The Whole Truth

It’s nearly nine by the time I get home. I feel like shit, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better. Alex is at the door to meet me before I’ve had time to turn off the engine. Even in the warm light from above the door her face looks wan.

‘Thank God you’re home,’ she breathes as I slide my arm around her shoulders.

‘Are you OK? Has something happened? Have you seen that van again?’

‘No. Not today.’

She knows it’s what I want to hear; that doesn’t mean it’s true.

She tries to laugh it off. ‘And like you said, he’s wearing a tag. I’m just imagining things. Overreacting. Blame the hormones.’

‘You’d tell me though, wouldn’t you? If you’d seen anything? Anyone odd hanging around?’

She frowns, wondering where this is coming from.

‘Of course.’

I follow her into the kitchen and sit down heavily at the table. She’s fussing about now; it’s not like her.

‘Actually,’ she says, reaching into the fridge, ‘there was something I wanted to talk to you about –’

She straightens up, turns, sees my face. ‘What’s wrong?’

She knows – of course she knows. We’ve been married a long time.

I take a deep breath. ‘Have you seen the local news today?’

She shakes her head with a sad little laugh. ‘I never watch that stuff. Every time I see something dreadful I assume you’re right in the middle of it.’

I draw her towards me. ‘This time I’m afraid it’s true.’

I feel her stiffen. ‘What do you mean?’

‘A body was found on the railway line last night. By Walton Well bridge. I’ve only just found out who it was.’

‘What do you mean, a body – what are you talking about?’

‘I’m so sorry, Alex. It was Emma.’

She stares, then sways, and I reach out to steady her.

‘Sit down, please. You’re as white as a sheet.’

She gropes for a chair, lowers herself into it as if she’s in pain.

‘Emma?’ she says, her voice half breath. ‘No, no, that can’t be right – I only just spoke to her –’

I’ve seen this so many times. ‘But I saw them last week.’ Or last month, or last night. They say the cycle of grief starts with denial, but in my experience it’s less that than sheer bewildered disbelief.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say softly. ‘Her parents came. It’s definitely her.’

She frowns. ‘Didn’t you just say the railway line? What the hell was she doing there –?’

‘Alex –’

‘Was it an accident?’

I let the silence lengthen, speak for me. ‘No. It wasn’t an accident.’

‘Oh my God, are you saying she killed herself?’ There’s a gasp but it isn’t just the shock. She has her hand to her side.

‘Alex – what is it?’

I’m on my feet now but she’s pushing me away, rejecting my hand.

‘It’s just Braxton Hicks – I’ve been having them all day.’

‘Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?’

She shakes her head, trying to smile it off, but her breath is shallow and there’s sweat along her upper lip.

‘Alex – you’re thirty-five weeks, for God’s sake –’

And now she’s clutching her side again and I’m reaching for my car keys. ‘That’s it – I’m taking you to the JR.’

‘No, no.’ She grips my arm. ‘Please, Adam – you know how much I hate that place. And it’s going off now, seriously.’

She breathes, slowly. In, then out; in, then out. A minute passes, and gradually her grasp on my arm softens and she gives me a wobbly smile. ‘See? I told you.’

I put the keys down. ‘OK, but you need to go to bed right now –’

‘In a minute – what about Emma –’

I shake my head. She’ll have to know the truth – Ruth Gallagher will be calling, for a start, and I want Alex prepared. But not now. Not tonight.

‘We’ll talk about it in the morning. Right now what you need is rest. That’s the only way I agree not to take you straight to the JR.’

Her head drops and I reach for her hand. Her lips are trembling.

‘Oh Lord,’ she whispers. ‘Poor Em – poor, poor Em.’ She raises her eyes to mine, and the tears are brimming. ‘1992. That’s when we first met. 1992. Twenty-six bloody years. How did that happen?’ She puts a hand to her mouth. ‘I mean, I knew she’d been unhappy lately, but –’

I could say something. Tell her I know exactly why Emma was unhappy. Tell her I went to see her, to try to help –

But I don’t. Perhaps I should. Perhaps you would, if you were me. But you’re not, and I don’t. I should have told her I went to that flat long before this. Yesterday, as soon as I got back, even though she was exhausted and on her way to bed; or this morning, before I went to work. All I was doing was trying to protect her, cocoon her, keep her and our baby safe, but it’s too late now. If I tell her now she’ll think I have something to hide. And you wouldn’t blame her, would you? Because you’re thinking exactly the same. You’re wondering why this is the first you’ve heard of all this – why I never said a thing about it before.

So let me be absolutely clear – just because you didn’t see, just because I didn’t tell you – at the flat, last night, with Emma? Nothing happened.

Do you hear me?

Nothing. Bloody. Happened.

* * *

This time, Quinn isn’t the only one in early. When he pushes open the office door at 7.55 the place is already humming.