When you least expect it
Lisa recalled the quote written on a blackboard in her mother’s kitchen. ‘When you least expect it, the littlest thing can cause a ripple effect that changes your whole life.’ There was no author’s name, just one of those inspirational messages of which people are so fond, these days. She had always assumed the ripples would lead towards happiness or success. Something good, anyway.
She squirmed in her chair at the memory, and kneaded her hands together. Who would ever have thought she would end up here? The ripples she had caused had led somewhere different altogether. A police interview room. Harsh lighting. Grey, peeling walls. And the mirror. Surely there was no-one alive who didn’t know it would conceal probing eyes and inquisitive ears.
The door was flung open. Her chest contracted violently, causing a huge suck of air to rasp in her throat. Her hands escaped from her lap and flapped aimlessly of their own volition. She willed them to grab onto each other and drew them close, rigid. If they had doubted her culpability before, that performance would be enough, she thought.
She could blame social media, but she had been at the core of it all, posting the message about Rhondda and David. Hadn’t she known the consequences? Didn’t she understand how Facebook worked? That everyone’s friends were friends with others. That a ‘share’ and a ‘re-post’ would ensure the spread of good and bad news, alike. Of course she did. A fit of jealousy had sent a wave of bitterness outwards, altering everything in its path. Now Michael was dead.
The two officers fussed over their paperwork. They hardly looked at her, never mind speaking. No effort was made to make her feel human and worthy of their attention. The older man, with thinning grey hair and dark penetrating eyes, nodded curtly to his companion who brandished a pen and notebook.
‘Miss Evans, we have information that suggests a message written by you on Facebook initiated a sequence of misunderstandings that led to the death of Mr Michael Duggan. So, let’s start with that message. Did you write this?’ A print out was pushed under her nose. Her face flushed with shame.
‘Yes,’ she murmured.
‘A little louder, please, Miss Evans.’
‘Yes,’ she blurted, slumping back in the chair. Hot tears of regret poured down her cheeks.
‘Could you read it, please?’
She startled, the rigid pose returning, as she contemplated her humiliation. ‘Do I have to?’ she stammered.
‘Yes. If you don’t mind.’ Not a question, not really.
She swallowed painfully. ‘Hi, guys. Just saw Rhonda and David leaving the club together. Such good friends, right? David, always the gentleman, helping her in those high heels J! When does Michael get back BTW?’
The officer looked at her with disgust. The blackboard flashed through her mind again. No, Lisa, not when you least expect it. You knew exactly what you were doing. Oh God, you knew.
THE END