Free Please Don't Leave Me Here by Tania Chandler Page B

is no longer available. However, advances in technology mean that the few remaining DNA samples taken from the scene can now be forensically examined.’
    Anybody with information about Eric Tucker should contact police or Crime Stoppers.
    Oh God . Her stomach turns over; vomit rises in her throat, and she swallows it. The doorbell rings. She jumps, almost screams, and shuts down the computer.
    It’s Aidan — at the front, for a change. She unlocks the security door reluctantly. He stands there, silently. Must be enjoying this: a cat with a mouse. He should rub some arnica cream into the bread bruise on his cheek. Kerry waves as she walks past with her dog and a pink, polka-dot umbrella.
    Brigitte waits until Kerry is out of earshot, then says, ‘Come on then. Aren’t you going to cuff me?’ She holds out her hands, angry now. Wait till Sam finds out about this.
    â€˜Not now.’
    â€˜What do you want then?’ She looks up. His eyes are serious, remorseful. He has long eyelashes. His Adam’s apple moves up and down as he seems to struggle to swallow. She looks away — a snail is crushed on the wet path — and then looks back. The paint is starting to blister and peel on the cherry-red door she painted when they first moved in; but you can’t tell, unless you look closely. She frowns, and her legs start to shake. No .
    â€˜No.’ Her voice is a whisper, and she shakes her head slowly.
    â€˜Can I come in?’
    The call. Expected, but never prepared for. In her imagination, it was always a phone call. How stupid — this kind of news would never be delivered that way. And why is it coming from Aidan? Shouldn’t he be busy trying to ruin her life? He sits with her on their couch, her and Sam’s couch, and tells her that Sam is dead. Another stupid thought occurs to her, and she feels guilty for it: at least now she won’t have to worry about getting the call anymore .
    She wants to know what happened, the details, but it’s too soon — he speaks slowly and clearly, but all she hears is: quick, a knife, Chapel Street … And the blood swooshing around inside her ears. Would the police band play something by the Foo Fighters at Sam’s funeral? Where are these stupid thoughts coming from? Maybe this is somehow her fault: for not loving Sam enough, for not trying harder, for screwing Aidan. Maybe Sam was suspicious, distracted, more reckless than usual, and let his guard down. He can’t be dead; they’re going to have another baby. The ground sways, the world shifts, she lets Aidan hold her in his arms. More guilt froths to the surface. She has a flash of the first time here: citrus scent, the warmth, the softness of his flannelette shirt against her face at Manny’s party. Today it’s a business shirt, rain-damp, and the buttons scratch her face.
    â€˜The twins at kinder?’
    She nods against his chest.
    â€˜I’ll ring Ryan,’ he says.
    â€˜Wait a minute, please.’ She grips his arms.
    â€˜I’m so sorry, Brigitte.’
    When Ryan arrives, he rushes to Brigitte on the couch, and Aidan disappears with the kids. Ryan wraps an arm around her shoulders, and they sit quietly for a long time. She hears his watch ticking, traffic rumbling past on the street, a vacuum cleaner buzzing next door.
    â€˜Want a cup of tea?’ Ryan finally breaks the silence.
    She shakes her head.
    â€˜Glass of water?’
    She nods, and he goes to get her one. She hears him and Aidan having a whispered conversation in the kitchen, but she can’t make out what they’re saying. Ryan returns with her water.
    â€˜You need to rest.’ He hands her a tablet.
    She swallows it and lies on the couch. He kneels next to her, cradling her head and shoulders in his arms. She’s not sure if the tears on her face are hers or his as she slides into sleep.
    In a dream, she’s naked in a crowd, at a club. Kurt Cobain is