Page 40 of Cuckoo

Can’t stop thinking about you tonight. I miss you so much. Can’t believe we’ll never have another night out together again. You were too good for this world, Lilah. Love you. xx

KIM LEE

19.12

Still thinking of you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there enough at the end. Hope you’re shining up there, angel girl xxxx

She didn’t have as many comments before she died. It’s as though people are using her Facebook page as a diary to share their own emotions and feelings of guilt. Guilt over not having seen her for so long, guilt for not picking up her last call, guilt about cancelling their last dinner meeting… all I see on her page is guilty people looking for a way to lessen their own heavy burdens.

But not me. With Grosvenor’s help, I’ve gone over what happened that awful day at 48 St Margaret’s Avenue countless times and am convinced that I am not guilty of anything other than giving way to my emotions. I should have stayed calm and cool. But I didn’t, I lost it, triggered by the idea of Noah having the baby he’d denied me with another woman. And it led to this terrible accidental death. And honestly, thank God that Noah called the police from his run, because they came right away. If they hadn’t, I would have had to pull myself together and try to deal with her injury myself, while sorting out an ambulance and all the rest. It’s as though Noah was there to lend a hand without even knowing he was doing so.

Grosvenor disagrees. ‘It should have been you who made the call. That would have helped our case immeasurably. It would have looked like you were doing everything in your power to get help,’ she said.

‘But I didn’t have time to get help, I barely had enough time to register she’d fallen,’ I argued.

‘It is what it is, we can’t circle around if-onlys. We have to work with the facts.’

I huffed in annoyance, exhausted by arguing with her.We’ve argued a lot, which gives me hope that we have a fighting chance at trial because Grosvenor isgoodat arguing. We argued about why I didn’t make the call for an ambulance when Lilah hit her head. We argued when I had to admit I had pushed her. I’d omitted to share that originally, too afraid, aware of just how guilty it made me look.

‘You don’t think you could have cut me some slack and told me this at the beginning? Now we need to go through this again from the start.’ Grosvenor’s voice dripped icy irritation.

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, shuffling my feet under the table.

‘You honestly didn’t think we would find out eventually?’

I shrivelled in my seat. ‘She must bruise like a peach, I really didn’t push hard. It wasn’t meant to hurt her – I wanted to keep her away from me!’

‘Self-defence?’ Grosvenor asked.

‘I didn’t say that,’ I muttered. ‘I was angry about the baby. I couldn’t bear to look at her and wanted to get out of her perfect house – I didn’t push hard.’

‘It doesn’t matter how hard you pushed her, Claire. The fact of the matter is you pushed a woman, causing her to crack her head on a mantelpiece and die. If not for that push, she would still be here. You think the prosecution are going to wave this murder charge away and say, “No big deal, it wasn’t ahardpush?”’

I began to cry.

‘I hope those are tears of regret,’ was all Grosvenor said with a sigh. For a moment, I thought she meant regret about lying to her. It took a minute before I realised she meant regret for pushing Lilah.

We’ve even argued about Mother. I still don’t understand why she is involved in any way in this case, why this is something I should examine with Grosvenor. She calls it a mitigating factor, but I’ve told her I don’t need stupid pitiful excuses about my rough childhood because Ididn’t mean to kill Lilah.

Grosvenor disagrees. She really does like to cover all bases.

‘Did your mother ever hit you?’ she asked me one day.

I frowned. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Often?’

A shrug. ‘I can’t remember.’

‘Can you try?’

‘I don’t understand what Mother has to do with this case,’ I argued once more.

‘Please, Claire. Can you just do what I’m asking?’

‘Where is my necklace?’

I was sixteen, and Mother stood at my bedroom door, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed. She’d asked the question casually, in a tone that suggested she couldn’t care less, but I could see a glint of that hateful darkness behind her eyes and my heart sank at the realisation that yet another argument was in store.

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