Your Truth or Mine? Read online

  ROY

  Thursday, 10th December

  I am not surprised they are here. I am surprised they are here so soon.

  I step aside to let them in and watch the hotel room shrink.

  ‘I told you, you didn’t need to come.’

  ‘Of course we needed to come. You’re being accused of murder,’ Ma says, putting her handbag down on the bed and taking in the entire room with a single disgusted glance. My father settles into the chair by the window.

  ‘Calm down, Ma. No one’s accusing me of anything.’

  Yet.

  ‘Is it true? You were having an affair with that girl?’

  I nod. I stare at my feet.

  ‘How old is she?’ my father asks.

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘It makes all the difference in the world, son. Did you learn nothing working in the media?’

  He could never pass up an opportunity to show me my place.

  Ma swoops in before I can say anything. ‘This is not the time to argue, ji. Lawyer ko phone karo. This is our son.’

  Within minutes I have an appointment with a criminal defence solicitor. The best, and most expensive, one in town, I’m told.

  I also have a suite at the Hilton. Connected to the one my parents are in.

  I give in and ring Mia but she doesn’t answer. I leave her a voicemail, and then send her a text as well. There isn’t anything left for me to do.

  I sit down and let my mother fuss over me as my father resumes control over my life.

  MIA

  Thursday, 10th December

  A couple of weeks ago, Roy went to Dublin on a press trip. I was in meetings in Leicester all day so he asked me not to pick him up at the airport.

  I was in bed with a book and a pizza when he got home.

  ‘You’re late,’ I called out.

  Roy appeared in the doorway moments later, looking haggard, unshaven and incredibly handsome.

  ‘I know. There was a mad queue for taxis,’ he said, slipping off his trousers and climbing into bed. ‘Is it too late now to say sorry?’

  ‘Cos you’re missing more than my body? Bieber? Seriously? Who have you been hanging out with!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he said, tickling me and almost knocking the takeaway box over.

  He had gone on to demolish the pizza.

  He must have been with Emily that weekend. Or perhaps Celia, if she exists. And I had welcomed him home like the pitiful, desperate wife that I seem to have become.

  I know this, yet I want to hit rewind and jolt myself back to that night, to any night, when I could take my marriage for granted.

  I sit down on the floor and try to find something to focus on, but everything in the room taunts me, reminding me I can never really win. I may have kicked him out but I am still the one left hurting.

  Divorced before thirty. Pathetic.

  Perhaps I made a mistake.

  Or perhaps I made up my mind but my heart doesn’t want to comply.

  My phone buzzes. It’s Roy again.

  It would be so easy to let him come back. He would apologize, I would forgive him and we’d go back to how we were before all this. Safe. Happy. Loved.

  But every text, email, voicemail Roy has left me since that day says one thing and one thing only – we need to stay together till this blows over. He doesn’t want me, not really.

  I let the call go to voicemail.

  I try to appeal to the feminist in me: You made a decision and now you need to stop waiting. You need to stop wanting him back. You can’t make him love you.

  Why would he?

  I lie back on the floor and stare at the ceiling. I push my earphones in and click on to Spotify, scrolling till I find Amy Winehouse. The more I think about it, the more real it seems.

  I had thought with Emily gone, we had a chance. But how could I have known about Celia? If she’s real, he’s clearly in love with her. If she isn’t, he’s clearly ready to leave me.

  I hit play.

  Not one woman, but two.

  He must have been desperate to get away.

  The music pounds through me.

  The lyrics clutch on to my heart.

  Because suddenly everything that is sad is relevant.

  ROY

  Friday, 11th December

  His name is Alistair Stanton of Stanton & Kent and he’s nothing like I expect him to be.

  When my father told me his friend at Cambridge Law said Stanton was the best in the business, I expected someone brusque, loud and ruthless. I was picturing the male version of Annalise Keating. I had presumed he too, like Annalise, would come with an entourage. But life isn’t an episode of How to Get Away With Murder.

  Though it wouldn’t hurt if it were.

  In his early forties, not overweight but with a slight pudginess around the middle, Stanton is dressed in an expensive, but ill-fitting grey suit, no tie. He’s clean-shaven; his hair is cut short and brushed back, a few hairs standing up this way and that. His watch is as discreet as the dull gold wedding band on his finger.

  I was a bit taken aback when he suggested we meet at the hotel instead of in his office but I realize quickly it’s all just a part of his carefully curated facade; he wants to put me at ease, lower my defences. Despite myself, I am impressed.

  ‘I prefer to speak with my clients confidentially, Mr Kapoor, so if you don’t mind . . .’ Stanton trails off.

  My father gives Stanton a dangerous look and I’m sure he is about to object, but he gets up and walks off with a curt nod, closing the door behind him.

  I like him already.

  ‘We can meet at my office the next time. You’ll love the space; it’s on the eighteenth floor overlooking the Thames. Stunning view and the light . . .’ He pauses, eyes wide, and shakes his head, as if we are discussing the latest hotspot in London.

  ‘Sounds wonderful,’ I say, matching my expression to his. I wonder if he’ll be charging my father for this random conversation.

  I hear the door click and watch his face change.

  ‘Roy, I wish you’d called me before speaking to the police but what’s done is done. As of now, I think we can assume that you’re the prime suspect. There may be others, but the number of times they’ve interviewed you suggests they’re looking at you’ – he pauses – ‘closely.’

  I nod. I had figured as much.

  ‘The only reason they haven’t made an arrest yet is because they can’t afford to make a mistake, what with all the media interest in Emily’s case. On the other hand, every day they don’t take action is a strike against them. So we need to be prepared for an arrest. It may not be immediate, but they need to show the public they have this under control as soon as practicable.’

  ‘But what would they arrest me for? It’s not like they’ve found her body.’

  ‘They don’t need to. All they need is a motive and reasonable doubt.’

  My eyes widen and he pauses to explain.

  ‘It’s rare, but there have been instances in the past of murder trials without a body and Emily’s been missing long enough now . . . In such cases, the purpose of an arrest is usually to provoke a confession. They can’t charge you unless they have enough evidence.

  ‘Now, I’m not saying that that this will happen,’ he continues. ‘But it is my job to prepare you for all possibilities.’

  He’s working on the assumption that she’s dead but he still hasn’t asked me if I killed her.

  He looks like he’s about to ask me a question, then shakes his head. ‘Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? I need you to be completely honest with me. I can’t help you unless I know everything you know. Sound reasonable?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I say.

  And then I tell him as much as I can.

  I begin, of course, with you.

  I tell Alistair – he asks me to call him Alistair – about how we first met. I tell him about what you said at the Eurostar terminal, how angry you were whe
n you saw me with your notebook. I feel guilty when I tell him how we spoke about the universe conspiring to make us run into each other again and again. Is it strange that simply recounting our conversations to Alistair fills me with more guilt than cheating on Mia ever did? That my loyalties are tied so deeply to you, it makes my marriage and every other relationship feel like a sham? I suppose it is a matter of love.

  Or the lack thereof.

  I tell Alistair about that time at the National Gallery. I’d walked in to find you standing in front of the Constable piece, unmoving. You were so lost in the painting you barely even noticed when I came and stood next to you. Neither of us said a word. We didn’t need to. We walked through the exhibit rooms, weaving our way through the tourists and the art students. I remember looking at you from the corner of my eye and noticing how drawn you looked. Your fingers grazed mine and my gaze travelled down to your hand automatically. You’d taken your ring off. There’s so much that happened in that one instant, but what I felt most of all was relief. For you. You caught my eye, you shook your head, and my heart sank. My eye travelled to your other bandaged hand. You would tell me later that that was the day Dave found your phone.

  As we approached the exit, we fell out of step just as quietly, without any drawn-out goodbyes or promises of future meetings. We never needed any of that, but something changed between us that day. It was the start of our private world, and without a word we both acknowledged we wanted the same thing – each other.

  Alistair asks me a question and I pull myself back to the present. He wants to know if you’ll testify for me should we go to trial. Of course, I say, without a moment’s thought. You’d do anything for me and I for you. We know that now.

  ‘How were things with Emily at this stage?’

  ‘Complicated. She would ring me every night, sometimes eight, ten times in an hour. She wanted to see me all the time, she wanted me to meet her friends . . . She wanted a relationship and I couldn’t give her that.’

  ‘Did Emily know about Celia?’

  ‘No, I didn’t think it would do any good to tell her. And frankly, there wasn’t much to tell at that point. Celia and I . . . there was nothing physical until after Emily.’

  ‘I see.’ He nods, not unsympathetically. ‘Was your wife aware of anything at this point?’

  ‘No, she only found out last week.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go over the timeline once again. When we spoke on the phone, you mentioned you had a meeting in town on the morning of the fourth; you spent the afternoon at home and then drove straight to your hotel in Brighton, where you met Celia. You spent the night at the hotel and then drove back to London midday Saturday. Is that correct?’

  ‘That’s what I told the detectives.’

  If Alistair is surprised, he doesn’t show it. ‘Is that the truth?’

  ‘It is, but I – I made a stop on the way.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Seaford. I went to see Emily.’

  ‘Emily rang me when I was on my way to Brighton. I had been fielding calls from her for weeks, but that day, she must have called me twenty times in an hour. She was upset. She wanted to see me. I told her I’d see her on Monday but she kept insisting we meet straightaway. She was crying, practically howling on the phone, so I agreed. I picked her up on the High Street and we drove to Seaford Head.’

  ‘Why Seaford?’

  ‘She was going to spend the weekend at her parents’ place in Sussex and I was already on my way to Brighton, so . . .’

  ‘I see.’ He flicks through his notes. ‘What did she want to talk about?’

  ‘Getting back together. She wanted me to leave Mia. I refused. We spoke about it and then I dropped her to her hotel and drove to Brighton. I didn’t see her again,’ I say.

  Yet another one of the half-truths that my life is built upon.

  ‘What happens now?’ I ask after Alistair’s finished with his questions, his notebook overflowing with snatches of my life.

  ‘Well, to begin with, I’d like to speak with Celia. If the police have already been to see her, I need to know what she’s said to them and prepare her for any future interviews. Would you be able to set up a meeting or shall I have one of my associates call her?’

  ‘No, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes, your wife. What are the chances of her agreeing to let you move back in?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to speak to her but she refuses to take my calls.’

  ‘Can you convince her? Having her on your side would be extremely beneficial. If she’s supportive and forgiving in the face of an affair, well, there’s little reason for you to harm Emily.’

  I flinch but I don’t correct him. He stresses the importance of a character witness, and then coaches me on what to say to Mia. I want to tell him to stop, I know exactly what I need to say, what buttons to push, but I just listen. Apologize for the affairs. Stress the importance of the marriage. Remind her why she married you. I nod along. I have tried everything, but I’ll try again.

  ‘Meanwhile, I’ll have my associates dig around, see if we can find any other potential suspects,’ he continues.

  I tell Alistair about that first time in the park. I’d asked Emily afterwards if she wanted me to accompany her to a pharmacy. I had presumed she would need emergency contraception. But she simply shook her head and told me she was on the pill. Alistair perks up instantly and the flicker of annoyance I felt that day distills into a single strand of hope. Emily might have given me the perfect way out of this.

  Another boyfriend. Another suspect.

  On Friday, 11 December at 01.33 p.m.,

  Roy Kapoor wrote:

  Dear Mia,

  I know that you’ve been deeply hurt by me and I am really sorry for that. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain you’re going through. But perhaps this had to happen for us to reach a happier, more honest place.

  There is a lot for us to talk about and I’d like to have a heart-to-heart conversation with you like two grown adults – nothing but the truth, I promise.

  Mia, I know I’ve made some terrible mistakes but I am still the man you married. I am hoping that you will find it in your heart to meet me so we can begin repairing the damage that has been caused and find a way out of this. It’s my home too, and anyone else in my position would force their way back into it, but I know that you need space, so as much as I hate being in a hotel with my parents, I won’t do that.

  I’m staying at the Hilton in Canary Wharf. I will meet you anywhere you say but honestly, all I want right now is to come home to you. Let me make it up to you, please.

  Yours,

  Roy

  MIA

  Friday, 11th December

  Roy’s email touches something in me. I’ve been waiting for him to apologize properly but it occurs to me that I haven’t given him the chance to do that. Moreover, didn’t I have a part to play in everything that happened that night as well? I said things that I knew would push him over the edge, as if by testing the limits of our marriage I could somehow pull it back together. What I hadn’t realized was how close to the tipping point we already were.

  When Roy calls, an hour later, I give in.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello? Mia?’

  His voice takes my breath away. I know instantly that I made a mistake. I’m not ready for this conversation.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I . . . wow . . . thanks for answering. I, um, just wanted us to talk.’

  ‘Okay. Talk.’ I force myself to sound curt even as I try to blink the tears away.

  ‘Oh, right, okay. Well, first, I think I want to say I am extremely sorry about how everything has unfolded. I know I’ve hurt you. You must be in shock right now and heartbroken and . . . and I’m very sorry for the pain that I’ve caused.’

  Tears course down my face. I place a hand over my mouth and inhale deeply. I remind myself that I d
on’t want him back. I shouldn’t want him back.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Just tell me one thing,’ I say after I have steadied myself.

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Did you do it? Did you hurt Emily?’

  ‘No, of course not. They haven’t even found—’

  ‘So Celia?’

  I hear him sigh. ‘Everything with Celia is real. I do . . . I was with her. And . . .’ He pauses. I picture him furrowing his brow, searching for the right words. ‘I know I’ve said this before, but I do think everything that’s happened so far, Emily, Celia, it was all for a reason. I think the universe was just trying to join the dots. It was saying . . . this is everything you’ve been wanting, missing in your life: Celia. And this is what you already have: Mia.’

  The shred of hope I’d been hanging on to dissipates.

  My heart stills.

  ‘And it’s been put on me to make a choice,’ he continues.

  A beat.

  A choice? Choose me, I want to scream. Choose me!

  ‘And I know you’ve been hurt in the process, badly, but I think . . . I think sometimes things have to fall apart entirely before we can start rebuilding something better . . . more authentic. And so I know whatever I decide, whatever we decide, it will be for the best. I’m trying to be as honest as I can. I just want us to be happy, Mia,’ he finishes. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I’m not thinking.’

  ‘I’d like us to try to make it work.’

  Yes, I think.

  ‘Why?’ I say.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Why do you want to try?’

  ‘This situation has been a nightmare. I mean, I hate to blame the situation, but it has been difficult, it still is, and I’m hoping I can get out of it and find a way to be happy again.

  ‘With you,’ he adds. Afterthought.

  ‘Did a lawyer write this down for you?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. The police, everything with Emily, all of that, that’s another issue. My main concern is our marriage and I need to be at home so we can start talking about us.’