Joanna is woken by the doorbell. It tips her out of her dreams, as does the enthusiastic barking of the family Labrador. She sits up and fumbles for the alarm clock, its green digits glowing in a room still dark. Three o’clock. The time when the warm, healthy body runs at its lowest ebb, and death certificates are signed … these are her jumbled thoughts as she rolls sideways out of bed, careful not to wake Mike. Until she remembers, stuffing arms into her dressing gown and stumbling downstairs, Mike isn’t here; he’s in New York attending an end-of-year conference.
She lunges for the door and pulls it wide to find two uniformed police officers filling her porch.
‘Mrs Peters?’ One of them requires verification.
Joanna doesn’t answer. Disorientated, she tugs the cord of her dressing gown tight against the frosty night. Peters isn’t a name she goes by, she’s only ever referred to as Joanna Jameson – her concert pianist’s name.
‘Mrs Joanna Peters?’ the officer tries again, and she sees the low-slung paring of moon reflected in his polished boots.
‘Y-yes, that’s me,’ she stammers, pushing her curls from her eyes.
‘It’s about your sister, Caroline,’ one of them says, she isn’t sure which. ‘D’you think we could come inside?’
Owl-light: eerie and ominous; clogging the passageway of her beautiful Hertfordshire home. Joanna flicks on light switches as she walks, conscious only of the plush carpet pile between her toes. Reaching the lounge, they stand together and she plucks words from the gloom: ‘ … ambulance called … knife attack … a twenty-seven-year-old man living in the area … in police custody … arrested at the scene … we’re dreadfully sorry, no one could get to her in time … ’
‘What ? What are you saying? It can’t be … it can’t be Carrie.’ Joanna’s incredulity spins and flaps around the room.
‘Is your husband home, Mrs Peters?’ The same voice punctures her crowding confusion.
She stares at the floor, shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says limply. ‘Mike’s in America. He’s not due back till Christmas Eve.’
‘Right.’ The police officers exchange looks. ‘It’s just that we will need you to come in and identify your sister’s body.’
‘Identify her body ? What, now ?’ Joanna is horrified.
‘As soon as you can, Mrs Peters.’
‘Isn’t there anyone else who can do it?’
‘Afraid not, Mrs Peters. You’re her next of kin. That’s correct, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.’ Eyes downcast. ‘But not on my own.’ Anxiety rising. ‘I don’t have to come on my own, do I? I’ll call Mike … ask him to get the next flight home. Can it wait until then? A couple of days?’
‘Well, it’ll have to, if that’s what you’d prefer. But is there someone we can call for you in the meantime? You really shouldn’t be on your own.’
‘No. It’s okay.’ She reaches out to touch the Christmas tree glinting through the dark, its artificial branches laden with decorations her sons put up in readiness for their father’s return. ‘I’ve got my boys … my boys are here.’
Joanna looks away. Out through the darkened windowpane on to a strange moon-washed land where a cold wind from childhood blows. Echoes of things long past ring in her ears as she refocuses on the brace of police officers and shivers, fearing at any moment that Freddie and Ethan will wake and come padding downstairs, demanding answers their mother cannot give.
When the police leave, Joanna sits on the bottom stair, rigid with shock. Buttons finds her and drops his heavy head in her lap, nudging her fingers with his wet nose.
‘Good boy.’ She ruffles his fur and is grateful for the company.
Staring at her feet, which are as blue as the murky edges of dawn beyond the glass panel of the front door, she tries to absorb the horror of what she’s been told. Repeating her sister’s name over and over until it becomes flat and feeble, bleached of meaning.
Mike . She needs to talk to him. Only five hours behind, he might still be awake; it won’t yet be midnight in New York. She dials the number she knows by heart and he picks up after the second ring.
‘Hi, babe. How’re you doing?’
‘Mike, love.’ Her face crumples at the sound of his voice. ‘Thank God you’re there,’ she says, and bursts into tears.