Page 20 of Close to You
I stare back at Kidman, matching her gaze. I can’t quite figure out if it’s as I suspected – that she thinks I was driving – or if she believes David might be back.
‘Of course not,’ I reply. ‘They told me it was seven years before they could issue a death certificate. I could apply for a divorce, but there doesn’t seem much point.’
‘Do you think he’s dead?’
I open my mouth and then immediately close it. I thought I was being clever but, instead, I was the one who brought this up. I take a breath and try to come up with something better than the only words in my mind.
‘I don’t know,’ I say.
It’s not great. Yesterday, I would have said it was a lie. In almost all respects, I still believe it is – except that there’s a niggly seed of doubt.
Fortunately, Kidman nods along and seems to accept this: ‘Does anyone other than your ex-husband have keys?’ she asks.
‘No.’
‘Have you ever lent your keys to anyone?’
I start to say ‘no’ and then I remember: ‘My friend, Jane, got me a cleaner for my birthday last year,’ I reply. ‘I think it was a bit of a joke because my place was messy. I was out taking classes at the gym and left the keys for a few hours. When I got back, my friend was there and let me in. I can’t think of another time.’
It’s hard not to feel awkward. I have something to hide in respect to David – but I definitely wasn’t driving my car when it apparently hit a pedestrian. I’m lying, though not about the thing they might suspect me of.
I can see how it all sounds: I left a party early in the morning and, hours later, my car hit a pedestrian. If I’d failed the breathalyser test, I’d have already been charged. My mind starts wandering to things like CCTV. They surely can’t have footage of the crash, or anything around it, else they’d know I wasn’t driving. I opted to go without a solicitor, because I wanted to appear as open and honest as I could. I’m now wondering if that was a mistake. Unless I’ve misread things, they believe I hit the pedestrian, rushed home on foot, and then called to report my car stolen.
Kidman seems unbothered by my cleaner story and moves on: ‘Has anyone else been in your flat who might have taken the spare keys?’
‘Only my boyfriend, Andy. He wouldn’t have taken the keys, though.’
She takes his details anyway – and I figure I’ll have to let him know they might be in contact. In everything that’s happened, I’ve not thought about him since we were on the phone last night.
‘Anyone else?’
‘My friend, Jane, comes over fairly regularly, but she—’
‘Jane is the person who was with you at the awards dinner?’ Kidman asks.
‘Right.’
‘She also left early?’
‘Yes.’
She takes Jane’s details and, from nowhere, it feels like my entire life is up for grabs. My friends will be getting calls to see if anyone can vouch for me. Either that, or there will be implicit accusations, as if I’ve accused them of stealing my keys and car.
Kidman picks up her pad and drums her fingers on the page before looking over it to take me in. ‘What I don’t understand is how it all comes together,’ she says. ‘You say your friend and boyfriend couldn’t have taken the keys; you say your husband is missing. There’s no sign of anyone breaking into your flat – so how do you explain your car being found in a ditch four miles away from where you claim you left it?’
‘I don’tclaimI left it anywhere. Iparkedit outside my house. It was stolen.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know. Hotwired? Something like that.’
‘I don’t think your car can be “hotwired”.’ She makes air quotes and I sense a disdain that I don’t believe is in my mind.
‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ I say. ‘I noticed my car was missing and I called you.’
‘Is that so?’ she says.
‘That’s so.’
