Every Woman for Herself Read Online Free PDF Page B

like permafrost – I found the inquest appalling, although but for Miss Grinch it might have been a murder trial, which would have been very much worse.
    The kindly coroner treated me like a frail little flower, and Miss Grinch with respect, but was firm about having Angie removed from the room when she became hysterical and demanded the death penalty.
    She was still screaming, ‘Murderess! Murderess!’ as she was escorted out.
    I knew in my heart of hearts she was right, even though the coroner assured me it wasn’t my fault at all, and urged me to put it behind me. The verdict was brought in as accidental death.
    The coroner added a little speech to the effect that people who succumbed to the current craze for heavy cast-iron pans would do better not to hang them from the ceiling, and I’d have to second that one.
    By the time I got out of the hearing the reporters from the local paper were encouraging Angie to stage the scene of her life.
    She spotted me. ‘Murderess!’ she screamed with a certain monotony, tossing her black veil over her shoulders and then lunging at me with blood-red talons like a deranged harpy. ‘Murdering harlot!’
    Well, that was different – but why harlot? Surely it was because I’d resisted her leching husband that he was dead? And she knew what he was like.
    Fortunately, one or two people were holding her back, since I was transfixed by all the avid stares.
    ‘I’ll never let this rest until my poor Greg has justice!’ Angie howled. ‘Wherever you go I’ll find you, and make sure people know the sort of woman you are!’
    I wished
I
knew what sort of woman I was.
    ‘You’ll
never
be able to forget it.’
    Well, that was certainly true.
    ‘Wherever you go, I’ll follow you,’ she added, sounding suddenly exhausted, and dangling limply from the hands that a moment before had been restraining her. ‘You’ll never escape.’
    Nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide …
    ‘Why, Angie?’ I asked. ‘You must realise by now I didn’t mean to kill him. Don’t you think I feel badly enough about it already?’
    ‘No, but I’ll make sure you know what it’s like to suffer – to be friendless and alone … like me.’ She drew a dramatic hand across her eyes and gave a broken sob.
    ‘But, Angie, Greg walked into my house uninvited and indecently assaulted me! And you must have known he was serially unfaithful?’
    ‘Yes, but none of them ever
killed
him!’
    Well, there was that. And the more I protested, the guiltier I felt. Could I really not have diverted that fatal downward swing?
    ‘Besides, whatever his faults, he loved me,’ declaimed Angie, looking tragic.
    ‘Maybe he did, but he slept with anyone he could get,’ I pointed out.
    ‘They weren’t important.’
    The voices of the listeners now rose in a babble of questions, but Miss Grinch popped up suddenly at my side, seized her chance, and hurried me through a gap to the waiting taxi.
    ‘How tall was Greg?’ I whispered as we climbed in. ‘Did you find out?’
    ‘Five feet, ten inches exactly, dear,’ she replied.
    Looking back, I could see Angie still holding forth on the steps like Lady Macbeth.
    ‘I wish I was dead,’ I said dully. ‘There doesn’t seem any point to living any more.’
    ‘Clearly God still has a use for you,’ Miss Grinch said placidly.
    ‘Compost?’ I suggested.
    ‘We are all God’s compost, if you like,’ she said. ‘Interesting – I’ve never thought of it like that before. However, I am sure he has something in mind for you before that. He moves in mysterious ways.’
    ‘Like the frying pan,’ I agreed, and we were silent until we reached the house.
    Miss Grinch bought the local papers, and thankfully I hadn’t merited the front page. Even with Angie’s theatrics I suppose they can only get so much story from a domestic accident without insinuating something libellous.
    I was described throughout as Mrs Charlotte Fry (although I’ve always called myself by my maiden