by Nicci French
‘Sorry,’ I muttered.
‘When I have time – if I have time – I’ll make a call and if there seems any point to it at all, I’ll send someone over. If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.’
‘I’ll call you and find out what you’ve discovered.’
‘No!’ She looked alarmed. ‘Don’t call me. Just go home and play with your daughter.’
I bit back a reply. After all, she was being nice to me. She had listened to me when others might have turned me away. That was something.
* * *
As I was walking out of the police station, a fragment of a conversation floated into my mind. I stopped at a café where, sitting by the window with a cup of coffee, I took my laptop out of my backpack and opened it.
In Lewisham with Fliss. That’s what Ben had said when I had first met him in Brixton. So I didn’t just have his name, but that he had lived in Lewisham, with someone called Fliss. Was she his wife? Jason had said his marriage had broken up.
Fliss Carey wasn’t a common name. I typed it into the search bar. Nothing. I added ‘Lewisham’. Nothing.
I took a sip of my coffee, typed in ‘Carey, Lewisham’. And I found her, or at least, I found someone called Felicity Carey Connors who lived in Lewisham and was a cello teacher. Could that be her? I hadn’t imagined Ben being married to a cello teacher. I clicked on her image: she had a pleasing face, softly oval, with pale brown hair tied back and round glasses.
There was a phone number and an email address. After some hesitation, I wrote her a message:
Hi, I was hoping I could meet you and ask your advice. I am free this weekend. Thanks, Tess.
Vague enough for her to think I wanted a cello teacher, but not a lie – not quite.
TWENTY-TWO
Poppy was feverishly excited when I collected her from school. Her cheeks were blotchy and her voice like a drill.
‘I’m Red Riding Hood,’ she had shouted. ‘Big eyes! Big teeth! All the better and gobble you up!’
‘Has she been all right today?’ I asked Lotty.
‘A bit hyper. As you can see.’ She turned to Poppy. ‘We had to tell you to be quiet and to sit on the carpet, didn’t we, Poppy?’
Poppy didn’t reply. She was staring ahead of her so intently that both Lotty and I followed her gaze to see what she was looking at. But there was nothing. I turned back to Lotty.
‘But not worrying?’
‘The meltdown didn’t quite happen,’ said Lotty. ‘Look. I took a few Polaroids of the class. Here she is today.’
I glanced down. There was Poppy on the slide, arms raised and a ferocious smile on her face. There was a close-up of her face, eyes half hidden by the cap Jason had donated, mouth open in a yell. She looked like a miniature football hooligan. Another in which she was holding hands with Sadie, the girl she had bitten: Poppy was staring straight at the camera, but Sadie was looking at her timidly; maybe even with fear. The last was a fuzzy one of her pointing and shouting.
‘Thanks.’
‘Take them.’
I didn’t really want them; there was something a bit wild about Poppy in them, on the brink of hysteria. She was holding Sadie’s hand as if she had taken her captive.
We went to the park and she gradually calmed down. We fed the ducks and played Grandmother’s Footsteps. We had our supper together in the little garden, where birds were singing. I made cauliflower cheese and then cut a mango into slices that Poppy ate with a greedy delight, her mouth smeared orange.
But now I felt drained, unsteady on my feet. When I glimpsed myself in the mirror, I looked thinner and older, new lines round my eyes. My hair needed washing. I would have a long bath, I thought, then sit outside in the fading light. It was quite nice that Aidan was away and I had nobody to think of but Poppy and myself.
When I looked at Poppy curled up in bed, clean and peaceful, her lips puffing slightly with each breath, her lashes long on her cheeks, I wanted to weep with love.
I put the kettle on for tea and attached a couple of the photos from school on the fridge with a magnet, but threw away the one of Poppy and Sadie. Then the doorbell rang and I cursed under my breath and went to answer it. I thought it was probably Bernie with more sourdough, but it wasn’t.
‘Is everything all right? Have you found out anything?’
‘Can I come in?’ Kelly Jordan looked past me into the hall. ‘I’m on my way home from work. It’s been a long day.’
I led the detective into the downstairs room, looking around to make sure that the supper things were cleared away, the toys tidied. There was one of Poppy’s picture books on the table. Outside, long shadows lay across the garden. Everything looked orderly, well cared for.
‘Nice place,’ Jordan said. She sat down at the table, picked up the book then put it down again. ‘Is your daughter here?’
‘She’s asleep. Tea? Coffee? Wine?’
‘No, thank you. I won’t be long.’
‘It’s kind of you to come. So you haven’t discovered anything? I mean, about that woman.’
‘I have her name and some information on the facts surrounding her death.’
‘Yes?’
The detective opened up her little briefcase and withdrew a piece of paper. She studied it, taking her time.
‘Her name,’ she said at last, ‘is Skye Nolan.’
‘Skye Nolan.’ I felt no tingle of recognition. ‘I don’t know a Skye. Or anyone called Nolan as far as I know.’
‘There you are then. I have a few details about her. She was twenty-seven years old. She was single.’ Kelly Jordan studied the paper again. ‘She moved to London about a year and a half ago, to a flat just off Elephant and Castle.’
‘Did she work?’
‘Bits and pieces. For the last year or so, she earned most of her money, cash-in-hand, as a dog walker. Apparently that counts as a job.’
‘I’ve heard that,’ I said. ‘There are a lot of dogs that need walking.’
‘The main thing you should know, however, is that there are no suspicious circumstances involving any other person. The police believe she took her own life by jumping from her eighth-floor balcony. Apparently she was subject to violent mood swings and prolonged depressive periods.’
‘They’re sure?’
‘I’m just telling you what they told me. So maybe you can stop looking for some mystery that doesn’t exist. I have her photograph.’ She dipped her hand into the briefcase and brought out a small plastic wallet. ‘Here.’
I took the photo. For a brief moment, I looked with simple curiosity at that happy, smiling face, not knowing what was coming for it, what fate had in store, and then suddenly I felt something prickling in my mind, like a noise that I couldn’t make out. It must have shown on my face because I heard Kelly Jordan’s voice, as if it was coming from far away, asking me if I knew her.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘She sort of looks…’ And then, oh yes, I remembered. ‘I think I saw her.’
‘What do you mean, you saw her?’
I gazed at the photograph. A narrow triangle of a face. Short dark hair. Big dark eyes. Like a pixie, an elf, full of life and mischief.
‘In a restaurant,’ I said, very slowly. I was remembering it now, bringing back the strangeness of that encounter. ‘I was there with my boyfriend, sitting at the window, and she was outside, waving at me and making gestures. She was wearing striped dungarees.’
‘But you didn’t recognise her?’
‘No. Not at all. I’m sure I’d never seen her before. But she knew me, or she thought she did.’
‘Or she knew your boyfriend, perhaps? Or someone else in the restaurant, sitting at another table?’
‘It was me. She came in and she started talking to me.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She said…’ I frowned. ‘She pointed, and said “You”.’
‘You? Is that all?’
‘I asked her if we knew each other. Because I couldn’t place her at a
ll. I thought maybe she was one of the mothers from school – or from the school I worked at before, or a childminder maybe, and I’d forgotten her.’
Kelly Jordan frowned, alert but unconvinced. I bit my lip, trying to get it clear.
‘She kept grinning, in an odd way. I didn’t like it. She said we did know each other and then—’ I stopped abruptly, lifted both hands to my mouth. ‘She asked me about my little girl.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m absolutely sure about that bit. She knew Poppy had red hair.’
‘Go on.’
‘I said something, I can’t remember what, and then she said something like, “astonishing”. No. “Incredible”, that was it. She smiled at me and said “Incredible” and then she left.’
‘Nothing else you can remember?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see her again?’
‘No. But I don’t understand. What does it mean? I mean, what does it mean?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jordan waited a beat, not taking her eyes off me. ‘I don’t know if it means anything.’
‘Of course it does. How can it not mean something?’
‘Try to see this from my point of view. No, try to see it from a complete stranger’s point of view. One of my colleagues, for instance. You’re already in an agitated state, and a woman you’ve never met comes up to you in a restaurant and because you are nervy and suspicious, it spooks you. And then, several days later, you see a picture of a woman who died and she looks a bit similar, is the right kind of age, and you convince yourself it’s her. That everything bad is connected to you and your daughter. Do you see?’
‘No, you’re wrong.’
‘Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. I’m trying to see it from all sides and I’m just giving you another way of seeing it. The world feels like a hostile place to you, Tess. Everything is falling into an ugly pattern. Perhaps this isn’t about you and your daughter at all.’
‘You don’t believe me,’ I said dully.
When Kelly Jordan answered, it was in a gentler tone.
‘It’s not about believing or not believing.’
‘I met this woman and she said she knew me. I swear.’
I stood up and walked round the room, standing at the French window and pressing my forehead against the cool glass, before returning to where the detective sat, looking puzzled and dissatisfied.
‘I need to get this straight,’ she said. ‘First of all, your daughter makes a drawing showing someone falling and she says someone did it. Whatever it is.’
‘Yes. I mean, she’s not yet four. You’ve seen the drawing. She said “he did kill”, to be precise. “Kill and kill”.’
‘She starts showing signs of distress.’
‘Yes.’
‘So you come and see me and I tell you there’s nothing I can do.’
I nodded.
‘Then you hear about a woman falling from an eighth-storey balcony and you wonder if it’s got anything to do with Poppy’s drawing.’
‘Yes. It’s obvious.’
‘I don’t think it’s at all obvious. The woman died several days after Poppy drew the picture, so it looks unconnected, until you realise that she often gets tenses the wrong way round. So you think that perhaps she is not talking about something that has happened, but is reporting a threat she overheard: something that will happen.’
‘Right.’
‘And now you believe you actually met this woman.’
‘I know I did.’
‘I won’t give you a lecture about the unreliability of eyewitness testimony.’
‘There’s something else.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve recently discovered that my ex-partner, Jason, was being unfaithful to me. I had no idea. Nothing was as I thought. Everything was wrong and I didn’t see. How could I have been so blind?’
‘Listen, that’s obviously very upsetting and—’
‘And then Poppy ripped up Milly.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Her rag doll Milly. Who she couldn’t sleep without. She ripped her up.’
Jordan started to speak but I held up my hand to stop her and continued.
‘Wait. I put the doll in the outside bin. I just wanted to get rid of it. Then, two days later, when Poppy came back from being with her father, it was there in her little backpack. All sewn up. But crudely and horribly sewn up, with legs the wrong way round and her head askew.’
Kelly Jordan was staring at me, her face blank.
‘Can I see this doll?’
‘Hang on.’
I ran upstairs, tiptoed into Poppy’s bedroom and retrieved Milly from the high shelf above her wardrobe. My instinct that night had been to throw the doll away again, but in the end I had hidden it out of reach. I handed it over. Jordan examined it and then gave it back to me.
‘It felt like a threat. Malevolent.’ I heard my voice half-break and paused to steady myself. ‘You do believe me, don’t you? You have to. Someone has to. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. What shall I do?’
Kelly Jordan shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know what to make of this: children’s drawings, dolls. I’m not sure this is a police matter. I’m not sure whether it’s connected at all. Look, you’re anxious and in your anxiety, you might very well be putting together lots of things that bear no relation to each other and insisting they all belong together.’
I saw her face close down and felt a desperate anger rise in me.
‘Everything’s connected, don’t you get it: Poppy’s drawing, her words, her strange behaviour, this poor young woman’s death, Milly. Everything. I knew something was going on. I knew it. I wasn’t just going mad. But it’s Poppy. I mean, Poppy – she has to be all right. I need to make it all right for her. Do you see?’
‘Tess.’ Jordan held up a hand. ‘Listen to me.’
‘Help me,’ I said. I gripped the detective’s arm. ‘Please. You have to help me stop this.’
TWENTY-THREE
They came at ten the next morning, Kelly Jordan and a child-protection trained officer, Madeleine Finch, a tall, angular woman with an unruly mop of dark hair and a fierce handshake.
‘How does this work?’ I asked. ‘I mean, can I sit in with you? I don’t want her to feel anxious.’
In truth, Poppy didn’t seem anxious. She was squatting in the garden, talking earnestly to Sunny, wagging her finger, occasionally prodding the cat whose long tail twitched ominously. I had told her we were spending the first half of the day together and some friends might come by to talk to her, and she’d nodded and said airily, ‘About the zoo.’
‘That would be all right,’ said Madeleine Finch. ‘As long as you don’t say anything. This is just to capture key information as swiftly as we can. I will be asking open questions. As you know, children are very vulnerable to suggestibility and it’s crucial to avoid contamination.’
I had an uneasy sense that I had already severely contaminated anything Poppy might say.
I signed the consent form that Madeleine Finch passed to me and opened the door to the garden.
Poppy came obediently enough, though when she opened up her fist, she was holding the glistening remains of a snail. I washed her grubby hands then sat her at the table with her juice. Madeleine Finch and Kelly Jordan sat opposite her and Poppy regarded them benignly.
‘I did see a lion,’ she said. ‘I did see a fant.’
I opened my mouth to explain she meant elephant, but closed it again.
‘That’s nice.’ Madeleine Finch spoke in a gentle coo that I found annoying. Poppy took a biscuit from the plate I’d brought and stuffed it into her mouth. ‘So, Poppy. You did a drawing.’ And she held up a photocopy of that menacing picture in heavy black crayon: the triangular-shaped figure standing on what looked like a tower or a lighthouse, its head pointing downwards.
Poppy glanced at it without interest. Her cheeks were bulging.
‘Can you tell me
what it’s about?’
An indistinct sound came from Poppy. Both women waited.
‘I did draw a lion,’ she said eventually.
‘But this drawing.’ Madeleine Finch pressed a finger onto it. ‘What does it show?’
‘Zoo?’
‘What is this?’ Pointing at the triangle.
‘Lion?’ Poppy waited. ‘Fant?’ she added helpfully.
Kelly Jordan drew the photo out of her case and passed it across to the other woman.
‘Now, Poppy,’ Madeleine Finch said. ‘I am going to show you a picture.’
The photo was slid across the table.
‘Who is that?’
Poppy lifted up her glass and very noisily drank her juice. She pushed another biscuit into her mouth. Her legs were drumming against the chair she was sitting in.
‘I want Sunny,’ she said through a spray of crumbs. ‘I want Teddy. I want Milly.’
‘Who is this woman, Poppy?’
Poppy slid off her chair.
‘Do you know her?’
‘Know her.’ It was impossible to tell if this was an agreement, a repetition or a question.
‘Do you know her name?’
‘Milly. I did do it.’
A faint twitch of a frown crossed Madeleine Finch’s face.
‘Is Milly your doll?’ asked Kelly Jordan.
Not an open question, I thought. I watched Poppy as temper boiled up in her.
‘No.’ Very loudly. ‘No no no.’
‘Poppy. When you see this picture—?’
‘I want Sunny. I want my green mug. I want Teddy. I want Milly. I want Gruffalo. I want Little Bear. I want Owl Baby. I want cornflakes.’ Her voice was rising to a roar. ‘I want anything.’
Madeleine Finch looked across at Kelly Jordan. ‘This is what you’re putting yourself out on a limb for? You know you’re going to have to sign off on this?’
Kelly Jordan nodded. She didn’t look happy.
I stood up and went round the table. I crouched beside Poppy.
‘It’s OK.’
‘Mummy?’
