Her Perfect Family(26)

‘Yes.’ I pause and take in a deep, slow breath, feeling even more guilty. ‘You are.’

I turn to look at our daughter, her skin pale and her eyes firmly closed. Can she hear this – even when we’re whispering?

For just a second, I drift away again. I can hear my father’s voice booming from the kitchen. I can hear plates and glasses smashing . . .

I am standing in the doorway, just a little girl, and I can see my mother’s eyes glaring at me.

Go to your room, Rachel. Go now!

I told Ed and Gemma too that I had a happy childhood, that my parents’ split was amicable . . .

I listen again to the smashing sounds from the kitchen all those years ago and I remember covering my ears and looking down at my rabbit slippers.

‘We really mustn’t squabble in front of Gemma. We should go outside.’

‘Oh, Rachel. For heaven’s sake. We can’t go outside every time we need to talk. It’s ridiculous. I’m sure she can’t hear whispering.’

I keep quiet for a while, just looking at Gemma, watching her chest rise and fall ever so gently. I can feel this tightening in my stomach, pushing away all the pictures from the past . . .

‘You know how much I love you both? Isn’t that enough?’ Ed’s tone is really strange.

‘I’m sorry, Ed. It’s the strain and the lack of sleep.’

He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. ‘The police want me to go and meet with them again, Rachel. I said I’d go to the station; I know it upsets you when they come here.’

I spin my head to look him in the eye. ‘But what do they want? Do they have a lead? Is it to do with Alex? Shouldn’t they be talking to both of us together?’

‘I have no idea. They said they’d explain when I get there. Will you be all right this afternoon – here on your own, I mean? I can try to put them off, if you’d prefer?’

‘No. No. Don’t put them off. It might be a breakthrough. It might be news about Alex . . . Maybe something’s come from his interviews. Or the phone footage.’ I frown, only now realising that I have a headache starting. ‘And would you ask again about the laptop? If we can have the laptop?’ Once more I’m thinking of all the visits. All the photographs. All of us smiling. ‘You don’t really think Alex was the one who did this, do you?’

Ed doesn’t answer and I look at the cabinet beside Gemma’s bed where he’s placed sandwiches from the deli. Crab for me and Brie and caramelised onion for him. I wonder if Gemma’s kept all the photos of her birthday celebration. Afternoon tea with Alex. All those fancy sandwiches.

It feels a lifetime ago; Gemma and Alex broke up soon afterwards but she never explained why. Did he really do this to her?

I look back at Ed and realise I will have to tell the police about the odd woman. Just in case. But will DI Sanders tell Ed about the private investigator?

Ed holds my stare and I can’t read his expression.

‘Whatever happens with the police . . .’ Ed’s voice is slower. Very quiet. ‘You know that I love you? You and Gemma? I love you both more than anything in the world.’

‘Why did you say that? What do you mean – whatever happens with the police?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

I turn to see that his eyes are distant and there’s this new and dreadful feeling deep in the pit of my stomach.

‘Why did you say that, Ed?’

He shakes his head and turns away from me. I stare at his profile, widening my eyes and willing him to explain, but there’s only the bleeping of Gemma’s machine breaking the silence. Bleep, bleep. I can feel the gap between Ed and me widening – stretching and stretching – bleep, bleep. I close my eyes and just don’t know what to do.

I’m thinking again about that strange woman.

He’s not who he says he is.

Was she just some loner? Some misfit.

Or did she really mean Ed after all?





CHAPTER 15


THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR


In the chancellor’s office, Matt’s head is still swimming with the news that Ed’s first wife is AWOL. Also Mel’s surprise approach.

They travelled in separate cars from the café and there’s been no time yet to ring Sally. He’s done a very quick check of the diary on his phone – two surveillance jobs booked for messy divorce cases. It’s the kind of bread-and-butter work he despises but can’t afford to refuse. He’ll need to honour those bookings but can’t deny that working on this case officially is a great deal more appealing than fielding calls from rich widows.

The chancellor’s office isn’t small but manages to feel claustrophobic. So much wood. Matthew glances around at the panelling, the two huge wooden desks (why two, he wonders?) and the floor-to-ceiling bookcase entirely filling one wall. He doesn’t recognise the wood, which has quite a yellow tone. Yew, maybe? Whatever the timber, it makes him think of saunas. He feels hot suddenly, pulling at his shirt collar.

‘We have a meeting of the senior management team later.’ The chancellor’s repeating herself. Ms Emily Brockenhurt, as neatly confirmed on a small, inevitably wooden name stand on her desk, is dressed immaculately in a turquoise suit with white blouse and pearls and the foil of huge red glasses. She looks very focused but also hot, suddenly sliding off her jacket and hooking it over the back of her chair.