Page 72 of Behind Her Eyes

When the edges are glittering brightly in the darkness behind my eyes, I picture Adele’s bedroom. The image is clear. The colours of the walls, the green of guilt-ridden woods. The en-suite in the corner. The coolness of air trapped in by old bricks. The mirror on the back of the wardrobe. I see it so clearly, and then suddenly I’m through the door and—

—I’m there, hovering above the room. It’s dark, but I can see Adele, lying on the bed, still and perfect in cream silk pyjamas. There’s no sign of pills, or water to take them with, but I can feel a terrible emptiness coming from her as if she’s already dead. A grey dullness hangs in the air around her body as the first trails of smoke come up from the hallway below.

She’s gone, I realise. Not dead, but she’s out of her body. She doesn’t want to feel herself die. She doesn’t want to be here when it happens. Is she scared she’d change her mind? Panic at the last minute? Is this what happened with her parents?

I move closer towards her as I hear crackling coming from downstairs. Fires aren’t silent as they spread, and by the noises I can hear, this one is growing fast. I should have called the fire brigade. I should have called the police. I should have donesomethingpractical. Some neighbour will notice the blaze soon, but it’ll be too late. However Adele started the fire, it’s taking hold. I need to get her out of the house. I automatically reach for her, but I have no grip, I’m insubstantial, I’m nothing but energy. What can I do? How can I get her out of here?

A thought comes to me, cool and clear, as if the lack of a body’s chemical reactions has subdued my panic. It’s a crazy thought and I don’t know if it’s even possible, but it might be my only chance to save her.

Her body is empty. I’m right here. It would only take three or four minutes to run down the stairs and out of the house and then we’d both be safe. It’s all I’ve got. Soon the stairs aren’t going to be passable. There are wooden floors everywhere. Varnished. How fast will they burn?

I stare at her body, still mildly surprised at how beautiful she is, and then I think of her eyes. Hazel brown. I imagine seeing out from behind them. How it would feel to be inside that skin, toned and firm and so slim. I imaginebeingAdele, of slipping into that body, of controlling it, and then – just as I feel a terrible jolt of shock somewhere in the core of me, a feeling that something isvery, very wrong– I’m inside her.

56

AFTER

‘She doesn’t mention the fire in her parents’ house in the letter she left,’ Inspector Pattison says, ‘but the reports state that it started in the fuse box.’ He’s a thick-set barrel of a man whose suit has seen better days, but he has a world- weariness in his eyes that speaks of a career policeman. He’s reliable. People trust him. He’s calm.

‘The fire she set in your home, Dr Martin,’ he continues, ‘also started in the fuse box cupboard in the kitchen, so perhaps there is some indication of guilt in that.’

‘Do they know what she used?’ David asks. He’s pale and looks gaunt in that way people in shock do, but also so muchlighterin spirit. Of course he is.Ding dong, the witch is dead.

‘Turpentine and soaked tea towels.’

David nods. ‘That makes sense. She’d been decorating.’

‘We found the letter she wrote – her confession of sorts – on your desk. In it she confirms everything you said in your statement to DCI Wignall in Perth. She put Robert Hoyle’s body in the well on her estate, and she’d been wearing your watch at the time. We’ve had confirmation from Scotland that the body has been recovered. Obviously it’s in a state of extreme decomposition, but we expect dental records to confirm the identity. Also, given the manner of your wife’s death – the heroin overdose – the same cause of death she gives for Mr Hoyle – it would appear she was attempting to make some amends there. Perhaps she had a conscience to clear on both counts, her parents and Mr Hoyle.’

‘But where did she get the heroin from?’ David asks. ‘She was many things, but she really wasn’t that kind of person.’

‘Anthony,’ I say, as if the thought has just struck me. My throat is still quite raw from the smoke and I sound husky. ‘Anthony Hawkins. I saw him hanging around her a few times. Maybe she got him to get it?’

‘Hawkins?’ The inspector jots the name down.

‘A patient of mine,’ David says. ‘An ex-patient of mine I should say. Drug-user and obsessive. Turned up at the house.’ I see the light go on then. ‘Adele answered the door. Maybe his obsession transferred to her. Adele is –was– very beautiful.’

‘We’ll speak to him. As for your wife’s letter, it was in her handwriting and only had her fingerprints on it so there is no doubt she wrote it.’ He looks up. ‘Which is very good news for you. Although you’re lucky it didn’t go up in the fire.’

‘Typical Adele,’ David says, a bitter half-smile on his face. ‘Even in her last moments, she couldn’t entirely set me free.’

I’m barely listening. All I can think about is that David is holding my hand, squeezing it tightly. I haven’t felt that in such a long time. Last night, even though we were in day three of police purgatory, we made love and we laughed and smiled and held each other tightly. I feel as if I’m in a dream.

‘Will David have to go to prison?’ I ask, concerned.

‘I can’t comment on that until the investigation is over. Then if there are formal charges to be brought, your solicitor will be informed. There are mitigating circumstances, however. She was fragile at the time of Mr Hoyle’s death, and he was trying to protect her. Although even if the death was accidental, there is still the fact Adele hid the body and David was an accessory after the fact.’

‘I know,’ David says. ‘I won’t be fighting any charges on that count.’

‘And I imagine you won’t be practising psychiatry any time soon either?’ Pattison looks sympathetic. Of all the criminals he must have witnessed in his years on the force, David must be the least likely.

‘No,’ David says. ‘I imagine not. That’s another outcome I’m waiting on. I don’t actually mind too much. Perhaps I need a change all round.’ He looks at me then, and smiles, and I smile back so hard I think my face will burst. There’s no need for us to hide our feelings from the policeman. The affair, thelove, was all there in the letter.

I should know. I wrote it.

I push unfamiliar blonde hair out of my face as we leave the police station. Louise’s body – my body – still feels strange. Suddenly to be carrying an extra stone of weight slows me down for a start, but I’m enjoying having more curves, and if David likes them then they’ll stay. She needs glasses for distance though. I don’t think she’d realised that yet.

Oh Louise, how perfect she was. How wonderfully she performed. And I have to give myself my due. My plan went perfectly. After my failed attempt to buy smack in that godawful underpass that resulted in a black eye and nearly losing my bag, Anthony Hawkins had fallen into my lap and wassopleased there was something he could do for me. Drugs, needles, everything I needed, he got.

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