It was almost 8 p.m. by the time Ramouter had entered his flat, taken off his shoes, which still had traces of dried mud on them, and placed them on the doormat. It had been four days since he moved in. The scent of the flat wasn’t his. It still smelled of artificial air freshener and bleach. A lingering stack of unopened boxes occupied the open-plan living room and kitchen. He turned on the radio for company and took out a ready meal from the fridge, pulled off the cardboard sleeve and stabbed the taut plastic with a fork.
A few minutes later, Ramouter pushed aside the remains of the bland spaghetti carbonara and picked up his iPhone.
‘Oh, we were expecting you to call earlier. We’re just about to eat,’ said Pamela, stepping away from the camera. As always, her face was perfectly made up and not one muscle moved on her face. She was dressed in expensive yoga clothes, even though Ramouter knew for a fact that Pamela had no idea what downward-facing dog meant and probably thought savasana was a type of tea.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise how long it would take me to get back from the station. The traffic on the South Circular—’
‘Well, perhaps you could leave on time, tomorrow. Routine is important.’
Ramouter bit his tongue to stop himself from saying, ‘Murder isn’t a nine-to-five job.’
‘Where’s Michelle? I tried to FaceTime, but she didn’t pick up.’
‘She’s probably forgotten to charge her phone again but she’s upstairs. They both are. She was feeling tired. I’m going to leave in a bit to pick the boys up from football practice. I’ll bring my iPad up to her.’
Pamela found Michelle sitting on the edge of the bed. Her bedroom mirrored his living room with suitcases and boxes taking up much of the space. He chuckled to himself.
‘Michelle. Sweetheart,’ said Ramouter. ‘You OK, love? Where’s Ethan? How was his first day at school? I miss you.’
‘He’s already in bed,’ Michelle replied, steadying the iPad on the bedside table. ‘His first day at school completely knocked him out. I took loads of photographs for you.’
‘I know. Remember, you sent me the photos this morning?’ Ramouter’s heart sank as confusion spread across Michelle’s face. Early onset dementia at the age of thirty-six. A rare genetic form of Alzheimer’s, the specialist had said. Her father had died at fifty-eight, but the rest of the family had thought that maybe it would skip a couple of generations. He had received his transfer confirmation to join the SCU two weeks before Michelle’s diagnosis. They had found the flat in Forest Hill, a school for Ethan and a job interview for Michelle lined up, but the diagnosis had changed everything. Michelle’s older sister Pamela had argued that her sister needed stability and a move to an unknown city away from her family and friends would be detrimental. Ramouter couldn’t argue with that. He still had the email declining the transfer to the SCU saved in his draft folder. He had been ready to send it, but Michelle had told him no. That it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. That she didn’t want him to regret it. To resent her.
‘How was your day?’ Ramouter asked.
‘My day was OK. Pamela took me to lunch to meet some of her friends. You would hate them. How was your day?’
‘It was good. They’re a good team and I’ve been paired up with Anjelica Henley on a case. Do you remember her, the one I told you about?’
‘The Inspector?’
‘Yes, that’s right. The Inspector,’ Ramouter replied, his voice brightening.
‘What is she like?’
‘She’s erm… Tough. Smart. Don’t think that she likes being stuck with me much, but it’s early days.’
‘Hmm. Ethan wanted to stay up to tell you about school—’
Ramouter looked at Michelle through his screen and felt overwhelmed with sadness. She was distracted again. He could see it in her eyes. Staring back at him as she tried to hold on to her memories. He couldn’t look back at her. He turned the phone screen down onto the counter. He should have ignored Michelle when she told him that it was OK for him to go to London. He should have stood by his wife like a man but instead he ran at the first opportunity. He wore the guilt in his shoulders, as familiar as his work suit. He was angry with Michelle and her illness. And the guilt and embarrassment that he felt from that anger was suffocating.
‘Sorry,’ Ramouter said, as he picked up the phone. ‘The reception is a bit dodgy in this flat.’
‘You need to stop,’ Michelle said.
It was these moments of lucidity that made Ramouter feel worse. His eyes filled with tears as Michelle stared back at him with intense clarity. She knew him and how to manage him.
‘We both agreed,’ she said.
‘Aye. I’m just missing you and Ethan. That’s all,’ Ramouter replied as he wiped away the tears.
‘It’s going to be OK. We’re OK,’ Michelle said firmly.
‘I know. I’ll have a word with myself.’
‘Good. Now, let me tell you about lunch with Pamela’s lunatic friends. I’m actually looking forward to the day when I don’t remember them.’
Ramouter laughed as he watched Michelle brighten up. The guilt was still there but for the next hour, as he spoke to Michelle, the weight was not so heavy.