‘Oh, my darling child,’ says Mum and pulls Alice into her arms. Mum looks up at me. ‘I think you’ve done enough damage for one day.’
Pain. I think that’s what I see in Mum’s face. I’ve hurt Alice and, by default, I’ve hurt her. It cuts deep into my heart. I stutter out an apology. ‘I’m … sorry. Mum. Alice.’ It’s all I can manage. I’m withering inside like the Wicked Witch of the West, but something makes me plough on. Call it tenacity, pig-headedness or it could just be a professional trait I’ve developed. I don’t know, but I can’t help myself. The search for the truth is driving me on. I’m totally consumed by it. ‘You know, Pippa isn’t speaking to me now,’ I say, ignoring Mum’s look, which intensifies. I try to shut down the hurt this is causing me, rather like I’ve managed perfectly well to shut down the hurt of my father deserting me. ‘She’s not letting Daisy come round any more. She says Daisy isn’t safe here. What happened today, Alice?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Clare. Can’t you just leave it?’ It’s Luke. ‘I’m sorry, Marion. Alice. I don’t know what’s got into her recently.’
‘Don’t apologise for me,’ I say. ‘I’m not accusing anyone of anything, I’m just asking.’
‘Bullshit.’ Luke shakes his head. ‘Come on.’ He takes my arm, but I shrug him off.
‘I’d like you to leave now,’ says Mum. ‘If you were a child, I’d be sending you to your room, but you’re a grown woman. You need to start acting like it. Now please leave us alone.’
Feeling both humiliated and indignant I do as I’m told. Back in the kitchen Luke sits down at the table, turning his chair inwards, and pulls another round to face him. He nods to the chair and I sit down. He has the air of a man under pressure. He rests his elbows on his knees and puts his hands together, as if in prayer, dipping his head for a moment as if to steel himself. Then he takes my hands in his.
The physical contact from him practically sends a small electric shock through me. I’ve missed him these last few days. I’ve missed his touch and I’ve missed his love.
‘Clare, I’m worried about you,’ he says. ‘You’re not yourself lately. You’re very … or rather, you seem very tetchy … almost paranoid.’
I take a sharp snatch of breath. ‘Paranoid?’
I want to pull my hands away, but Luke holds onto them. ‘Like there’s some sort of conspiracy going on with Alice.’
This time I do yank my hands free. ‘I can’t believe you’re saying this.’
‘It’s only because I care about you. I think you’ve too much going on at the moment. Maybe you should take some time off work. Have you thought about talking to someone? Not a friend. I mean a professional.’
‘A doctor?’ I snort at the idea.
‘I don’t think you’re coping,’ he says.
I stand up, scraping the chair back across the tiled floor. ‘I do not need to see a doctor. There is nothing wrong with me.’ I storm out of the kitchen.
My head is killing me and my limbs feel heavy and weak. I wonder if I’m coming down with something. I feel quite rough. What I need is a good night’s sleep. I climb into bed and from my bedside drawer fish out a packet of Paracetamol. I pop two from the foil-backed sheet. Hopefully, when I wake up in the morning, my thick head will have cleared and I can start the day fresh.
It feels as if I’ve only been asleep for an hour or two, but I’m woken by my alarm clock buzzing, sounding like a swarm of bees tapping out Morse code. I’m usually up long before it goes off and had almost forgotten what it sounded like. I reach over and silence the buzzing. It doesn’t look as if Luke slept in the bed last night. I sigh as I think back to yesterday and for the umpteenth time wonder how it has all got to this. How my life seems to be unravelling and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I shower and dress and make my way downstairs. Mum, Alice, Luke and the girls are all there. We exchange muted good mornings and I take my seat at the table. ‘School swimming today,’ I say to Hannah with a smile, trying to sound cheery for her benefit.
‘I’ve got all her stuff sorted,’ says Luke in a tone that says not to interfere and not to enter into any sort of dialogue with him.
The sound of the doorbell ringing and someone hammering on the door-knocker breaks through the uneasy silence that has descended.
‘Who on earth can that be at this time in the morning?’ says Mum to no one in particular.
‘I’ll go,’ says Luke. We listen to the sound of voices as Luke speaks to whoever it is. Then the door closes and Luke appears in the kitchen, followed by two police officers. One male. One female.
The female officer speaks. ‘Mrs Tennison? Clare Tennison?’
‘Yes,’ I say. A hundred thoughts zoom through my mind as to what they want. This early in the morning can only mean one thing. Bad news. I look at Luke and I don’t think I’ve ever seen such disappointment in his eyes
Chapter 18
I look bewildered at the police officers. I’ve seen enough police officers in my time to know that this is not a friendly visit. I glance at the children.
Chloe is smiling away. ‘Hello, Policeman and Police lady. Ne-nah-ne-nah.’ The female officer gives a small smile in my daughter’s direction.
I look at Hannah and her eyes are full of fear. She shrinks back in her seat and I’m suddenly protective of her. The poor lamb obviously thinks she’s done something wrong. Probably thinking about yesterday and what happened to Daisy.
I stand up. ‘Can we go into the living room, please?’ I say, giving a little nod in Hannah’s direction. Fortunately, the police officers pick up on this subtlety. I smooth Hannah’s hair and drop a kiss on her head. ‘Don’t worry, darling. Mummy just needs to chat to these police officers about work.’ Hannah looks unconvinced.
We go into the living room and Luke follows. I hope he’s there for moral support rather than to gloat over whatever is going on. His eyes are dark and he stands beside me in front of the bay window. None of us sit.
‘What can I help you with?’ I say, my professional voice creeping in. ‘And what did you say your names were?’
‘I’m PC Evans and this is my colleague, PC Doyle,’ says the female officer. ‘And you are, sir?’ She looks towards Luke.
‘Luke Tennison. Clare’s husband.’
Evans gives a nod of acknowledgment and then turns her attention back to me. ‘Can you tell us where you were last night between the hours of eleven-thirty p.m. and six-forty-five this morning?’
‘Can you tell me in what connection?’ I ask. I’m already a step ahead. They wouldn’t be asking me this question if they thought I was some innocent bystander to whatever has happened. I’m clearly a suspect.
‘There’s been a report of some damage to a vehicle,’ says Evans.
‘And why are you asking me about it?’
‘Clare’s a solicitor,’ explains Luke.
I watch the two officers exchange a look before Evans carries on. She adjusts her weight from one foot to the other. ‘I believe you know a Mrs Pippa Stent of Mulberry House, Church Lane, Little Dray.’