‘What?’
It feels like someone has turned down the sound around us. The kids squabbling, the women gossiping, the guards bossing, it all falls away. There’s just us two. ‘She wanted him to leave your mother. He wouldn’t. So she killed them both. If she couldn’t have him, then no one would, was her thinking. She cut the brakes of their car.’
Emma shakes her head. Stunned at the wild, ludicrous nature of what I’m telling her, stunned by the perfect truth of it. Her eyes find mine and I see that they are flooded with complete understanding. She sees me properly. Perhaps for the first time. As it dawns on her, I confirm, ‘She was pregnant with me. She told me she’d got pregnant on purpose. She was hoping that it would be the impetus he needed to end his marriage. But her plan didn’t work. He just told her to get rid of me. She didn’t. She got rid of him instead.’ This is a small consolation in my scrappy, miserable start: my mother had at least chosen me, an unborn baby, over the adulterous alcoholic who wanted his mistress to abort.
‘So we are …’
‘Sisters. Yes. Well, technically half-sisters, but yes. We’re one big not-so-happy family.’
50
She belonged to me first. She was mine before she was his. Even before I spent months following her, even before she ‘met’ Mattie, she and I were connected.
She’s controlled, I’ll give her that. She asks, ‘When did your mother tell you this?’
‘About two years before she died.’
‘Around the time she started working for me.’
‘Yes, that wasn’t a coincidence. Nor was the fact that she invited Mattie and me to live with her in her flat.’ I’ve had time to think about it, but I can’t decide. Even now, some things will, I guess, stay forever a mystery. That is life. We’re arrogant and deluded to think we can find all the answers, that we’re entitled to them or that we’d know what to do with them if they were presented. I don’t know if my mum was trying to gift me the legacy that I was due or whether she was manipulating us all along. Were Mattie and I just pawns? Did she play on our financial desperation? My need for a home. My need for a mother.
‘Does he know this?’ Emma asks.
He. She doesn’t have to name him, there’s only one he. There are two of us. We both know who she means. ‘No.’ I smile coolly. ‘For him it was all about the money. He has never, as far as I’m aware, questioned why my mother might have killed your parents. He simply accepted that she did. He never really liked her. I guess it was easy for him to think the worst of her.’
Emma bangs her hand down on the table. ‘We should get the case reopened. Bring all this to light.’
‘My case? What’s the point? I’ll probably only have to serve another six months. I’ve kept my nose clean. I’ll most likely make parole. It will take longer than that to get to court. Do you want to sell tickets to that circus again?’
She pauses. I don’t doubt she’s thinking about the journalists who most likely camped outside the gate to Woodview, the headlines that ruined her day time after time. ‘But Matthew Charlton planted evidence. He should be tried for that.’ I note the transition. ‘He’ no more.
‘That wouldn’t carry much of a sentence, most likely a few more hours’ community service. What’s the point?’
‘What if it was him who tampered with the car?’ I notice that her hands are shaking, but I don’t think she’s frightened. I think it’s a thirst for justice and answers that’s agitating her.
‘You know, it was most likely my mother who did that,’ I admit with a sigh. ‘As I say, I don’t know for a fact, it’s just my opinion. She thought Matthew had fallen in love with you, that he wouldn’t leave you and come back to me. My guess is that pushed her over the edge. She probably couldn’t bear history repeating itself, you know?’
Emma leans towards me, exerting a keenness that’s borderline desperate. I wonder if she wants to ask me my opinion on that matter too. Do I also think he was in love with her? I don’t add anything else.
‘I see that you were owed, that you had a right,’ she admits. ‘I inherited from my grandparents, but they were your grandparents too. You must have felt cheated. You have been cheated, over and over again. But why didn’t you just come to me? If you’d explained everything, we could have taken DNA tests, consulted lawyers, and we’d have come to an agreement. An arrangement.’
I let out a derisive laugh. This question could only be asked by someone who has been shielded by wealth, met by fairness and grown confident in their expectation of how life should work out. ‘I’m not a big believer in “ask and you will receive”. Look at this place.’
Emma casts her eyes around the room, which is groaning with missed opportunities, limitations and desperation. These inequalities are manifested in dangerous criminals with broken minds who are devoid of moral compasses, and pathetic criminals with broken hearts who are lacking the sense they were born with. Neither group expects generosity or understanding. They fight tooth and claw for what they have or they have nothing at all. I’m sitting with them. I’m this side of the table.
Emma processes this new information. ‘I’ll have my lawyer look at this. I’ll make a settlement and—’
‘No.’ I interrupt firmly. ‘I know you did that for Mattie. He told me. I don’t want your money.’
‘But you need it.’
‘No, I don’t. I’ve earned my own.’
‘What? How?’
And I can’t resist telling her. It’s a risk, I know that, because if she still loves him, she could leave here and immediately relay it to him. She has the resources to get him lawyers; they could build a case that might alter my planned path before I get out of here. But I don’t think she’ll do that. She doesn’t love him and she doesn’t hate me. She might even see the beautiful justice in my plan. After all, she was married to him too for a while. Maybe she was also on occasion irritated by his lack of attention to detail, that lazy way he has of sitting back and letting it all be worked out for him.
‘He’s ploughed all your cash into my property, a place called the Old Schoolhouse. It was a mess. Not fit to live in. We needed money to do it up. You might remember it was mentioned in court. He thinks it’s our property. He thinks his name is on the deeds, but he’s not one for attention to detail. Around the time he was marrying you, I had it transferred into my name. He unknowingly signed the paperwork when he thought he was signing for a remortgage to cover the cost of some makeshift repairs. He was too excited about the trip to the Maldives and too irritated by your insistence on a prenup to really pay attention to what I presented him with. He trusted me.’
‘So when you get out of here …’
‘I’ll simply go home, change the locks and say goodbye to him. He’ll be homeless. Penniless.’
‘That seems very’ – she searches around for the words – ‘ruthless and cruel.’
‘Yes. Or ruthless and fair. I suppose it depends on your viewpoint.’ I open my hands wide and gesture to my surroundings again. Reminding her of where he put me. ‘Will you tell him?’
She shakes her head, slowly but emphatically, left to right two or three times. ‘No. This has nothing to do with me. This is between you two.’ She stands up, and I’m surprised to feel a slight sting of disappointment. There’s fifteen more minutes of visiting time on the clock; she doesn’t have to leave yet. ‘If there’s anything you need, if it doesn’t go to plan, if you need legal advice or a loan, anything at all, get in touch with me. It might not be as cut-and-dried as you think. He might not just slink away.’
‘I’ll keep it in mind, but I know him. I think he will just slink away. He’ll probably move back in with his mum and dad. Thanks, though.’ She nods. It feels good to know there’s someone, that I’m not alone. Even if it’s her. Especially as it’s her. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say hurriedly.
‘Are you?’
‘Yes. For some of it, most of it. I just needed a home. I’ve got a home now.’
‘I understand.’ She pauses. ‘I’m sorry that you thought it was the only way.’
‘We’re very different.’
