Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(47)

I start tidying up the kitchen. Cyrus returns.

‘Why didn’t you tell Elias that I was living here?’ I ask.

‘I did.’

‘Yes, but only now. I’ve been here a year.’

‘He must have forgotten.’

Cyrus scoops cake crumbs from the table and tips them into the pedal bin.

‘Don’t you think it was weird, how he talked about your family, as though nothing had happened? Like that stuff with the treehouse and your mum.’

‘He was nervous, that’s all. He’s not used to socialising.’

‘Is he going to come and live here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you want me to move out?’

‘No.’

‘Look at me when you say that.’

We’re face to face. Eye to eye.

‘I want you to stay.’





31


Cyrus


Morning cold. I walk through Wollaton Park on my way to the university. The sun is a pale yellow ball behind the grey clouds that won’t shift all day, or month, or perhaps until the spring. Three gardeners are planting bulbs but seem to break regularly to brew up mugs of tea in their shed, sternly gazing at the sky, discussing the weather.

On the edge of the park, a group of students are holding up placards and chanting. They’re protesting about student loans and the rents charged during lockdowns but look half-hearted or half frozen.

Henri meets me in the corridor. He’s holding a soiled nappy, wrapped in a tight bundle, treating it like an unexploded bomb.

‘She’s very nice, but that toddler shits like an espresso machine.’

I have no idea who he’s talking about until I discover Melody Sterling in my office. Victoria is sitting on the floor, playing with crayons and a blank piece of paper.

‘You gave me your business card,’ says Melody, sounding embarrassed. ‘I know I should have called, but I didn’t know if I could do this. I’ve been sitting in the car for the past hour, summoning the courage.’

She’s wearing cargo pants, a cotton blouse and loose sweater.

‘They won’t let me see Dean. I don’t know if he’s been charged, or if he’s appearing in court. Can the police do that – tell me nothing?’

‘Yes.’

‘But he didn’t hurt Maya. He was in Leeds.’

‘He wasn’t staying at the pub,’ I say.

It takes a moment for the information to register and the implications to become clear. Her eyes cloud before growing bright and hard. ‘Who is she?’

‘Someone he met.’

‘Someone he paid for?’

I don’t answer.

‘I knew it. I do the accounts. I see where the money goes.’ She walks to the window, muttering to herself, ‘The bastard! The lousy, fucking bastard!’

Victoria looks up from the floor and babbles something incomprehensible. Melody understands and pulls a rusk from a plastic Ziploc bag. The toddler grips it in both hands and gnaws on the edge.

‘I feel stupid.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s a good father. He works hard. He’s never raised his hand to me.’

I don’t know if Melody is trying to convince me or herself.

‘Who is she?’ she asks.

‘A single mother. Tessa. He won’t tell police her full name.’

‘He wants to keep seeing her.’

It’s a statement, not a question. Melody seems to reach a decision. She unzips a side pocket of her bag and retrieves a cork that looks like it belongs in a wine bottle. Squeezing it in her fist, she twists it in half, revealing the silver plug of a USB stick.

‘I found a bottle of red wine in our wine rack. The plastic seal had been broken. Dean drinks beer. It made me wonder …’

She hands me the thumb drive.

‘Have you looked?’

She shakes her head. ‘I don’t want to see what he filmed. I won’t lie for him. I won’t wait for him.’

Melody gets to her feet and takes a few minutes to gather the toys and crayons and baby paraphernalia that has found its way into every corner of my office. She looks at the soggy biscuit crumbs on the floor.

‘Do you have a dustpan?’

‘I’ll clean up,’ I say.

I walk mother and daughter along the corridor to the stairs. Victoria reaches up and takes my hand, swinging her legs in the air between us.

‘Will he be charged?’ she asks.

‘Yes.’

‘Will he go to prison?’

‘Not if he tells the police everything and expresses remorse.’

Melody smiles sadly. ‘Dean has only regretted one thing in his life. Marrying me.’

Returning to my desk, I plug the USB into my laptop and wait for it to be recognised. I expect to need a password or a code, but the files appear automatically. Hundreds of them, each with a letter and seven-digit number.

I randomly right-click a file and ask for information. It gives me the size and the date it was created. When I double-click to open the video, my computer doesn’t recognise the formatting. I try several versions until finally a window pops up and I see Maya Kirk’s bedroom, her double bed and dressing table. This was taken by the Paddington Bear camera.