His eyes brimmed with tears. He nodded. ‘It ended ages ago. But she got back in touch. I met her in Newcastle last weekend, to tell her we could never see each other again. I swear, this has nothing to do with what happened to Amy…’
‘Who was it, Mike?’ I clenched my jaw.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Did Amy know who it was?’
‘No.’ A beat. ‘No, she didn’t. But we had made our peace…’
‘Hannah saw the two of you, Mike. You ran away from your own daughter.’
‘I’m sorry!’ He crumpled, legs first, falling to kneel on the floor in front of me. ‘I’m so sorry! Just don’t say anything, please…’
‘What’s her name?’
‘It’s not important. Please, Izzy. Don’t do this.’
He was begging. I had to hold my ground.
‘Tell me who it was.’ My voice was low and level, unnaturally calm.
‘Julie!’ he blurted out.
The name was familiar. Where had I heard it? I wracked my brain. I had seen it last night. What had I been doing? I closed my eyes, pressing my fingertips to my temples. Julie, Julie. I turned the name over in my mind. There was a Julie who had written a tribute on Amy’s Facebook page. It was one of the poems that I’d taken the time to read, and the name had stayed with me because it had been familiar.
‘Julie Knox?’
‘What?’ Mike looked up at me from the floor, incredulous and enraged. ‘Who…? How…?’ His jaw dropped, then he caught himself. Pulled it together.
‘Yes,’ he said, staring at the floor.
My vision clouded with thick, acrid anger. I wanted to kick, rain blows, smash something over his head.
‘Please though, Izzy, you can’t tell anyone about this. Swear to me that you won’t tell!’
‘Why shouldn’t I? Why should I keep your dirty little secret?’
Mike sobbed on the floor before me.
‘Because I don’t want my kids to hate me. I’m the only parent they’ve got left.’
The car grumbled to a halt outside the police station and I realised that I’d arrived in Alnwick without knowing how I’d got there. I looked over my shoulder, as if the answer was on the street behind me, unable to recall any details of the journey. My head was swimming.
DCI Bell was waiting at the front desk and silently led me into a meeting room. She flicked a switch and the grey walls were cast in the sickly glow of a fluorescent light. The plastic chairs scraped against the floor as we sat down.
She listened to my explanation – or lack of – of how the messages from Phil Turner had just vanished. Her face stayed neutral, and I knew that this was not news to her. I wondered how many hours of police time had been spent ascertaining that I’d given them a false lead.
‘But I swear, I know what I saw,’ I said. ‘And I think I was set up.’
DCI Bell held my gaze, offering only a curt nod tin response. Did she think I was a fantasist, a liar, or just a heartbroken sister?
She listened wordlessly as I told her about the plastic folder that had been hidden away in the attic. I handed it to her and she spread out the credit card statements across the table, looking over the lines that had been highlighted. Only when I told her about seeing Mike in Newcastle last Saturday did her expression finally change.
‘This clearly gives us more to consider. I’ll hold on to these’ – she waved the statements – ‘and I’ll be in touch if we need anything else.’
I stood to leave. I wanted to tell her about Amy’s missing phone, and how I was sure that was important to the case – but so far, my attempts at detective work had caused more problems that they had solved.
‘And do please keep this to yourself, Isabelle. We’ll take it from here.’
I walked back out of the police station with my hands clasped in front of me to hide the shaking. Had I done the right thing?
I needed to take my mind off things. My meeting with Jennifer was in two days and I had a lot to prepare. It was time to get my secret weapon on-board. I called in to see Mum.
The concept for Izzy Morton Interiors was simple: a bijou agency that married a modern approach to design with the ancient Chinese art of feng shui, establishing the perfect balance between style and function, harmony and sophistication.
A broad smile spread across Mum’s face as I explained my idea.
‘That sounds wonderful.’
‘I’m glad you think so,’ I said, ‘because I’ll need your help.’
Auntie Sue stopped stirring the tea and looked at me. Mum fidgeted with the Tibetan prayer beads around her neck.
‘In fact, I was hoping you would agree to be my business partner.’
Mum couldn’t hide her delight. ‘Sue! Did you hear that? Izzy wants me to be her business partner!’ She clapped her hands in glee.
‘That sounds like a lovely idea, Anne,’ Auntie Sue said, smiling at me.
‘Silent business partner,’ I quickly clarified, before Mum got too carried away.
I explained how it would work – I would do the styling, choosing the colours, furnishings and fabrics, and Mum would lead on the positioning of the space. We would accessorise together, and I would source stuff from Hong Kong whenever Adam’s husband Thierry could get me a good deal. I couldn’t wait to tell Adam my plan. I really should call him back, I realised. He had tried to call me again last night and I’d let it ring out.
The business wouldn’t make me rich or famous, but it would allow me to indulge my creativity and hopefully earn enough to get by. Most importantly, it would mean I could be there for the kids, and give me and Mum a chance to make up for some of the years we had lost.
I showed Mum my sketches for The Stables and watched her become completely absorbed by the work, drawing diagrams to show me the ideal positioning for a
