My Husband's Wife (36 page)

I have to admit that Carla's fears are not unfounded. It would be easy to take on my husband's wife's case and put up such an obviously weak defence that she would go down.

But that's not the way to do it.

‘Let me make this perfectly clear,' I say to her as we sit in my parents' sitting room overlooking the sea. She's curled up in my chair, the pink velvet one that I've always sat in since childhood. Yet it suits Carla perfectly. You'd think, to look at her, that she's on holiday. Stretching back in the sunlight which pours through the picture windows, acting as though she is a guest instead of the client I've taken in – much to my mother's surprise – while preparing for the case.

‘You need to tell me everything,' I continue. ‘No holding back. In return, I will do my best to defend you.'

Her eyes narrow. ‘How do I know that? Supposing you really want me to lose?'

‘If you're worried about that, why did you ask me to represent you?'

‘I told you. Because you knew what Ed was like and because people trust you.'

Ed. Once more, his name gives me a pang. Why is it possible to care for someone who had hurt you so badly?

‘And I'm telling you, Carla, that if I take a case on, I put everything into it.' I pause, staring out across the sea. There's a stream of yachts like a row of bobbing ducks. The sailing club always goes out on a Saturday afternoon. Tom loves to watch, although he asks persistent questions about why the boats can float on the water and why fish live beneath. He's down there on the front, right now, with Mum. Poppy too, in the old Silver Cross pram that Mum's dug out. In fact, she's one of the reasons I'm doing this.

I don't want to like Ed's child. I really don't. But from the minute I saw her with her cute red hair and my husband's stubby fingers, I felt something tug at me. This was the daughter we should have had together. This was the child that might have come along if we hadn't had our hands full with Tom.

It helps that Poppy bears little resemblance to her mother. Odd, too, that the child screams every time Carla picks her up. And that Carla winces every time she holds her daughter.

‘Of course I'll tell you everything.' Carla's voice cuts into my thoughts. ‘Why wouldn't I?'

Sometimes it's hard to know if this woman is as bright as everyone seems to think she is.

‘Because most people are hiding something,' I snap.

‘I wouldn't.' Her eyes meet mine in a deadlock. ‘I'm telling you the truth.'

I'm telling you the truth.
Wasn't that what Joe Thomas had said when I'd first met him? Joe, who'd been in the crowd outside the court. Watching me.

My eyes go back to the sea. In the distance, I can see
the cliffs. They're red. Angry. Large chunks of them have been falling into the sea in the last few years. People have been losing their back gardens.

Far worse to lose a husband. It doesn't matter that Ed was married to this woman after me. I was his first wife. I came first.

‘I once had a client who lied to me.' I make a half laugh. ‘Others have probably done the same, but I know this one did because he told me after the case. It was an appeal. He'd already served a few years in prison, but I got him off. And then he told me that he had done it after all.'

Carla is staring at me. ‘Did he go back to prison?'

I shake my head. ‘He should have done. But I couldn't do anything because of double jeopardy. He couldn't be re-tried for the same offence.'

The phone rings. It's the barrister I've been waiting to hear from. I've decided to act as his junior counsel rather than be totally in charge. As I told Carla, not all judges are keen on solicitors defending murder trials, despite the Higher Rights qualification. Closed shop and all that.

We speak briefly and then I put the phone down, turning to Carla. ‘Looks like we've got to get a move on. The case has been brought forward. You're obviously a high priority to the powers that be. We've got just over two months to prepare.'

‘I trust you, Lily. You can do it. You were always the best in the practice.' Carla stretches out, artfully crossing one slim leg over the other as though flaunting her body in front of me. The same legs that would have wrapped themselves round my husband's.

‘Why have you brought her here?' my mother keeps asking. ‘I don't understand.'

Of course, it's not just because of Poppy with her gummy smile. It's because I want to make Carla suffer. I want her to live in a house surrounded by photographs of Ed and me. Photographs that I once stored and have now re-hung.

I want her to live with her husband's ex-wife: to hear me talk about times when she wasn't there. I want her to feel my parents' disapproving glares.

But most of all, I want her to know what it's like to live with Tom, whose life changed for ever when she stole his father.

And it's working. I can see that in Carla's eyes. For as much as I'd like to believe that ‘the Italian girl grown up' is bad through and through, I suspect that she's capable of feeling as much guilt as you and me.

‘So tell me, Carla. What exactly do you remember from the night that Ed Macdonald was murdered?'

Carla knew this off pat. Hadn't she and Lily gone over it again and again in the library for weeks on end, while Lily's mother cared for Poppy?

She would much rather be there right now than in court. The prosecution barrister, who had just asked her this question, was staring at her with icy disdain. The journalists outside had, she was certain, already branded her as guilty. Glancing up at the gallery, she spotted a woman with long dark curls.
Mamma!
she nearly called out.

But then the woman turned and Carla could see that it was not her after all. ‘You often get complete strangers coming in to see a case,' Lily had told her. ‘They are simply curious.'

Strangely, it had been Lily's mother (‘Call me Jeannie') who had helped her through her grief during her stay in Devon. ‘I know what it is to have experienced loss,' she had said after her initially cool welcome. ‘But you must remember that you are a mother yourself now. Us mothers have to be strong.'

Thanks to Jeannie, Carla had also learned that the noise of the vacuum cleaner could sometimes stop Poppy's terrible crying (amazing!) and that babies were much tougher than she had thought. ‘You're only nervous about picking her up because she was so small and poorly at the beginning,' Jeannie had said. ‘But Poppy's really thriving now, isn't she? What a lovely smile!'

Tom had helped too. This big lumbering stepson of hers, who asked strange questions and did odd things, was mesmerized by Poppy. At first she'd been scared he might hurt her, but then his clumsy attempts at spooning mouthfuls of mush into her mouth, Poppy giggling all the time, made Carla realize that babies really were hardier than they looked.

They'd all shown her such kindness: incredible really, considering she had stolen Lily's husband. ‘They felt Ed should have behaved more responsibly,' Lily had said curtly one day.

Now Carla took another look at the gallery. She'd never been introduced to Ed's family. ‘We don't have much to do with each other any more,' he had once said. But perhaps he was embarrassed about leaving his wife and son. Either way, she had no idea whether they were here or not. Maybe they were the ones at the front who were staring at her.

Holding herself even straighter, Carla turned away. But inside she was frozen with fear. Who would look after Poppy if she went to prison? Nonno and Nonna were too old. They were too frail to even come to the hearing. ‘We both love you very much,' her grandmother had written. ‘Your grandfather may not show it because he is proud. But we know you cannot have committed this terrible crime. You will be set free.'

Would she? For the first time, Carla began to wonder if she had made the right choice in hiring Lily. It had felt clever at the time, but now she was here, in the dock, the doubts were crowding in. Lily had once had a reputation for being one of the best. But she was out of practice. And what about the barrister she'd chosen? Lily was constantly passing notes to him, indicating that he hadn't always said something he should have done, or had omitted something else. She would have liked Lily to be the lead barrister, but it was better, Lily had told her, that she acted as junior counsel. The very fact that she was handling her case at all had caused a flurry of interest in both the press and the court. Even the judge had questioned it at the beginning of the proceedings. ‘I believe you are representing your husband's second wife,' he had said. ‘Couldn't this be construed as a conflict of interest?'

Lily had warned her this might happen. And she had clearly been ready for the question. ‘Not at all, My Lord. My client specifically asked me to represent her. She felt we shared common ground.'

There had been a ripple of laughter through the gallery at this. But it wasn't funny. It was true.

Back to the prosecution's question. What
did
she remember from the night Ed was murdered?

‘I've already said in my statement.'

There was a frown from Lily's direction. ‘Always be respectful,' she had said. ‘Be prepared to go over and over the facts.'

Carla gathered herself. ‘I'm sorry. It's just that I am so tired.'

She flashed a smile – one of her best – at a young man in
the jury who had been eyeing her up since the trial began. He was on her side. ‘Dress soberly,' Lily had said. But she'd been unable to bring herself to wear the awful outfit that had been presented to her. Instead, she had insisted on wearing a chic jacket and her favourite figure-hugging black skirt. It was attracting, she could tell, a lot of attention.

‘Is it possible to sit down while I am giving evidence?'

The judge gave a brief nod. Thank goodness he was a man. She stood more chance of getting him onside too, providing she played her cards right.

‘Ed and I were at home together. He was drunk again.' Her eyes closed. ‘He began yelling at me. Insisting that our baby wasn't his …' Her eyes brimmed with tears.

‘And
was
he the father of your child?'

Carla's chin jerked up. ‘Of course. I loved my husband. I would never have been unfaithful to him. I will take a DNA test, if you like, to prove it.'

The prosecutor was walking up and down. ‘But is it not true that on the night of the murder, your former boyfriend Rupert Harris paid you a visit at home? Were you thinking of leaving your husband for him?'

Carla was so shocked that for a minute she couldn't speak. Her own barrister seemed taken aback too. He was a young man who kept looking at his notes as if nervous of forgetting something. But according to Lily, he was ‘just right for the job'.

‘No,' she finally managed to say. ‘Rupert was just a friend from college. Besides, I knew he had just got engaged.'

The horrid prosecution barrister raised his eyebrows as if to indicate that he doubted whether this would put her off. ‘Please tell us what happened next, Mrs Macdonald.'

She glanced at the jury. There was a woman with a pinched face sitting next to the sympathetic-looking young man. Carla addressed herself to her. ‘Ed was shouting at me. He began to shake my shoulders. His fingers were hurting me. I was so scared …' She paused and pressed her hand to her chest. ‘I pushed him away, but he fell against the wall. He was drunk. He couldn't balance properly. His head began to bleed and I felt terrible. So I tried to stem the blood with a cloth. But he pushed me away again. His eyes were blazing with anger.' She paused again. They had to believe her. They had to.

‘Then … then he picked up the carving knife, the one he'd just used to carve the chicken.'

She clutched at her throat, as if he was brandishing it in front of her right now. ‘I thought he was going to kill me.'

The court was deathly quiet.

‘Then I heard the door open …'

‘Are you sure?'

‘
Per certo
.'

‘In English please, Mrs Macdonald.'

‘Sorry. I am certain.'

Carla wet her lips. This was the tricky bit, Lily had warned. The part that the jury might not be sympathetic to. ‘I ran out to the hallway. There was a man standing there. I didn't know what was happening, I thought he wanted to hurt me too. I was so scared.' A sob escaped through her lips. ‘Then I panicked and ran.'

The prosecutor's face was impassive. Blank. ‘Can you describe this man?'

‘I'll try.' Carla's voice trembled. ‘He was quite tall with
dark hair and brown eyes – I can't remember much more, I wish I could!'

‘So do we all, Mrs Macdonald.'

What Carla didn't say – Lily had advised her not to, as she said it would muddy the waters – was that the more she thought about it, the more she felt that she remembered him from somewhere.

‘Did you take your baby with you when you made this
desperate
run?'

That wasn't fair. He knew she hadn't.

‘No,' whispered Carla, and collapsed into sobs.

There were disapproving murmurings among the jury.

This wasn't good. Somehow she had to make them understand what she had gone through. Forcing herself, Carla lifted her tear-stained face. ‘I had postnatal depression after my baby was born. I told my barrister that.' A large sob escaped her mouth. ‘And my mother died in Italy of cancer on the very day I gave birth. I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye. I know I shouldn't have run off and left Poppy behind. But I just wasn't thinking straight …'

Carla had her head in her hands, although her fingers were open wide enough for her to look at the jury. Instead of disdain or disbelief, the woman with the pinched face was weeping quietly into a tissue. Was it possible that she had had similar troubles?

Carefully, she started speaking again through her tears. ‘It was wet and cold. I wanted to go back for my baby, but I thought I heard footsteps behind me in the park. So I ran into a pub for help. Someone called the police, but they arrested me! For his murder …' Great sobs were
coming out of her mouth now. Hysterical huge gulps. There were murmurs of sympathy from the jury. Someone handed her a glass of water. Her legs gave way.

‘I think,' said the judge softly, ‘we should take a break here.'

She had done well, the barrister had told her, his face looking flushed with excitement. Very well. The jury looked as though they were on her side. Mind you, you could never tell.

‘Does he know what he's doing?' she asked Lily later.

‘Carla, what have I said before? You've got to trust me.'

The trial went on and on. ‘Six days,' Lily had predicted. Right now it was on its tenth.

The worst, after her own testimony, had been when Rupert was called. ‘Yes, I did care for Carla once upon a time,' he had told the court. ‘But now I am happily married. My wife was my fiancée when I called in with a present for Carla and Ed's new baby. I was surprised by the tense atmosphere. Ed had clearly been drinking and didn't make me feel welcome. So I left after a few minutes.' He spoke rapidly, flashing nervous glances up at a girl with blonde hair in the gallery. Instinctively, Carla knew that he was torn. He couldn't be too nice about her, in case his wife thought he really had been having an affair with her. She was thankful when he finally left the stand, shooting her an apologetic look.

An expert witness had then pointed out that the small amount of blood on Carla's clothes did not prove that she had hurt Ed. That it was more likely to have been from the head injury that her husband had sustained in
falling when she'd pushed him away in self-defence – a fact backed up by the autopsy findings. Nor were there any fingerprints on the knife, apart from Ed's.

Carla's head began to whirl. So many people, saying so many things, as if they knew her! An expert on bereavement. Another on postnatal depression and the link with the strain of a premature birth. Both were used by the prosecution to claim Carla might have behaved unpredictably. Her defence cross-examined them, claiming this would be why her memories were so unclear. Her barrister, who thankfully seemed to grow in confidence as the days passed, called an art dealer who spoke about Ed's ‘reputation for being up and down'. A medical report on his drinking. A statement from the bank about his debts. Photographs of the terrible gash on Ed's body. The carving knife.

She felt numb. As though all this was happening to someone else.

Now finally they had finished. As they sat waiting for the verdict in a room nearby, Lily was very quiet. The barrister had gone outside to make a phone call.

How was it possible that her entire future could be decided by a pack of strangers? Carla's knee began to jerk up and down. She was back at school again. In Coventry. Carla Spagoletti.

‘The jury's back.' It was the barrister, his face taut. ‘That was quick. We're being called in.'