Tom didn't speak. He still regretted the jealousy that flared in him earlier on and was pleased that it wasn't rearing its ugly head again now.
"I can't believe he's gone," Alice said, holding the stem of her glass between thumb and forefinger, twirling it slowly on the table.
"Must be hard. He's been in your life for a long time."
Something in his tone must have sounded off, it was unintentional, and Alice glanced up, staring hard at him.
"Yes, he has. We were together for twelve years, married for eight, and have a daughter, so yes, it is hard."
Tom grimaced through embarrassment, feeling his cheeks flush. Whatever dark thoughts were in the back of his mind, they'd managed to slip out inadvertently just when he really needed them to stay where they were.
"If there is anything I can do," she said, nursing her drink, her tone softening, "to help with… the investigation, then I will."
Tom thought on it. He wasn't going to be kept in the loop but it wouldn't stop him from helping the team if at all possible.
"It would be handy to know what he was working on recently. Is that something you can help with?"
Her eyebrows knitted as she thought about it.
"Anything he might have said about what he was working on, even the slightest thing might help."
"Is that what you think happened? It's something to do with his work?" She shook her head, a micro expression of anger visible for a fleeting moment.
"Not necessarily, but it's possible. He was an investigative journalist, wasn't he?"
"Yes," she said, her expression taking on a faraway look.
"What is it?"
"Nothing… really," she said, forcing a smile before it faded. "I don't really know what he was working on. Our conversations were largely focussed on Sapphire."
"Okay, well, if anything comes to mind let me know and I'll pass it on."
Alice tilted her head to one side. "Are you not investigating?"
"No. Not this time," he said. Her eyes narrowed and he felt defensive, splaying his hands wide. "It's not my call. I'm a bit too close to this one—"
"To be objective?"
It sounded more like an accusation than a mere question.
"Not quite."
The answer clearly wasn't satisfying and Alice sighed, locking her eyes on his. She glanced away and he thought she rolled her eyes but he couldn't be sure. Lifting her glass, she finished the wine and looked at the bottle.
"That won't help."
It was arguably not the best time to make such a comment because Alice glared at him but didn't respond. Instead, she got up and crossed the kitchen placing the glass in the dishwasher and forcibly closing the door. Taking a deep breath, she ran her tongue across the outside of her lower lip and spoke without looking at him.
"I don't know how long she will sleep, so I'm going up now. I'll sleep in with her tonight."
She turned to leave the kitchen, hovering at the doorway with her back to him. Whether she was waiting for him to speak or considering saying something to him, he didn't know, but the moment passed and she left. He sat there for a few moments feeling the weight of the silence. Alice hadn't wanted his comfort, at least that was how it felt. Then again, maybe physical touch was the last thing she needed and the support of his presence was enough. Perhaps she was feeling guilt, guilt at being with her lover when her ex-husband was dead. It was possible. Irrational and yet logical.
He chastised himself for making the situation about himself once more. How was she supposed to react? He'd lost people he cared for in the past, everyone had, but to do so in this manner was very different. Touching thumb and index finger to his eyes, he pressed firmly, feeling a release of the pressure in his head. The coming days were going to be trying and he still had the Beckett case to work on. Her loved ones deserved just as much attention as his own.
Chapter Eleven
Tom slipped out of the house early, before either Alice or Saffy woke. He felt bad for creeping out, which was exactly what he was doing, but the previous night left him with a sense of unease surrounding the events. He hadn't spoken to Alice again after she went upstairs. He spent a little time trading text messages with Eric, who'd been left with organising the background checks into Mary Beckett's life. It was a lot for him to take on so early in the investigation. Circumstances dictated the need and Eric wasn't one to complain. Quite the opposite. By the time Tom had made his way up to bed, he found both of them asleep. Looking in on them, Alice lay alongside Saffy who had an arm possessively draped across her mother.
The little girl was asleep and Alice appeared to be as well, but Tom knew better. Whenever he was on a difficult case, he found restful sleep to always be tantalisingly out of reach. And since he now spent most of his time here at the house, he would often watch Alice sleeping. Strangely therapeutic, he found watching her calming. She didn't have to make much effort to be beautiful; she was always appealing. At least that's what he saw when he looked upon her. But he also knew when she was faking it. Her eyelids would remain still whereas in sleep they would frequently flutter. When they argued, fortunately on rare occasions, they might retire without a resolution. On those nights Alice would pretend to be asleep in order to avoid further confrontation, or perhaps to annoy him further. In any event, he didn't think she was asleep. He resisted the urge to go in and kiss them both goodnight, which he would normally do. Instead, he went to bed and endured a listless night. Images of dead birds, funerals and the tears of both Saffy and her mum kept repeating in his dreams.
In a way, it
