Sitting at the back of the Crematorium, the handcuffs that bound her to two prison guards chaffed Josie’s wrists. She watched her husband’s coffin being carried to its final resting place to ‘I did it my Way’. Only one wreath adorned the casket, red roses, like his blood.

Rachel Hunt, dressed in a black, sat alone in the front pew, where Josie should have been.

How had it happened? They tell me I killed him, but I can’t remember.

It was last May, when spring hailed the first call of the cuckoo, that Rachel had returned from the Costa del Crime in the guise of a deadly blonde, now calling herself Samantha. That’s when the friend requests on Facebook began, and it took a while for Josie to realize from the profile that Samantha was actually Rachel, or rats’ tails as she was known in school.

Out of curiosity Josie clicked the accept button, a click she would live to regret.

“Why the new name?”  Josie replied.  A few minutes later messenger popped up.  “I’m a widow and want a new way of life in the countryside, a whole new beginning.  Don’t you ever want to reinvent yourself?”

Josie pondered,  “Why would I? I must go, Roger’s favourite risotto is ready, will talk soon.  Stay in touch.”

As the service continued Josie clenched her fists. The handcuffs rattled. I should have known better, she thought, and so should Roger. He was a successful businessman, for goodness sake, so how could he have been taken in by this woman? Had he always wanted a blonde in his life, was that it?

She winced as she remembered the simpering. “Oh Roger you are so clever, oh Roger, you are so witty. Oh Roger…”

Then the texts.  “Good night my love, good morning darling, and laters babe…”  Laters babe?  Oh perlease. The lights reflected off her handcuffs. She should have checked his mobile sooner. Josie bit her lip. She recalled Roger’s denials and accusations when she’d confronted him. He’d argued that it was all in Rachel’s head, totally one-sided and that he loved her, Josie. Oh Roger what a big dick you were.

There was a draught as the door opened and the detective in charge sat down behind her.  Now what?  Can’t I just have today?  He whispered to one of the guards and as the vicar signaled for the curtains to begin be closed. Her cuffs were released and Stairway to Heaven began playing. Confused, Josie rubbed her wrists. ‘You’re free,’ whispered the guard. She placed her head in her hands as the curtains began to close and wept.

Rachel was hurrying out before the curtains closed. Too late though. She was arrested and bundled into a police car.  The detective waited until Josie had composed herself, then explained that formerly undiscovered CCTV footage had captured a blonde at scene of the crime, wielding the knife. It was Rachel Pratt, hustler, renowned con-woman and now a murderer.  Josie was free to go.

Later, sitting in her garden watching kites soar into the deep red sky as the sun set over the Chiltern Hills, images of that fateful day finally returned.  Roger had stepped in front of the blade that was not meant for him. Her husband had saved her life.

The distant call of a cuckoo broke the silence.

Jane Carling 2015 ©
www.janecarling.co.uk