‘You don’t really think my husband could have anything to do with this?’ I stuttered, knowing what their answer was before I asked.
‘We’re not saying anything like that,’ DI Bradley said. ‘But we will need to ask him a few questions, just to clear up a few things. I’m assuming by your reaction that you didn’t know that he’d met with Clare on that evening?’
I shook my head. I hadn’t been aware of him spending any time with Clare outside the time we all spent together. He was in Belfast on week nights and we’d spent every weekend for as long as I could remember sat on either end of our sofa playing at some sort of normal family life.
‘What night of the week was that?’ I asked.
DI Bradley looked down at his file. ‘A Wednesday,’ he said.
‘Well, then, it can’t be him, because he’s always in Belfast on a Wednesday night. Let me see the picture again.’
Julie pushed it towards me, but there was no mistaking that my husband was in the photo. The image was grainy but clear enough to leave no doubt at all in my mind. I could see his hair, his profile. I could even see the wedding ring on his left hand, which he’d draped casually over my best friend’s shoulder.
‘There has to be some innocent explanation,’ Julie said. ‘And it doesn’t mean he hurt her.’
‘Of course it doesn’t,’ DI Bradley said. ‘Nonetheless, we do need to speak to him, preferably as soon as possible. Can you also give us his mobile phone number, Rachel? So we can check it against our records.’
I rhymed it off robotically. I felt Julie, Julie who’d been falling apart just minutes before, reach over and take my hand. She was trying to act like the strong one for me now. I resented it. I pulled my hand away.
‘Is he at home today?’ DI Bradley asked.
‘No. He’s in Belfast. Or he should be in Belfast,’ I said with a hollow laugh. ‘He’ll be home tonight.’
I thought of the scratches. I should tell the police. I knew that. But I was scared. Scared to say anything that would make this worse. I thought of my daughters. How they hero-worshipped him. How I had once, too. This would break them. Did I want to protect him? A part of me thought that maybe I did. And I didn’t want to say it in front of Julie. I know that was bizarre. She knew everything about me. But I didn’t want to see pity in her eyes.
It didn’t mean anything, did it? The scratches, and the mystery dinner with Clare, and the lies …
But I was kidding myself. I had to say something. Even if it made me feel sick to do so. I couldn’t be complicit in protecting him if, and it was a big if, he had done something.
‘He had scratches on his arm,’ I blurted.
Three sets of eyes were on me.
‘When?’ DI Bradley asked.
‘Last week. Thursday. Friday. I can’t remember exactly.’
‘Did he say what caused them?’ Constable King asked.
‘I didn’t ask. I couldn’t bring myself to ask. But they looked like, you know, fingernails had caused them. Things just haven’t been great between us.’
I could feel my skin start to burn. I was flushed with embarrassment. I should have asked him. I should have told the police. I should have admitted before now that things were terribly wrong in our relationship. But I thought it was just that – a marriage in free fall, not a possible sign of something worse.
And Clare? With her head leaning towards his in the picture … My friend, for whom I was grieving, had she betrayed me in the worst way? So much ran through my head. Had my husband been her mystery man? The man she wouldn’t, or couldn’t tell us about. The police thought whoever it was had been trying to keep their liaison secret. They might be married. Could it be Paul?
Was he really capable of killing someone? I felt my stomach start to turn.
‘I don’t feel well,’ I managed to mutter, wanting to run from the room to be sick, but I didn’t know where the toilets were.
My head was spinning as the questions I asked of myself came thick and fast and memories flooded in. Clare and Paul sitting together in a corner after a dinner party, deep in conversation. Their heads bowed close together. Them taking Beth to the panto together the year Molly was born and I was too pregnant to sit through a few hours in the theatre. Clare had jumped at the idea. The pinging messages late at night on Paul’s phone. Work stuff, he said. Clare being coy about her new man. It was more than just the fear of jinxing it, wasn’t it?
I felt the heat rise at the back of my neck. A cold sweat broke out. I was going to be sick, I knew it, and I glanced around the room until I spotted a wastepaper basket, into which I emptied my stomach in great heaving sobs.
Constable King was sitting beside me, encouraging me to sip from a cold glass of water that she’d brought into the room. She’d dampened some paper towels and was using them to cool my forehead and the back of my neck.
Her voice was gentle and calm. Soft. I let it wash over me. She was a nice woman, I thought, although she didn’t look much older than Beth. No wrinkles, I thought as I focused on her face. Clear skin, minimal make-up. That wouldn’t last past her mid-thirties. She had one of those pixie haircuts, cropped, that anyone with anything less than perfectly sculpted cheekbones couldn’t get away with, but she carried it well.
‘What age are you?’ I asked, my tongue feeling thick and heavy in my mouth.
‘Twenty-nine,’ she said. ‘Big birthday next year.’
I envied her youth. Wanted to tell her to appreciate it while she had it.
‘I don’t know if you ever told me your first name,’ I said.
‘Eve,’ she replied.
I nodded.
Julie sat silently at my other side while DI Bradley talked to someone outside the room – some poor unfortunate who’d been tasked with removing the wastepaper bin and cleaning it. I wondered if DI Bradley was telling that poor officer to go and find my husband.
I pulled my gaze from Constable King’s youthful face and looked down at my wedding ring. My solitaire engagement ring nestled on top of it. A strange tradition. Pieces of metal we put on our fingers to claim ownership of someone else.
‘He didn’t hurt her,’ I said, for myself as much as anyone else. ‘I know that. He might have been seeing her. He might have lied to me about where he was, but I know he wouldn’t have done that to her. He’s a good man. A good father. A good friend. He wouldn’t …’
Constable King took my hand. ‘Please try not to worry. We’ll just be asking a few questions. It’ll be informal, but it is important that we talk to him. I understand this is very distressing for you.’
I nodded, because there was nothing else I could say.
‘If we give you a few minutes to gather yourself, do you think we could continue? We’ve a few more questions that you ladies may be able to answer for us.’
I heard Julie say, ‘Of course.’ Felt Constable King pat my hand and get up to go and talk to her colleague.
‘Did Clare ever mention Paul to you?’ I asked Julie.
‘No, Rachel. I swear. Not outside any conversation we had about you guys. Just boring stuff. There might be a rational explanation.’
It may well be rational but it wasn’t pleasant.
My phone rang then, Molly’s daycare.
‘Mrs Walker,’ her teacher said in the voice she reserved only for the most serious of occasions. ‘I think you’d better come to the nursery. There’s been an incident and Molly’s very upset.’
‘An incident?’ I asked. ‘Has she had an accident or something?’
I thought of how she’d wet the bed. Had been extra clingy.
‘No. I’m afraid it’s more serious than that. We’ve had to inform the police, too. A man was seen walking around the periphery of the outdoor play area. He called Molly over to him; I’m afraid our assistants didn’t see her walk over at first.’
I held my breath, gripping Julie’s hand as she looked at me, eyes wide with concern.
‘As you know, the area’s secure, so he wasn’t able to take her, but he did talk to her through the railings. One of our assistants saw what was happening and ran over, but the man made off. Molly’s become very distressed. She won’t tell us what he said, but she’s been crying for you since. We’ve tried to calm her down …’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ I said, hanging up and lifting my bag.
My baby … Not my baby!