The pub was quiet, the kind of quiet that settles after a heavy night. My head was still pounding from the night before, and every word out of Kirk’s mouth made it worse. He was going on about unicorns being hats, some nonsense from a conversation with the doctor, and I told him it was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. He fired back, said I wasn’t exactly Stephen Hawking, and threatened to spread my brains over his radishes if he still had his allotment.
That’s how it always was with us. Bickering. My mother-in-law, sitting across the table, told us we’d be the death of the place. She was tired, but she wasn’t wrong.
We hadn’t meant to drink so much the night before. It just happened. Now I had Harry’s school play to get to and a job interview afterward, and the room wouldn’t stop spinning. We made it to the play.
Barely. I’d grabbed a double brandy on the way out, on the house, and I thought it might steady my nerves. It didn’t. The kids were doing The Wizard of Oz, and Harry was the Scarecrow.
He was brilliant, by a mile. The Wicked Witch was good too, quite scary, and afterwards I told Jodie she’d done a great job with the costume. She’d made it eco-friendly out of old stuff, and it looked proper. We were heading out for burgers, but Jodie bailed, said she had a banging headache and the flying monkeys had nearly finished her off.
I thought she looked rough, but I didn’t think much of it. We’d all had a big night. Back home, I found out Megan’s mum had come by. She’d wanted to apologize, to see Will, but Kirk had turned her away.
He thought she was just trying to salve her conscience. I wasn’t sure. She sounded genuine when she called. But Kirk said it was his call, his family, his rules, and I let it go.
Will had enough on his plate without her showing up. He was going to testify against Megan in court, and we all needed him focused. The trial was looming, and I was terrified she’d get off, that her solicitor would turn on the waterworks and the jury would believe her crocodile tears. Sarah came by later.
She wanted a word. She said it was about the attack, just confirming a couple of things, that it was routine to go back to victims and witnesses to make sure nothing had been missed. I didn’t think much of it. I made her a brew, and we sat down.
She asked me about the night of the attack, about the timing. I told her I’d left the wedding reception at half past nine, gone back to mine for a breather. I said the dog had been barking his head off, probably set off by fireworks. She asked if anything odd or unusual had happened in the lead-up, and I said no.
She pushed a bit, asked if I was sure about the time, and I said yes, because I’d looked at my phone. That seemed to satisfy her. She left, and I thought that was the end of it. But something was nagging at me.
After she’d gone, I couldn’t shake it. Sarah had asked me about the dog, and I’d mentioned him barking. But I hadn’t told her that. Not that night, not to anyone.
There were lots of dogs barking that night, fireworks setting them off, but I specifically said my dog, David. And she’d caught it. She didn’t say anything at the time, but I knew. I could see it in her face.
She knew I was lying about something. The next day, I went to see her. I’d been thinking about it all night, turning it over. I couldn’t let it go.
I knocked on her door, and she let me in, surprised to see me. I didn’t beat around the bush. I told her I knew. I knew she’d attacked me.
I knew she was the one who’d hit me over the head that night. She tried to deny it, said I’d had a skinful, wasn’t thinking straight. But I was thinking straight. I’d never been more sure of anything.
I told her I was going to the police. She didn’t flinch. She looked at me, calm as anything, and said I wouldn’t. I asked why not.
She said because if I did, she’d tell them I’d been lying about the time of the attack. I’d said half nine, then I’d said ten past. She’d caught me out. She said I was hiding something, and if I didn’t want it coming out, I wouldn’t go anywhere near the police station.
I told her I thought so. I’d find out her little secret, whatever it was. I always did. She didn’t say anything else.
She just stood there, watching me, and I knew she had me cornered. I left her house with my heart thumping, knowing I was trapped. I’d been the victim, but somehow she’d turned it around.
She was walking free, and I was the one with something to hide.
