Tamara bit her lower lip, looking away.
"I'm so sorry," Alice said. "I didn't mean to—"
Tamara held up one hand as she reached for her mug with the other. "No need to apologise. It's a question I hear a lot from people. Friends and family. I'm used to it."
Alice looked nervous, perhaps fearing she'd touched on something private. Tamara sought to reassure her.
"It's not that I don't like children as such, only that I can't see myself as a mother." If the answer was what Alice expected to hear, she didn't react. She just nodded.
"My daughter is my whole world," Alice said, her expression taking on a faraway look. "I'd be lost without her."
Therein lay Tamara's problem, or one of them at least. She feared that level of responsibility. If she were to become a parent, she knew her life would have to radically change. That was probably the same for all parents to be fair. Change. That was something Tamara relished, much like upping sticks and moving across the country as she had done with her fiancé. But he was in her past. Would she be able to make such drastic moves with a child in tow? Or two? Surely not. And that wouldn't be fair on anyone, especially a child. The familiar nagging doubt crept to mind. These were just excuses. But she was afraid.
"Have you seen much of Tom?" Alice asked, trying her best to be nonchalant, but Tamara was wise to it.
"Not today, no. But he's around."
"Is he okay?"
Tamara sipped at her black coffee, thankful she'd asked for decaf because this was made stronger than she would've cared for.
"Yes, I'm sure he's fine."
Alice pursed her lips, frowning slightly. She spoke over the rim of her own cup, avoiding meeting Tamara's eye as she spoke. "Did you know he… isn't living here at the moment?"
Tamara nodded. Alice's frown deepened. She appeared hurt. It couldn’t be easy. She chose not to mention it at all unless Alice continued on the subject. She didn't. Her eyes drifted to the floor alongside the television. A copy of the local paper was lying there. It was folded over and at an angle to her but Tamara could read much of the headline and the accompanying press photograph was of Tom standing outside this very house as he was about to get into his car. She indicated the paper.
"How are you handling all of that?"
Alice glanced at the paper and back to her. "The press? It was a nightmare until I stopped reading the papers, watching the news or… speaking to people."
She was angry. Keeping it in check, certainly, but angry, nonetheless.
"And your daughter?"
The anger left her, replaced by a visible cloak of sadness. "I took her into school yesterday. The first time since her father died. I wish I hadn't."
Tamara cocked her head. "Why?"
"Kids are cruel," Alice said quietly. "It's one thing to cope with losing her father, I suppose, but when people are pointing the finger at your mother, it must be unimaginable. I thought it would be good for her, be a distraction. I had no idea people would be like they were, children and parents alike. Even the teachers were different with me. I guess I was naïve."
"Were they standoffish?"
Alice shook her head. "Quite the opposite. The staff were so polite and friendly, over and above what they would be like normally. But I could see it in their faces. Much the same as how I felt the eyes of the other parents on me as I walked through the playground. I made it to the gates and then I must admit I ran to my car as fast as I dared."
Tamara felt a touch of guilt. Although Alice hadn't been arrested or referred to in any of the briefings she had given to the press as a suspect, word had spread amongst the small coastal community. It often did.
"And Saffy herself, how did she cope?"
"Like I said, kids are cruel," Alice said, lifting her mug to her lips. "She hasn't been sleeping well at all because of all this. I put her to bed a couple of hours early today. She was dead on her feet."
"I am sorry. That must be hard for you both."
"Oh, believe me it is. I've kept her home since and will do so until…" She looked directly at Tamara. "Until all this is over. Stuff the fines. Half the town think I killed my ex, so a few letters from the school aren't going to trigger me."
It was hard to know what to say. Tamara felt responsible, in part at least, but the investigation had to go where the evidence took them. The door from the hallway opened part way. Both of them looked, but no one appeared. Alice put her mug down.
"What is it, Baby?"
A little face peered around the door, scanning the room, all brown curls and rosy cheeks.
"I couldn't sleep," Saffy said. Alice held out her arms and the little girl entered, clambering up onto Alice's lap and smiling as she felt the comfort of her mother's arms wrap around her. Saffy eyed Tamara warily. For her part, Tamara smiled warmly.
"Hi, Saffy."
The girl's eyes remained fixed on her. Her expression blank and impassive. A blur of white, black and brown passed through her eye line as the terrier Tom kept from their most recent case navigated the tangle of legs around the coffee table, coming to stand before Tamara. He stared up at her expectantly. She smiled at the dog, which was all the encouragement he needed. He leapt up onto the sofa alongside her and, when no objections were made, he climbed onto her lap and curled up, resting his head on her chest, nose between her breasts, staring up at her, ears pricked and eyes wide. She stroked the top of his head. She thought he liked it. The dog didn't move, so that was positive. She smiled at him too.
"I heard voices," Saffy said in a monotone
