Funny how Jacqui never applied the same critique to our parents. She was a stay-at-home mum and he was a ‘driver’ for a ‘businessman’ of some sorts. How on earth did they afford a five-bedroom house, two cars, three holidays a year, and a bi-weekly therapist for their youngest child – me?
*
Of course, I should have stayed at Aiden’s. I hadn’t really thought of this when I’d headed home last night; the fact that Serena Bailey isn’t just an East Londoner, but she barely lives a mile from Aiden’s place. Just a twenty-minute stroll along the Regent’s Canal, which sure beats the hour of sweltering on public transport that I’ve just endured.
Serena’s home is an ugly 1960s low-rise. A squat, grey building, wrapped in precarious-looking balconies, and as her flat is on the ground floor, she hasn’t even got the perk of glistening canal views to gaze over, just boarded-up shops. Thirsty and frizzy-haired, I ring the doorbell. A serious little girl verging on the side of plump, with a ruckus of curls forming no determinable shape, answers the door wearing a Minions costume. It’s like staring at my childhood self, except I’d have been Buzz Lightyear.
Serena’s voice from inside. ‘Who’s that, Pop-Pop?’
‘A lady in a pretty dress.’ Bless her, my linen number is creased, damp and stuck to me all over, but I thought wearing civvies might make Serena relax more. Encourage her to open up. Woman to woman. Summer dress to summer dress.
She comes out into the narrow hallway, her swingy brown ponytail now in plaits, a straw bag slung over her shoulder, car keys in her hand. It’s almost painful to watch the shift in her expression when she sees me. Her realisation that this isn’t going to be a Saturday like all others: traffic jams, kids’ parties, bath-time, wine.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she says, hope dying on her face. ‘What is it? We were just on our way out.’
‘Can I come in? It won’t take long.’
‘Who is it?’ Another voice and then a man appears, towelling his hair as if not long out of the shower. He’s hefty, wholesome, and rugby-ish. ‘Hello.’ He looks to Serena for an intro.
She comes forward, a smile painting over her panic. ‘Cat, come in, come in. This is Robbie.’ I raise my hand, completely bewildered. ‘Hon, this is Cat. She’s been helping out at school.’
She lies well, and so easily.
‘God, I’d completely forgotten you were coming round,’ she says, hitting her forehead, then turning to Robbie. ‘Hon, can you take Poppy? I’m really, really sorry. I know it’s a pain, but Cat and I have got to get some stuff sorted for the end-of-term assembly.’
Poppy pipes up. ‘It’s my friend’s birthday. We’re going to Hobbledown again, but only four of us this time. When we went for my birthday last week, the whole of Year One came. Robbie got us a coach.’ It comes out as one long word, one long breathless brag.
‘Wow, lucky you!’ I throw a ‘no idea’ look at the grown-ups.
‘A farm, way over the other side of London,’ explains Robbie, lacing his feet into a pair of Converse. ‘Another three-hour round trip. Happy days.’
‘You’re the best.’ Serena hands him the car keys. ‘But it starts at midday, you need to go now – go, go, go!’
A minute later they’re gone and it’s just us. Me, Serena, and the obvious question.
She answers before I ask: ‘He doesn’t know about all that business.’
OK.
‘Well, that’s your decision, I suppose. Although I’m going to ask why.’
‘I wasn’t in a great place back then. My life was a bit chaotic, just . . . well, stuff, it doesn’t matter now. Anyway, I met Robbie a few years after and . . . .’
‘He isn’t Poppy’s dad?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. And as I was in a much better place by the time I met him, I wanted to leave the past in the past.’
So the perfect witness wasn’t so perfect.
The model citizen was just a schmuck with baggage like the rest of us.
And who am I to judge? But then again, it’s my job to judge. It’s what pays my bills, buys my takeaways, enables me to at least make a stab at clearing my overdraft every month – my ability to drag secrets out of others and make judgements on what I find.
My hypocrisy astounds even me.
‘So is that why you left Riverdale? Moved East? Changed numbers? You were leaving the past in the past.’
‘Something like that.’
We’re still in the hallway, facing off like chess pieces. ‘Look, Serena, can we sit down? I need to go through a few things with you.’
I head through the nearest door, assuming it’s the living room. She follows behind, as though I’m the host and she’s the visitor. The room’s cheery and lived-in, colouring books on the floor, breakfast dishes still on the table. I park myself on the arm of a battered leather sofa. Serena stands behind an armchair, shielding herself.
‘You seem a bit anxious,’ I say.
‘It’s just . . . I don’t like having to lie to Robbie. What’s this about?’
‘You didn’t have to lie to him.’ She shoots me a hot glare. ‘Look, I don’t know what else you haven’t told him, but you didn’t do anything wrong by ID’ing Masters, unless there’s something I don’t know?’ She’s gripping the back of the armchair. ‘Well, is there?’
Quiet. Just the frenzied buzz of a fly behind the curtain and the distant hum of a lawnmower somewhere.
‘Fine,’ I say. Have it your way. ‘So you remember I said we were looking at Holly Kemp’s case again? Well, that means looking at everything. Everyone. Re-interviewing, checking all statements again. And the thing is, Serena, something’s come up. A possible discrepancy in your account.’
Her face twitches. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, you said to us, and to DC Ferris in 2012, that the reason you turned back and consequently saw Masters with Holly, is that you thought you’d left your bank card in The Northcote.’ She moves her shoulders, yeah so? ‘Well, we’ve checked your bank records – we can go back seven years – and there’s no record of you paying for anything in The Northcote. No record of you paying for anything in Clapham, full stop. And you mentioned you’d bought a coffee too – the coffee you splashed on Holly’s coat.’
I brace myself for outrage, the familiar medley of ‘You can’t do that!’ and ‘How dare you!’
Instead, she says, ‘I’d have used cash for the coffee, it’d have only been a couple of pounds. I must have used cash in The Northcote too, then. I honestly can’t remember.’
I frown. ‘But you remember so much. And you were very specific about that detail.’
‘Like I said, there was a lot going on in my life back then. I must have got mixed up.’
‘No, no, no, Serena. You were adamant, then and now. You’ve never wavered, in fact. Are you now saying that maybe you didn’t see Masters and Holly?’
‘I did.’ Barely a whisper, then louder. ‘I did.’
‘We’ve also spoken with your old school – Riverdale Primary. According to their records, you were present that day. All day.’