by Alice Hunter
Their eyes locked and Katie was lost. Now she’d spoken to him, she couldn’t think of a clever, witty, or even slightly conversational follow-up. She stuttered, lowered her eyes, then looked back at him from under her long lashes. Her dad called it her Princess Diana look. Katie hated the royals.
‘What are you here for?’ Tom asked, saving her from further embarrassment.
‘Yoga. I find it very spiritual. I’m planning on becoming an instructor eventually.’ She wasn’t sure why she added that; she had only ever told her friends this ambition – never a total stranger. Tom nodded and smiled. He had perfectly straight teeth – one of the attributes on Katie’s dating tick list, along with gorgeous eyes and a fit body. Tom was doing well here; he might even hit the perfect score.
That had never happened to Katie before.
At twenty-four, she’d begun to think she was only ever destined to date losers. Her dad had become so disillusioned with her choice of boyfriends as a teenager, he’d refused to even let them inside the house. But then, her dad had become disillusioned with Katie, too, it seemed. He’d run off with some over-baked woman he met in Spain after her mother passed and Katie hadn’t seen him since – she’d just get the odd email letting her know he was still alive and living it up with Little Miss Sunshine. Anyway, Katie was getting ahead of herself – it was unlikely she’d be lucky enough to get past this first meeting with Tom. Certainly wouldn’t be asked on a date. Maybe she should ask him.
‘I’m sure you’d make a great instructor.’ He beamed. ‘Look, I’ll probably still be around after your yoga session.’
Oh, my God. He was actually interested. She knew it was the right move to introduce herself.
‘Yeah? Well, if you’re in need of refreshment afterwards, perhaps we could grab a drink.’ She was pleased with her boldness. It made her come across as confident. Men liked confident women.
‘Excellent.’ Tom grinned, took a towel and wiped the sheen from his upper arms. Katie’s eyes followed, watching as he slowly rubbed it over his biceps. ‘I’ll be waiting,’ he said with a wink.
* * *
TOM
I’d seen her go into Energies Fitness Centre several weeks earlier, a yoga mat tucked under her arm. I’d happened to be across the street, glancing in a shop window, and her reflection caught my attention. It was meant to be. I knew immediately that I wanted her. As luck would have it, the woman who ran the yoga classes was a friend of a mate of mine and I managed to tap her up for info when I went for my regular evening workout. It wasn’t hard to find out Katie’s usual patterns; I watched from afar, waiting for the right time to approach her. She’d caught me off-guard today. At first, I’d felt put-out, but then I realised she’d just done the work for me.
And that excited me.
Chapter 10
BETH
Now
As I reach down to scoop up the morning newspaper from the hallway floor, my eyes focus on the headline and my insides turn to liquid. LOCAL MAN UNDER SUSPICION OF MURDER. Jesus, how did they get hold of this story so quickly? Tom hasn’t even been arrested or charged with anything and yet here they are, splashing lies across their pages. This has to be libel. I slam the paper onto the kitchen worktop and stab my mobile keypad with my finger.
‘Maxwell, it’s Beth Hardcastle,’ I say and before waiting for his response, carry straight on. ‘Listen, the newspapers are circulating vicious lies – they’re not even bothered about the truth. Tom is helping the police! This kind of misinformation is going to ruin us. They can’t get away with it!’ I can’t keep the panic from my voice, even though Poppy is staring wide-eyed at me from the kitchen table. I take a steadying breath and walk into the hall, the phone hot against my ear. I attempt to keep my voice low and even. ‘Seriously, Maxwell – how am I meant to protect myself and Poppy from the fallout from this?’ Possible repercussions fly through my mind, adding fuel to my rising anxiety. I hadn’t given any thought to what would happen if the press got hold of this until now. ‘There must be something you can do.’ Out of breath, I finally stop speaking and wait for him to tell me he’ll sue them for libel or defamation of character or something. But he’s worryingly quiet.
‘Beth, I’m sorry,’ he says, slowly. ‘There’s nothing we can do, I’m afraid. It’s a different situation—’
‘Innocent until proven guilty is what’s meant to happen, isn’t it?’ I snap. ‘But these days, bloody gutter journalists want to sell papers, spread their vile lies online, just to increase readership. It’s disgusting. It might be just the local press covering this now, but that’ll change! Tom is innocent! He’s only assisting with their enquiries for God’s sake. He’s not even been arrested, let alone charged—’
‘Actually, Beth – you might want to sit down.’
I freeze. Try to swallow but can’t. ‘What? What is it?’
‘They’ve arrested Tom. He’s in custody.’
I ranted at Maxwell – how it’s utter madness that Tom is now in custody, that they think he’s killed Katie Williams. Tom. A murderer. Maxwell was adamant that what little evidence they had wouldn’t be enough to charge him, otherwise they’d have done it immediately. He was positive. But then, that’s his job. He’s telling me what I want to hear. That’s what he’s being paid several hundred pounds an hour for: to make sure Tom gets out and comes home to me and Poppy. I reminded him of that at least six times before the end of the call.
How am I meant to work all day in the café knowing this? Everyone will be looking at me. Judging. Oh, my God. Poor little Poppy. How could this be happening? A few days ago, everything was great. We were living the dream.
Being afraid to leave my home is not a feeling I’ve ever experienced before. But now, hovering at the end of the path with Poppy’s tiny hand gripped in mine, my pulse leaps and judders, like a car engine on an icy morning. I poke my head out from the gateway, giving a cautionary glance up and down the road before we step out. ‘Are you playing, Mummy?’ Poppy giggles.
All of a sudden, hot anger burns inside me. We are meant to protect her: ensure she’s safe, loved and cared for. I wish Tom were here now so I could yell at him. I’m furious with him for putting us in this situation; and keeping it bottled up is unbearable. I have to speak to Tom; there’s so much I need to ask him. But when will I get that opportunity? Will I? I breathe in so deeply, I’m aware of my nostrils flaring. Poppy laughs again, thinking it’s all part of the game. ‘Are you a dragon?’ she says.
I do feel as though fire could erupt from my nose and mouth at any second; I’m certainly irate enough.
‘Yes, I’m an angry dragon and I want my BREAKFAST!’ I force myself to joke, and I crouch down and tickle her under her ribs. She squeals in delight.
We walk on, towards nursery, my head lowered so as not to catch anyone’s eye. I have to get this part over with.
Chapter 11
TOM
Now
There’s a different person sitting with DI Manning now as I am shown into a larger interview room and seated near the back wall opposite them at a square table. I’m on edge – the new person is glaring at me, her steel-grey eyes unblinking. I look away first, and immediately I know I’ve failed her test. Dammit! I can sense her smiling without needing to look.
Why is she here? Where did DS Walters go? I’d been prepared for him, not this young, smug-looking woman who thinks she’s something special.
‘Morning, Tom. Comfortable night?’ DI Manning says without looking up from the open folder in front of him.
I snort, but don’t respond verbally. Maxwell isn’t here yet and I’m not uttering a word until he’s beside me. Manning shifts his attention to me, relaxes back in his chair and interlocks his fingers, resting his clasped hands on his paunch.
‘This is Detective Constable Cooper,’ he says, nodding to his left. ‘She’s my colleague from Homicide and Major Crime Command.’
My heart flutters violently. Two detectives from the London homicide squad now.
They must think they’ve got something significant, then? I try not to stress about it because Maxwell said that during disclosure they didn’t share the nature of all the evidence they held against me, which in his experience pointed to the fact it was weak and they were just ‘playing the game’.
Say no comment.
Should I trust in Maxwell’s experience? That is the reason I asked him here, so I should, I guess. But my mind is split.
DC Cooper offers what I can only assume is meant to be a smile – her thin lips stretch into a straight line, but none of her other facial features move. Maybe she’s had Botox, which seems to be common in women these days even before a wrinkle appears, and her muscles are frozen so she can only manage that weird grimace. I force myself to keep eye contact with her now. She’s about my age. I don’t feel comfortable with that. She’s attractive, in a common kind of way – not pretty – there’s nothing particularly striking about her. Clear, pale skin, no make-up, a smattering of freckles over her nose. Poker-straight, strawberry-blonde hair that sits on her shoulders. Her face doesn’t give much away; I can’t read what she’s thinking. I shift in my seat and look to the closed door. Where is Maxwell?
‘How was your night?’ DC Cooper says.
Now I’ve been asked twice, I suppose I ought to respond. ‘I’ve had better accommodation,’ I say. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to be giving a rather low rating on TripAdvisor. I won’t be staying again.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ she says, without taking her eyes from mine. I’m determined to hold her gaze.
Now probably isn’t the time to come across as cocky; I must keep that in check.
Finally, the door opens, and Maxwell enters.
‘Good. Let’s get going then, shall we?’ DI Manning says, straightening himself up in his chair and shuffling the papers in the file on the table.
‘You holding up?’ Maxwell asks me as he takes his jacket off and hangs it on the back of his chair. I shrug. I’m not, but I don’t want to say as much. Being arrested and having my DNA samples taken along with my fingerprints was a shock last night. Made all of this very real. I didn’t sleep – not just because of the uncomfortable bed and the bleak surroundings, but because my mind wouldn’t settle. Images of Katie’s face when I last saw her, muddled with Beth’s. I haven’t been able to speak with Beth, but Maxwell told me he’d go and see her later today – we’ve come to an agreement about how much he should tell her; the detectives aren’t the only ones who can hold back information. I hope she’s all right.
And my little Poppy. What will Beth have told her?
I’ve never been away from them this long. What if I’m taken away from them for good? How will they cope? I’m all they’ve got.
I’m losing control of my breathing. I must focus on this moment; this room. Breathe slowly. I’ve gone over and over the questions I think they’ll ask. Dredged my memories from eight years ago and rehearsed the story I need to tell.
Don’t let them rush you, get you flustered.
Stay calm. Give considered answers.
Or say no comment.
That option is still one I want to avoid taking, though, despite Maxwell’s advice. Guilty people stay silent.
The innocent – and the clever – answer with confidence.
The recording starts. Introductions are made.
The questioning begins.
Chapter 12
KATIE
Eight years ago
‘Come on, Katie. We’ve talked about this,’ Tom said.
Katie wanted to point out that no, they hadn’t. He had spoken about it, told her his feelings about it. Said what they were going to do and what they weren’t. None of it had been a discussion in which Katie had been an active participant.
As had become usual.
They’d been together almost four months, and everything had been perfect to begin with. Tom was infatuated with her, and she revelled in the attention. Couldn’t believe her luck that she, Katie Williams, got to be the girlfriend of drop-dead gorgeous Tom Hardcastle. The shiny new relationship was beginning to lose its sheen, though. Lately, he’d become quite the bore – always wanting her to himself; not wanting Katie to socialise with her friends.
‘Tom, babe – if you remember, I didn’t agree to your plan. It’s a tradition that I go out with my friends to celebrate May Day—’
‘Oh, come on – we all know no one cares about May Day. They just want an excuse to meet up and get hammered like they used to. You’ve got me now. Wouldn’t you rather spend your bank holiday in my company than with your old uni mates? I’ve got it all planned: a picnic in the park – with champagne no less – a romantic stroll along Regent’s Canal … and a special surprise …’ He took Katie’s hand and swirled her around, laughing. ‘Really, babe, you’re going to love it. I can’t wait to give it to you.’
Katie relinquished.
‘All right, all right,’ she said. ‘I’ll text and explain that my amazing boyfriend has sprung a surprise on me and that we’ll arrange to meet up another time.’
‘That’s my girl,’ he smiled.
Katie pulled her mobile from her handbag and began messaging. Tom sat beside her, watching intently. She turned slightly, uncomfortable that he was looking over her shoulder as though he didn’t trust her to text the right thing. She hit ‘send’, popped her phone in her pocket and Tom moved away. Katie’s shoulders slumped. She’d been looking forward to catching up with her mates.
‘Coffee?’ he asked.
‘Sure.’ She watched him disappear into the kitchen before slipping her phone back out and sending another quick text to Isaac, apologising for dropping out of their usual plans. Before Tom, he’d been the one person she always confided in. But apparently she didn’t need him any longer.
According to Tom, he was all she’d ever need again.
***
TOM
I’d been longing to spend some quality time with Katie. Just her and me; not her immature friends. Why she still wanted to spend time with them was beyond me. I’d taken such a long time organising the perfect, romantic day for her. Not some rowdy, drunken party like some idiotic teenagers. They weren’t at uni any more – how long were they going to act like it?
I wasn’t lying when I told her I had a surprise. I was going to show her friends just how things were going to be from here on in.
Chapter 13
BETH
Now
They can’t hide the whispers behind their hands. We might be in a nursery, but we’re adults; I know they’re talking about me. About Tom. I must decide right now how I’m going to play this. I could pretend it’s not happening – that would be preferable. And this whole thing could blow over really soon. Maxwell said the police can hold Tom without charge for a twenty-four-hour period, which is up at eight tonight, but Maxwell thinks they’ll apply to have it extended. He wasn’t forthcoming on the finer details, I noted, and my mind was too numb to question him. My only knowledge of these things comes from watching 24 Hours in Police Custody. I know that, if it’s a serious crime, they can hold people for longer if they’ve got good grounds. The upshot from my one-sided conversation with Maxwell – and the only snippet of hope – was that even if the police manage to get the maximum ninety-six hours window to charge Tom, if they don’t have enough evidence at the end of that, then they have to release him.
As much as Maxwell is hopeful this will be the outcome, what if he’s wrong and Tom isn’t released? I need to ensure I protect myself and Poppy here and now. I’m not naïve enough to think I can sweep this entire situation under the carpet – I know it wouldn’t be smart or beneficial to ignore it. I need to face the other mums.
After kissing Poppy goodbye and handing her over to the teaching assistant, I head towards the gossiping parents. Their faces freeze as I approach; they all look in different directions so as not to catch my gaze.
‘Morning,’ I say, in a quiet voice. I offer a sad smile then, without warning,
I lose my control and throw my hands to my face as it crumples and the tears fall.
‘Oh, God, Beth.’ One woman, whose name I can’t recall, rushes up to me and places her hand on my shoulder. ‘Are you okay? We couldn’t help but hear …’
I feel other hands on me, rubbing my back and arms as I’m gently guided outside. Several reassuring voices compete to be heard.
‘It’s so terrible, I can’t …’ A sob prevents other words forming.
‘Are you going to Poppy’s Place now?’ It’s Julia, mum of the triplets, who asks. ‘We’ll walk with you. Come on.’ And I’m bundled away from nursery towards the café. I’m in the middle of a gang of local mothers: protected for the moment.
Once inside the café, the five mums sit at the larger circular table near the back and I busy myself preparing lattes. Lucy looks at me, her right eyebrow arched.
‘Have I missed something?’ she says.
‘If you’re asking that, then yes, you have.’
‘Are you all right? You look a bit peaky.’ Concern twists her delicate features. ‘Is Poppy okay?’
The hissing of the milk heating wand prevents more conversation for a few minutes. When we’ve made the drinks, I pop my hand on Lucy’s wrist and tell her I’ll fill her in properly after the mums have left, but that Tom has been taken to Banbury police station to help police with their enquiries. Her mouth falls into an ‘O’ shape, but she quickly recovers and gives me a curt nod and a sympathetic smile.
‘Here you go, ladies. On the house.’ I place the tray of lattes on the table and give a wavering smile as I sit down.
