One in Three

by Tess Stimson

Conducted by Officers from Devon & Cornwall Police

  (cont.)

  Normal introductions were carried out. Continuation of Interview.

  POLICE

  Sorry about the interruption, Dr Pollock. Did someone get you some tea?

  WP

  Please, call me Min. I’m fine, thanks. Look, is this going to take much longer? I’ve left my four boys with my husband and I really need to get back.

  POLICE

  I’ll try to make it quick. We’ve been a bit short-staffed here. I won’t keep you any longer than I have—

  [Phone rings]

  WP

  Shit, sorry. My husband. I thought I had it on silent.

  POLICE

  Do you need to take that?

  WP

  No, it’s OK.

  POLICE

  Dr Pollock – Min – we were talking about your sister-in-law’s relationship with Mr Page. Was their divorce amicable, would you say?

  WP

  Of course not. [Pause.] Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. But if people can sort things out amicably, they don’t get divorced, do they?

  POLICE

  So they didn’t get on well?

  WP

  No, no, they get on fine now. Shit. I mean, they got on fine. [Pause.] Sorry. I still can’t quite believe Andrew’s dead. I wasn’t his greatest fan, but he didn’t deserve this.

  POLICE

  Do you need to take a moment?

  WP

  No, I’m OK.

  POLICE

  So, would it be fair to say things were difficult in the immediate aftermath of the divorce, but that Mr and Mrs Page got on well now?

  WP

  Too well.

  POLICE

  In what sense?

  WP

  [Pause.] Doesn’t matter.

  POLICE

  Dr Pollock, we are investigating a murder. Everything matters.

  WP

  Just … [Pause.] Oh, you know. Andrew had Lou twisted round his little finger. I kept telling her she had to move on with her life, but …

  [Pause.]

  POLICE

  Your sister-in-law still had feelings for him?

  WP

  She’d have taken him back in a heartbeat.

  POLICE

  Was that a possibility, do you know? That they’d get back together?

  WP

  I don’t know. But he was certainly sending mixed signals.

  POLICE

  What do you mean?

  WP

  Look, he was just … I don’t know. It was hard on her, that’s all. [Pause.] She takes things to heart. Especially after what happened at Oxford with her tutor— Well, you know about that.

  POLICE

  Did Mrs Page believe there might be a reconciliation between her and Mr Page?

  WP

  We all knew the divorce was a huge mistake. Andrew said as much.

  POLICE

  He told you that?

  WP

  Not in so many words. But he said he wished he could go back and do things differently.

  POLICE

  And you took it to mean he regretted his divorce?

  WP

  It was obvious what he meant.

  POLICE

  Did he say anything else?

  WP

  Only that he was going to sort the whole bloody mess out this weekend.

  POLICE

  What mess?

  WP

  No idea. That’s just what he said. “Whole bloody mess.” His words.

  POLICE

  What do you think he meant?

  WP

  I told you, I don’t know.

  POLICE

  When did you have this conversation with Mr Page?

  WP

  Just after he got back from the beach last night. [Pause.] God. That was the last time I talked to him.

  POLICE

  How did he seem to you?

  WP

  I don’t know. A bit upset. I suppose you heard what happened at dinner?

  POLICE

  Can I hear it from you, Dr Pollock?

  WP

  It was fine, at first. Louise was in a good mood, though how she doesn’t strangle Caz— Sorry. Figure of speech. Anyway, right at the end of dinner, Caz said something stupid and upset everyone, and Lou walked out. Andrew went after her, and they had this huge row down on the beach. We all heard them.

  POLICE

  Mrs Page didn’t mention that.

  WP

  Well, it probably wasn’t anything serious. I don’t want to make too much of it. I saw Andrew after, and he said they’d sorted everything out.

  POLICE

  Do you know what the row was about?

  WP

  No. [Pause.] To be honest, after everything that’s gone on these last few weeks, I’m surprised it took this long for someone to end up dead.

  Five weeks before the party

  Chapter 11

  Louise

  Chris is already waiting for me at a beachfront table when I get to the Venezia, pecking away at her iPad. A large glass of white wine is sweating on the table in front of her. She pushes her oversized sunglasses on top of her head as I thread my way towards her, waving aside my apologies. ‘Glad you were late, darling,’ she says cheerfully, as I bend and kiss her cheek. ‘Gave me time to finish my emails. And this is my second glass, if you’re planning to catch up.’

  ‘Not unless you want me arrested on the drive home.’

  ‘Get an Uber. What’s the point of having a weekend off from the kids if you don’t take advantage of it?’

  I sit down and stretch out my legs, tilting my face into the sunshine. The Venezia really is one of the nicest restaurants in Brighton, perfectly situated above the beach with its romantic views across the water. I should come here more often.

  I should do a lot of things more often.

  A waiter brings me a glass of iced water, and we order: West Country mussels in white wine sauce for me, and black truffle ravioli for Chris, who is, irritatingly, still the same svelte size six she was when we were at school together. I know she takes no pleasure in it; her daughter, Alyssa, who’s in Bella’s class, inherited her father’s big bones and tips the scales at thirteen stone, and takes her mother’s supermodel figure as a personal insult.

  ‘So, I hear there was quite a post-performance show after the play,’ Chris says, as the waiter puts a basket of bread on the table between us. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t hang around now.’

  I reach for a granary roll. ‘Bella’s hardly spoken to me all week. As if it was my fault her father turned up three hours late.’

  I’m hurt more than I care to admit by Bella’s cold shoulder. I realise having your children hate you is part of the maternal job description, but until just a few months ago, Bella and I were always so close. These days, I’m lucky if she gives me the time of day. I don’t know why she started pulling away from me, but it’s coincided with a thawing in her relationship with Caz. Somehow, that woman is poisoning my own daughter against me.

  The only good thing to come out of the miserable evening is that, for a few short hours at dinner, Andrew and I were able to take pride in our daughter together.

  It’s one of the things no one ever tells you about divorce. The lack of money, the custody disputes, the pain of seeing your husband with another woman; those you expect. But there are so many other small, bitter losses, too. Bella was such a wanted child; a manifestation of love who could walk around, make jokes, do cartwheels and go to university. The joy of our shared parenthood was something I took for granted, until it was snatched away from me. Of course we’re both still proud of Bella, of course we still love her, but it’s something we have to do separately now. I know Andrew hates that as much as I do.

  Chris forks up a mouthful of ravioli. ‘Are you around next week?’ she asks. ‘I’ve got tickets to Wimbledon. I was going to take Alyssa since Jeff’s working, but she thinks I’m trying t
o make a point about exercise again.’

  ‘I wish I could. But I’m trying to pick up some freelance work over the summer. I can’t afford to take time off.’

  ‘I thought summers off were one of the perks of teaching?’

  ‘I’m on contract. I don’t get anything in the summer unless I pick up some extra tutoring, which is almost impossible in my subject.’ I sigh. ‘I know I should’ve set something aside to tide us over, but there just hasn’t been a penny to spare.’

  ‘Can’t you go back to the Post? Surely they’ll use you, with your track record.’

  ‘It’s not that easy. Most of my contacts have moved on. The Post has got rid of a lot of their permanent positions, and replaced them with freelancers.’ I drop a mussel shell into the bowl by the side of my plate, and lick my fingers. ‘It would be different if I was living in London, but it’s a bit out of sight, out of mind. I’ve been pitching ideas, but it’s hard to get commissions when you’re not right there and the editors don’t know you. I’ve been out of the game since Tolly was born. Four years is a long time in this business.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Chris asks.

  ‘I should be able to pick up some work here and there, enough to keep the wolf from the door. Some of the magazines will use me as holiday cover. And one of the mothers on the PTA has offered me some PR work for the school.’

  ‘You hate PR!’

  ‘Yeah, well. Beggars can’t be choosers. There’s more money in PR than journalism these days.’

  ‘Can you just switch like that?’

  ‘I’ve done it before. It’s pretty much the same sort of work. You just ditch the impartiality in favour of whatever brand you’re promoting.’

  ‘Let me put out some feelers, then,’ Chris says thoughtfully. ‘Maybe I can put something your way.’

  She insists on paying the bill when it comes, and even though it’s humiliating, I let her. We’ve been friends for thirty years, during which time our financial fortunes have fluctuated wildly. Our friendship is about much more than money. But I still hate not being able to pay my way. I’m forty-three, and I’ve been working for more than two decades. I should be able to pay for my own lunch.

  Two fat raindrops land on the credit card slip as Chris hands it to the waiter. We glance upwards just as the sun abruptly disappears behind a large bank of ominous grey clouds.

  ‘Wimbledon week,’ Chris sighs. ‘Better get moving. The heavens are going to open any minute.’

  Even as she says the words, a smattering of raindrops bounce off the esplanade, and then, in seconds, it really starts to come down. We give each other a quick hug, and Chris leaps into her Uber and I race down the street to my car, holding my straw bag over my head as an umbrella. It’s as effective as it sounds, and by the time I leap into the front seat, I’m drenched.

  I put my ruined bag on the passenger seat and shake out the wet folds of my dress, wincing as I catch sight of myself in the rear-view mirror. My mascara has run, and my hair is plastered unflatteringly against my skull. Not that it matters; there will be no one to see me when I get home except Bagpuss.

  The rest of the weekend stretches yawningly in front of me, a void of hours I will struggle to fill. This is something else no one ever tells you about divorce: the sheer loneliness. Before I had children, I relished my own company, and often spent an entire weekend happily alone, reading a good book or researching a story. But I have adjusted the contours of my life to fit Bella and Tolly, and now their absence is a physical ache.

  I join the Saturday afternoon traffic on the way into town. Bella texted to ask me to drop off her laptop at her father’s house this morning; Taylor is coming over to work on a school project, and she’d left her computer at home.

  Even on the fastest speed, my windscreen wipers struggle to keep up with the teeming rain, and I peer up at the lowering clouds as I pause at an intersection, chewing my lip anxiously. My kitchen roof started leaking last winter, and although my brother did a temporary patch job to see me through until I could afford to get it fixed properly, a downpour like this is seriously going to put it to the test. I should have had it repaired in the spring, but all the estimates ran into several thousand pounds. Money I simply don’t have.

  Finally, there’s a gap in the traffic. I lift my foot off the brake, and with depressing predictability, the engine cuts out. With a sigh, I turn off the ignition and try again. Nothing.

  A car beeps behind me, and I put on my hazards, trying again to turn the engine over. Absolutely nothing happens. I’m blocking traffic; I’ll have to call a garage out. God knows how much that’s going to cost.

  The SUV behind me sits on its horn again, and I fling open my car door and leap furiously into the pelting rain. ‘Look, I’ve broken down!’ I yell. ‘Go round me, can’t you!’

  The driver of the SUV gets out of his car, too. ‘Need a hand?’

  ‘Andrew!’

  He waves at the traffic to go past us and opens the bonnet. ‘Let me see if I can get it going again.’

  But even Andrew’s magic touch fails to revive it this time. He closes the bonnet, wiping the rain from his eyes. ‘I want you to steer it over there,’ he says, pointing to a shallow forecourt to the side of the road. ‘I’ll push.’

  Fortunately, the Honda is light. It doesn’t take much effort to push it out of the way of the flow of traffic.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, as I get out and lock the car. ‘I’ll have to see if I can get someone to come out and tow it. Let me give you Bella’s computer, before I forget. You couldn’t drop me at the bus stop, could you?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re soaking wet. Come back to mine and get dried off.’

  I hesitate. I’ve dropped the children off at Andrew and Caz’s house in Brighton many times, but never been inside, and nor do I want to. But I’m soaked to the bone, and I can’t think of a reasonable excuse not to take Andrew up on his offer.

  ‘Come on,’ Andrew urges. ‘I’ve got a mate, Tom, he runs a garage not far from here. I’ll call him and get him to tow it and see what he can do. He won’t charge you. He owes me a favour.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ I say.

  ‘’Course I’m sure,’ Andrew says.

  Chapter 12

  Caz

  I leave the florist with a spring in my step and an armful of Casablanca lilies, popping my umbrella open as I dart through the rain to my car. The flowers were a bit extravagant, I know, but I couldn’t resist them when I saw them on my way home from the off-licence.

  It’s been a really good weekend. We took all three kids to the latest Pixar movie last night, and then out for pizza, and Bella dropped the emo act and teased her brothers like a normal teenager. She got up at a reasonable hour this morning, too, and even offered to come with me to the Saturday farmers’ market without being prompted by her father. She wasn’t particularly chatty, but then she never is. I like the fact that she only talks when she has something to say. And when the woman weighing the tomatoes casually referred to her as my daughter, Bella didn’t correct her. I knew I was getting somewhere with her. It’s just a question of being patient.

  Shifting the bouquet to my left arm, I unlock my Audi, and settle the flowers carefully into the well of the passenger seat. Andy should be back with the fish and chips by the time I get home, and I’m looking forward to a family night in, though I slightly wish Bella hadn’t asked Taylor over. The girl’s really got a crush on Andy, though I seem to be the only person who can see it.

  ‘I’m home!’ I sing out, as I let myself into the kitchen. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘In here,’ Andy calls from the sitting room.

  I put the lilies in the sink, and root around beneath it for a vase. ‘Did they have any haddock left, or did you get cod?’

  He doesn’t reply, and I wander into the sitting room, the vase in my hand. Sitting on my sofa, next to my husband, and making herself thoroughly at home, is Louise.

  ‘Louise’s c
ar broke down on her way over to drop off Bella’s computer,’ Andy says, looking slightly sheepish. ‘I happened to be right behind her when it conked out. The engine wouldn’t even turn over. Tom’s towed it to his garage. Poor Louise was soaked to the skin, so I brought her home to dry off.’

  ‘How very lucky for her,’ I say, through gritted teeth.

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ Louise says.

  I don’t believe for one second this is a coincidence. She probably sat in a side street for hours, waiting for Andy to go out, before staging her little “breakdown”. I want to slap her stupid, smug face.

  ‘You might as well stay to dinner,’ Andy says to her. His arm is casually resting on the back of the sofa, and she smiles up at me from within the safe circle of his loose embrace. ‘I bought more than enough fish and chips to go round. The boys never finish theirs, anyway.’

  ‘Andy,’ I say tightly. ‘Could I have a word?’

  I stalk into the kitchen, my body quivering with rage. How can he not see what she’s doing? She hijacked last weekend, and now here she is again, inserting herself into the middle of our family time.

  Andy shuts the kitchen door behind him. ‘Look, I know it’s not ideal, but what else could I do?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Let her call the AA, like a normal person?’

  ‘Caz, I’m not going to leave my children’s mother stranded in the pouring rain by the side of the road,’ he says tersely. ‘We live two minutes away. We’ll have a bite to eat, and she’ll be off. Come on, where’s the harm?’