Time stood still that night, when the police stood in my living room, telling me Zach was dead. Their mouths were moving but I only heard certain phrases: body… flat… dead… suicide. And then I was in a heap on the floor and sturdy arms were lifting me up, guiding me to the sofa, handing me a glass of water I didn’t want. Some time later, someone accidentally kicked it over and I watched water fan out, soaking a dark patch into the beige carpet. It’s funny how I remember this. I can barely recall the small details of Zach’s face unless I look at photos, or remember exactly how he sounded, yet I remember that pool of water.
The other thing I will never forget is Pam’s high-pitched wail, like a helpless animal being slaughtered, when, still numb and dazed, I made the call to his parents. The police offered to do it, but I couldn’t let Pam and Graham hear it from anyone else. I had to be the one to tell them. The sounds of Pam’s scream and Graham’s gasping were the sounds of their hearts breaking, just as mine had already done.
This is what I think of as I drive along the M4 to Reading, Freya singing along to the radio in her car seat.
Traffic is always lighter in the summer holidays so we make it in just under an hour, which means I won’t have to rush back. I don’t usually see clients at weekends, but I’ve made an exception for Carlo, who has recently lost his wife, and I need to make sure I’m back before 1 p.m.
But first, I need to speak to Pam, preferably alone – and getting her to open up won’t be easy or quick.
Pam and Graham are standing together at the front door as we pull up, and in the rear-view mirror I see Freya’s face light up, her little hand reaching up to wave to them.
Despite being in their seventies, they’re both fairly sprightly and Pam rushes to the car. I’ve barely switched off the engine before she pulls open Freya’s door and begins helping her out of her car seat.
‘Grandma!’ Freya says, wrapping her arms around her.
‘Oh darling, it’s so good to see you! We’ve missed you so much.’
Graham blows her a kiss then opens my door for me. ‘Hello, Mia. It’s good to see you too, of course.’
I step out and hug him, but as usual it’s a short, uncomfortable hug. Although he is a loving man in his own way, Graham has never felt at ease with physical affection, even with his own son. It never bothered Zach, though, and he never doubted how much his father loved him.
Graham makes more effort with Freya, scooping up her bag and grabbing her hand. ‘Come on, Socks is waiting for you.’ As they head into the house, I can’t help thinking that, as old and frail as their cat is, he has somehow outlived Zach.
‘Are you okay, love?’ Pam asks, linking her arm in mine. ‘You look a bit pale.’
I assure her I’m fine, but her eyes narrow. ‘It’s hard for you coming here, isn’t it? All the memories.’
Although Pam and Graham only bought this bungalow when they retired, after I met Zach, we both lived here while we saved to get the deposit for our house, even though the daily commute into London was tough. So Pam is right; it’s difficult not to feel as though Zach will walk through the door at any moment, as if he somehow lingers on in this place. I can’t explain why it’s not like this at my house, given that it was our home together for years. Maybe it’s because Freya, older now, has brought something new to it, and I never got to see Zach interact with her as a little girl.
I smile at Pam. ‘Yes. But it’s nice to remember.’
Inside, Freya is already unpacking her colouring books, pencils and the Num Noms she insists on collecting, spreading everything out on the living-room floor. ‘I need to show you my new ones,’ she tells Pam, who of course humours her and kneels down to have a look.
I have given up apologising to Pam and Graham for the mess Freya always makes. They have assured me they love it, that it makes their house feel lived in, like a proper home.
After a few minutes Graham turns to Freya. ‘Let’s go outside, I’m sure Socks is under a tree somewhere. Grandma can get everyone drinks, if she doesn’t mind.’
This is my opportunity. Following Pam into the kitchen, I watch Freya and Graham outside while she boils the kettle. I tell her I’ll just have water, it’s far too hot for anything else, but she still busies herself making tea. They will never go without it, whatever the weather.
‘Can I talk to you, Pam? It’s about Zach.’ Normally I wouldn’t jump straight in like this, for fear of her closing down, but I have to take this opportunity while Freya’s busy outside.
Her body tenses but she continues making tea, avoiding looking at me. ‘I’m sorry to bring this up, I really am, but I just wondered if you knew anything about one of Zach’s colleagues, Dominic Bradford? I didn’t know him but he was at the funeral and I remembered you talking to him for quite a while, and, well, I thought it would be nice if I could get in touch with him. To just remember Zach together, maybe.’
She stops what she’s doing and turns to me. ‘Dominic Bradford? But why now? It’s been five years, Mia. Why do you want to do this now?’
‘I know this must seem a bit out of the blue, but I just haven’t felt ready to speak to anyone before now. You saw how I was after the funeral – I could barely speak to you. If I hadn’t had a two-year-old to look after I don’t know what I would have done. Shut myself off from the world even more, I suppose. But now I feel like I need to talk to people about him. People who knew him and cared for him. You must understand that?’
‘Yes, I do. But what good will it do? You know what people think of Zach now. Nobody has a good word to say about him other than us.’
‘But not Dominic,’ I say. ‘He never believed Zach was capable of what they said he did. He told me that at the funeral.’
Something crosses Pam’s face and I know immediately what it is: she cannot bear to think of her son with one of his students. She shakes her head, but I’ve got to keep her talking before she completely shuts down. ‘Please, Pam. This is just something I have to do.’
‘Why now, Mia? You’ve moved on. You’ve got a beautiful little girl, so why dredge up so much unhappiness? If you talk to Zach’s colleague you’ll just end up going over the same old stuff again. And then you’ll start doubting yourself. Thinking that he’s guilty. Forgetting the man he really was.’
For five years I’ve not been able to tell Pam and Graham that I don’t believe Zach was innocent, that the evidence stacked against him was too compelling to ignore. And, yes, I’ve hated myself every day for this, but rationality had to win out in the end. I couldn’t let love blind me.
‘He was depressed,’ Pam continues, when I don’t answer. ‘That’s why he took his life like that. I mean, he took enough of that horrible drug to make sure there was no chance anyone could save him, didn’t he? It was nothing to do with that girl, nothing to do with guilt.’ She dabs at her eyes. ‘It was just desperation. Sadness. I don’t know. It’s hard to accept that none of us could see how desperate he was. And it’s hard to understand why he’d leave Freya fatherless when he loved her so much, but that’s what depression does.’
I hear Alison Cummings’s words in my head: Your husband didn’t kill himself.
There is no reply I can give Pam, so all I do is offer her a small nod. But I would have known if Zach had been depressed, wouldn’t I? There would have been some sign of it, something I couldn’t miss. And he had no history of depression.
I can’t tell her my true thoughts, or about my counselling session with Alison Cummings, her huge revelation. Not until I know what’s going on. I can’t let Pam’s world be torn apart all over again if nothing comes of this.