bounces of pleasure which shook the cot. Gently opening the door of the twins' room she could see that they were still asleep, Elizabeth a curled lump on the far end of the bed, Marie on her back one arm flung out. If she could change and feed Anthony before he became fretful they would sleep for another half hour, thirty more minutes of peace for her father.
She would look after Elizabeth and Marie for her mother's sake as long as they needed her and with all her strength, but it was Anthony whom she loved. For a moment she lay still regarding him, enjoying this moment of their quiet, mutual pleasure in each other. Then he let go of the cot rail with one hand, raised one leg in a parody of a clumsy ballet dancer, collapsed on to his mattress, then rolled over on to his back, stuffed his fist into his mouth and began noisily sucking. Soon he would tire of this substitute comfort. She swung her legs out of bed, waited for a moment until she felt the physical flow of strength into arms and legs, then went over to the cot, let down the side and gathered him into her arms. She would change him downstairs on newspaper spread on the kitchen table, then strap him into his chair so that he could watch her while she heated his milk. By the time he was fed the twins would be awake and she would be free to help dress them ready for Mrs Hunter from the welfare to collect them and drive them to the playgroup. Then there would be breakfast for her father and herself before it was time to set out with her father and Anthony to walk to the crossroads where she would pick up the school bus.
She had just turned out the gas under the saucepan of milk when the telephone rang. Her heart lurched, then settled into a rhythmic pounding. She snatched at the receiver, hoping that she had been quick enough to stop it waking her father. George Jago's voice came over strongly, conspiratorial, husky with excitement.
'Theresa? Is your dad up yet?'
'No, not yet, Mr Jago. He's still asleep.'
There was a pause as if he were thinking, then he said: 'OK, don't disturb him. When he wakes tell him Hilary Robarts is dead. Last night. Murdered. Found on the beach.'
'You mean the Whistler got her?'
'Looked like that, meant to look like that if you ask me. But it couldn't have been. The Whistler was dead, been dead three hours or more. Like I told you last night. Remember?'
'Yes, I remember, Mr Jago.'
'Good thing I rang last night, isn't it? You told him, your dad? You told your dad about the Whistler?'
She heard under the excitement the insistent note of anxiety. 'Yes,' she said, 'I told him.'
'That's all right then. Now you tell him about Miss Robarts. Ask him to give me a ring. I've got a call to take a party to Ipswich but I'll be back about twelve. Or I could have a word with him now if he's quick.'
'He wouldn't be quick, Mr Jago. He's sound asleep. And I'm trying to feed Anthony.'
'All right. But you tell him, mind.'
'Yes, I'll tell him.'
He said: 'Good thing I rang last night. He'll know why.'
She put down the receiver. Her hands were wet. She wiped them on her nightdress and went over to the stove. But when she picked up the pan of milk her hands were shaking so violently that she knew she wouldn't be able to pour it into the narrow neck of the bottle. She took it over to the sink and, very carefully, managed to half fill it. Then she unstrapped Anthony and seated herself in the low nursing chair before the empty fireplace. His mouth opened and she plugged in the teat of the bottle and watched as he began his vigorous chomping, his eyes, suddenly vacant, fixed on hers, his two chubby hands raised, palms down like the paws of an animal.
It was then that she heard the creak of the stairs, and her father came in. He never appeared in front of her in the mornings without what he used as a dressing gown, an old raincoat buttoned to the neck. Above it his face under the sleep-tousled hair was grey and swollen, the lips unnaturally red.
He said: 'Was that the phone?'
'Yes, Daddy, Mr Jago.'
'What did he want, then, at this hour?'
'He rang to say that Hilary Robarts is dead. She's been murdered.'
Surely he would notice how different her voice sounded. It seemed to her that her lips were so dry that they would look bloated and deformed, and she bent her head low over the baby so that he shouldn't see. But her father didn't look at her and he didn't speak. With his back to her he said: 'The Whistler then, was it? Got her, did he? Well, she was asking for it.'
'No, Daddy, it couldn't have been the Whistler. Remember Mr Jago phoned us last night at half-past seven to say that the Whistler was dead. He said this morning he was glad he rang to tell us and that you would know why.'
Still he didn't speak. She heard the hiss of water from the tap into the kettle and watched him as he took it slowly back to the table and plugged it in, then took down a mug from the shelf. She was aware of the thudding of her heart, of Anthony's warm body against her arm, of her chin gently resting on his downy head. She said: 'What did Mr Jago mean by that, Daddy?'
'He meant that whoever killed Miss Robarts meant to blame it on the Whistler. That means the police will only suspect people who didn't know that the Whistler was dead.'
'But you knew, Daddy, because I told you.'
Then he turned and said without looking at her. 'Your mother wouldn't like you to tell lies.'
But he wasn't cross and he wasn't rebuking her. She heard nothing in his voice but a great weariness. She said quietly: 'But it isn't a lie, Daddy. Mr Jago telephoned when you were out in the privy. When you came back I told you.'
And then he turned and their eyes met. She had never seen him look more hopeless, more defeated. He said: 'That's right, you told me. And that's what you'll tell the police when they ask you.'
'Of course, Daddy. I'll tell them what happened. Mr Jago told me about the Whistler and I told you.'
'And do you remember what I said?'
The teat of the bottle had flattened. She took it from Anthony's mouth and shook the bottle to let in the air. He gave an immediate wail of fury which she plugged with the teat.
She said: 'I think you said that you were glad. We would all be safe now.'
'Yes,' he said, 'we're all safe now.'
'Does that mean that we won't have to leave the cottage?'
'It depends. We shan't have to leave at once anyway.' 'Who will it belong to now, Daddy?' 'I don't know. Whoever she leaves it to in her will, I suppose. They might want to sell it.'
'Could we buy it, Daddy? It would be nice if we could buy it.5
'That would depend on how much they want. There's no point in thinking about that yet. We're all right for the moment anyway.'
She said: 'Will the police be coming here?'
'Sure to. Today, most likely.'
'Why will they be coming here, Daddy?'
'To find out whether I knew if the Whistler was dead. To ask you if I left the cottage last night. They'll be here, most likely, when you get back from school.'
But she wasn't going to school. Today, it was important that she didn't leave her father's side. And she had an excuse ready, a stomach cramp. And that, at least, was true, or partly true. Crouched over the lavatory she had seen that first pink evidence of her monthly period almost with joy.
She said: 'But you didn't leave the cottage, did you, Daddy? I was here until I went to bed at a quarter past eight. I could hear you moving down here. I could hear the television.'
He said: 'The television isn't an alibi.'
'But I came down, Daddy. You remember. I went to bed early at 8.15 but I couldn't sleep and I was thirsty. I came down just before nine o'clock for a drink of water. I sat in Mummy's chair reading. You must remember, Daddy? It was half-past nine before I went back to bed.'
He gave a groan. He said: 'Yes, I remember.'
Suddenly Theresa was aware that the twins had entered the kitchen and were standing silently side by side by the doorway regarding their father expressionlessly. She said sharply: 'Go back and get dressed. You shouldn't be down here undressed like that, you'll catch cold.'
Obediently they turned and padded up the stairs.
The kettle was spouting steam. Her father turned it off but made no move to make the tea. Instead he sat at
