part0022

A s I pull the car into Duck Pond Lane I don’t realise straight away that there’s a police car parked outside my house. My mind is preoccupied with the events of the last five months and the changes that I’ve made. I’ve driven home from Bella’s house on autopilot and part of me feels a little sad that she’s no longer going to dominate my life. I’m also feeling embarrassed with myself for having what amounts to a crush on another woman. Thank God I never confided my feelings to anyone else. If Doris had been a different sort of person I might well have felt the need to unburden myself. I pull the handbrake on and am congratulating myself on keeping my mouth firmly shut when I notice that there’s a police car parked in front of me.

I’ve pulled up right behind it without even realising. Trivial thoughts of embarrassing myself are replaced by panicked thoughts as to why the police are here. They could be visiting anyone, I tell myself. Just because they’re parked outside my house doesn’t mean they’ve come to see me, there are other people who live in the street and they could be visiting any one of them.

Yes. That’ll be it; I can see that there’s no one in the car so they must be visiting someone else in the street. I pick up my bag from the passenger seat with a feeling of relief which quickly disappears when I see that a tall, dark suited man and a uniformed police woman are walking up the path to my front door.

I sit with my bag on my lap for a moment and try to think rationally to quell my mounting panic. It can’t be about Justin’s laptop; the police aren’t that quick surely? No, I’ve only just left Bella’s house so it can’t possibly be because of that. Even if Justin has got a posh IT friend and an expensive lawyer there hasn’t been time for him to do anything yet. I know money talks but it doesn’t talk that quickly.

I take a deep breath in through my nose and exhale slowly through my mouth. I do this several times. No. It must be something unrelated, a pure coincidence. All I have to do is not panic and in the unlikely event it’s something to do with Justin I’ll just have to act a bit thick. Acting a bit thick used to be one of my specialities, people almost expect it when you’re supersize; your body is enormous therefore your brain must be tiny. I’m not sure how well it’ll work now I’m normal size but it’s definitely worth a try.

A horrible thought pops into my head; could Mother have somehow managed to call the police? Could she have managed to get down the stairs and phone them? She managed to drag herself downstairs once before. Or could she have attracted a neighbour’s attention from her bedroom window?

Keep calm and think. No. It’s not possible. I wedged the dining room chair firmly under the door handle of her room when I left this morning and her bedroom window is mostly blocked by her dressing table. Even in the unlikely event that she managed to pull herself up and reach the window no one would hear her shouting through the double glazing. Even if someone in the street looked up by chance and saw her now that I’ve put it about that’s she got dementia they’d just think she was doollally.

So, it must be something else but I have no idea what. I could drive off and wait to come home until they’ve gone because they haven’t noticed me yet. This is momentarily appealing due to my natural cowardice but I know I’m only delaying it and I’ll just be waiting for them to come back so I won’t have gained anything except a sleepless night. No, the only way to find out is to man up and get out of the car.

I slowly open the car door and clamber out, lock the door and then force myself to walk unhurriedly across the pavement and into the front garden and up the path. The policewoman has her finger pressed on the bell and seems to be leaving it there for a very long time, I can hear the faint chimes of the doorbell from within. She’ll wake Mother up if she’s not careful.

‘Hello,’ I say in what I hope is an innocent manner. ‘Can I help?’

The policewoman jumps in surprise, takes her finger off the button and turns and looks at me and then looks up at the suited man next to her. She is square; square face, square body and a very unflattering square haircut that only just covers her ears. On the large side but not supersize like I used to be, just normally fat. I’m not being judgemental about her weight – how could I be when I used to be so fat myself – but I’ve never seen anyone so square, and well, cuboid .

‘Miss Travis?’ the man says unsmilingly, looking down at me.

‘Guilty as charged.’ I don’t know what made me say it and he doesn’t smile. I feel my face start to burn. Why the hell did I say that? Maybe I should just offer him my wrists so he can snap the handcuffs on right now and save time.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Peters and this is WPC Roper.’ He nods at the square policewoman. ‘We need to talk to you. If would be better if we could come in rather than stand on the doorstep?’ He clears his throat and attempts a tight-lipped smile. Although he’s really old he’s quite attractive in a battered sort of way, a faded Count Dracula type of handsome.

’What do you want to talk to me about?’

‘It would be better if we come inside,’ he insists.

‘My Mother’s very ill,’ I say unconvincingly. ‘I don’t want her disturbed.’

‘Of course, I quite understand.’ DI Peters smiles. ‘We can do it down at the station if you prefer.’

Now I know it’s serious. My heart starts to race so loudly I’m sure they must be able to hear it beating guilty, guilty, guilty.

‘Can I see your ID?’ I’m dragging it out and playing for time, my mind in a whirl of panic. I don’t want to let them in, somehow that’ll make it all real. Perhaps if I pinch myself really hard I’ll wake up.

‘Of course.’ He pulls his warrant card out of his inside jacket pocket and holds it in front of my face. ‘Very sensible. You can’t be too careful.’

I stare at it unseeingly for some minutes as I try to think. It could say his name was Donald Duck and I wouldn’t know .

‘Okay,’ I say, nodding at the warrant card. ‘It all looks in order. If you’ll let me get through I’ll open the door.’

DI Peters steps behind me and WPC Roper steps to one side and I squeeze next to her and put my key in the lock. I unlock the front door; fumbling around as if I’m wearing boxing gloves and I wonder if I look as guilty as I feel. It must be the laptop because I can’t think what else it could be; Justin’s fancy lawyer must be hot stuff to get the police onto me this quickly. It just shows that if you have the money and speak in the right accent you can get out of anything and get the police to jump through hoops.

I finally manage to get the door open and I usher them through into the hall in front of me. The key seems to be stuck in the lock and I wiggle it around but I can’t get it out. Why don’t I confess right now and get it over with? I may as well, I couldn’t look guiltier if I tried. They stand impassively and watch as I finally manage to wrench the key out of the lock. I think I’ve bent it.

‘Go through, go through.’ I wave in the direction of the lounge door. DI Peters nods at the WPC and they go in and I follow after them like a lamb to the slaughter.

‘Please, sit down.’

They both choose to sit in the two armchairs facing the sofa which means I’ll have to sit on the sofa opposite them.

‘Cup of tea?’ I offer, desperately hoping I can escape to the kitchen for a while.

‘No thank you.’ DI Peters shakes his head, unsmiling. WPC Roper says nothing and looks at her feet.

I give in and my legs crumple as I sit down onto the sofa facing them. The sun is streaming through the lounge window and I squint at them. It’s very quiet and I have to stop myself from trying to fill the gap by gabbling. Actually, it’s too quiet; no distant thrum of the television coming from Mother’s room upstairs. I suspect she’s turned it off so she can hear what’s being said; she must have heard us come in and the doorbell was ringing for ages. She’s probably lying down with her ear to the floor right this minute.

‘Miss Travis,’ DI Peters begins. ‘We’re making enquiries regarding a crime that may have been committed. Please understand that at this stage you are not under arrest and do not have to answer any questions if you choose not to. However, we hope that you will be willing to help us with our enquiries. Do you understand?’

I nod, mute. That’s it then, they must know about Justin’s laptop. Will I go to prison? It would be a first offence and what would they charge me with? Fraudulent use of a credit card? Opening an email account in someone else’s name? Maybe I could plead mitigating circumstances; play the fat card. Except I’m not fat anymore so I can’t. I thought I was being so clever and I’m just an idiot.

‘Okay, Miss Travis. I understand that you work as a cleaner for Moppers Homeclean, is that correct?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘And how long have you worked there?’

‘Let me see,’ I gaze into the distant as if mentally calculating how long, ‘Just over five months.’

He nods and in the ensuing silence I hear the scratch of WPC Roper’s pen as she scribbles in her notebook. Is she writing down everything I say? I fight the urge to repeat my answers slowly so she can get everything down properly. Part of me acknowledges the fact that I may be slightly hysterical or about to have a nervous breakdown. Or a heart attack. I could definitely have a heart attack.

‘And do you clean at the house of a Mr Justin Willoughby and a Miss Bella Somerton?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ My voice sounds very squeaky and small and I have no idea whether I’m going to deny all knowledge or confess everything. I pray for an interruption; for the phone to ring or someone to knock at the door or Mother to shout for me. Anything to stop the questions. Maybe I’ll just get a suspended sentence for a first offence. It’s always in the papers that the prisons are full to bursting. Or maybe they’ll want to make an example of me. Yes, I think they will. I’ll probably be old by the time they let me out.

‘Is it correct that a Mrs Rita Williams took you to Mr Willoughby and Miss Somerton’s house on January 28th of this year for a training session, on your first day with Moppers?’

‘She did, Doris Winterbourne came too.’ I can’t see what that’s got to do with anything.

‘Is it also correct that you’ve been cleaning Mr Willoughby’s house while Mrs Williams was absent from work though sickness?’

‘What about last week? Did you go there last week?’

‘No. Not last week. Rita came back to work so she did it last week.’ A sudden thought occurs to me; maybe I could blame Rita. I dismiss the thought immediately; any self-respecting IT geek will spot the dates I put the porn stuff on Justin’s laptop in a jiffy and they won’t tally up with Rita being there. Although I could use it as a delaying tactic while I think of something else.

‘So, you’re quite sure that you didn’t go to Mr Willoughby and Miss Somerton’s house last Monday?’

‘But you’ve been there today?’

‘Well yes, because Rita’s off sick again.’

‘Just to be clear, Miss Travis, you’re saying that you definitely didn’t go to Mr Willoughby and Miss Somerton’s house last Monday?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ I say emphatically. That’s a lie. I did go there, but only for five minutes. I didn’t touch Justin’s laptop last week and I can’t see that it matters that I went there but I’ve lied now so I can’t change it or else everything else I say will look like a lie.

‘You weren’t perhaps,’ DI Peters stares at me intently, ‘visiting a friend nearby and popped in for moment?’

‘No,’ I lie again. I’m starting to get a very bad feeling about this. Very bad. Did someone see me? I think I should have told the truth now. I thought I was so good at this lying thing but someone must have seen me for him to be making such a thing about it and now I can’t untangle myself from it.

‘Okay.’ DI Peters looks pointedly at WPC Roper and nods imperceptibly. She closes her notebook with an air of finality and stands up. DI Peters also stands up and I realise again how tall he is.

‘I’m afraid Miss Travis, that I’m going to have to ask you to accompany me to the station to continue our questioning.’

‘What? But why? There’s no need, I can answer your questions here.’

‘I’m afraid I must insist.’

‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I can’t. I can’t leave Mother on her own.’

‘Well then you leave me no option.’ He clears his throat. ‘Alison Travis, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the attempted murder of Rita Williams. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

I gawp at him. Oh no. This isn’t about Justin’s laptop at all.

‘It’ll be better for you if you come willingly. I don’t want to have to handcuff you. Is there anyone who can come in and look after your mother for you?’

‘But...’ I can’t get my words out. Handcuffs? Oh God, could it be any worse?

‘A neighbour perhaps?’

I get up from the sofa and turn towards the door. ‘I’ll have to go up and tell Mother what’s happening. She’ll worry and she won’t understand, she’s not well, you know...’

DI Peters steps in front of me blocking my way. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Miss Travis. Don’t worry.’ He looks at me not unkindly. ‘WPC Roper will tell your mother that you’re helping us with our enquiries. That’s all she needs to know at the moment.’

He nods at WPC Roper and she disappears through the doorway and I hear the thump of her heavy footsteps going up the stairs. I stand frozen to the spot in shock; at any moment I expect to hear Mother shouting for me. What will WPC Roper think when she sees the dining room chair wedged under the door handle to Mother’s room?

‘But she’ll want her dinner,’ I say stupidly. ‘I have to cook her dinner. I must be back for five o’clock.’ I look at my watch; it’s quarter to three. I left Mother sandwiches for lunch when I took her breakfast up this morning but she’ll be wanting her dinner at her usual time.

‘Is there a neighbour who can pop in and see to her? Or a relative?’

It hits me; I won’t be back in time to cook Mother’s dinner and I might not be back anytime soon. Cooking Mother’s dinner and looking after her suddenly seems like the thing that I want to do most in the world.

‘I don’t have any relatives, it’s just me and Mother.’

‘If there’s no one at all we can call Social Services.’

If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that I don’t want Social Services in here. If I don’t go to prison for attempted murder then Mother would tell Social Services everything and I’d definitely be locked up for embezzling money from her account and who knows what else; I’d definitely be going to prison then, Mother would make absolutely sure of it. Maybe I could ask Dolph to come and look after her; he thinks Mother’s a nutcase but the fact that he’s a gossip machine would override his fear of her and he’d break his neck to get in here and find out what’s going on. He’s not ideal but he’s the lesser of two evils. Hopefully he’d think anything Mother said to him was complete rubbish as I’ve put it about that she has dementia. Yes. Dolph would be more than happy to get in here and find out I’ve been arrested so he could broadcast it. I’m just about to suggest this when we hear the heavy, rapid clomp of WPC Roper’s footsteps reverberating through the house as she comes back downstairs and into the lounge. She stands in front of DI Peters for a moment to catch her breath. Her skin is ashen and I wonder if she’s ill; is she really so unfit that running up the stairs has exhausted her? Really, she needs to get some weight off.