stayed with them so long.
The questions were endless. She really had no way of imagining what it was like, either to have children of your own, or to be caring for someone else’s children. What sacrifices did you have to make, what compromises, what denial of your own feelings?
She stared out of the window at the same old view. The stand of Edendale Football Club, the roofs of the town, a vague line of hills on the horizon. She gazed around the CID room. Ben Cooper, Gavin Murfin. The two young DCs, Irvine and Hurst. DI Hitchens walking down the corridor towards his office. She’d been here in Edendale for years, made herself part of the life of the Peak District, in her own way. Or had she?
She turned to Cooper. ‘Ben, is there any chance we can get out of here for a bit?’
‘Yes, why not?’ he said. ‘Gavin can manage. I think I can get away with taking an hour off. I’m in the good books at the moment.’
Now was Fry’s chance to sit down and tell him everything, the way she’d promised herself she would. She’d said she trusted him, and it was true. There was just one thing she wasn’t sure of — whether Cooper would be able to understand hatred.
Edendale’s river was too shallow for anyone to drown in. Even the mallards were able to stand up to their feathers in the water as it rushed over their feet.
Cooper still felt reluctant to get too close to the water, so they walked slowly along the path where tourists sat enjoying the sun. Fry listened while he told her about the Nields.
‘That family is destroyed now,’ he said. ‘There is no family. Yet some people have the idea that crimes committed on behalf of their offspring are morally justified.’
‘Do parents think like that?’ asked Fry. ‘This man lost his child. If you’re a parent, I would have thought your own children would be the most important thing in the world to you. Your own flesh and blood.’
But she sounded uncertain, as if it was a subject she wasn’t qualified to speak on.
‘Four,’ said Cooper. ‘This is a man who’s lost four children, for different reasons.’
‘What? How?’
‘He lost the baby, he lost Emily — and he’ll lose Alex, at least for a while. And Lauren took herself away from home two years ago, so she might as well be lost.’
‘She might go back,’ said Fry.
‘You think so? How could she forgive her father?’
‘People do.’
Cooper nodded. Well, people did all kinds of things that he could never understand. Of course, DI Hitchens had been right. Parents who killed their children were in the minority. But there was a fine line between the people who did those things and the rest of us.
‘The witness statements were so confusing,’ he said. ‘No one saw the right thing, not even me. They all thought they knew what they’d seen, yet everyone saw something different.’
‘One person’s truth is someone else’s lie,’ said Fry. ‘We all know that.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Ben, you remember me asking you about your childhood memories?’
‘Yes. And you didn’t have any.’
‘No. Well, I realized my most accurate memories consisted of sounds and smells.’
‘You’re right. Mine too. There are certain sounds that are still inside my head, long after the event.’
‘Do you get that as well?’ asked Fry. ‘I thought it was just me.’
Cooper smiled. ‘It’s probably everybody, Diane. We’re not unique, are we?’
‘Far from it.’
Hearing the tone of her voice, Cooper looked at her. He was changing his mind. He decided he quite liked this new Diane Fry, after all.
‘Didn’t you once tell me that you and Angie were taken into care because of allegations of abuse?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then he ought to have been listed on the Sex Offenders’ Register, like Sean Deacon.’
‘It was too long ago. The register was only created in 1997, and it wasn’t retrospective. There could be lots of Sean Deacons and William Leesons walking about still. Men who have been able to leave their past behind.’
When they reached the bridge under the High Street, Cooper turned to her. He had the strong feeling that there was more she wanted to tell him. If only he could find a way of getting her to relax and talk to him properly. There were few opportunities, and this seemed like one of them. Too valuable a moment to miss.
‘So?’ he said. ‘Are you going home, or do you want to come for a drink?’
But Fry was watching the river flow past, her eyes following the water as it came into the town from the hills to the west and headed out again, out beyond the borders of Derbyshire, where it didn’t stop until it finally reached the sea. She had the air of someone experiencing a revelation.
Then Fry looked at him, with a softer expression in her eyes than Cooper had ever seen before. It was a look, almost, of apology.
‘Home, I think,’ she said.
Cooper sighed. ‘Okay, Diane.’
For a moment, Fry stopped in the car park to allow a coachload of tourists to pass.
‘A permanent promotion, then,’ she said. ‘I bet you’re happy, Ben.’
‘It will help,’ said Cooper. ‘The extra money makes a difference. And the security.’
Fry nodded. ‘It will help you plan for the future. You and Liz probably have…well, lots of plans.’
‘Maybe,’ said Cooper.
But Fry was gazing at Edendale as if she was seeing it for the first time. Or perhaps for the last.
‘Well that’s great,’ she said. ‘So you got what you always wanted.’
Cooper watched her get into her car. She had started the engine and was already driving away down West Street, well out of earshot, before he could think of an answer.
‘Did I?’ he said.
