Jim and I meet at his office a week later.
He’s wearing a rumpled pink linen shirt and a disgruntled expression. A manila folder is open on his desk, with pieces of paper spilling out of it. Amongst them is a blown-up headshot of a young woman.
‘Okay…’ he says with a sigh, placing his large hands palm down on the desk. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’
‘I believe the convention is bad news followed by good.’
‘Actually, I think in this case it makes more sense the other way round. The good news is that I’ve been to the National Archive and searched their emigration records. Malcolm and Ellen Henderson emigrated to Australia in 1973. We got that right.’
I tilt my head to one side. ‘And the bad?’
‘I’ve been grappling with the Australian Government’s online registry, and it’s proving impossible to find any children who may or may not have been born to them. For starters, the six states are governed separately, and there’s a separate register for each of them. Even if you go through them all one at a time, without either the individual’s first name or place of birth, the search engine won’t play ball.’
I nod slowly. ‘It’s fine: we knew it was a bit of a long shot. You have other stuff you need to be working on.’
And I’m enjoying our little partnership more than is appropriate. I feel my cheeks grow pink at the thought.
Jim picks up the photo on the file in front of him and turns it round so that I can see it properly. The woman is in her early twenties, with shoulder-length ash blonde hair, Slavic cheekbones and a nose piercing.
‘Irenka Minar. Young Slovakian girl who was working as an au pair in Wimbledon and vanished into thin air a week ago. Her family back home are frantic with worry, and after the police failed to show much interest, her employers contacted me.’
I look down at the exuberant smile, which reveals a slight gap between her two front teeth. ‘You should definitely make her your priority. Email me your final invoice, and I’ll transfer the money to your account as soon as I get it.’
Shaking hands seems formal and wrong after everything we’ve been through together, so I reach across the desk and pull him into a clumsy hug. ‘Thanks so much for everything.’
‘You’re very welcome. Sorry we couldn’t quite get there.’
I smile at him as I head for the door. ‘Listen: I may not know whose widow I am, but at least we’ve filled in some of the blanks. And answered some questions.’
He sits down again and picks up Irenka’s file. ‘Grand. Good luck with everything, Alice.’
I should feel a sense of relief, of coming to the end of a long road, but I don’t.
Instead I feel restless, unable to settle. I oversee the painting and re-carpeting of the nursery, and I order a few of the larger pieces of furniture I’ll need, but it’s too early in my pregnancy to put up the cot and start assembling a layette. David and Melanie invite me to stay for a few days, but Melanie is so obsessed with her own pregnancy, and so determined to constantly compare notes, that I use an obstetric check-up as an excuse to say no.
I realise that I miss going to work and start to regret my decision to sell Comida. I made it when I was under immense strain, but with hindsight, it feels too hasty. I should just have taken some time off, rather than throwing in the towel completely.
Still, I reason, as I lay awake one night with my brain whirring, just because I no longer own the company, there’s no reason why I can’t still work there.
I get up the next morning full of energy and resolve. I wash and style my hair, apply make-up and put on a navy empire-line dress and kitten heels, before heading to the tube station.
The Comida office in Tower Hill is the same, yet subtly different. The desks have been moved around to change the floor layout, and there’s a new work girl on reception who I’ve never met before.
‘And who shall I say it is?’ she asks with a charming professional smile.
‘Alice. Alice Palmer.’
This clearly means nothing to her, but Milan has spotted me from his office and comes bustling over. ‘Alice used to be the boss here,’ he tells the receptionist, kissing me on both cheeks. ‘But she’s moved on to better things.’ He indicates my now-visible bump. ‘Wow – look at you Mama! No hiding it now! Are you allowed coffee? I’m guessing not. Tea, then? Could you fetch us one, Emma? And tell Matt that Alice is here.’
He leads me into what used to be my office and I sit on the wrong side of what used to be my desk. It feels strange and back to front. I’m Alice through the looking glass.
‘So how are things with you? What can I do for you?’
‘Actually,’ I press my fingers against the edge of the desk, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. ‘It’s more a question of what I can do for you.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘I was wondering… well, thinking… that I could come back and help out. On a freelance basis. As a consultant, perhaps. Doing some business development.’
Matt has come into the office, sweeping me into a hug. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure?’
I repeat my offer. The merest hint of a look is exchanged between the two.
‘That’s incredibly generous of you,’ says Matt warmly. He was always the more tactful of the two. ‘But things are ticking over okay at the moment. We’ve taken on a few more corporate clients, and we’re just putting together the teams to take care of their accounts.’
‘Well, I could help with that, surely?’
Again, a glance between the two. ‘You wouldn’t want to spend your whole time chasing up recruiters and filling out spreadsheets!’ Milan exclaimed. ‘You’ve got enough on your hands with this!’ He indicates my bump.
‘I’m pregnant, not ill,’ I say, forcing a smile.
‘But don’t you have a heart condition that makes it all rather dangerous?” Matt asks. ‘Surely you’d be better off at home?’
‘I’m fine,’ I assure him. ‘My heart rate and blood pressure are being monitored weekly, but so far everything’s absolutely normal.’ It’s pointless, however, persisting against this lack of enthusiasm for my idea. I can’t really blame them: it’s their company now and they don’t want the ex-boss hanging around like Marley’s ghost. I’d be in their way. ‘But you’re probably right: I should be taking it easy as I get bigger. The doctor’s always nagging me to rest.’
‘Well there you are then!’ exclaims Matt, visibly relieved. He kisses me again. ‘Lovely to see you. And we’re definitely going to be planning your baby shower, okay? You can leave it all to your two fairy godfathers.’
Two hours later and I’m lying on my back in an antenatal ultrasound suite at St Mary’s Hospital, in a darkened room, with a flickering grey-and-white screen somewhere near my feet.
JoJo offered to come with me, but I told her I didn’t want to make a big fuss about the twenty-week scan. ‘I’ve decided I’m not going to find out the sex, so there’s not going to big a big reveal. It’s just a question of checking that the baby’s size is on track.’
Now, with the scan probe sweeping across the swell of my stomach, the sonographer smiles at me and asks, ‘Want to know if it’s a little boy or a little girl?’
I hesitate. Curiosity about the baby’s identity is a powerful and natural thing, and a big part of me is dying to know. But I need more time. I need more time to adjust to my situation before that wriggling image becomes a real person. I shake my head. ‘No,’ I say, with more decisiveness than I feel. ‘Please don’t tell me.’
The sonographer removes the probe, wipes off the gel and presses the button to print a copy of the image. ‘I understand. You want a surprise on the big day.’
‘Something like that. It feels a bit like cheating. You know… like opening your presents before Christmas.’
‘Exactly. The most important thing is that baby’s doing fine.’
I bite my lip. ‘No heart abnormalities?’
She consults my notes and looks back through the images. ‘I can’t see anything that suggests a problem at this stage, though obviously with your history, we’ll continue to monitor that… You’re measuring at twenty weeks and three days, which gives you a due date of 24 October. Though that’s only a rough guide.’
I gaze, mesmerised, at the baby-shaped white blob on the picture she has handed me, before slipping it into my bag.
Feeling more cheerful than I did after my visit to Comida, I make a detour to Daylesford in Westbourne Grove and buy myself a selection of overpriced cheeses and deli items. Once I get my shopping home, I make a big bowl of salad and get to work chopping onions for a risotto. I wish – and not for the first time – that I could pour myself a glass of wine. I’ve taken a bottle of white from the fridge to add to the risotto and I risk a swig, but it tastes strange and metallic to my hormonally-disturbed palate.
I take a wine glass from the cupboard anyway, because JoJo has texted to say she’ll come over to hear all about the scan after she has finished work. When I hear the doorbell, I wipe my onion-stained hands on a tea towel and go to let her in.
‘Oh,’ I say, ‘it’s you.’
‘Give the girl a prize,’ Jim says, with a ghost of a smile. ‘First-class observational powers.’
‘Is it important? Only I’m expecting someone for supper.’
I’m aware that I sound unfriendly, but seeing him here, large as life, is unsettling. We no longer have a professional connection after all.
‘It is, yes.’ There’s a seriousness in his tone that makes my stomach flip slightly.
I lead him into the kitchen, where he looks mock-aghast at the open bottle of wine and the wine glass.
‘Not drinking while with child, I hope Ms Palmer?’
‘It’s not for me,’ I say hurriedly. ‘Would you like some though?”
He shakes his head. ‘Let’s sit down a minute.’
We sit at the kitchen table and he removes a file from his messenger bag. ‘You know I’ve been looking for this Slovakian girl, Irenka?’
I nod.
‘I’ve got a contact – a former colleague from the force – who works at the Missing Persons Bureau. DS Margaret Ewell. So I called in to have a chat with her about Irenka and she did a trawl of all unidentified deceased females who’ve been found who might possibly fit the description. And one of the victims she came up with was this one.’
He hands me a print-out of a web page from the Evening Standard.
BODY IN SUITCASE IDENTIFIED
The body of a young female found in a suitcase in the Thames has been identified as Australian Holly Galea, aged 31. Galea, from Sydney, was on a visit to friends in London in March 2018 when she went missing. Her parents raised the alarm when she failed to return home and they could not make contact with her. Police confirm that she was the victim of a homicide, but as yet do not have any leads.
‘It was her surname that jumped out at me. That was the name of the fund your husband claimed to be making payments into, wasn’t it?’
I nod, slowly.
‘She washed up near where Dominic Gill’s body was found, which strikes me as significant. And it seems a coincidence too far that she was Australian. Do you think he might have known her?’
My mouth feels as though it’s filled with cotton wool. ‘I don’t know,’ I mumble.
Jim reaches into the folder again, and this time pulls out a photo. A chilly tremor of shock thumps through my insides, making my heart race. My hand flies to my mouth.
‘That’s her,’ I gasp. ‘The woman who came to the house. That’s Shona Watson.’
The next morning, I phone Jim, but only once my decision has been made, and I’m perfectly sure. I’ve rehearsed my speech.
‘Can you give me any details your ex-colleague gave you?’ I ask. ‘An address for Holly Galea’s family, or a contact in the Sydney police?’
‘Hold on one minute!’ At the other end, I can hear Jim move the phone away from his mouth, as if to make space for his exhalation of disbelief. ‘What would you need those for? You’re surely not—’
‘I’ve just booked a seat on the Qantas flight to Sydney tonight,’ I tell him calmly. ‘Don’t try and talk me out of it. I realise that you’re busy with your new case, but I really think one of us needs to go out there and get some answers. And if it can’t be you, then it will have to be me.’
‘But what about your health? For God’s sake, you’re pregnant. A high-risk pregnancy. You almost lost the baby a few weeks ago, remember?’
‘I’m aware of that, Jim; trust me. But it’s okay to fly at this stage. I checked with my GP and I don’t even need a medical certificate before thirty-four weeks. Anyway, I’m in Business, so I get to lie down all the way.’
‘How will you handle the heat? Your feet will blow up.’
I snort with laughter. ‘Jim! It’s June, which means it’s mid-winter there. I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.’
‘Not bloody possible, woman!’
He eventually runs out of bluster and agrees to email me as much information as he can gather before I leave.
I’m still checking my phone for the email as I walk down the jetway to the plane that evening. I hear heavy footsteps behind me, gaining pace and then slowing as they reach me.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be switching that off now?’
I look up and Jim is beside me, dressed in a bomber jacket with his aviators perched on his head and a bag slung over his shoulder.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I demand, even though the question is completely redundant. I’m trying so hard to disguise my delight that I end up sounding shrill.
‘We found Irenka,’ he says. ‘Her parents phoned me this morning. She’d taken herself off to the South of France, and then her phone was stolen…’
We’re blocking the narrow walkway, and people are trying to move around us, tutting under their breath and barking our shins with their wheeled carry-on suitcases.
Jim carries on talking as he takes me by the elbow and steers me towards the door of the plane. ‘She found herself a job in a casino, and soon as she got her first pay packet, she bought a new mobile and made contact with her family. Turns out she wasn’t happy in the au pair job, which is why she was a bit secretive about her plans.’
‘So you decided you’d come with me? Am I paying for this privilege?’
We’ve reached the member of cabin crew with her hand outstretched to take our boarding passes.
‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let you fly halfway round the world alone. But don’t worry, I’m travelling cattle class.’ He hands over his boarding pass and the flight attendant points him towards Economy. ‘See you on the other side.’