Authors: Sue Welfare
When I get to my feet my whole body aches. I stretch but it doesn’t help, it just makes the pain more intense.
‘Is it all right if I look at them again?’ I ask, nodding towards the things on the table.
‘Yes, of course,’ he says.
I get up and walk over to the table, and look at the things arranged there. I take a long look at the stain on our marriage certificate. It’s about the same size as my hand, shaped like a flower and mahogany brown and I know now that it’s blood. And now, looking more closely, I can see that there is blood on everything.
These are the papers that were on the floor in the hall where Farouk died. There are little droplets on letters, splashes on the papers, something crusty and dried on the corner of the tin, and smeared over the receipts and the bills.
I put the certificate back where it came from, very carefully, back on the table, back in its place, and move it with my fingertips till it is square with all the other things. Although everything is in plastic bags I can clearly see what’s inside. There are the box files and the biscuit tin and then, alongside each one, the contents are set out, inside evidence bags, all numbered, all neatly arranged, evenly spaced: passports, some photographs, letters and bills. Lots of envelopes. And my old mobile phone, not lost after all but stolen by Farouk and hidden.
The room is very quiet. Dust motes spin in a shaft of afternoon sunlight.
‘It’s over now, Sarah,’ says the detective. ‘You should go and get some rest. We’ll need to see you again. There will probably be more questions, and I’m afraid you can’t go back to your house at the moment. Have you got somewhere you can go and stay until we release it back to you?’ The detective speaks in a soft voice.
I’m not sure, but I don’t say that. Maybe Anessa or maybe a hotel. Maybe somewhere anonymous would be better, somewhere I can sleep.
‘There will still be some formalities to go through; but for now you need to have a rest, get something to eat.’ He’s smiling as he puts the photographs from the table back into his folder. ‘It’s going to take a while,’ he said. ‘There are people you can talk to. Victim support.’
I stare at him.
He smiles grimly. ‘Don’t try to rush it. You’ve been through a lot, you’re lucky to have got out of it alive. You might like to know that we’ve got statements from Farouk’s associates who have confessed to beating your brother up and threatening you. Are you okay?’
I look up and nod. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I say.
I don’t tell him that I meant to kill the man I knew as Woody. I don’t tell him that I don’t care what he was called, or that in the bathroom I had made my mind up, that I made a plan, that I wanted him dead, that I planned to lead him upstairs, that I intended to kill him, that it was him or me. I’m not sure if he guesses. If he does he doesn’t say anything.
The uniformed female constable is still standing watching us. She smiles at me now as the detective indicates the door and then opens it for me.
‘I think we’re done here for the time being, Sarah,’ he says. His tone is conspiratorial and gentle, as if I’m a child. ‘If there is anything else you can think of, anything at all, then all you have to do is call me. This is my direct line.’ As we walk along the corridor he hands me a business card from a little case he has in his inside jacket pocket. ‘We’ve arranged to have some clothes brought in for you. And I’ll be in touch if we need anything else. Are you sure you’re okay?’
I nod, but unsatisfied, he waits until I look him in the eye.
‘Yes, really, I’m fine,’ I say. Which is a stupid thing to say because we both know I am anything but fine.
Then it occurs to me that I don’t really care anymore what he believes or understands, or even, really, what happens to me now, because it is finally all over and the man I married is dead – whoever he is or was – and I am free, and nothing can touch me now, and nothing can be worse than where I’ve been. Nothing.
The officer smiles. ‘I believe Josh is waiting for you outside,’ he says.
I look up at him. ‘He’s here?’
He nods and then he opens the door into an office space.
Josh is sitting on a bench. He has a hold-all by his feet. As I step outside he stands up. He hasn’t shaved and he looks tired and drawn as if he hasn’t slept.
As our eyes meet I feel my pulse quicken and I’m filled with something like delight and relief and joy, and a hundred other things that don’t have a name, and I feel my eyes fill with tears.
We stand for a moment. I think he is nervous, I know I am. And then Josh smiles and opens his arms and the tension I have been holding in my spine eases and I step into his embrace, letting him hold me.
‘I brought you some clothes,’ he says, holding up the bag.
But I don’t want to be away from him, instead I relish the heat of his body and the smell of him and the way my body moulds into his, it makes me want to stay in his arms forever and forget everything else. I can hear sobbing and it takes me a moment or two to realise that I’m the one crying.
Josh holds me tight up against him, pressing his lips to my hair. And then he takes my hand and the policeman guides us through a maze of corridors, and then Josh leads me out of the police station.
It is dark outside, and cold. The glow from the streetlights is reflected in the puddles, a taxi goes past and on the other side of the road a young couple stroll by, hand in hand, chatting to each other under the shelter of a blue and white umbrella.
For some reason I’m surprised that ordinary life is still going on.
I start to shiver again and my teeth start to chatter. Josh pulls me close and, taking his jacket off, wraps it around my shoulders; it is only then that I realise I’m still wearing the police tracksuit and the beach shoes.
‘I need to explain,’ I say to Josh.
He smiles down at me. ‘There’s plenty of time for that. The truck is just round the corner,’ he says. ‘I’ve lit the fire. Let’s go home.’
And we do.
I’d like to thank everyone who has helped me get Next of Kin written, edited and out into the world.
Huge thanks to the dream team - Susan Opie, Jane Dixon-Smith, Maureen Vincent-Northam and Rebecca Emin for helping sort out all the practicalities of copy, cover and content as well as offering lots of encouragement, advice and support!
A really big thank you too, to the amazing people who volunteered to read Next of Kin when it was just a draft - especially Lisa Garwood and EM Dawe who not only read it, but went through it with a fine tooth comb and picked out all kinds of bloopers, typos and errors – Thank you! Your thoughts, comments and input have been absolutely invaluable.
Thanks too to Janet Reynolds-Spark for her advice and Phillipa Ashley for letting me tell her the story over the phone while she drank coffee and ate toast, and her amazing work on the blurb, which is an art form in itself.
Any errors or sins of omission are entirely mine.
And finally I need to thank Phil and Jake & our much anticipated new rescue dog, Daisy, who don’t seem to mind living with a woman who spends most of her days talking to her imaginary friends.
Sue Welfare
June 2015