Ambulance men and women, and police.
‘Where is he?’
‘In the pool at the back of the house.’
They swarm through the house. Someone wraps me up in a silver foil blanket. Another one is put around Mia’s shoulders. I am shaking so much my teeth are rattling in my skull.
A young female policewoman leads Mia into the living room. I go to the swimming pool.
There are lights there now, and someone has lifted Adam out of the pool. He is lying on the side. I think how hard the stones must be; how his last moments should be on a feather-filled mattress. His eyes are glazed and open; his lips are blue.
My husband is dead.
Someone pulls a white sheet over him.
‘Mummy, what’s happened?’
Oliver’s hair is standing up on end and he is wearing his too-big navy pyjamas.
‘Darling,’ I say, rushing towards him and enveloping him in my arms. ‘I’m so sorry, Ollie, something terrible has happened.’
I don’t know whether to tell him, how to tell him. But it’s going to have to be me. He is glancing around, a frown on his forehead as he takes in all of these strangers in uniform bustling around our home. There is no way of sugarcoating it. ‘Daddy is dead.’
The next hour or so is a total confusion. There are lots of people talking to me, taking the children into other rooms, making us all cups of tea. At some point I get dressed. Strangers seem to appear in every crevice of our home. They set up lights outside. Adam is put on a stretcher and zipped into a bag. And that’s when I realise that my husband is never coming back. We may have been planning a divorce, but this is still the man I loved for so many years, the man I shared everything with, my hopes and dreams, disappointments, failures and successes. My children have lost their father. I have lost a partner in life and in business. And I sob.
‘Lydia, is there anyone we can call who can be with you? Siblings, parents?’
I shake my head. My father lives in Australia now. It was such a shock when he and my mum left for the other side of the world. When Mum died, I thought he’d want to come home to be nearer to me and my older sister, Bea, but he explained that he likes it out there. The weather suits him better, and he’s got plenty of friends.
Adam’s parents are both dead. At least they’ve been spared the death of their only son. There’s only Bea, and she’s in London busy with her life. I don’t want to call her, not yet. She doesn’t even know that Adam and I were going to divorce.
‘Cassie,’ I say eventually. ‘She’s my oldest friend. You can call Cassie. Or Fiona. No, call Cassie.’
Another policeman arrives and seems to take over. ‘Lydia, my name is Detective Constable Jack White. I’m going to need to take a statement from you.’ Young and chubby, he has a mop of yellow hair, a flabby face and thick lips. He is wearing a white short-sleeved shirt with sweat stains under his arms.
‘Why? Haven’t I already told your colleagues everything?’
‘Let’s go and sit somewhere comfortable away from everyone. Your living room, perhaps?’
‘Ok,’ I say. ‘But Mia and Ollie.’ I look around frantically for them. I need my babies. I need to hold them in my arms.
‘They’re being looked after by one of my colleagues.’
And there they are, sitting at the kitchen table, both of their young faces as white as snow, eyes red and raw. A woman dressed in sensible grey trousers and a grey-and-white striped blouse is sitting between them, talking softly.
I lead DC White into the living room. The lights are on in every room. How Adam would hate that. I sit on the sofa, and he sits on what is normally Adam’s chair. I swallow a sob. He leans forwards, his hands on his knees.
‘Whenever we have an unexplained death, we need to ask lots of questions, find out what happened this evening and in the days leading up to Mr Palmer’s death. I know it’s very distressing and difficult for you, so take your time.’ He throws me a kindly glance. ‘Your husband’s body has been taken to the hospital mortuary for a post-mortem.’
‘What?’
‘Because we don’t yet know the circumstances in which Mr Palmer died, there will be a post-mortem, and the coroner will investigate. It is likely that there will be an inquest. Did your husband have any health issues?’
‘No. He’s healthy. Forty-eight. He swims most evenings and goes running. It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Did your husband drink or take recreational drugs?’
‘No, no. He hated smoking or drugs. He drank, but who doesn’t? Not to excess, just the occasional wine and beer. I don’t think he drank anything this evening, although he was home later than usual.’ It sounds as if I’m wittering, but there is a disconnect between my brain and my mouth. None of this makes sense.
‘Other than him coming home late, was there anything else unusual about this evening?’
I shake my head. I can’t tell this stranger about discovering Marianne here in our house. I can’t tell him about my argument with Adam, which was more ferocious than normal. Because what will he think? Besides, we are always arguing these days. We are, aren’t we?
‘And you didn’t see anyone or hear anything?’
‘No. What are you suggesting? Wasn’t it an accident? Did he take his own life? He wouldn’t. Adam would never do something like that!’ My hand covers my mouth.
‘We don’t know at this stage.’
‘Did he hit his head? Did Adam have a heart attack?’
It’s my fault. If I had looked out at the pool earlier in the evening, perhaps I could have saved him.
I whimper.
‘We won’t know until after the autopsy. At the moment, it looks like a tragic accident or a sudden heart attack. There were no obvious markings on his body.’
Could he have slipped when he got into the pool? Or did his heart just give out on him? ‘He only had a medical three months ago. He was pleased with the results.’
DC White scribbles in a little black notebook.
‘Lydia!’ Cassie comes dashing into the room and throws her arms around me. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispers, stroking my hair repeatedly. ‘I know you were getting divorced, but this is horrendous.’
‘Divorce, did you say?’ DC White is standing up now and frowning at me. His lips have thinned out.
I swallow my sobs. ‘Adam and I were planning on divorcing.’
He nods at me. Surely he doesn’t think that I would have done something to Adam, that he died because of me?
That’s absurd.
6
I honestly don’t know how I get through the next couple of days. If it wasn’t for Cassie… I hate to think. She takes charge. She cooks and cleans and answers the phone. She hugs the children and me and produces box after box of tissues. She fields intruding questions from the local paper. She lets the police in and talks to them in hushed whispers. She gets hold of a sleeping pill prescription from the surgery and nips into the chemist to collect them for me. When I’m in a heavy, drug-induced sleep, she’s awake and on guard.
Cassie is my best friend. We were besties at school, but then she moved away, and for most of our twenties and thirties we lost touch. A few months before Adam and I bought the luxurious house we currently live in, Cassie got in touch. I was excited to rekindle my friendship with her, even though our lives couldn’t be more different. She’s still the person I rely on the most. Especially now.