‘If someone came forward and confessed to killing O’Neill, that would be…’
Andrew paused, and his eyes widened. ‘Fantastic,’ he muttered. He looked slightly deranged as he said that, which made me realise that Fran was giving him a run for our money. ‘Without that, there’s no chance she gets away with this without prison, Gareth. I told her this this morning, but she didn’t seem to get it. I’m sorry.’
‘So, why are you telling me this?’ I said coldly, pushing my head back against the cold surface of the wall behind me. I had somehow hoped he was here for good news.
‘Because I’ve seen this all before and just want to prepare you for the worst face to face. The spouse doesn’t think their loved one did it, but they did. Fran’s going to go to prison for a while and even when she gets out, things won’t snap back to the way they were. You know the statistics on divorce after one party gets out of prison, I presume?’
‘I would like for you to leave, please,’ I said as politely as I could.
Andrew saw that he had struck a very tender nerve and rose sharply from his seat.
‘Before I go, though, I’m quite sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to need some smart clothes for your wife.’
‘Of course,’ I said with a groan, contemplating the strongly worded email I would send to Andrew’s employer as I fished my best guess out of Fran’s wardrobe.
In the two weeks leading up to the trial, no matter how hard I tried to push it out of my mind, to convince myself I’d done the right thing, I knew I couldn’t take back what I had done. I was the one who had turned my wife in; there was nobody else I could blame for my wife being in prison. I wished I’d just destroyed the evidence, stashed it away under some papers in my desk, or, better yet, never investigated Mr O’Neill’s disappearance at all. Slowly, I skulked over to the last box left from our move. I knew that what I was about to do would only make everything worse, but I couldn’t stop myself. I just wanted to feel something, anything, that was painful and sharp enough to break through the numbness.
The one box left unpacked held our photo albums. Carefully, I opened up the flaps, peeled back the layers of padding Fran had so meticulously placed around our wedding album, and pulled it free. I hadn’t looked at them since they were printed. Somehow, they felt too special for just a casual glance. I flicked open the cover and there we were: five years younger in the church – my one condition for getting married: a proper church wedding, where we’d say our vows in front of God. I hadn’t minded about anything else, that was just the one thing I’d asked for.
For better, for worse, in sickness and in health. I’d meant every word at the time, but now I couldn’t help feeling that I’d gone back on those vows. I was supposed to protect Fran. But here I was. Alone in the house we’d bought to raise a family in.
Suddenly, I felt my phone buzz violently against my thigh. Snatching it out of my pocket, I glanced at the screen. It was a number I didn’t recognise, but that had been a common occurrence lately. Every time I’d ignored a call when I’d thought it was just a scammer, it had always turned out to be an important party.
Maybe it was someone from Andrew’s office before the trial started on Monday. ‘Hello?’ I said, answering quickly.
‘This call is from a person currently in a prison in England or Wales,’ the automated voice spoke. ‘All calls are logged and recorded and may be listened to by a member of prison staff. If you do not wish to accept this call, please hang up now.’
My heart jolted with a kind of nervous excitement, like when the notification came through that your crush had liked your profile photo on Facebook. Fran? Could it be Fran? What the hell was I even going to say to her?
Before I could spiral into any kind of overthinking, the automated voice ended abruptly, replaced by the hum and buzz of what I could only guess was prison ambience.
‘Gareth? Are you there?’
It was her. The sound of her voice sent a shiver through me; it was almost nostalgic hearing it again as I noticed the skin on my arm begin to erupt with tiny bumps. Lord, that hadn’t happened for a while.
‘Hi, Fran, yeah it’s…it’s me.’
‘Hey,’ she replied.
I don’t know why, but it surprised me at first that this wasn’t like our old phone calls. Her voice was obviously different, more monotone and distant. I mean, I suppose she was speaking to the person who had turned her in to the police, the one who hadn’t even been able to look her in the eye as they’d taken her away.
‘Look, there’s so much to say,’ she continued. Her words were steady but still glaringly hollow of any kind of emotion; she had rehearsed what she was saying to me. ‘There’s still so much we need to talk about, but I just…I really wanted to hear your voice before the trial begins as I don’t know if I’ll have a chance again. And I wanted to say I’m sorry for everything. I don’t know if that means anything to you now, but I wanted to say it…’
I could have sobbed like a baby there and then. Fran’s voice may have been empty of any emotion, but I hadn’t heard it for so long. A brutal combination of emotions churned inside me: relief, happiness, sadness, guilt. It was nauseating, as if no human was ever meant to feel so many things so strongly all at once.
‘I’m…so sorry too,’ I said, trying not to let my voice quiver. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t even look at you, I was just so…ashamed and all of this is my fault, and…I wish I could take it all back. I wish there was something I could do.’
‘There isn’t, okay?’ she replied, her words brusque, but still not purposefully cruel. She paused, and her tone softened ever so slightly. ‘God, I have to admit, it’s so nice to hear your voice again. How’s Mep?’
I glanced over at the cat, who looked like someone had stuck googly eyes on a mound of mangled fur. He ambled closer to investigate who I was talking to.
‘He’s okay,’ I lied. ‘He misses you.’
‘Good.’ Her voice wavered before she corrected herself. ‘Look, I’ve got to go now, but…just thanks, I guess, for the last few years and just…take care of yourself, okay?’
‘Okay,’ I repeated, my throat tightening and my eyes watering. Then something else took over. ‘Fran, I just want to say…I love you?’
‘Okay,’ she echoed softly. Then the line went dead.
