‘You could say that.’
Her mum bustled into the front room from the kitchen. ‘Oh, Maggie, look at the state of your nose. How did that happen?’
Lou peered at her. ‘I didn’t even notice. Sorry.’
‘What, you think I always look like this?’ said Maggie as everyone else laughed. The sound wrapped itself around her like a hug and she began to relax.
‘Will that chap of yours join us for dinner?’ asked Jeanette. ‘There’s plenty of food to go round.’
‘What chap?’ said Maggie, aghast.
‘Sorry, blame me. I told her about you going out for dinner with Umpire,’ Lou confessed in an aside. ‘I did say you were more friends than anything else.’
Maggie cringed as her mum waited for her to answer, eyebrows raised expectantly.
‘No, he won’t be. In fact . . . he’s seeing someone,’ said Maggie as nonchalantly as she could manage.
‘You’re fucking kidding me!’
‘Louisa, you shouldn’t swear like that in front of the boys,’ her mum admonished.
Lou ignored her, but did take Maggie by the elbow and steer her into the kitchen, away from little ears.
‘Who’s he seeing?’
‘Anna Renshaw.’
Maggie was mollified that Lou looked as stunned as she had felt in the car park earlier.
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Lou, huffing out a breath. ‘He’s going out with that bitch? When the hell did that happen?’
‘Please, can we talk about something else?’ said Maggie. She yanked open the fridge door and reached for the bottle of white wine chilling in the side rack. ‘Want one?’ she asked, moving across to the cupboard where she kept her wine glasses.
‘No, I’m not drinking any more.’
‘You don’t need to quit completely.’
‘I do. I need to make better decisions and drinking stops me doing that. Now stop changing the subject. How did you find out Umpire’s seeing Renshaw?’
‘I said I don’t want to talk about it,’ Maggie snapped. Just then their mum poked her head round the door.
‘Sorry to interrupt but I can hear your phone ringing in the hallway, love.’
‘Saved by the bell,’ Lou remarked drily.
Maggie dashed into the hallway but her phone had stopped ringing by the time she wrestled it out of her coat pocket. The missed call was from DI Green.
Maggie rang her straight back.
‘You got a tank full of petrol?’ was Green’s opening gambit seconds later.
‘Pardon?’
‘I need you up here in Trenton.’
Maggie’s heart sank. All she wanted was to fill her stomach with food and curl up with a glass of wine in front of a film.
‘You want me to drive up now?’
‘Unless you’ve got a helicopter that’ll get you here quicker, then yes, get in your car and get a move on. I’ve just this minute finished talking to our man Simon Bramwell.’
‘Oh, what did he say?’
‘It’s quite some story he’s told,’ said Green sombrely. ‘Look, I know it’s Friday evening but I’ll be briefing the team in an hour and I want you there. You really need to hear this in person.’
59
Della had spent the rest of the afternoon at Frobisher Road sorting through her grandmother’s belongings. She had been more relieved than upset when Alex ducked out of going with her, his excuse being that he needed to tidy his own flat. She knew it was a lie – he had a cleaner who came every Thursday and the place was always still spotless a day later – but she didn’t mind. After the stress of the past seventy-two hours she craved some time to herself to reflect and also to plan.
Even if Maggie did manage to stall Quadrant Homes from taking possession of the house it wouldn’t be indefinitely. Fifty years of living needed to be carefully sorted through and stripped away and with no other family to bequeath Sadie’s belongings to, the arduous task of deciding what to keep and what to bin was down to her alone.
At least she had a weekend’s grace. Maggie’s parting shot had been that she should leave the downstairs rooms as they were in case forensics needed to return but if she wanted to begin clearing out upstairs, she could go ahead. Della began in the smallest room, which had been hers as a young child. The décor had not been altered since – flimsy pink curtains decorated with images of Polly Pocket and her friends still hung at the window. When Della was nine, after her granddad had told her the truth about Helen, she had moved into the second biggest bedroom, which had been left, shrine-like, while her mother was supposedly recovering from her illness.
It didn’t take Della long to clear the first room, as it was fairly empty to begin with. There were a few old outfits of Eric’s in the wardrobe, a pile of jigsaw puzzles Sadie hadn’t got round to taking to the charity shop and some old Mills & Boon novels stacked on top of the bedside cabinet. Della decided to donate the lot, so she shoved the items into black bin bags and left them on the bed. Working quickly, without thinking, made it easier to keep a lid on her feelings. If she stopped to pick over each item she feared she’d start crying and never stop.
She used the same approach in hers and Helen’s old room, which again was fairly clear. All that remained were some books, CDs and a few childhood keepsakes Della hadn’t been able to shoehorn into her studio flat. She hadn’t missed them in the year since she’d moved out so they were earmarked for donation too.
After that she tackled the bathroom, spending an hour scrubbing it clean. It wasn’t dirty to begin with but Della thought her grandmother would appreciate her making the effort, even if the housing association didn’t. It was almost 6 p.m. by the time she peeled off the Marigolds protecting her hands. As she left the gloves hanging over the edge of the bath and wearily got to her feet, she heard a knock on the front door, tentative at first then becoming more insistent as she descended the stairs.
‘Hang on, I’m coming,’ she called out.
Her unexpected visitor was Audrey Allen, Sadie’s neighbour.
‘I wondered if it was you. I heard water running out of the drain at the back.’
‘I was cleaning the bathroom,’ said Della.
‘Really? Well, I suppose it’s good to stay busy at a time like this.’
Della peered over Audrey’s shoulder. When she’d arrived at Frobisher Road mid-afternoon the sun had been making a valiant effort to poke through the broken cloud cover, but now dusk had fallen the sky was obscured by a thick, dark, low-hanging mass.
‘It looks like the heavens are about to open. Do you want to come in?’
‘Oh, I don’t want to disturb you. I just wanted to check it was you here and not someone from the association. I know what that lot’s like. My sister knew someone who lived in Burleigh Road and when he died they didn’t even wait until he was in the ground before taking the house back,’ said Audrey with a disapproving sniff.
‘The police have said they can’t have the house yet so don’t worry. If you hear anyone moving around, it will only be me or my boyfriend, Alex.’
Audrey promptly burst into tears.
‘It’s so dreadful. I still can’t believe she’s gone. Why would anyone want to harm dear Sadie?’
‘Please don’t cry,’ said Della, reaching forward to take Audrey’s arm. ‘Come on, come inside and I’ll make us some tea.’
‘I should be comforting you, not the other way round,’ Audrey lamented as she trailed Della into the small kitchen.
‘I’m okay. Well, I’m not, obviously, but you know what I mean. Tea?’
‘Yes please.’
‘Let me get you a seat.’ Della went into the dining room and retrieved two chairs. She carried them into the kitchen and shut the door behind her. ‘We can’t go in there at the moment, or in the front room, so we’ll have to sit in here.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘The police might need to come back and have another look around.’
Audrey’s eyes brimmed with fresh t
ears.
‘I keep thinking I should’ve done something to stop it. Me and your nan, we were always in and out of each other’s houses. I should’ve known something was wrong.’
‘I doubt there was anything you could’ve done,’ said Della kindly.
‘The attack must’ve been sudden or she would’ve screamed and I would’ve heard it. You know how paper-thin these walls are. I used to hear your granddad snoring at night and your nan used to say the same of my Malcolm.’
Della smiled as Audrey’s remark triggered a memory of herself as a little girl being kept awake by both men making a racket through the walls. When Audrey’s husband Malcolm had died a few years after Eric she couldn’t sleep for weeks because it was so eerily quiet.
‘Why didn’t she call for help?’ said Audrey despairingly. ‘I could’ve done something.’
Della pondered the comment as she plopped three tea-bags into a teapot and poured hot water on top of them. She gave it a stir, replaced the lid, then slid her nan’s favourite floral tea cosy over the top as she waited for it to brew, holding on to the cosy for a second longer than necessary as a new surge of grief took her breath away. Why didn’t Nan call for help?
‘I should’ve gone round to see her when I got back from bingo on Monday night,’ said Audrey.
‘The police told me she didn’t go with you. I had no idea she was being interviewed about the Churchill desk. She never mentioned it.’
‘She was very cagey about it with me as well. I think she only told me because she had to, because it meant she was missing bingo.’
Della got two mugs out of the cupboard and poured tea into them. ‘Milk and sugar?’
‘Yes please, dear. Better make it two spoons. Sweet tea’s always best when you’re upset.’
‘The police still haven’t been able to find out who the reporter was. Nan didn’t make a note of it,’ said Della, gesturing to the calendar hanging on the back of the kitchen door. The only entry for Monday was Bingo with A and it hadn’t been crossed out.
‘Did the police tell you I saw her? She was leaving as my friend dropped me off outside. Gave me the shock of my life.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Didn’t they say? The reporter looked like your mum.’
Grains of sugar scattered across the counter and onto the floor where Della dropped the ceramic sugar bowl. It had broken into three pieces but she was oblivious. She stared at Audrey in shock.
‘She looked like Helen?’
‘Oh, let me help you with that mess,’ said Audrey, clambering to her feet.
‘No! Tell me what you saw.’
Audrey recoiled in surprise. Della had never shouted at her before.
‘I saw a woman who looked a lot like Helen. She had the same long dark hair.’
‘Where did you see her?’
‘Outside. I was in the car being dropped off across the road and she was coming down the path from your nan’s house.’
‘How close were you to her?’
‘I was across the road. She came out, went down the path and got into a car.’
‘So you saw her face and thought it was Helen?’
‘I didn’t think it was her. Similar, that’s all.’
Della gripped Audrey by the shoulders.
‘How can you be so sure it wasn’t her? Please, it’s really important.’
The elderly woman floundered under Della’s grasp. ‘Well, I think . . . she seemed a bit younger.’
‘But you can’t say for sure? I mean, when was the last time you saw Helen?’
‘Not since she left. But as I said, I didn’t actually think it was her.’
Della let go of her shoulders and took a step back.
‘Were you wearing your glasses?’ she asked bluntly.
‘My glasses? No, I only need those for reading.’
‘But your eyesight isn’t great, is it? I remember hearing you say to Nan that things were sometimes blurry from a distance.’
Audrey looked offended. ‘It’s not that bad.’
‘Yet you can’t say for certain the person you saw leaving here on Monday wasn’t Helen,’ said Della triumphantly, her eyes shining. ‘I think it was.’
‘Oh my dear, I really don’t . . .’
But Della wasn’t listening; she was already reaching for her phone to call Maggie. In her mind there was no doubt.
Helen was back.
60
Bea took a sip of the tomato soup her mum had prepared for her, acutely aware of the three sets of eyes watching her keenly as she did. She was sitting up in bed, a wooden tray balanced on top of her duvet, while her mum sat next to her, Esme kneeled on the floor and their dad propped up the door frame across the room. They all wore the same worried look.
‘I’m feeling much better now,’ Bea reassured them again. ‘I just felt a bit dizzy. I’m sorry you had to come home early, Dad.’
Chris Dennison shrugged. ‘I wanted to make sure you were okay. You gave your sister quite a scare.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry.’
Esme had become hysterical when Bea fainted outside the school. She thought her sister had dropped dead, even though the teachers who’d run over to help quickly reassured her Bea was still breathing. When Bea came round a few moments later, she could hear Esme sobbing to one of the staff that she always feared her sister’s heart might give out because it had been weakened by the bulimia, which made Bea feel even more wretched for inflicting such a grievous worry on her.
Bea’s form tutor then drove the girls home after the school had first called Caroline. Their mum arrived back at the house just as they did, full of anxiety and recriminations, which she aimed, somewhat unfairly, at the teacher. Bea suspected it was because Caroline couldn’t do what she really wanted, which was to yell at her.
‘Haven’t you been keeping an eye on what she’s eating?’ Caroline admonished the teacher, who remained unruffled. Years of dealing with haranguing parents had honed an outer calmness.
‘The lunchtime supervisors are well aware of Beatrice’s issues and they always report back to me if they have any concerns about her eating. They haven’t done that for many months because there’s been no need to.’
‘Well, it’s the menu then,’ said Caroline angrily. ‘I’m surprised any of them want to eat the rubbish that’s served up.’
‘The food at school is healthy and nutritionally balanced,’ the teacher had replied reasonably. ‘Why don’t we ask Beatrice what she ate today?’
Caroline paused then, knowing full well it went against Dr Reynold’s advice to badger Bea about her food intake. So Bea stepped in to save her mum having to disobey him.
‘I had a jacket potato with cheese and beans and salad, and an apple. I wasn’t sick afterwards, I went straight back to class. It’s my time of the month and I think that’s what made me dizzy.’
The bit about her period was true, but not the bit about it making her dizzy. Finding out Sadie Cardle was dead was what made her faint, but no way could she tell her mum or teacher that.
She took another sip of soup, then another, until eventually the bowl was empty. Then, to prove she really was fine, she took the buttered slice of ciabatta her mum had also put on the tray and used it to mop the bowl clean.
‘Good girl,’ said her mum, taking the tray. ‘You get some rest now. Come on, Esme, let’s leave your sister alone.’
‘No, she can stay,’ said Bea. ‘Want to watch TV with me?’
‘There isn’t time,’ Caroline directed at Esme. ‘It’s gone six and I need to drop you off.’
‘Okay,’ said Esme, getting to her feet. Her little face was wan and her eyes rimmed with red where she’d been crying. It was only when Bea was safely home and tucked up in bed that her tears had stopped.
‘Drop you off where?’ asked Bea worriedly.
‘I’ve got a sleepover at Amelia’s, with her, Chloe and Daisy. We’re going to watch Pitch Perfect 2 and Amelia’s mum’s making us hot dogs,’ s
aid Esme, sounding more cheerful. ‘She’s also bought gallons of ice cream for afters.’
Bea felt light-headed again as she began to panic. ‘No, you can’t go. I want you to stay with me.’ She wanted Esme where she could see her and where Sean couldn’t get near her. She knew exactly what sleepovers were like, texting and chatting to boys online to all hours. What if Sean managed to worm his way into Amelia’s house somehow? ‘Please, stay with me. I don’t want you to go.’
Esme looked torn for a moment, until their dad intervened.
‘No, Esme’s had this planned for weeks and she’s going,’ he said firmly. ‘She needs some fun with her friends after what she’s been through. She was really worried about you.’
It sounded like an accusation and Bea was stung. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten her.’
‘I know you didn’t,’ said their dad, sounding less harsh this time. ‘I’m just saying that it’s hard for Esme too, sometimes. Besides, you need to rest, so even if she did stay, you’ll probably be asleep.’
Bea was beaten and she knew it. Her dad was right: it wasn’t fair on Esme to expect her to give up her sleepover with her friends.
While her family left her alone, Bea sank back onto her pillow. The worry of what Sean might do was never going to leave her unless she took matters into her own hands and got rid of him from their lives once and for all. She couldn’t go to the police because he’d already warned her what he’d do if she did. But there was another way . . .
61
Maggie saw the call was from Della but had to let it go unanswered. She’d left in such a rush to get to Trenton on DI Green’s orders that she’d forgotten to get her hands-free earpiece out of the glove compartment and she wasn’t going to retrieve it now, doing eighty miles an hour in the fast lane on the M40. Whatever Della needed to talk to her about, it would have to wait.
A white transit van shot up behind her and flashed its lights impatiently. She moved across into the middle lane and the driver glared at her as he went past, as though she was in the wrong for not driving at a more reckless speed. She resisted the urge to stick two fingers up.
A more direct route would’ve been to drive via Aylesbury, meandering past Buckinghamshire villages with idyllic sounding names like Bryants Bottom, Quainton and Padbury. But with traffic likely to be heavy at this time of night, zipping up the motorway from Mansell in the direction of Oxford, then cutting cross-country, was quicker, if far less scenic.
Wrong Place Page 26
