Florence is screaming, ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ She darts under the table to her father.
My heart hammers in my chest and I feel the pain needle through it, sharp as a knife.
‘… may harm your defence when used in court.’
They have Jack’s hands behind his back. His face has gone rigid, his eyes blazing.
Florence is screaming and hitting at PC Simmons, trying to reach her father. She squeezes past him and grabs Jack’s leg.
Kay calls out, ‘PC Simmons, please!’
‘Let her say goodbye.’ My voice cuts through the mayhem. I stare at PC Simmons, the one who has cuffed him. ‘Look at her, she’s four years old. Let her say goodbye.’
‘Do it,’ says Kay.
His eyes flicker at me. Jack is still shaking his head, his face flooded with colour now.
I move round until I’m by Florence and lift her up so she’s level with Jack. She throws her skinny arms around his neck, still sobbing, ‘Daddy. Daddy.’
‘I’ll be back soon, sweetheart,’ Jack says, his voice hoarse. ‘Just a silly mix-up.’
I have to pull her away, use my hands to release hers, peeling her off him, and she falls silent. Suddenly there’s just the uneven shake of her breath.
The men lead Jack out. The room stinks of banana and male sweat.
The truth settles on me heavy as lead, the ground is wobbly beneath my feet. I edge on to Jack’s empty chair and sit Florence on my knee and stare vacantly at the walls. Outside a car starts and there’s a splatter of rain on the windows behind me.
The truth pours through me like water on sand, soaking in instantly. In my belly and my guts, in my arms, my thighs, from the nape of my neck to the soles of my feet. I’m aware of Florence, her weight on my legs, one hand gripping my little finger, the heat from her body against my stomach.
The truth solidifies inside me, granite-hard yet raw as flesh, quick as lightning and deep as space. Fathomless. I taste it in the roof of my mouth, hear it in the tick of my blood, see it in Kay’s eyes, in the image of Jack trying to run, in the way Lizzie’s hand caught the firelight. I smell it in the stink of body odour and ripe fruit. I feel it in my scalp and my bowels and the marrow of my bones.
You are not Broderick Litton.
Not some prowler.
Not some random stranger.
You are Jack.
Jack killed Lizzie.
Jack is you.
You are Jack.
And I hate you.
Ruth
