The Husband’s Secret

had been like a force of nature: a tsunami, an avalanche. It was as if it had been driven by no one.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Rachel. ‘So terribly, dreadfully sorry.’
    Cecilia couldn’t quite comprehend what she meant. She was too sluggish with exhaustion and the shock of what Dr Yue had just said. Her normally reliable brain cells lumbered about, and it was with the greatest of difficulty that she corralled them into one place.
    ‘It was an accident,’ she said, with the relief of someone remembering the perfect phrase in a foreign language.
    ‘Yes,’ said Rachel. ‘But –’
    ‘Polly was chasing Mr Whitby,’ said Cecilia. The words flowed easier now. ‘She didn’t look.’ She closed her eyesbriefly and saw Polly disappear beneath the car. She opened them again. Another perfect phrase came to her. ‘You must not blame yourself.’
    Rachel shook her head impatiently and batted at the air as if an insect was bugging her. She grabbed hold of Cecilia’s forearm and held it tight. ‘Please just tell me. How is she? How serious are her – her injuries?’
    Cecilia stared at Rachel’s wrinkled, knuckly hand clutching her forearm. She saw Polly’s beautiful healthy skinny little girl arm and found herself coming up against a spongy wall of resistance. It was unacceptable. It simply could not happen. Why not Cecilia’s arm? Her ordinary, unappealing arm with its faded freckles and sunspots. They could take that if the bastards had to have an arm.
    ‘They said she has to lose her arm,’ she whispered.
    ‘No.’ Rachel’s hand tightened.
    ‘I can’t. I just can’t.’
    ‘Does she know?’
    ‘No.’
    This thing was endless and enormous, with tentacles that crept and curled and snarled because she hadn’t even begun to think about how she would tell Polly, or really, in fact, what this barbaric act would mean to Polly , because she was consumed with what it meant to her, how she couldn’t bear it, how it felt like a violent crime was being committed upon Cecilia . This was the price for the sensual, delicious pleasure and pride she’d always taken in her children’s bodies.
    What did Polly’s arm look like right now, beneath the bandages? The limb was not salvagable . Dr Yue had assured her that they were managing Polly’s pain.
    It took Cecilia a moment to realise that Rachel was crumpling, her legs folding at the knees. She caught her just in time, grabbing her arms and taking her full weight. Rachel’s body felt surprisingly insubstantial for a tall woman, as though herbones were porous, but it was still tricky keeping her upright, as if Cecilia had just been handed a large, awkward package.
    A man walking by carrying a bunch of pink carnations stopped, stuck the flowers under his arm and helped Cecilia get Rachel to a nearby seat.
    ‘Shall I find you a doctor?’ he asked. ‘Should be able to track one down. We’re in the right spot!’
    Rachel shook her head adamantly. She was pale and shaky. ‘Just dizzy.’
    Cecilia knelt down next to Rachel and smiled politely up at the man. ‘Thank you for your help.’
    ‘No problems. I’ll get going. My wife just had our first baby. Three hours old. Little girl.’
    ‘Congratulations!’ said Cecilia, a moment too late. He was already gone, walking joyfully off, right in the middle of the happiest day of his life.
    ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ said Cecilia to Rachel.
    ‘I’m so sorry.’
    ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Cecilia, and felt a hint of impatience. She’d come out for air, to stop herself from screaming, but she needed to get back now. She needed to start collecting facts. She did not need to talk to a bloody counsellor, thanks very much, she needed to see Dr Yue again, and this time she would take notes and ask questions and not worry about being nice.
    ‘You don’t understand,’ said Rachel. She fixed Cecilia with red, watery eyes. Her voice was high and weak. ‘It is my fault. I put my foot on the accelerator. I was trying to kill him, because he killed Janie.’
    Cecilia grabbed for the side of Rachel’s seat, as if it were a precipice she’d been pushed from and stood up.
    ‘You were trying to kill John-Paul?’
    ‘Of course not. I was trying to kill Connor Whitby. He murdered Janie. I found this video, you see. It was proof.’
    It was like somebody had grabbed Cecilia by the shoulders, spun her around and forced her to come face to face with the evidence of an atrocity.
    There was no grappling for