‘Oh my God! How did you escape?’ She is trying to be sympathetic but is shaking with prurient excitement.
‘It’s a blur, Cait. I’m still in shock.’
‘Have you called the police?’
I shake my head.
‘Why not?’ she asks slowly.
‘Well, there was the party,’ I say. Her expression indicates I might have said the wrong thing. I reach out, enfold her tightly in my arms and pretend to sob. ‘I couldn’t call the police. They’ll send me to prison. I’ll lose my children.’
‘They won’t send you to prison. It’s not murder, Lalla, it’s self-defence. He attacked you.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘I fought back and he fell. He must’ve fallen on his knife.’
‘Well, that’s not even self-defence. That’s accidental death. You’ve got nothing to worry about.’
Cait focuses on the corpse with a little glint in her eye. Her shoulders twitch and her tongue touches her top lip. It’s clear that her anatomy is enjoying this, even if her mind is still resistant to the idea.
‘Can I look at it?’ she says. ‘I’ve read so much about dead bodies, but I’ve never actually seen one.’
I nod as Cait picks up the corner of the bloody sheet with her thumb and forefinger and peels it back with a low squelch. She stares, completely still, at his dark red clothes and clean face.
Cait leans left and right, to get a clearer sight of the body, then pulls back the rest of the sheet and stares at the torso, a quizzical look on her face.
‘How many times did he fall on his knife?’ she asks.
Chapter9Soap
I spot a box of Lindt on the bookshelf left over from Stephen’s birthday. Cait is counting knife wounds, and I am thinking about chocolate. I walk over, open the box and take one. It is the right decision. It removes the taste of blood from my mouth.
‘Do you want a choccy?’ I hold the box out towards Cait but she glares back.
‘Lalla, I don’t think he could’ve fallen on his knife seven times, do you?’ she says, sharply.
‘Who knows what happens in those fleeting moments?’ I shrug, which doesn’t appear to appease her curiosity.
‘The police’ll ask these questions. I’m just trying to help.’
‘Police? You said you’d do anything to help, and I need help wrapping him up.’ I kneel down and pick up a roll of adhesive tape from the floor as she peers closely at the knife wounds.
‘You definitely shouldn’t move him, Lalla. You have to leave everything exactly as you found it... for the police.’ She seems to have decided to take on the role of head girl at a crime scene.
‘The oak parquet will stain,’ I say, but even this concern doesn’t move her.
‘Did you stab him all those times?’ she asks. ‘Is that why you didn’t call the police, Lalla?’
‘Well, he wouldn’t stop fighting. I had to fight back,’ I say.
Her small hand reaches out for mine and she squeezes my fingers. I pull her down and she kneels beside me. I think this is a good sign.
‘It’s manslaughter at most. But you’ll need a good lawyer.’
‘You know how courts are with women. How they were with you even though it was Owen on trial. Insinuating you were a liar. We’re women, Cait, the law doesn’t work for us.’
‘But a man’s dead. You have to tell the police.’
‘How will that look now? A mother stabs an intruder seven times and carries on with her son’s party. I can see the headline already.’
