‘The funny thing is all the hard work paid off. Rowena and I both enjoy working. It’s our way out.’ He turned to Alex. ‘After our childhood neither of us was much interested in families. But we both have a dammed good life. I run a huge outfit, a few hundred workers. Rowena started off managing one dress shop. I think she manages the whole chain now.’ He laughed again, mirthless. Looked around at the smart playground. The equipment painted in bright primary colours. Reds, blues, yellows. ‘Different to when we were kids,’ he muttered. Turned back to Alex. ‘I’ll tell you what, if there was any way we could change our childhood we would do it in a flash. Don’t get me wrong, Mum was never mean to us, in fact she and Mrs O’Brien were always kind. Gentle. But we blamed her. Slings and arrows at school. You know how it was. We thought our poverty was her fault. With a bit of distance, we can see what rubbish that was. She was sad. She was young, almost a child herself, her husband had left her, she had no money, and the goddam house! A rope around her neck. Always needing attention to keep things working. I remember once we had no electricity for two weeks until someone from the church fixed the problem.’ He shook his head, eyes clouded. ‘She leaned on them. They helped her through the bad times. So much religion. Thing is there was no room
for fun.’
‘What about your father? Did he contact you? When you became adults, did you try to trace him? It must have been something you thought about?’
‘Sure. We thought about it. When Rowena was about twenty she tried to trace him. As far as I know she failed, but who knows what she found. She might not have been truthful. I’m the younger child. She always did try and protect me.’
‘I know this may sound as if we’re grasping at straws,’ Alex said, ‘but do you have any idea what might have happened? Everything we’ve uncovered has suggested your mother led a very sheltered life. Even when she spread her wings it was very respectable. She led a simple, uncomplicated life.’
Michael nodded. ‘Yes. I would have said the same. The idea Mum could have been murdered … it seems ludicrous. Is it possible, you know … is it possible this was random?’
‘Unlikely though it seems,’ Alex worked hard to keep the gloom out of his voice, ‘we have to consider the option.’
* ‘Marion, do we have alibis for the children?’ Alex found himself shouting into the phone, trying to be heard above the traffic.
‘Ummm, they’ve accounted for their movements. It’s being checked out. Why? You don’t think they flew into the city, murdered their mother and flew out again do you?’
‘No, but I’m getting desperate. Talk to Jerry. Tell him it’s a go on Edwina’s husband. Who’s to say a long-forgotten husband doesn’t reappear one morning. Turn up on the doorstep.’
‘He’s way ahead of you, Alex. Husband died last year. Cirrhosis of the liver. Drank himself to death. Father’s dead too.
Years back.’
‘Damn. Okay, Mar.’ Alex hung up, glanced around. He was back on the main road outside the vegetable shop. He checked his watch. Lunchtime.
Alex chose a restaurant at random. Generic cafe food—paninis, focaccias, pies and salads. It didn’t matter what he ate, he wanted to get the bitter taste of Ms Marsden and Rowena Biggs out of his mouth. They’d been a double shot of dislike. He shook himself as if to free him from their ugliness. It didn’t work.
He was threading his way through the tables, making his way to the last empty one, when he saw her, sitting on her own. Rose. He stood fixed to the spot.
Rose looked up, didn’t say anything.
‘Ms Jones. Rose. What are you doing here?’ Great line, he thought. Great line.
‘I live close. Remember?’
‘Sorry, I was miles away. May I sit down?’
She hesitated.
‘I’d like to apologise,’ he rushed on, ‘for the last time we met. I didn’t mean to give you the impression you were a suspect.’
She was silent, watching him, eyes too large, face pale.
He ploughed on. ‘Are you having lunch?’
‘Well, yes. I start work at two. It was either another toasted sandwich or something a bit more interesting.’
‘I thought the toasted sandwich was perfect.’ Stupid, Alex thought, when he saw her start to blush.
‘Sit down,’ she said at last. ‘I haven’t ordered yet.’
‘Thank you.’
She was dressed much the same. Jeans and a white T-shirt but with a brown jacket and matching brown boots. University gear, but with a bit of style.
‘You don’t look old enough,’ he found himself saying, ‘to have eighteen-year-old twins.’
She blushed again. ‘You know that about me?’
He stumbled. ‘We know a little. It’s our job. I’m sorry, we have to.’ Felt a fool.
‘I suppose you do. I started young. Pregnant at twenty, if you must know.’ She tilted her chin, stared at him.
‘I’ve got an eighteen-year-old too,’ he said ‘and a nineteen-year-old. They live with their mother down country, most of the time, but they’re here at university. In a hostel.’ He knew he was talking too much, gabbing on, but he’d been caught unawares.
‘You don’t look old enough to have an eighteen and a nineteen-year-old, Detective.’ A ghost of a smile.
Alex felt himself relax. Smiled back. ‘I started young, too.’ He picked up the menu. ‘It’s been a shocker of a morning. Shall we order? I feel the need for something pleasant.’
* ‘Have you found out anything?’ Rose asked
