The Couple at No. 9(68)

There’s a shocked silence. I can’t quite believe I’ve said it. I dare not look at Mum. I’m not a confrontational person. It must be my pregnancy hormones. Even so, I know that’s how I really feel and have felt for years. It’s actually a relief to get it out.

We continue driving in a tense, uncomfortable silence. My legs are trembling. From the corner of my eye I see Mum wipe a tear from her cheek and I’m consumed by guilt.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean all that.’

‘Yes, you did,’ says Mum quietly.

‘It’s my hormones. I just feel so, so … angry!’

‘I know.’ She flashes me a watery-eyed smile. ‘And I agree I haven’t always been the best mother. I’ve made mistakes –’

‘Mum, don’t!’

‘It’s true, and you will too. Whatever you think now. But I never regretted having you. Not for one second. I’d hate you to think that.’

I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat.

By now we’ve reached Elm Brook and I pull into the car park.

As I push the gearstick into neutral Mum covers my hand with hers. ‘Are we okay?’

‘Of course,’ I say. If I feel trepidation at the thought of having a baby at twenty-four I can only imagine how scary it must have been for my sixteen-year-old mother. I should never have said those awful things.

Joy greets us at the door with her usual harassed air. She looks more stressed than normal, but I can appreciate why. She’s probably never had to contend with police coming over to interview one of her residents before.

Mum is sombre as we gather in the lobby. The ugly swirly carpet is making me feel sick.

‘Are the police here?’ Mum asks Joy.

‘In there.’ Joy indicates the room we were in last time. ‘I’ll go and get Rose. She’s still in her bedroom at the moment. She didn’t have a very good night. I’ll bring some tea.’

Anxiety pools in my stomach. ‘In what way didn’t she have a good night?’ I ask.

‘She kept waking up, crying out. It happens sometimes. They forget where they are. Anyway, if you don’t mind going in there,’ she pushes the door open and stands against it so we can go past her, ‘I’ll get Rose now.’

DS Barnes is already in the room, with someone else this time, a woman around my age. They are seated in the same armchairs at either side of the fireplace and stand up when we enter. He introduces the woman as DC Lucinda Webb. She has a coppery mane that spills over the shoulders of her patterned blouse. I notice Joy has put out only two extra chairs this time.

‘You sit here,’ says Mum, indicating one of the chairs. ‘I’m okay to stand.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course. Sit!’

We’re being unnatural with each other. Ultra-polite but I do as she says.

There’s an awkward silence and I’m thankful when the door opens and Joy escorts Gran into the room. The sight of her brings tears to my eyes: she looks so frightened, like a shy little girl. I want to wrap her in my arms and take her away from all this. She seems thinner in her pink knitted jumper and pleated skirt, and I’m worried she’s not eating enough. I notice she has on a gold necklace and matching earrings that I recognize and I wonder if one of the carers put them on for her this morning to make her look nice. She sits next to me, blinking rapidly like a baby bird.

I reach over and take her hand. ‘Gran …’

‘Who are you?’ she says, and I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the heart.

‘It’s me, Saffy,’ I say, trying not to cry.

Before she can respond Mum has crouched down by her side. ‘Mum,’ she says. ‘There’s no need to be afraid. The police just want to ask you a few more questions.’

‘Why?’ Gran asks, then turns to me, bewildered, but there is recognition in her eyes. I squeeze her hand.

‘It’s okay, Gran,’ I say reassuringly. Mum stands up and hovers behind me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I wish there was a chair for her. Why didn’t Joy bring one?

DS Barnes has his sleeves rolled up. It’s not as hot as last time but even so there is a sheen to his forehead.

‘Hi, Rose,’ he says. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. Like your daughter said, we just want to ask a few questions. Is that okay?’

‘I suppose,’ she says, folding her hands across her stomach. Joy returns with an extra chair and Mum sits in it.

DS Barnes looks vaguely irritated by all the disruption. When Joy has left the room he continues: ‘Rose, does the name Neil Lewisham mean anything to you?’

Gran turns to me and I smile encouragingly.

‘I don’t think so,’ says Gran.

DS Barnes pushes a photograph across the wooden table towards us. Gran stares down at it, her hand still in mine, fine-boned and delicate. I lean forward to get a better view. A man with short fair hair stares out at us. He’s plain, ordinary. There is nothing about him that would make him stand out. He has on a long black overcoat; one hand is thrust into a pocket and the other is holding a cigarette by his side. ‘This is the man who was found dead in your old house, Rose,’ he says gravely. ‘We think he died in 1980, while you were living there.’