Afterwards

Sarah is with Mohsin and Penny just outside.

‘Baker’s on a call. He won’t be long,’ Mohsin says. ‘I’m still not sure about allowing Maisie White to be present at this.’

‘We’ll be able to watch her reaction too,’ Penny replies. ‘And questioning Rowena might tip Mum finally into telling us the truth. If it doesn’t work, Jacobs is finding a social worker to act as a competent adult.’

Baker arrives. I see him meet Penny’s eye and something is communicated between them, but I can’t interpret it. Perhaps it’s the closest Baker gets to shame.

‘Has Maisie White told us yet where her husband is?’ Sarah asks.

‘Claims she has no idea,’ Penny says. ‘The stupid bitch is lying again for him.’

I am shocked by the ugliness of her epithet for Maisie. Odd that language can still have the power to shock me.

They go in, while Sarah waits outside.

The air is thick with heat, the plastic stacking chairs sticking together. The nylon fibres in the carpet-tiles glint in the harsh light.

Rowena looks frail in her nightdress and dressing gown, her damaged hands still bandaged. Maisie fusses around her, sorting out her drip stand.

Mohsin formally introduces everyone in the room while the young police officer records it.

‘Are you sure you’re comfortable?’ Mohsin asks Rowena.

‘I’m fine. Yes. Thank you.’

Maisie rests her hand on Rowena’s arm, unable to hold her hand. She’s again wearing a long-sleeved shirt, no sign of the bruises underneath.

‘Your father has an alibi for the time of the fire,’ Mohsin says, his voice matter-of-fact; but I see him studying Rowena’s face intently. Penny is watching Maisie.

‘Yes,’ Rowena says, barely reacting. ‘Daddy was in Scotland on Wednesday.’

‘Did your father ask you to light the fire, Rowena?’ Mohsin asks, still matter-of-fact.

‘Of course he didn’t,’ Maisie says, her voice too high. A vein is flickering in her temple.

‘What about Silas Hyman?’ Mohsin says to Rowena, his voice sterner. ‘I asked you before-’

‘No, I told you,’ Rowena says, distressed. ‘He didn’t ask me to do anything.’

‘An hour ago someone tried to kill Jennifer Covey,’ Baker says. ‘We don’t have the time or patience for you to protect the man who did it.’

I hear a sharp intake of breath. Maisie has gone white. She looks clammy as if she might vomit.

Rowena is silent, struggling. She turns to her mother.

‘I think it’s best if you left.’

‘But I have to be with you.’

‘We can find another competent adult to be with Rowena,’ Baker says.

‘Is that what you’d like?’ Mohsin asks Rowena.

She nods.

Maisie leaves the room. I don’t see her face. But I see her stumble as she’s rejected.

The door closes behind her.

‘If you just give me a little while,’ Penny says to Rowena.

‘We need to find someone-’

‘I have to tell you the truth now. Because of Jenny. I have to. It wasn’t Dad. It wasn’t anything to do with him.’

I think of Silas Hyman flirting with Jenny then moving onto Rowena. I think of him swearing and raging at the prize-giving. I think of the flowers he gave to the nurse and the door to ICU opening.

‘It was Mummy,’ Rowena says.

Maisie?

I see her loving face and feel her encompassing hugs.

I think of her that day at the sports field, handing me a little something for Adam, beautifully wrapped, a spot-on present inside.

She’d known it was his birthday.

Of course she had! She’d known him since he was born. And three hundred other people knew it was his birthday.

She went to the school just before the fire.

To find Rowena. To give her a lift. Because the tubes were up the spout. ‘Chauffeur-Mum to the fore!’

The spool of our friendship stretches back through the years we’ve known one another and won’t unravel.

‘Mummy’s afraid of being poor,’ Rowena quietly continues. ‘She’s always had lots of money. My grandparents were rich and she’s never had to work.’

But Maisie said it wouldn’t matter to her being poor and she didn’t mind working. ‘I’ve always rather wanted a job, actually.’

‘She went into Sidley House to read,’ Rowena continues, ‘so that she could keep a check on what was happening after I’d left. Sally Healey didn’t tell anyone that there were no new admissions. Even Dad. Well, not for ages. But Mum found out from Elizabeth Fisher that no one was phoning any more.’

But she didn’t go in to spy! She went in to read because she loves being around young children.

I feel our friendship. So heavily substantial and Aga-warm; so many years invested in it, each one adding to its weight.

‘Did she ever leave your room?’ Mohsin asks.

‘Well, yes, she goes and gets things to eat. She went home to get me a clean nightie and my washbag. She goes out to use the phone, too. You’re not allowed a mobile in here.’

‘An hour or so ago, when we left you with your mother,’ Mohsin says, ‘did she leave your room again then?’

Rowena’s voice is so quiet that I have to strain to hear it.

‘Yes. Almost right away.’

There is no way, no way, that Maisie tried to kill Jenny. Everyone’s got this wrong.

‘Thank you, Rowena. We need to interview you again, formally, with what’s known as a competent adult present with you.’

Outside the office, Baker turns to the young policeman. ‘Chase up that social worker. I’m not going to give a defence lawyer any rope on this one.’

‘Maisie White must have seen Jenny being taken out of ICU and followed her,’ Mohsin says. ‘Got lucky with the MRI suite. Security’s not as tight.’

Sarah nods. ‘When Jenny’s ventilator was tampered with the first time, it was in the burns unit. Maisie was staying in Rowena’s room just down the corridor. No one would have questioned her being there.’

‘So you think it was Maisie, not Natalia Hyman?’ Mohsin asks.

‘Yes.’

I’d only seen a back view and hadn’t got close – but it couldn’t have been Maisie. It couldn’t have been.

‘Jenny must have seen her at the school,’ Sarah says.

‘And she had Jenny’s mobile,’ Mohsin says. ‘If there was anything incriminating on it, she’d have had plenty of time to delete it.’

As they speak it’s as if a painting-by-numbers portrait is being filled in, one colour at a time.

But I won’t look at their vicious portrait of my friend.

Because Maisie’s known Jenny since she was a little girl of four. She’s heard me talk about her and Adam, all the time. All the time. She knows how much I love them.

She’s my friend and I trust her.

I can’t add this to what has happened.

I can’t.

So I turn away from their picture of Maisie.