Sob Story

13: The Client

After the detectives left, I went through to the kitchen and emptied the washing machine. Dark colours separate from whites and lights, just like mum had taught me. Tidy home, tidy mind. I put the clothes in the laundry basket, took them upstairs and put them on the rack in the spare room to dry. Socks and pants filling the gaps left over by shirt tails, t-shirt sleeves and trouser legs. Like it was a normal day and I was doing normal things.

When I was done I went back downstairs and made myself some tea. Looked out through the window at the garden. Saw my reflection. I knew what I was doing and what it meant but bit my finger nails anyway. Mum had tried to knock the habit out of me as a kid by dipping my fingers in the oil leftover in tuna cans but it hadn’t worked. I was stubborn. I ended up liking the taste. The oil, not the tuna.

There was a hangnail on my thumb. I gnawed at it and thought about what the detectives had said. I was fucked. There was no other way to look at it. I’d asked them to leave when I shouldn’t have. I’d just made them more suspicious even though I knew I hadn’t done anything. They’d be back. Had said as much. They’d get DNA, test it against mine. Find something. And that was that.

I went through to the living room and sat in the chair they’d interviewed me in. I saw the woman, all haughty, then smirky. And the man, trying to be chummy. Which I fell for. I wondered whether I should just leave. Walk out. Get in my car and disappear. I had savings. It wouldn’t take me long to get to Dover. I could get a ferry. Most people understood English. I could go to a place where no one would know who I was. Get a job in a bar or something. Somewhere in Spain. Or Eastern Europe. Get a new name. Live out the rest of my life there. Learn a new language. Fall in love. But you couldn’t do that nowadays, could you? They’d use some facial recognition thing and find me. I had a footprint online. Maybe I should do the exact opposite, instead. Own up. Go in and tell my story. Give them my DNA. But they wouldn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me. Even if I was telling the truth. I’d say she was still alive when I left and they’d put me in cuffs. I was fucked.