‘Of course, of course,’ she says pleasantly. The male officer who has been sitting beside her, in his creased white shirt and tie with its tiny knot pulled right to the top of his shirt collar, gathers up all the papers and stands. He hasn’t said a word. Instead he has been openly watching me, so I guess he had been tasked with seeing my responses to the various things she asked.
Alone in my interview room, Darryl waits several seconds, tapping out each one with his pen on his yellow, lined legal pad. He’s made a few notes, but I can’t read them because his writing is so bad. Deliberately, I’m sure, so no one on the opposite side of the desk can read what he has deemed necessary to get down on paper.
‘What part of “everything” didn’t you understand?’ he asks eventually through gritted teeth.
‘I did tell you everything. I didn’t know they were going to bring up Howie.’
He grabs the pen with both hands, and holds it like he could quite happily substitute me for it because he would love to wring me so tight all my secrets would gush out like water from a dishrag. ‘You didn’t know that your violent, abusive “friend” who has already had one physical fight with your partner and has clearly gone on the run since your partner was attacked would be a topic of conversation during an interrogation about an attempted murder? Is that what you would like me to believe, Verity Gillmare?’
‘I wasn’t deliberately keeping it from you.’ I’m blatantly ignoring his calling me out. ‘It’s really complicated with Howie. It’s not as simple as she was saying. And they didn’t have a fight, it was a scuffle. If that. It was just . . . it was complicated. The whole thing is so complicated and I just—’ I stop abruptly because to tell him any more would be to tell him too much.
‘Were you sleeping with him, Verity?’
‘No, not at all. Howie and I are close friends, the best of friends at certain times, but never anything like that.’
‘Did Logan think you were sleeping with him?’
I shrug because there’s no good way to answer that question without getting into trouble.
My boss tosses the pen onto the table and I stare at it so I don’t have to face him.
‘I’m worried, Verity. I’m worried that you’re not taking this as seriously as you need to. If you were any other client, I’d be seriously thinking of walking away because you’re not being honest and you’re not thinking of how to save yourself, but you won’t tell me why.’
He looks at his watch. ‘Despite what she said, I think they’re going to go back to court to get the full ninety-six hours. And after that, I’m sure they’ll either charge you or find another reason to re-arrest you almost straight away.’ He shakes his head despairingly; his frustration rolls off him like the thick, white mist sometimes rolls off the sea. ‘Whoever it is you’re protecting, Verity, I hope they’re worth it. I really hope they’re worth it. I’ll speak to you soon.’
Of course they’re worth it, of course they are, I would love to say to Darryl. They are worth everything.
February, 2020
I liked to put my arms around Howie because he was so comfort-able. It was easy to comfort him, to hold him, to stroke his head and soothe his frown.
‘Didn’t know life could be like this, Vee,’ he said softly. ‘Which is ridiculous when you think about it. I suppose I thought it would get easier the further into life I got. Everyone expects so much from me and I don’t know if I can deliver.’
I kind of knew what he was talking about because we all have expectations placed on us, and sometimes the burden of them becomes too great.
‘I’m not allowed to be like this,’ he said. I felt him close his eyes, so heavy the simple action was. And his arms around me squeezed me that bit tighter. ‘I’m not supposed to feel this. I know the world looks at me and sees one thing and inside I’m another. I’m just not as strong as they expect me to be. There’s so much stuff inside that I would like to get out. Like . . .’
He stopped speaking for such a long time that I had to ask, ‘Like?’
‘Like I’m scared that Beccie will leave me. That after everything we’ve been through, how I’ve shown her how much I love her, she’ll just walk away. And I’m scared, all the time . . . I’m scared all the time I’m going to be killed. I can only ever say that to you. But I know my mum is terrified about it every time she’s not with me. She’s terrified that I’ll be racially abused, but also that someone will find an excuse to kill me. And I have to tell her not to worry, I have to go out there every day and pretend that it’s all good, it’s all fine because I don’t want her to worry. If I pretend it’s OK, then she’ll think it’s OK. But, Vee, I am scared. I’m scared I’ll be walking down the street and someone will jump me. I’m scared that I’ll be driving around minding my own business and the police will pull me over for some spurious reason and the next anyone hears of me is that I resisted arrest and died in custody. I’m scared that someone who talks so long and loud about being “colour-blind” will be so good at it they’ll see one black man and think it’s me and will get me accused me of something I didn’t do, or even get me killed.
‘I’m scared that I can do the most to be a good person, to not trouble the world too much and it will mean nothing because I won’t get the chance to be anything other than dead at a young age.
‘I don’t even worry about getting ill that much, Vee. But I fear that I’ll not reach the end of my twenties. That I’ll not get the chance to live my life. That’s why I cling to Beccie, I think. I feel sometimes I have to do it all now so I’ve left something behind before I’m murdered. And the person who does it gets away with it.’
I held onto him that bit tighter. I didn’t know that this was what was going through Howie’s mind on a daily basis. His pain was palpable, something almost physical and touchable. He carried this with him wherever he went; whatever he did, he carried this burden, this uncontrollable fear with him. I couldn’t imagine living like that.
But then, couldn’t I? Wasn’t I always mindful of how I dressed, where I went alone, how I spoke and how I looked? Isn’t that the fear that is the backdrop to our lives as women but we rarely voice because we’ll be dismissed, put down, not believed or laughed at? And I carried the other burden, the fear of being racially abused, too, and just having to smile and put up with it, then to have my experiences diminished or denied if I try to talk about it.
I didn’t think about it, though. It was not a fear that haunted my every waking moment like it did Howie. It didn’t make me do those things that he did just so he could leave his mark on the world if his life was cut short.
I understood a bit more now. How his fear shaped his reality, fashioned his world.
Just as I reached up to stroke his head, I heard the key in the lock. I immediately looked at the clock on the wall: 23:05. Logan. He was meant to be away for another night. This was not going to end well. Even though he’d never met Howie, he brought him up with an alarming regularity. He was obviously insecure about our friendship.
I didn’t get away from Howie fast enough, so when Logan came into the living room, the ‘Babe’ on his lips froze when he saw Howie and me cuddled up on the sofa.