My smile froze. Nestled in a dip in the pillow was Peppa Pig. The Peppa Pig I’d seen in the reeds the afternoon Sheila had taken Immy. The same Peppa Pig she’d planted in the river so we thought our daughter had drowned. The last time I’d seen it, it was in a plastic police evidence bag. So how could it be here, in Immy’s bed, looking like new? It didn’t make sense. Unless… unless Sheila had forced her way into our house and put it there as a warning.
My hand flew to my mouth, and I took a step back, cannoning into the door. I was right, and the police were wrong. Sheila wasn’t dead. She would never have killed herself. The woman wasn’t remorseful - she didn’t have a conscience. This was all a game to her, and this little stunt was the latest move. Advance notice that she was coming back for Immy.
As the realisation sank in, a wave of nausea gripped me. My head felt floaty, as if it wasn’t fixed to my neck, and the sound of Stuart and the children faded away. My world contracted until it was me and the pink toy with the glassy eyes. Then the room started spinning and everything went black.
‘Cleo, are you all right?’
Footsteps pounding up the stairs.
An intake of breath.
The swish of displaced air.
A warm palm on my forehead.
‘Oh, my God. What happened?’
‘She must have fainted. She feels cold. Clammy.’
‘Do you think she hit her head?’
‘Christ knows.’
‘I’ll make her a cup of tea. Lots of sugar.’
A hand stroking my hair.
More footsteps. Lighter ones this time.
‘Why’s Mummy on the floor?’
‘She’s having a little lie-down.’
‘But she was getting my cake.’
‘Take Immy into your room, Nate. Just while we wake Mum up.’
‘But - ’
‘No arguments, kiddo.’
A squeal of delight.
‘Peppa’s back!’
‘What?’
‘In my bed. Look!’
A creak of floorboards and another caught breath.
‘Holy fuck.’
When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the floor with a pillow under my head, Stuart and Melanie kneeling either side of me. I clutched Stuart’s hand.
‘Sheila’s been here,’ I croaked. ‘Press the panic button. Quickly.’
When he made no attempt to move, I tightened my grip. ‘Stuart, listen to me. I found Peppa Pig in Immy’s bed. Sheila put it there. She could still be here, in the house. You need to call the police. Now!’
They exchanged a look, and I pinched the bridge of my nose and said slowly. ‘Do you understand? Sheila’s come back for Immy!’
‘Let’s get you onto the bed,’ Stuart said, helping me up. As I stood, my head spun wildly, and he took my arm and guided me across the room.
‘Drink this,’ he said, holding a mug to my lips. It was as sweet as the tea Sheila had used to drug me, and I shoved it away so forcibly it slopped all over his hand. He didn’t flinch.
‘Cleo,’ Melanie said, sitting next to me. I squinted at her, surprised to see her face was all blotchy. ‘It wasn’t Sheila. It was me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I bought another Peppa in Sainsbury’s to replace the one Immy lost. Nate and I hid it under Immy’s duvet because we thought it would be a nice surprise when she went to bed. I’m so sorry,’ she said, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘I popped it into the trolley without thinking. I should have realised it would totally freak you out.’
I still felt light-headed. Discombobulated. As if I’d been taken apart and put back together again like a piece of self-assembled furniture, only someone had left out a crucial screw.
Once again, I’d jumped to conclusions. Once again, I was wrong. Melanie had put the stupid toy in Immy’s bed, not Sheila. It hadn’t been a warning, it had been a small act of kindness from Immy’s fourth favourite person in the world.
‘It’s fine,’ I told Melanie.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’ I smiled. ‘And I bet Immy’s over the moon.’
Stuart said nothing, but I could feel the anger coming off him in waves. Being married for a decade did that to you. Whether Melanie had picked up on it I had no clue, but when they left me to rest, I heard him having a go at her in the kitchen, words like “thoughtless” and “crass” drifting up the stairs.
The whole incident had really shaken him up.
Unlike Stuart, I could see the funny side. Truth was, I was just relieved it wasn’t Sheila.
Chapter Fifty-Three
TUESDAY 22 JUNE
The rain was relentless. In three days, a sodden Kent saw two-and-a-half times its monthly average rainfall for June. The Met Office issued amber flood warnings and council workers in white vans delivered sandbags to every home fronting the river. According to the searches carried out by our conveyancing solicitor when we bought the place, Stour House hadn’t flooded in a hundred years. But we took the sandbags anyway, just in case.
We spent the days hunkered up indoors, building train tracks, doing puzzles and making our own playdough, to a soundtrack of rain pattering against the windowpanes. Melanie popped over most days, but the minute she arrived Stuart made himself scarce, muttering about an ecological impact survey he needed to finish.
I sensed something was troubling her, and I tackled her about it on Sunday morning while the kids were playing upstairs.
‘What’s up, Mel?’
‘I had a call from the coroner’s officer this morning. The coroner won’t release Bill’s body until they’ve carried out the postmortem examination. He told me there’ll also be an inquest.’ She bit her lip. ‘I can’t bear the thought of everyone knowing our business.’
‘I suppose it’ll all come out at Sheila’s trial anyway. Not that it’s much consolation.’
‘You still think she’s out there somewhere?’
‘Until they show me her body, yes.’ DC Sam Bennett phoned every day with an update on the investigation. ‘Sam says the rain has made the search almost impossible,’ I
