The Woman on the Bridge by Holly Seddon

Author:Holly Seddon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orion

Charlotte

Tuesday

The British capacity for silence is astonishing. Yesterday, Rob had managed to pick his daughter Ruby up from school, give her tea and a bath and put her to bed at his house, all without letting on what had happened. How Rob’s life had changed in one afternoon in Bath.

But then, she’s also been able to drink tea, clean the office and make eye contact with the police, all while the memory of that push … that splash … plays in her head. How many people has she passed on the street who’ve done terrible things and are still walking and talking as if they’re normal human beings? How many people have walked past her since Saturday night and not realised they’ve brushed shoulders with a killer?

Rob called Charlotte last night when the little girl was in bed, and they’d said a whole lot of nothing for half an hour. They didn’t talk about Anne. She considered telling him about the police visiting, about the business card. But she stopped herself. This man, Harry Sedgemoor, is just an innocent guy who visited a small business. And yeah, the police will find that out soon enough but it won’t be nice to be questioned. Worse, maybe Rob will recognise the name and have questions, opinions. Maybe he’d go haring off to tackle him himself. Or tell her to call the police immediately.

Instead, they made plans for Rob to come over for dinner tonight.

But when Charlotte wakes up – late, skull filled with a pulsing headache – the last thing she wants to do is see Rob. The newness of their adult relationship means they have developed different coping strategies in each other’s absence, different approaches to other people’s worries. Charlotte likes to chew them over in silence, Rob likes to take charge and try to fix things. And he certainly can’t fix this.

How could she begin to explain to Rob what she sees when she closes her eyes? That rushing river, the splash of that man’s body. The way David leaned back, almost goading her to push. Or is that wishful thinking? The smell of those clothes burning in the barbecue. The state of Maggie when Charlotte picked her up. Never mind her own part in what happened to Anne. All of it one wild, toxic jumble. Although a determined person could certainly work at the threads, follow the breadcrumbs from Charlotte to Maggie and Maggie to Charlotte. There is evidence all around. The wedding dress, for one thing.

Still in pyjamas and slippers, Charlotte tugs on her coat and buttons it around her. As the kettle boils for tea, she shoves open the back door and heads to the shed where she stuffed the wedding dress just days ago. It’s bitterly cold this morning, and a spider lazily coils itself around the handle of the lawnmower. Charlotte shoos it away and then peels back the tarpaulin. She half-expects the dress to have disappeared like Cinderella’s gown at midnight. But it’s still there.

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