London, a month after the inquest
It’s a short taxi ride from Guildford station to the cul-de-sac. Maria lets her eyes travel over the buildings and trees, the sense of clarity offered by the cloud somehow reassuring after the unwieldy expanse of the Maldivian sky.
‘Please wait here,’ she says to the driver before stepping out of the car.
She stands for a minute in front of Anna’s childhood home, taking in the sycamore tree overlooking the red-brick house with its detached flat-roofed garage. A picture of orderly middle-England.
Until she knocks at the door, Maria hasn’t even considered what Anna’s mother might look like. In the flesh she is small and brittle, older looking than her years. For a moment, Maria thinks of her own mother, and tears unexpectedly prickle in the grooves of her eyes.
‘Maria, where have you been?’ Stella says, moving into the hallway behind her grandmother, addressing Maria as though she might have just popped out to the shops for a pint of milk. Maria crouches down and waits for both girls to run over and throw their arms around her neck, their unquestioning acceptance of their new situation almost breaking her heart. They insist on showing her their new shoes as they dress to follow her into the taxi, Diane joining last.
‘Where are we going?’ Stella asks.
‘We’re going back to London for a few days. And then you’ll come back to Granny’s house for a while, until you’re allowed to come and live with me.’
Diane nods in tacit agreement.
‘Mummy and Daddy won’t be there,’ Rose says and Maria looks up. It is the first full sentence she has ever heard Rose say.
There is a pull at her chest. ‘No. But I will be there and then you’ll come back to Granny’s for a little while and then I’ll never go anywhere without you again. OK?’
The flat they have rented for a few days is not far from the chapel on Rosslyn Hill where David’s funeral was held.
‘Will she be able to hear us when we say goodbye?’ Rose asks the morning of their mother’s funeral, as Maria ties a ribbon around one of her pigtails.
Maria pauses. ‘I don’t know, darling.’ Rose looks away, her lip wobbling, and Maria leans forward. ‘Hey, you know what? She will hear you. Absolutely. She will always hear you and she will always love you. You will never be alone. You understand?’
Rose nods and Maria leans in to kiss her head. ‘I’m so sorry you have to do this.’
Maria takes the girls’ hands in hers as the music plays, Diane walking behind them in a navy-blue hat. The church is bathed in light. Settling on the bench in the front row, Maria’s eyes scan the room. Other than a few familiar faces, which she recognises as mothers from the school, and a throng of women who might have been Anna’s former colleagues at the magazine, there are not many guests.
Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Maria turns. The woman with long red curls smiles.
‘You must be Maria. I’m Meg …’
Without faltering Meg smiles brightly at each girl in turn. ‘And you must be Stella and Rose.’
The girls nod and Meg holds their eyes, sniffing away the tears as they form. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you.’
The organ starts up and Meg says, ‘Maria, I’d love to stay in touch, if that’s OK?’
‘Of course.’ She reaches out a hand. She is about to turn to the front when the doors at the back of the church open and a woman in a double-breasted coat marches along the central aisle, flanked by policemen. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, holding up a piece of paper at the priest. ‘We have reason to prevent the funeral taking place today.’
Maria bristles with nervous energy as she and the girls settle on a bench at the top of the hill, overlooking the pond, the leaves of the weeping willow skirting the water. She has managed to distract them from the police intrusion at the funeral the previous day, but she wonders how much will remain there, lodged in their subconscious memory.
Leaning in to kiss each of the girls on the head in turn, she sits back and watches Stella jump off the bench, taking Rose’s hand and leading her to the edge of the water, tossing in a stick and marvelling as she watches it glide towards a band of coots.
Smiling to herself, Maria looks up and nods in acknowledgement at the woman from the adoption services who is supervising the visit from a respectful distance. Though she can’t say officially yet, the woman has mooted the likelihood that the adoption order will be granted. There are no other claimants.
‘Hey.’
When Maria looks up, she sees Harry walking towards her. He is fidgety, looking over his shoulder.
‘Hey.’ She smiles at him. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m good,’ he says, settling next to her on the bench, a copy of the morning paper under his arm.
‘Are you going somewhere?’ Maria asks, noting the small suitcase by his feet.
‘For a bit. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral yesterday … I heard it was broken up – what was that about?’ His left eye flickers as he pulls out a cigarette, looking up sharply as the girls run back towards them, each trailing a stick. Stella looks up and smiles.
‘Come here, there’s someone I want you to meet,’ Maria beckons to the twins.
When she turns to Harry, she sees recognition in his expression and she nods. Stella is the spit of him.
‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘We don’t need you. And I won’t tell them. One day, maybe, but we’ll see.’
Her phone pings and she reaches into her pocket, pulling out the handset, reading the message:
Ready. Madeleine. ‘Right, it’s time for us to go,’ she says, standing and calling to the girls. She won’t risk them, or the adoption official, seeing what happens next. As they walk away, leaving Harry in stunned silence, they pass one of the surrounding police officers who are situated at various points in the park, preparing to swoop.
She can’t believe he came, really, but she’s learnt to expect the unexpected. Besides, he had no reason to believe he was in immediate danger. Nothing had been explicitly stated as to why the funeral had been postponed. Harry might have thought that if he was under suspicion, the police could have come for him at home, straight away. And he might have assumed that there was no reason for anyone to suspect him. Men like Harry simply got away with things, didn’t they? Until they didn’t.