ASTONISHINGLY, NOEL THREW her out.
He actually threw her out of his house.
He grabbed the cards, put them in the box and told Brontë not to utter another word, before carrying the box to the front door and dropping it on the step.
Joanne stood there, her mouth hanging open as he handed over her keys, telling her that if she wanted to question his daughter again she would have to do it with a lawyer present.
Joanne sped out of the Blooms’ driveway, gravel flying.
When she was a safe distance away, she pulled over. What the hell was Noel playing at? Why wouldn’t he let Brontë speak? Why was he covering for her?
She’d parked outside Applemead, directly opposite the recreation ground. Back where this had all started. Joanne gave a bark of laughter. Had she done that intentionally? She didn’t know. She felt like she didn’t know anything.
When Joanne had interviewed the child before, she had known she was protecting someone. Knew she was not revealing something crucial.
Had Karen stumbled on this, perhaps? Joanne couldn’t make sense of it. She could do with a drink to steady her nerves.
A car pulled alongside and began the process of parallel parking. Joanne watched in her wing mirror. The woman pulled her steering wheel down to the left, keeping it there just a shade too long. A common problem with older drivers, Joanne reflected, her thoughts momentarily rerouted. They would forget to straighten the wheel and the car would end up sticking out of the space, the nose of the vehicle still in the road. Once it was like that, there was just no righting it and it was necessary to start over. Which is what the woman was doing. Going through the whole process but making exactly the same mistake again.
By now, there were a few cars queued behind her. But if the woman felt compelled to hurry, she didn’t show it. She pulled out for a third attempt. It was painful to watch, and Joanne thought about offering to do it for her. But just at that moment the woman cracked it, releasing her wheel at exactly the right second and whipping into the space like a pro.
Joanne caught the woman’s eye in the rear-view mirror and the woman gave a small bow in her seat.
Joanne smiled. She recognized her. She saw her around the village – always well dressed, often carrying flowers. She was attractive. Had a look of Helen Mirren about her; Joanne hoped she might be lucky enough to age so elegantly. Then she brushed away the thought, knowing that was unlikely to happen.
Helen Mirren.
What film did she win the Oscar for again?
Oh, that’s right, she remembered, The Queen.
And then Joanne jolted in her seat as though she’d been bitten.
The witness with dementia had said the woman who had abducted Brontë Bloom was the Queen.
She had said she was the Queen of England.