Afterwards

try to create something.

I used to make excuses to myself: when I had more time; when Jenny was older; when Adam started school. But somehow, without realising it or even really noticing, I stopped making excuses because I’d given up.

In the car, Sarah phones Mohsin on hands-free. She turns off the air-conditioning so she can hear him.

‘Hi, Mohsin.’

‘Hey, baby, you hanging in there?’

‘Has Penny got anything on the hate-mailer?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Until she does, I’m going to work on the assumption that Jenny saw either the arsonist or someone connected to the arsonist, which is why he wants to kill her now.’

Mohsin is silent.

‘You did hear about the attacker?’

‘Yes.’

He doesn’t say anything more and the sound of his silence fills the hot car.

I see the effect on Sarah, a slight sagging of the shoulders, and I wish I could tell her I am with her, supporting her.

‘It was the secretary, Annette Jenks, who tipped off the Richmond Post about the fire,’ Sarah says. ‘But there was another tip-off, four months ago, about Silas Hyman not supervising the playground. Someone wanted him out of the school.’

Mohsin is quiet. I hear a noise, maybe a biro point being clicked in and out.

‘What if the witness is right, Sarah?’

‘You’re not an uncle, are you?’ she says.

‘Not yet, though my sister’s working on it.’

‘I know Adam. Who he really is, the bedrock of him, if you like, because he is a part of Michael. And therefore a part of me. And he didn’t do this.’

Silence seems to ratchet up the heat in the car.

‘Silas Hyman had birthday cake candles,’ Sarah says. ‘Eight blue ones, like the ones that must have been on Adam’s cake. And he has the school calendar with Adam’s birthday ringed. And his wife, I know she’s lying. Or hiding something at least. I’m sure she is.’

‘You went to his house?’ He sounds horrified.

‘No one else is doing anything, are they?’ she snaps. ‘Not now everyone’s decided that my gentle little nephew is an arsonist.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Sarah, you can’t just go to someone’s house.’

She says nothing. The sound of a pen tapping hard now in the background, or maybe a foot.

‘I’m worried about you, darling, what’ll happen if someone finds out and-’

Sarah interrupts, her tone weary now. ‘I know. Actually from a getting-into-hot-water angle, it’s a lot worse.’

‘How?’

‘His wife was bathing their kids and I just didn’t clock it. I’m a mother, an aunt; bathing children is just so normal and…’

She breaks off. So that’s what rattled her. She’d been pretending to be on police business when children were naked.

‘I left once I realised,’ Sarah continues. ‘But it made me so angry that I was in this position. And then I felt so angry about everything. And then this bloody woman was feeling sorry for herself, sorry for herself! ’

‘Do you think she’ll report you?’

‘If she finds out I didn’t have any authorisation to go round there, then yes. Most probably.’

‘Well, I’m kind of impressed, actually,’ Mohsin says. ‘I always knew you had a subversive streak but never had you down as an out-and-out rebel.’

‘Thanks. So will you help?’

We both wait for the sound of Mohsin’s voice in the car. Nothing.

‘You told me the files wouldn’t be securely stored,’ Sarah ventures.

‘I know. Totally out of line. Baker will bust my guts for that if he finds out.’ The sound of the clicking biro again. ‘What do you need?’

Sarah’s relief is an exhaled breath, changing the atmosphere in her car.

‘The names of the investors in Sidley House.’

‘Penny told me that fraud was ruled out almost straight away,’ Mohsin says. ‘They’re comfortably in the black, according to the bank.’

‘Yes, and they’re starting the school up again in September. There’s no reason for fraud that I can see. But I need to check all of it. And when I spoke to the head teacher she didn’t like talking about the investors and I want to know why not.’

‘You spoke to her too?’

Sarah was silent.

‘Jesus, honey.’

‘I also need to know if we’ve got anything on a man called Donald White. I’m pretty sure he’s abusive to his daughter, possibly his wife.’

‘OK. I’ll do what I can,’ he says. ‘I’m doing an extra shift tonight. So I’ll meet you for breakfast tomorrow morning. Is that grim hospital cafe still going?’

We arrive back at the hospital car park and the residual heat in the early evening air scalds me. I hurry ahead of Sarah towards the building. This time I can’t see Jenny waiting for me.

Once inside the hospital’s protective skin the pain again vanishes, and for a moment the state of not-being-in- pain makes me feel euphoric.

I follow Sarah towards ICU. Jenny is leaning against a wall in the corridor.

‘I tried, you know, the scratch-and-sniff memory thing,’ she says. ‘But it’s no good. A school doesn’t smell like a hospital. At least Sidley House didn’t.’

It’s what I’d been banking on. Sidley House smelt of polish and hoovered carpets and cut flowers, not strong disinfectant and antiseptic and lino.

A little ahead of us, Sarah is scrolling through her texts and emails; the last point before ICU where mobiles are still allowed. We look over her shoulder. Nosiness and eavesdropping are becoming second nature.

Among her texts is one from Ivo. He’s got a standby flight from Barbados, an overnight, and will be here in the morning. I look at Jen, expecting to see her beamy-happy, but her face looks tight with anxiety; almost fear. Maybe she’s started to see their relationship for what it is. And perhaps that’s better now, than when he actually arrives.

‘Jen-’ I begin, but she cuts me off.

‘I was about to go in,’ she says, pointing at a door behind her.

It’s the entrance to the hospital chapel, which I’ve never noticed before. The chapel is the one place in the hospital that won’t smell of disinfectant and antiseptic.

We go in together. But I’m not worried, because surely it won’t smell anything like a fire in here. In any case, I’ll be with her.

Wooden pews and a carpet, threadbare but a carpet nonetheless. Even lilies, like the ones Mrs Healey always has in the small waiting area outside her office; their smell pungent in the room.

The combination of scents transports me momentarily into Sidley House; as if the gateway to a memory has a keypad and the right sensory code is punched in.

Looking at Jenny, I know that she feels it too.

‘I was near Mrs Healey’s office,’ she says. ‘And the lilies smelt really strong, you could smell the water a little too. I can remember that.’

She pauses a moment and I wait. She’s going further into the memory. Should I stop her?

‘I’m feeling happy. And I’m going down the stairs.’