Paula shrugs and the small gesture takes a lot of effort. ‘I didn’t kill him, but I did want to.’ She scrunches up her face. ‘At least, I did in hindsight. I didn’t realise it at the time. I was so deep inside it all, inside the life I knew, that I didn’t realise how unhappy I was. How trapped. And the truth is, it really has been awful since he died.’ She corrects herself. ‘Since he pretended to die. I was struggling so much. I didn’t even know what to wear when I woke up in the morning because he chose everything.’ She pauses. ‘But it’s also been wonderful. The freedom was a bit terrifying and overwhelming and difficult, but also so . . . nice. Especially after I met all of you. You mademe realise I can have a life of my own. I can make choices for myself. I get . . .’ She trails off, staring down at her shaking hands before continuing, ‘I get to decide on my own happiness. I don’t have to walk around on eggshells for ever. I don’t have to spend the rest of my life always wondering what kind of mood John might be in. I don’t have to tie myself in knots trying to say the right thing to fix things. I don’t have to live in fear that the man in the coffee shop looked my way, or that Vinnie, Floyd and Handsy Harry at the care home talked to me too much that day.’ She shakes her head. ‘John was so possessive, and the silly thing was that he was the one having an affair!’ Paula glances wide-eyed around at her friends. ‘I feel like such a foolish old lady. I didn’t know he was sleeping with her.’ She pauses. ‘Poor Bridget, I hope he was kind to her.’
‘I doubt it,’ Teddy says in a low, sour voice.
Paula stares out of the café window. People wander past, arm in arm, laughing. Look at all these people on their magical holiday without a worry in the universe. None of them seems to understand that the world has just ended.
A group of young women pile into the café, taking the noise level up a notch as they laugh and order cake in lovely French.
Paula turns back to the three women. ‘You know, when I won the lottery, the first thing I thought was how different life was going to be. I tried to ring John over and over that day, to tell him the news. I told myself he would be so happy – so much happier – and that he would like me more. I thought the money would solve everything.’ She shakes her head. ‘But I know so clearly now – it’s so obvious! – that things wouldn’t have been – wouldn’tbedifferent. If anything, they would be worse, because with all that money he could control me evenmore. He would stop me working or going out, and I’d be even more trapped.’ She swallows. ‘After I won the lottery money, everyone kept asking me why I hadn’t quit my job. My boss laughed at me when I asked for some time off, like it was totally absurd that I might come back. But for a long time, that job – my work – was the only little bit of freedom I had from John. We needed the money, and so Ihad togo to work. But he won’t let me out at all now we have twenty million pounds. I’ll be even more of a silly little submissive mouse, even more afraid of my own shadow than I am now.’
‘You’re not a mouse.’ Audrey moves her chair closer, circling an arm around Paula. Paula feels the warmth of her friend’s skin through her loose T-shirt. Even after all these weeks of open affection from Audrey, Paula still finds it a shock. John so rarely touched her. ‘You are a strong, brave, kind woman, who got through years of this.’ Audrey waves her free hand with enthusiasm. ‘Look at you! So many people wouldn’t have made it through what you’ve been through. You’re amazing! And we love you.’
Teddy and Ivy nod at this.
The French women at the counter start shrieking with excitement as their cakes are plated up. They move towards a table at the back, leaving one of the group behind, still waiting on a drink. The woman stares down at her phone, her face going slack without her friends around. Paula wonders if it means something. That we need other people at our side – we need friends – to keep us alive and moving.
‘Can I ask you all a question?’ she begins hesitantly. ‘How did you know . . . How did you know I was . . . like you? That I was . . . the same as you? That my husband was like your husbands?’
They look at her, three sets of kindly eyes watching carefully, considering this.
‘You think we can’t see it?’ Audrey replies at last. ‘You think we can’t see the pain? It’s clear as day.’
‘It is?’ she says helplessly.
They nod. ‘To us,’ Ivy whispers. ‘We know it because it’s the same as ours.’
‘Plus,’ Teddy says, ‘there are other more obvious . . . signs. For one thing, you don’t have any friends! None of us did before Audrey brought us all together. It’s something a lot of abuse survivors – or victims – have in common. We were all isolated from loved ones. A lot of abusers do that.’ She pauses. ‘You didn’t notice the way we’ve all clung to each other desperately, even though we’ve only known one another a few months?’
‘I guess I was so far removed from reality, I missed it. I’d forgotten what friendship looks like,’ Paula shrugs. ‘Plus, John had me thinking I was so unlovable and unlikeable, it never occurred to me anyone would want to be my friend.’ She thinks of all those old faces on Facebook she hadn’t spoken to for years. She thinks of her family, of her mum.
She stares up at the cake board above the counter, trying to work out which of the options would contain the most chocolate. She needs chocolate right now. She doesn’t speak French but she has a feeling gâteau au chocolat would do the job.
Paula leans her head on Teddy’s shoulder. ‘Can we hold off killing that man Owen for a while?’ she whispers at last. ‘Because there’s someone else I want to add to Ivy’s list.’ She draws her eyebrows together, determination lighting her face. ‘I really do think John deserves to be a priority. He deserves to die.’
Ivy looks anxiously to Teddy, then back again. ‘Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, you’re not actually a killer, Paula. Are you sure this is something you want to do?’
Paula looks at her. There’s something else she wants to tell Ivy. Something she wants to tell them all. Something very small but very important. She’s thought about saying it so many times since John died. She opens her mouth, then closes it, her heart beating fast. Ivy reaches for her hand, squeezing it. Paula feels her friend’s body warmth and it makes her feel strong.
She’s going to say it.
Paula leans forward. ‘Can you call me Pauline, not Paula? It’s my name, what my mum and dad called me, but John didn’t like it. He said he preferred Paula, so that was that. I had to go by what he wanted all those years.’
They stare at her for a beat, then Teddy shakes her head in disgust. ‘OK, yeah, John definitely deserves to die.’
‘So you’ll help me?’ Pauline asks, and they all nod with enthusiasm.
And now, Pauline – formerly Paula – allows herself to cry. She hunches over in that café and cries and cries and cries. The group of women with the cakes look over anxiously, but still she doesn’t stop. She lets the tears run down her face. And they’re still not for John. They’re all for her. The tears are for Pauline the brave, the survivor, the victim. For Pauline, the woman she’s going to be from here on out. For Pauline the soon-to-be husband killer.
Ivy holds her as Audrey fetches some gâteau au chocolat. Pauline continues to cry, imagining John’s blood dribbling out onto the carpet at home.
They need a new carpet anyway.
34
Pauline hates to sound ungrateful, but private jets really aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.
She was underwhelmed by the last one and this one is even more . . . well, it’s just quite . . . how does she put this?Uninspired. She’s surrounded by cramped, beige interiors and rows of grey seats. And that’s it! Of course, there are a lot fewer seats than you’d find on an EasyJet plane, and an awful lot more legroom. But Pauline’s only five foot two; she’s never wanted for legroom in her life.
At least the last jet had Connie and sofas.
