Page 64 of We Live Here Now

“I know about the money, Emily.” He growls at me like an uncaged wolf. “And I know you fucked that wanker behind my back, you disgusting slut. You’re a fucking bitch.”

He steps in close as I try to protest—this isn’t how this is supposed to go, not at all—and then something feels horribly wrong. I’m confused, my eyes widening as I gasp.

“What?” he asks, and then looks down.

“You hit me.” I find it hard to get the words out, he’s knocked the breath right out of me. He actually hit me.

“Oh god,” he says, and then the madness drains out of his eyes and all I can see is fear and my own shocked face in his pupils. Suddenly I’m very afraid, but I have to look down too.Oh god.

All I can see is the knife handle.Where is the knife?I grunt slightly, not able to catch my breath. The knife is inside me. I can feel it, cold in the middle of me.

“Oh god. Freddie.” My words are barely air.It was only a little knife though, a paring knife. It can’t do that much harm, surely. Can it?I grip at the kitchen counter, my whole left side losing strength, and then I see it. The paring knife is on the counter.

“Oh god,” I try to say again, and then I clutch at his chest, trying to keep upright, trying to keep alive, there is a knife inside me, and then I’m crumpling to the kitchen floor, and there must be something, there must be, and then it all goes black.

82

Freddie

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

I slide down the kitchen counter to the floor, unable to take my eyes off her. She’s dead. Her eyes are empty and her hands have stopped moving. How did she die so fast? I didn’t even realize I’d stabbed her. I was so angry and I gripped the knife tighter and then… I can’t even finish the thought. I think I’m going to puke.Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

This is not a suicide. There is no way I can make this look like a suicide. There’s blood all over the kitchen floor. Oh god, I’m going to prison. I’ve murdered my fucking wife.

From outside I hear feet on the gravel, men smoking and laughing, and my sudden white-cold panic forces me into action. I quickly lock the front door and then stare at Emily’s body. She can’t stay there on the kitchen floor. Until I know what I’m going to do, I need to get her out of the way. Put her upstairs. The spare bedroom maybe? I scrub blood from my hands and then take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my shaking body. I need all my strength to pick up her dead weight, and she slips and slops around as I try to get purchase. I take a breath and put into practice how I helped lift her in the hospital before she could walk.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

The spare bedroom will still be too risky. What if more than one worker needs the loo?

The room at the top of the house. That’s where I’ll put her.

She can stay in there for now.

83

Emily

“God, that’s so awful.” It’s only the start of March but it feels almost like a spring day in the little sun-trap courtyard the Watkinses built by the orchard where I’m sitting with the vicar sipping tea.

“Yes, it really is. So hard to get my head around. He was always so alive.” Paul’s so distraught he’s aged a decade. I want to hug him. But then, despite this terrible news, I’m in such a good mood I want to hug everyone.

Instead, I stroke my currently flat tummy. I can’t wait for Freddie to get home to share our brilliant, brilliant news. I thought my queasiness might have been down to my medication, but then I found some used pregnancy tests in the back of my underwear drawer and had a hazy memory of taking them a couple of weeks back. It must have been just before I banged my head. Freddie says concussions can do that to you. Mess with some of your memories. A few things are a little off, but I’m fine in myself. I need to remember that. I’m right as rain now. Even righter than rain. I went down to the pharmacy and got a fresh test and yes, we are very much pregnant.

“What happened?” I ask, bringing my focus back to the present.

“Sally said she’d gone out for a hill walk while he was going to stay in the rental and paint. He was doing an enormous canvas of her, but she’d started spending the first couple of hours of the day out on the hills and moors and then bringing back breakfast from the bakery in the village before settling in to lie still for the rest of the day while he worked. She said he’d said he had a bit of a headache and was feeling off, but to go just the same. So she went onher walk and picked up breakfast and some medicine in the village, and when she got home he’d either slipped or maybe felt unwell or fainted in the shower and cracked his skull.”

“Oh god, the poor man.” It makes me shiver.

“And poor Sally,” he adds. “He didn’t die instantly, apparently. Bled out in the bath. It was quite a mess when she got back. She called an ambulance straightaway, obviously.”

“It’s such a nightmare for her. She must be in a terrible state. If only she hadn’t gone for that walk.”

“That’s what she kept saying to me. I told her that accidents happen all the time and you can’t live that way. And he knew she loved him.”

“They did love each other so very much.” It’s strange, but I always get a weird heavy headache when I think about Sally, as if there’s something about her I can’t quite remember. Maybe I should take a painkiller, even though I’m trying to avoid medicines at the moment to protect the baby. “And having you visit for the weekend must have helped.” I touch Paul’s hand, a gesture of comfort. “When is she coming back here?”

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