such a good catch. My worst nightmare was someone snatching him from me, and I did have my moments when I couldn’t help it and I let those feelings escape. Harry was always very defensive, denying any wrongdoing, but the fact that he had omitted to tell me about Kim felt a little shady. I fully admit I would make a mountain out of a molehill on occasion, and I could understand why he chose not to tell me about her, but married couples were supposed to be completely open and honest with each other, right?

“When?” I asked bitterly.

“A while ago,” she said.

“Was it serious?”

“It could have been. We were seeing each other for about six months.”

“What happened?”

“His dad died.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

Kim sighed deeply, and I could see the lingering hurt across her face.

“He just shut himself off from everybody, including me. I waited for him for a few months, but I heard he’d moved on, so I did the same.”

Kim resumed her nervous state, this time shuffling a beer mat backwards and forwards incessantly. I thought I knew all about Harry’s past, but there must have been a reason for his secrecy. Maybe he just wanted to spare me from the jealousy. I met Harry almost a year after his father died, which would make Kim his most recent ex. It explained why Kim was so upset at the funeral, at least. As irrational as it was, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow gone behind my back with his lies of omission. It wasn’t like I could call him up and ask him straight; it was just another mystery I had to bury for the rest of my life.

“Did he ever mention me?” Kim asked quietly.

Any pity or understanding I’d felt only moments before quickly vanished. I couldn’t believe her audacity. It sounded like she was trying to compare my profound grief to her own and likening her six-month juvenile relationship to my marriage. It took every shred of strength I had to stop myself from dragging her across the table by her cute, messy little bun and screaming in her face.

Breathe.

I wasn’t known for holding my tongue. But as much as it turned my stomach, I had to keep her on my side nonetheless. If I wanted to know what happened to Harry in his last moments, I’d have to. She clearly had information that I wasn’t privy to, and if I wanted it, I’d have to play nice.

“No. Never. Sorry,” I said abruptly.

“Oh,” Kim solemnly whispered, “excuse me a minute.”

Kim rose from her seat and made her way to the toilets, leaving her phone and bag behind. I picked up her phone, but obviously, it had a passcode on it. I didn’t know what I was expecting to find, maybe a picture of them together on her phone wallpaper or something. I couldn’t bear the thought of Harry with another woman, regardless of how long ago or the duration. I did have an unhealthy sense of ownership of him. I fully attest to that. But we were married, after all. I locked her phone again with a disappointed huff and returned it to the table. I could feel the paranoia and jealousy building up, and I resisted the urge to surrender to it further. I kept reassuring myself that Harry was gone and their relationship, or whatever it was they had, was a long time ago. I should not lose sight of what was important. I just needed to find out what she knew about his death.

I was reluctant to tell her about James; she was clearly skittish in general, and if I started talking about mysterious text psychics and suspicious deaths, she would grab her yoga mat and sprint out of the door. I necked a mouthful of Merlot, took a deep breath, and got my phone out. I needed to play this very carefully.

Is Kim the one that can help?

The woman you have met will be your guide down the path of truth.

He could have just said yes, I thought. Kim returned to the table a minute or so later and as expected started to drink her orange juice tensely again, and she still wouldn’t meet my gaze after the awkwardness brought on by her confession. I needed to be calm and diplomatic if I wanted to pry any information out of her. It would require a delicate hand, and unfortunately, that wasn’t something I possessed. I sat across from her, deliberating what approach to use, and decided to try and be understanding.

“Kim, you are clearly upset about Harry, and I get it. But I need you to tell me what you know about his death,” I said softly.

“What do you mean?” Kim asked, looking worried about my line of questioning.

“Do you think it was suspicious?”

Kim returned her drink to the table and refolded her arms. She made intense eye contact with me for a few seconds as if she were trying to pre-emptively weigh up my response to what she was about to tell me.

“He didn’t fall. He barely drank anything,” she announced.

Silence. Total silence. Kim sat there, immediately itching for me to say something. Anything. But I couldn’t. Not when my whole world was unravelling. What she had just said had left me mute, and I didn’t know how to react. I wasn’t there when Harry died. I’d only seen him in the morning, but I’d been told the stories of how he died by his kith and kin. The general consensus was that he drank too much and fell off the Brigg. Even the police accepted that version of events, after conducting an extensive investigation into his death. Kim was now gripping the table tightly, almost stripping the varnish with her fingernails. The coroner’s report said that Harry had alcohol in his system, so he’d indisputably been drinking. At least a few beers. Kim could be lying outright just to hurt me, although I really couldn’t put my finger on why she would. If Harry wasn’t drunk when he fell, it raised a whole host of other questions.

“Amelia?” she said abruptly.

“How… how could you possibly know that?” I asked bemusingly.

“Because I was there.”

“You were there?”

“At the pub and Steve’s party, yes. But he was on non-alcoholic beer. His mates didn’t know.”

“Why?”

“I think he might have been worried he’d have to drive home if you had bad news from the clinic. He thought the boys would tease him if he said he wasn’t drinking.”

Harry had never mentioned this woman’s name to me in his life, but she did know intimate details of mine. I was furious. She wasn’t an ‘old flame’ from back in the day, and she still had some kind of friendship with him. Worse than that, he had confided in her about our conceiving woes, which in itself felt like an emotional betrayal. She’d confirmed what James had already insinuated to me: the people around Harry were suspicious of his death, but why wouldn’t they come to me about it?

I inexorably pictured Harry sitting with Kim and discussing all of my most closely guarded secrets. I would never divulge the darker details of our marriage to anyone. They should be kept between a husband and wife. I thought Harry felt the same way, and he respected our privacy. I didn’t like the idea of another woman being privy to the fact that I struggled to conceive. It made me feel less of a woman than her. The whole thing was making me jittery, and my first reaction was to just up and leave to avoid further embarrassment.

“Amelia?” She asked.

“Just tell me what happened,” I ordered.

“Harry was weird all night. He’d been trying to make a phone call almost all evening that went unanswered. He walked off, still trying to get through, and that was the last time I saw him.”

“Do you happen to know who he was trying to call?”

“I don’t know,” Kim explained, letting out an exculpatory sigh, “but he was agitated.”

“Who do you think it was?”

“Well, to be honest, I thought it was you,” she confessed.