Haven't They Grown(31)

‘Of course.’

‘Where were you on Saturday morning, and where was your car?’

‘I went out, with the children, early, to do some shopping. We arrived back at about nine thirty, I think, or just after.’

Her getting the time right means nothing. Marilyn Oxley could have told her what time I returned to Wyddial Lane, or Flora, if she saw me there. I don’t think she did, but I can’t absolutely rule it out.

‘In the silver Range Rover?’ I ask.

‘Yes.’

‘Where’s your accent from?’

‘Beth!’ Dom barks at me.

‘It’s okay,’ Jeanette says. ‘The Ukraine. I was born there and grew up there.’

‘With a name like Jeanette?’

‘Actually, that is what I named myself when I moved to England.’ She smiles at Dominic. ‘My real name is a full-of-mouth for an English person to say, so …’ She shrugs.

‘I’m so sorry about the interrogation,’ Dom gushes, determined to ingratiate himself. ‘I’m assuming you know the, er, situation?’

‘Kevin told me what happened, yes.’ To me, she says, ‘You were here on Saturday and you saw me with my children. You mistook me for your friend.’

‘That’s right,’ says Dom. Kevin Cater nods.

I say nothing, determined not to agree with her version of what happened.

‘How old are your children?’ I ask.

‘Five and three years old.’

‘What are their names?’

‘Toby and Emma.’

I have the same feeling I had in the car park in Huntingdon: the ground falling away beneath me. Those weren’t the names I heard. They weren’t the names she called out and it wasn’t her who did the calling. Toby and Emma, Thomas and Emily – just similar enough to make me think I could have misheard.

Right, Kevin?

I’ll never think that. I don’t trust these people. I trust myself: what I saw and heard.

‘Which is the older one?’ I ask.

‘Toby. He is five. Would you like to see a photograph of them?’

‘Is that necessary?’ Kevin Cater asks.

‘No,’ says Dom, at the same time as I say, ‘Yes, please.’

‘It’s all right, Kevin.’ His wife lays a hand on his shoulder as she leaves the room. Kevin takes the opportunity to tell us again how big the house is, which leads to a discussion – one in which I play no part – about whether having too much space can actually be as inconvenient as having too little, if not more so.

Jeanette returns with a photograph in a frame and brings it over to me. I want to scream.

‘Well?’ says Dom impatiently. ‘Beth?’

I pass the photograph to him. He holds it close to his face, then at a distance.

‘Right, well!’ He laughs. He sounds relieved. ‘These children are not Thomas and Emily Braid, I think we can safely say. Not as they are now and not as they were at three and five.’

‘No, they’re not,’ says Kevin Cater, looking at me. ‘They’re Toby and Emma Cater. My children.’

Dominic turns to me and says, ‘I remember quite clearly what the Braid children looked like when I knew them, and these are not their faces.’

‘I agree,’ I say. ‘They’re not Thomas and Emily.’

‘I suppose from a distance, if you were in a car on the other side of the road …’ Now that he believes I’ve conceded, Kevin is ready to be generous. ‘An easy mistake to make, maybe.’

‘Those aren’t the two children I saw. Whoever they are, I’ve never seen their faces before. Dom, did you notice anything else about that photo – anything interesting?’

‘What do you mean?’ Dom’s face reddens. ‘Beth, come on.’

‘What? You think I’m being rude? I asked a simple question: do you notice anything else about the photo?’

‘No.’

‘Like what, exactly?’ Kevin Cater snaps.

I stare at him.

‘There’s nothing to notice, Beth,’ says Dom. ‘It’s a photo of two children. Come on. I think we’ve taken up enough of these people’s time.’ He stands up.

Cater follows his lead. Jeanette too. I’m the only one still seated. All three of them are thinking that this will soon be over.

‘Who’s Chimpy?’ I ask Kevin Cater.

‘I’ve no idea,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He looks at Jeanette, who shakes her head.

‘Means nothing to us,’ says Kevin. ‘Sorry.’

My sense is that they’re telling the truth – but only about not knowing who Chimpy is. About everything else, they’re lying. Watching them now, the way they’re rearranging themselves, getting into position for the next rehearsed lie, I feel as if we’re back in the charade after a small interlude of honesty.

‘I hope we were able to help?’ says Jeanette.

‘Hugely,’ says Dom.

‘I’m not sure your wife agrees.’ Kevin stares at me.

‘Oh, I do,’ I say, adjusting my tone carefully. ‘I’m very glad we came. It’s been extremely useful.’