I Am Watching You(27)
‘They called at the house, Ella. Whoever wrote that card called here. At the house.’
‘Yes. And you’re right – it changes things, and I realise now that I should have told you right at the beginning and I’m very sorry about that. But I am happy to take advice now. The police are going to be here in half an hour. I’ll listen to whatever they say, Tony. The only reason I wasn’t worried before is I honestly thought it was the mother.’
‘But can we rethink you working early on your own?’
‘If it will make you happier, I can try to juggle a bit in the future.’ I look him in the face. ‘So did you speak to Luke?’
Last night in bed, Tony was the one to say it first. Would you think I was mad if I said we should offer to adopt the baby? I cried and hugged him tight, so relieved that he was thinking exactly the same thing as me. We agreed we are too old and it is probably completely insane, but there is no way we could let someone else bring up Luke’s child if Emily’s family can’t cope.
‘He says he’ll mention it to Emily later. She’s only ten weeks, so it’s a bit early for decisions.’ Tony puts his hand up to my cheek. ‘I think he was relieved, but it’s hard to tell. He’s still in shock.’
Tony goes on to say Luke would like to stop working at the shop down the line. He’s finding it too much with all the worrying. I completely understand, though I know it won’t be easy to find a replacement. The early starts put people off. But Luke must come first, so we will have to work something out.
‘OK. So let’s see what the police have to say, shall we? Talk again about Luke and the shop after that.’ I take his hand, still rested on my cheek, and kiss it.
To be honest, I am surprised that we are to see the London DI. Apparently he is down for an update with the Ballards in Cornwall, so will be calling in here on the way back.
Matthew has updated me. His police-contact friend handed over the earlier postcard. Nothing from forensics. No prints. But they want to see this new one, too. I have put it in a transparent freezer bag. Matthew says they will provide proper evidence bags and special gloves for me to use if any more postcards turn up. Better chance of getting prints, apparently. He has asked me not to mention him by name. To imply that I handed the postcards over to the police myself.
Tony has now stepped away and is looking under the sink, I assume for fly spray; there’s a bluebottle buzzing at the kitchen window. Eventually he gives up on the cupboard and instead opens the window to shush the fly out with a piece of kitchen towel, before turning back to me and tilting his head.
‘You look really tired, Ella. You doing all right, love?’
‘I’m fine. Just relieved you know about the postcards now.’
CHAPTER 16
THE FATHER
Henry is sitting at a favourite spot on the stone wall, which has an overview of the higher, troublesome fields. There is just a little mist still hovering around the river below, but the sheep are safely across the other lane and Sammy is happy. Henry smooths the dog’s ears.
It is moments like this, watching the early sun burning off the mist, that he feels the most calm. He is thinking that he would like to put in some more fencing lower down in the largest of these fields, to keep the sheep from the muddy slope down to the river. But fencing is expensive. And Barbara is not up for spending on the farm.
New kitchens and new power showers for the holiday cottages? Bring it on. Paying some web designer to upgrade their search engine optimization, whatever that means? That apparently makes sense financially. But fencing? Feed? Tractor repairs?
Henry looks down at the dog, whose tongue is lolling as he pants from the joy of checking the boundaries of this field. And the one next door.
To Henry, this is what makes real sense still. A dog who happily races around the perimeter of every field he visits, returning to his master with a triumphant wag of the tail and meeting of the eyes to confirm that all boundaries have been checked.
Henry glances at his watch. An hour to go. He ought to get back. Have a shower. Have another row with Barbara. Try one final time to calm things down before he faces the music proper.
Come on then, boy.
He deliberately takes the long way round. Cannot face Primrose Lane today. Back at the house he is still in the boot room, hanging up his wax jacket, when Barbara appears.
‘Where have you been? We need to talk some more, Henry. Before the police get here. I’m worried how much trouble I’ll be in. We need to think of Jenny.’
‘I’ll come through.’
In the kitchen, she sits at the large scrubbed-pine table, drumming her fingers. He stares at the kettle alongside the Aga, wondering about a cup of tea, but thinks better of it. Looks back at his wife.
‘I could be in serious trouble, Henry. I knew I should never have let you persuade me to lie to the police.’ She is pulling at the sleeve of her jumper, stretching it and then turning back the cuff.
‘It will be all right, Barbara. We’re setting it all straight. They will understand.’
‘Will they? Will they really?’
Henry closes his eyes. He is sorry that he has upset his wife. He is sorry that she is going through this on top of everything else. That he is a bad husband. But he is also very tired of having to say sorry a million times over, because it doesn’t help or change anything.