Nicole’s head came around slowly, and Cristy felt a beat of shock hit her heart. Of course she was older now and had been through a lot, so Cristy hadn’t expected to see the vibrant nineteen-year-old whose image was on the office whiteboard. Nevertheless, she was struggling to find a resemblance between the two versions of the same woman. Gone was the lustrous mane of golden-red hair, the glowing peachy complexion and dazzling blue eyes. This tragic, almost lifeless creature was pale, skeletal and hollow-eyed. And yet somehow, in some indefinable way, she retained a quality that held the eye.
‘How are you?’ Honey asked.
Nicole’s eyes moved to Cristy. Before Honey could make the introduction, she said, ‘It’s good of you to come.’ Her voice was scratchy and faint, as though she hadn’t spoken in a while.
‘They want to help you,’ Honey reminded her, ‘so you needn’t be afraid to speak freely. Everything you say will be in confidence.’
Nicole’s only response was to bite her lips and wince as she caught one of the sores.
‘We appreciate your trust, Nicole,’ Cristy told her, ‘and to re-emphasize what Honey just said, we’re completely on your side.’
Were they? Really? How could she mean that when they didn’t know anything for certain yet? The artifice of a reporter aiming for an exclusive – in its way, it made her no better than the Terrier.
Nicole was looking at Connor now, her wary eyes taking him in as though trying to work him out.
‘This is Connor,’ Honey told her. ‘I mentioned he’d be coming …’
‘Yes, I remember. You look nice,’ she told him. ‘I don’t get to see many men. Sorry if I was staring.’
‘It’s OK,’ he assured her.
She smiled, and it transformed her face for a moment, as though a light had briefly flared, only to vanish again.
‘Shall we sit down?’ Maeve suggested, fanning out her hands for everyone to choose their seat.
Nicole rose to her feet and curled her skinny legs under her as she sank into one end of the sofa. ‘Why don’t you sit there?’ she said to Cristy, indicating the other end. ‘And you can go there,’ she told Connor, pointing to the armchair. ‘Do you mind the beanbag?’ she asked Honey. She looked at her mother. There were no seats left for Maeve.
‘I’m happy on the floor,’ Connor insisted, and quickly gestured for Maeve to take the chair.
Nicole shifted and drew her knees back to her chest; it seemed to be a comfortable position for her. The sleeves of her navy sweatshirt were tugged down over her hands, showing only her bony fingers and painfully short nails. Moments ago, Nicole had seemed calm, engaged, yet now, as she stared at nothing, Cristy found herself recalling the psychologist’s words:it’s very likely she’ll be mourning the loss of twenty years and feeling a good amount of apprehension over what comes next.
When no one else spoke, Cristy said, ‘We’ll be guided by you, Nicole. Tell us where you’d like to begin.’
Nicole shuddered and looked at her with confused eyes.‘Do you think they’re still alive?’ she asked. ‘Do you believe it’s possible after all this time?’ Before Cristy could answer, Nicole tossed her head as though flicking away an image – a hope? She bunched her hands to her mouth and began to mutter, ‘I didn’t kill them. I didn’t kill them. I didn’t kill them. No one ever believed me, but I didn’t kill them.’
‘Shush,’ Maeve soothed. ‘It’s all right – no one here is saying you did.’ To Cristy, she said, ‘This new arrangement – being here, coming to terms with the release – sometimes, it seems to throw her …’
Nicole’s eyes returned to Cristy. ‘You’re wondering,’ she said, her tone clipped, almost angry, ‘why I confessed if I didn’t do it? Well, let me tell you, it was the only way to get out of that place. I told them when they first locked me up that I was guilty so they’d reduce my sentence, but they didn’t believe me. Can you imagine? It’s never mattered what I said – I’m innocent, I’m guilty – they’ve never been interested. They don’t care. I stopped being human the day they sentenced me. I’m a killer to them, a prisoner, someone who doesn’t count … I can say anything, and it never makes a difference.’ She stopped and stared anxiously at her mother.
‘Mostly,’ Maeve said, ‘she continued to maintain her innocence, but eventually, with Honey’s help, we got the parole hearings. The first wasn’t successful. Fortunately, the second was, and so here we are, in this strange sort of limbo situation: freedom that doesn’t actually feel like it. It’s like restoring someone’s sight with the underlying threat of plunging them back into darkness should they commit the smallest mistake.’ She added, ‘This, of course, could turn out to be a very big one.’
Feeling the discomfort of the position she and Connor had put Nicole on, in spite of having her permission, Cristy turned to look at her. She could hardly begin to imagine what kind of hell she’d been through these past years, or indeed what life felt like for her now. Attempting a reassuring smileshe said, gently, ‘What do you think kept you going through the worst of it?’
Nicole swallowed, and as her eyes filled with tears, she looked away. It was a while before she spoke, and when she did, it seemed she’d either forgotten the question or simply didn’t want to answer it. ‘I’m not right up here any more,’ she said, tapping her head. ‘I know it. I can feel how crazy I am, but I don’t know …’ She flinched as though something invisible had hit her. ‘It’s hard to understand myself, to get a sense of who I am now. I want to live my life again, but how can I do that when everyone … ?’ A tear fell onto her cheek, and turning to Cristy, she said, ‘You can record this if you like. I don’t mind, as long as you don’t use it against me.’
The offer was so unexpected that Cristy couldn’t think how to respond.
Honey said, ‘Nicole, you know that’s not a good idea.’
Nicole continued to stare at Cristy. ‘Would you like to record what I tell you?’ she asked.
Torn between wanting to and her concern for how unstable Nicole clearly was, Cristy said, ‘How about we set up to record, and then you decide whether you want us to carry on?’
Nicole nodded, seeming to like the idea, then she began nibbling her thumbnail as if it were something that needed to be done. It was as though, Cristy reflected, a part of her had never grown up, while another part had been unable to do so properly. What was it the psychologist had said about arrested development?
While Connor was at the car, Nicole suddenly and aggressively began scrubbing her short hair. ‘I thought about dying it,’ she told Cristy, ‘so no one would recognize me, but the colour’s all gone anyway.’
‘Not entirely,’ Honey told her. ‘I’ve seen it looking better than it does today – livelier, redder.’
