So Much Blood.

Her clear dark eyes were deep liquid pools, full of promise and hinting at a fierce intelligence. A wide generous mouth confirmed my first impression; this was a shrewd and clever woman.

An untidy mane of glossy brown hair spilled over the collar of her shirt. She wore no makeup or ornaments. No rings, no jewellery. Her clothes were inexpensive, no designer labels, plain black leather pumps on her feet. Decent quality shoes, but lightly scuffed. A woman who didn’t need to try very hard blessed with an effortless sense of style and confidence. She didn’t need fancy clothes; good bone structure and the bloom of health would mark her out in any company.

An almost imperceptible indentation bisected the bridge of her nose.

‘No glasses today?’

She looked at me sharply.

‘‘Broken. Trod on the bloody things actually. My own stupid fault.’ She paused. ‘How did you know?’

‘I’m psychic,’ I said, tapping the bridge of my own nose. ‘There’s a mark there.’

‘Oh. Very good. I’m impressed. I can manage without them actually, just can’t read car number-plates or anything like that.’ She stopped talking, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. I let her take her time. She’d talk to me when she was ready. I knew that now.

She sighed, made eye contact. ‘You know it all. I know you do.’

I nodded. ‘Maybe. I’d still like to hear your version. You went down for this. You didn’t kill him, did you?’

She shook her head.

‘No.’

‘But you were there.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘Yes. The police found…’ Her voice tailed away.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know. You were there, but you didn’t kill him.’

She took a deep breath. ‘What does it matter? It was all so long ago. His wife killed him. Sharon. She knew what he was doing. He’d done it before. She didn’t mean to kill him. There was a screwdriver behind the seat. She reached over and stabbed him, in the neck. Just sort of poked him with it really.’

‘Why take the blame?’

She shrugged. ‘She had two little girls. She knew he’d start on them eventually. Like he did with me. She couldn’t let him do that. And what would happen to her girls if she went to prison? For defending them. They’d be in care, fostered perhaps. I couldn’t risk that. It was all my fault anyway. She knew what he’d done to me. She’d suspected it all the time. I told her to get away from him. Told her what a bastard he was.’

‘What happened?’

‘He was still sitting there. He was bleeding but it was nothing much. Slumped over the steering wheel. Carrying on all the time saying he was bleeding to death. He propped himself up and hit her. He’d hit her before. I could tell because of the way she just took it. She just looked at him. Never said a word. Then she picked up the screwdriver again and stabbed him. In the chest. Three times. This time she meant to hurt him.’

‘Kill him?’

‘I don’t know. Whether she did or not, that’s what happened. He just sort of flopped down and didn’t move. She told me to get out. Say nothing.’

‘Did she say anything else?’

‘No. She took his wallet and his watch. Make it look like a robbery, you know? She put his coat on over her clothes. The blood. So much blood. It was on the back seat, his coat.  It swamped her. She said she had to pick up the girls from school. She’s a good mother. Protective, you know?’

I nodded.

‘The police came. I was outside, blood on my dress. They took me away, put me in the car. I said I did it. Killed him, you know?’

I nodded.

‘I did, in a way. Kill him. If I’d stopped it when it started.’

‘You were what, sixteen?’

‘Fifteen. When it started. I could have stopped him. Stopped it all. My fault as well as his.’

I looked at her. Saw her courage evaporate like mist. She bent forward, sobbing.

‘That bastard,’ she said, ‘he fucked up everything.’