Not Dead Yet

Grace smiled.

72

Cleo lay in bed, her laptop propped in front of her on the duvet, logged into Mumsnet, her coursework papers for the Open University degree she was taking in Philosophy spread all around her. She was leadenly tired, but it was only 7.30 p.m., far too early to go to sleep. Laura Marling, one of her current favourite folk singers, was playing on her iPod.

The baby was going wild tonight – it felt like it was dancing inside her. She lifted the duvet, hitched up her nightdress and watched, fascinated, as her belly looked like it was dancing too, its shape shifting from round to square, with little pointy bits sticking out.

She wished Roy was here to see this. He’d promised to be home soon. She hoped the baby would still be active when he got here.

‘You’re going to be amazing, Bump. You know that? You’re going to be the most loved baby in the whole world!’

Bump danced even more wildly, as if in acknowledgement.

She left Mumsnet and logged on to Amazon to look up prices of car seats. With the birth of the baby imminent, she was focused on all the stuff she needed to get. She had a list compiled by her best friend Millie, who had two daughters, and another list compiled by her sister Charlie, an interior designer, who had insisted on decorating the baby’s room herself.

Cot; crib linens; mattress pad; waterproof mattress pads; blankets; baby wipes; nappies; changing pad; nappy bag; nappy-rash cream. The list just went on and on. Everyone had told her that her life would change, but only now was it really starting to dawn on her how right they were. She went on through the list. Six bottles and sterilizing equipment; bottle brush; bottle warmer; infant formula milk; nipple cream; breast pads; nursing bras; a breast pump in case Roy had to feed the baby when she wasn’t there.

And just how often would Roy be there? That was one of her biggest concerns. She knew just how wedded to his work he was. In her job at the mortuary there was a constant stream of sudden deaths, which police officers had to attend. Whenever the name Roy Grace came up, she heard nothing but positive comments. He seemed universally liked and respected. He was a good man, she knew that – just one of the countless reasons why she loved him.

But there was one shadow to their relationship. He was a great copper, but would that mean he’d be a great father?

Would he be there for their child’s first Nativity play – or would he be tied up on a murder investigation? And on Parents’ Evening? Sports Day?

When they talked about it he always dismissed her concerns, reminding her that his father had been a police officer, yet had always managed to find the time to attend the things that had mattered. But he had not been a homicide SIO who didn’t know what was going to happen in thirty minutes’ time, let alone thirty days’.

Roy constantly assured her that their life together was more important than his work. But was that true? And did she even want that to be true? Would she really want a murder enquiry to suffer because Roy was more interested in spending time playing with his child?

One of Cleo’s friends was married to a high-flier and she hardly saw him, particularly after the second baby was born. He would arrive home after both infants were asleep, eat dinner, and then crash out in the spare room so he wasn’t woken by the baby’s constant demands for food.

Did the baby actually know yet she had a father?

Another worry that she had right now was the vandalization of her car.

Roy had told her he knew who had done it, and that he had ensured it would never happen again. But there was always going to be the danger of retribution against any police officer by an aggrieved criminal. That was something she knew she would have to live with – and be a little bit vigilant all of the time.

But she had another, even deeper, worry. Roy’s missing wife Sandy.

Cleo found it hard to get him to talk about her, and yet she felt the woman’s presence all around her. During the early days of their relationship, Roy had invited her back to his house. They’d made love in his bedroom and she’d stayed the night, but had barely slept a wink. She had fully expected the door to fly open at any moment, and this attractive woman to appear, staring at them contemptuously.

Sure, Roy had assured her that his relationship with Sandy was long dead, and that’s how she regarded it. But there was always the nagging doubt in her mind.

‘What if?’

‘If?’

It gave her some comfort that Roy was having his wife declared legally dead. Ten years on. But that would not stop her reappearing if she were still alive. And how would Roy react then?

He claimed that it was over, and nothing would change that.

But what, Cleo wondered, if she had been abducted by some crazy guy. How would Roy react if Sandy appeared now, escaped from some deranged kidnapper? Surely he would be morally obliged to take her back? Regardless of what he said…

Cleo was not a person who would normally wish anyone dead, but sometimes she fervently wished that Sandy’s body would turn up. So at least Roy would have closure. And they could move on with their lives free and clear of any shadows.

73

She sat in the shadows on the shaded side of the street, where she had been parked for over two hours. But at least darkness was falling, finally. It was 9.30 p.m. Once she used to love these long summer days. But today the daylight was just a major nuisance.

The interior of the small rental car reeked of cheeseburger and greasy fries. Through the windscreen she had a clear view of the entrance to the gated townhouse development where Cleo Morey lived. On the radio, the sound turned low, the Rolling Stones were singing ‘Under the Boardwalk’.

The song took her back to one of their many disagreements about so many things. She preferred the version sung by The Drifters. They had argued over who wrote it. She claimed it was Kenny Young and Arthur Resnick, who were part of that group. But Roy insisted it was The Rolling Stones.

‘Mama, mir ist langweilig,’ said her son, in the passenger seat beside her. He had red all around his mouth, and was busily dipping a cluster of French fries into the mess of ketchup at the bottom of the carton.

‘Mein Schatz, wir sind jetzt in England. Hier spricht man Englisch!’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘Yah? Okay. I’m bored.’ Then he yawned.

She stroked his forehead, affectionately. ‘Sehr gut! ’

He turned his head and looked at her quizzically. ‘You said people speak English here, now you speak German yourself. Huh!’ He picked up the huge carton of Coke and sucked noisily through the straw.

Sometimes, when the boy made her really irritated, she would think – although never say to him – I left Roy for you? I must have been crazy.

But that was the truth. Or at least part of the truth. She had left Roy Grace because she had found out she was pregnant with their child. The child they had both wanted so badly; the child they had been trying to have for almost eight years. It was so ironical. She had found out she was pregnant, finally, just days after she had made the decision that she did not want to spend the rest of her life married to Roy Grace. Married to Sussex CID. Subordinate to Sussex CID.

She knew that the moment Roy found out she was pregnant, she would be stuck; for a long time; for a life sentence; even if they parted, she would have to share the child with him for ever. As a result of a windfall