TO AVA, THE RAINDROPS RESEMBLED glass beads thrown against the window, a multifaceted view through each globule, like a fly’s compound eye.
The Bonneys’ home smelled of Sunday lunch. Trevor and Luke were fixing wardrobe doors. Mom was washing up and listening to the radio, while Rita played with the cardboard puppet set Ava had made for her. The TV was off, but the record player was on, and Isao Tomita’s Snowflakes Are Dancing filled the room with beauty.
‘Arabesque’ was Ava’s anthem. She looked out the window as the music flowed through her, its pops and pipples, its soars and swoops – other-worldly and magical. At the table behind Ava, Veronica drew pictures and wrote stories.
Ava turned from the window just as the silver Audi Quattro pulled into the cramped cul-de-sac. She sat opposite her sister and resumed her own writing.
The letter box clattered and everyone froze. Veronica looked at Ava, their pencils poised. Rita’s puppet play stopped mid-run. Rita turned the volume down on the stereo and ran to her sisters, just as she did when the Rent Man came.
‘Who the bloody mc-fuckery is that on a Sunday, ay?’ Trevor came into the hall in unison with Colleen, Luke trailing behind.
‘It could be my brothers,’ said Colleen. ‘Or maybe it could be your brother, Trev.’
The letter box clattered again, accompanied by a thumping on the door. Trevor had turned a fascinating shade of green. Ava wondered about all those new things wrapped in plastic in his flat that had fallen off the backs of so many lorries. Maybe one of those lorry drivers had come to take it back. And all those times when Trev had gone to see all those men about all those dogs – maybe those dogs had come back to bite him? One could only hope, Ava thought.
‘It could be your ex,’ said Trevor.
‘Who? Mike?’
‘D’you have another ex, Coll?’
Ava found this funny. Good one, Trev.
‘Why would Mike come here?’ Colleen was genuinely baffled. ‘There’s nothing here he wants.’
Thanks, Mom, thought Ava. Bitch.
Another knock on the door. Whoever it was wasn’t going away. Luke pulled a theatrically worried face behind his father’s back and the girls smiled. If Luke was unworried then they’d be unworried too.
‘It could be Mike,’ said Colleen. Mike couldn’t discover Trev was her boyfriend at all costs, Ava knew, as it might affect maintenance money. ‘Trev! Hide in the bedroom and shut the door, just in case!’ Trevor did as he was bid.
Colleen went to open the front door with her chin held so high Ava was surprised she could see ahead at all.
Ava recognised Detective Sergeant Delahaye’s voice immediately.
‘It’s the police!’ Colleen declared, as if announcing the arrival of Albert Pierrepoint.
Trev burst out of the bedroom with Luke behind him. Trev had two default forms of presentation indoors: oil-covered clothes or barely any clothes at all. Today, he’d actually managed to put on a clean shirt and trousers, for which Ava was thankful.
* * *
When the door opened, the angry-looking man standing at the threshold had his hands on his hips like a bullfrog impersonating Superman.
‘Hello, sir. Sorry to disturb you and your family this afternoon,’ said Delahaye, extracting his warrant card from his jacket pocket just as Lines did the same.
‘What’s this then? What you want then, ay, on a bloody mc-fuckin’ Sunday?’ In Delahaye’s experience, Trev spoke in the manner of all criminals caught in criminal acts, Sunday or not.
‘And you are, Mr . . . ?’ Detective Constable Lines pulled out his notebook and pen. The action had the desired effect on the man, who reeled his neck in sharpish.
‘I’m Trevor Bax. I’m a friend of the family.’
Judging by Ava’s expression, Delahaye could see he was no ‘friend’ of hers. He recognised Bax from the door-to-door inquiries after Mickey’s body was found but he also recognised the name from Pete Ancona mention of it.
‘I remember you,’ Delahaye said. ‘We interviewed you last week at your flat.’
Trevor said nothing.
The detectives were led into the living room to find the three girls huddled around a slim, dark-haired youth who stepped forward and said, ‘Hello, I’m Luke Bax. Trev’s my dad.’ The policemen shook his hand, liking the lad immediately. Sometimes the apple falls miles from the tree.
‘So, then, why’re you here?’ Colleen crossed her arms. ‘We’re a good family, we are.’ She obviously dreaded having the neighbours watching police entering her home, Delahaye thought.
‘I’ve no doubt of it, Mrs Bonney,’ said Delahaye. ‘We’ve come to talk to Ava, if you don’t mind.’
‘I do mind! What’s she done, ay?’ Colleen’s eyes narrowed at Ava, and she took a step forward, hand raised. ‘What’ve you done then, you little bleeder?’
Delahaye stepped forward and blocked Colleen’s view of her daughter. ‘I can assure you Ava is in no trouble whatsoever,’ he said. ‘We’d just like to ask a few questions.’ Strangely enchanting music played on the stereo and he picked up the album sleeve nonchalantly. ‘We hope Ava can help us.’
Trevor, however, had obviously thought they were here for him.
‘Questions about what, ay?’ Trevor laughed, though nothing was funny. ‘Mate, no disrespect, but you’d better watch that one! She makes shit up, she does. Can be a right little bloody liar, can’t she, Coll, ay? Away with the mc-fuckin’ fairies. Can’t trust a word she says, you can’t.’
Delahaye listened to this little diatribe with interest because, in his experience, it was always the way of bad men to tell the truth about their own failings by accusing others – especially if those others were children. He suspected that the only person who needed watching, who ‘made shit up’, was Trevor Bax. Clearly Ava had him sussed and Trevor felt threatened. And Colleen not defending her own daughter against a man who was not the father – that appalled Delahaye.
‘Perhaps we can talk in the car,’ said Delahaye.
‘What you need to say can be said here,’ said Colleen. ‘We’ve nothing to hide.’ Trevor remained silent.
It was a dilemma. They needed to speak to Ava with an accompanying adult, but Delahaye suspected Ava would not speak openly with her mother and Trevor in the room.
‘This has nothing to do with your family or Mr Bax,’ said Delahaye. ‘It’s about Mickey Grant.’
‘Oh.’ Colleen clutched the dish towel to her chest.
Ava inhaled deeply and sighed. ‘Luke can be with me. He’s sixteen,’ she said.
‘We won’t be long,’ said Delahaye as he shepherded the teenagers towards the front door just as ‘Footprints in the Snow’ came on the stereo.