Blame (3 page)

She had smashed it into the sink because she knew that she would have to clean it up afterwards. Only as she was picking up the pieces had she realised that the mug was an old favourite, large enough for a generous cup of coffee, with a silly picture of a dog decorating the outside. It had been a gift from a great-aunt who was no longer living and Caro had always treasured it.

‘Sorry, Gertie,' she had said, looking up at the ceiling, then muttered, ‘Just fuck, fuck, fuck,' as she picked the pieces out of the sink.

Her thoughts had turned to Gertie's funeral. Keith had been away on business, so Anna had come with her. They had sat together in church, and Anna had kept her arm around her friend's shoulders the whole way through as Caro sobbed messily and embarrassed her mother. Afterwards, as they were making their way back to Anna's car, two women from Gertie's nursing home had stopped them and enquired if they were lesbians. Caro and Anna had howled with laughter the whole way home. Then Anna had joined Caro for a gin and tonic, so they could toast Gertie, who always said that her longevity was due to the gin and tonic she had every day at exactly five o' clock. ‘If
I were a lesbian,' Anna had said, ‘you would definitely be my first choice.'

‘No I wouldn't,' said Caro. ‘I don't think I'm anyone's first choice anymore. I'm so fat.'

‘Don't say that,' Anna had said. ‘You're gorgeous and I would do you in a second.'

‘Anna McAllen, what would your mother say?'

‘She'd say . . . oh, who cares what she'd say.'

‘That's right,' said Caro, ‘who cares what anyone says. Let's run away together to an island where they serve wine and tea and all we're required to do is read books and be lesbians.'

‘God,' said Anna, ‘I'll take that any day of the week.'

Caro picked the last piece of the mug out of the sink, pressed the sharp sliver against her thumb and wondered how much pressure it would take to draw blood, but hadn't been brave enough to try to actually hurt herself.

After that, she'd had a cup of coffee and then another cup of coffee, and then she had given into her craving and had a vodka and orange. ‘Look at me celebrating,' she said as she raised the glass to the empty kitchen. She had wanted one more but knew that she had to drive. ‘Too little too late,' she thought as she forced herself to return the vodka to the freezer. The orange juice was just for colour.

The alcohol stopped her hands shaking, and allowed her to shower and dress. ‘On a bender' is a phrase she has heard for years but never really paid attention to. But, as she finished her drink, she had acknowledged to herself
that she was, indeed, on a bender. It was a phrase that conjured up out-of-control celebrities, giving it an edge of glamour. The edge wore off quickly after the first lot of vomit that didn't quite make the toilet.

Two weeks and counting. She has become attached to her breakfast drink remarkably quickly. Before this, she had been quite capable of making it to midmorning most days.

‘I think you should have a lawyer with you,' Geoff had said to her last night.

‘I'm only helping them with their enquiries,' she said. ‘If I take a lawyer with me, it looks like I'm guilty.'

Geoff had looked at her and slowly raised one eyebrow in a move she's pretty convinced he practises in the mirror. It's a lot more effective now that he's bald, but also makes her want to laugh at him, which, she imagines, is probably better than spitting at him.

‘I know,' she had said in response, ‘I know you think I'm guilty and I just don't give a fuck, Geoff. I've tried to explain what happened and you don't want to hear it. That's fine, but you don't get to judge me, because you weren't there! You've already made up your mind because you always make up your mind against me.'

‘I'm just trying to protect you, Caro—I don't want you to go to jail.'

‘You are not,' she had said slowly, ‘doing anything of the sort. You want me to walk in there with my lawyer so I look like I have something to hide. Having me in jail would solve all of your problems.'

Geoff sighed. ‘How much have you already had to drink, Caro?' he asked. She'd opened her mouth but no answer had come out. In the last two weeks, she has spent a lot of time not answering him, believing silence was better than an argument. Instead, she left him sitting in the living room and locked herself in their bedroom. This time, it had taken everything she had to remain upright as she walked away from him, the room tilting from side to side. Once she was in the bedroom, she managed a shower and a night of black sleep, untouched by bad dreams. She had woken at dawn to throw up, much as she had woken the day before, and the day before that.

In the police station, a small group of people are standing in front of the counter. They seem to be protesting about something because Caro hears one man say, ‘It's a bloody disgrace that it's allowed to go on,' and then the rest of the group murmurs, ‘Yes, yes . . . bloody disgrace.' To Caro, they all look about five hundred years old, and she seethes at how long they are going to take now they have the attention of the policewoman behind the counter. Caro has parked half a block away, so that she can create the illusion she walked or was dropped off. She had hurried along in the heat and now feels sticky and irritated; even more irritated than she was this morning. She doesn't think they'll want to breath test her but isn't sure. It's not like she's ever been in a situation like this before. Caro watches the disgruntled group, thinking, ‘So, this is your life, Caroline—what do you think of that?'

‘And I'll tell you something else . . .' says a man dressed in a crisp three piece suit, stabbing his finger on the counter, ‘we're not going to . . .'

‘Excuse me,' says Caro loudly and the group falls silent as they all turn to look at her. A few of them would give Geoff's raised eyebrow a run for its money.

‘I'm here for my interview,' she says quickly.‘I'm Caroline Harman.'

The request to come into the police station had finally come yesterday from a woman named Isabel Dillon who'd identified herself as, ‘the case manager'. Caro had no idea what that meant, but she'd been waiting for a visit from the police for two weeks. Now that it was here she was terrified and strangely relieved as well.

The policewoman smiles politely at the group in front of her, checks her computer and says, ‘If you'd just give me a moment. This way, Mrs Harman,' she continues, indicating that Caro should follow her through a door to the back of the police station. As she walks past the group, Caro hears one of them mutter, ‘Well, I never,' and she also thinks she hears the words, ‘Wasn't she . . .?'

She lifts her chin higher as she feels their eyes burn her between her shoulder blades. ‘They don't know me,' she thinks, although she knows that it is very possible they know of her. The accident was two weeks ago and had been reported on television and the internet. There were no pictures of her, but Caro knows that her name was out there for everyone to see. What she had
assumed would be old news by now is still fodder for the media. ‘Screw you all,' she thinks as she follows the policewoman, ‘don't you dare fucking judge me!' She would like the story to be old news by now, to feel that the whole country has moved on from this particular tragedy but it doesn't feel possible.

She and Anna haven't moved on, and at odd moments in the day, Caro catches herself realising that she will never, ever, move on. She is as trapped as if she were already in prison.

‘Do I have to come in?' Caro had asked Isabel Dillon.

‘No,' she had replied, ‘but it would be better if you did. We can only ask that you come in to help us sort out what happened. You are free to wait until you are charged with an offence.'

‘What offence?'

‘Mrs Harman, I am sure that the detectives who will be interviewing you will be able to explain everything. Shall I tell them to expect you?'

‘Are you going to be interviewing Anna as well?'

‘That's not your concern right now.'

‘So, yes,' said Caro. Isabel Dillon was silent. ‘I'll be there,' Caro had said as she made her way to the freezer, ‘I'll be there.'

Caro follows the policewoman along a corridor until she gets to a room at the end. ‘They're waiting for you,' she says, and then opens the door, turns and walks away. ‘Thanks so much,' Caro replies to the policewoman's back.

A man and a woman are sitting in the small room that has a table and three chairs. There are no windows and, almost instantly, she can feel herself getting edgy and claustrophobic, although she knows that may be from the vodka wearing off.

‘Mrs Harman, thank you for coming in. I'm Detective Sergeant Susan Sappington and this is Detective Sergeant Brian Ng.'

The woman stands up and holds her hand out for Caro to shake. Caro surreptitiously wipes her own hand against the leg of her jeans before she takes the detective's, which is as cool and dry as Caro had known it would be. Detective Sappington is dressed in a grey pantsuit, which would lie perfectly against her thin body if not for the gun holstered at her side. Caro smooths her hair, pushing behind her ears the pieces that are escaping. She wonders if the detectives can see the grey in her black hair. She's very overdue for a colour. She pulls her shirt down a little, wishing she'd thought to wear something loose and cool instead of her slightly too tight black T-shirt. She didn't know what people were supposed to wear to be interviewed by the police but, in the end, she'd just chosen clothes that fitted.

Detective Sappington smiles and indicates that Caro should sit down.

She is perfectly polite, even though Caro is at least half an hour late. Despite her plan to be guarded, Caro finds herself beginning with an apology: ‘I'm sorry I'm late.'

‘Please don't worry about it.' Detective Sappington sits down and Caro does as well. The other detective just nods at her and she understands immediately who's in charge.

‘Is it okay to start?' says Detective Sappington and Caro nods. Detective Ng turns on the camera they have set up at the end of the table and Caro feels sweat collect at the base of her spine. ‘This is really happening and I am really here,' she thinks.

‘It is eleven-thirty am and this is the West Hallston police station. Attending are Detective Sergeant Susan Sappington and Detective Sergeant Brian Ng.

‘To begin with, Mrs Harman, I want to let you know that we are recording the interview. Do you give us permission to do so?'

‘No, I don't,' says Caro, hating the idea of her face being on camera.

‘Mrs Harman, whether we use a tape recorder or a video recorder or we manually record the interview doesn't matter. It will be recorded in some form or another. Using a video recorder does tend to shorten the process.'

Caro looks at the small camera set up on a tripod. She thinks about having to wait as the detectives write everything down and she says, ‘Okay, fine. You can record it.'

‘Thank you. I also want to let you know that you do not have to say or do anything, but if this does go to court and you attempt to use information that you have not given us in this interview it may not be accepted into the record.'

‘Do you think this is going to court?' asks Caro, feeling her stomach flip with panic.

‘I have no idea,' says Detective Sappington. ‘I also want to let you know that you have the right to let a friend or relative know where you are and you have the right to request a lawyer.'

‘Do you think I need a lawyer? What on earth would I need a lawyer for if I haven't been charged and you don't know if I'm going to be?' Caro feels her heart speed up as she acknowledges to herself that Geoff was right and she should have had someone with her. ‘I need a lawyer,' she rehearses in her head but the words don't come out. She feels like her guilt has already been decided, but knows that if she gets up and leaves now, they will be convinced that everything was her fault. She wants to be able to explain things to them; she needs to be able to explain, so they understand. A lawyer may tell her that she cannot say anything, that she must keep what she knows to herself.

‘Would you like a lawyer?'

‘I . . . no.'

‘Are you happy to answer some questions about the night of the accident, Mrs Harman?'

‘Why are there two of you here?' Caro hears the sharpness in her voice and congratulates herself. She feels like she has taken an important step and now they know she won't be pushed around.
The best form of defence is a good offence, or something like that
. She crosses her arms over her chest.

‘I'm going to ask you some questions, Mrs Harman, and Detective Ng is going to observe.' Detective Sappington's voice is pitched perfectly to calmness, but instead of relaxing, Caro finds herself even more irritated.

‘Fine, whatever,' she says. ‘I just want to go home. How long is this going to take?'

‘I'm not sure. Do you have children who need to be picked up? If so, I can get you a phone, so you can call someone to let them know.'

‘No, I don't have children who need to be picked up,' she says and remembers Lex's bowed head from this morning. ‘Keep quiet,' she thinks but Detective Sappington relaxes in her chair, waiting for Caro to continue, so, without having meant to, she says, ‘I only have one child and my husband drove her to school this morning. My mother . . . yes, my mother is going to fetch her.'

‘Right, so now—' says Detective Sappington, but Caro speaks over her even though she doesn't mean for the words to be heard by anyone but herself.

‘She won't get in the car with me.'

‘Who won't?' asks the detective.

‘What?'

‘Who won't get into the car with you, Mrs Harman?'

Caro looks at the wall behind the detective and shakes her head.