‘Harper’s out for the evening, actually,’ Theo says. ‘I’d love to stay if that’s okay with you.’
‘I suppose so,’ I say tartly. ‘If you cook.’
‘Great,’ he grins. ‘What’ve you got?’ He opens the fridge and roots around. ‘Mushrooms, pepper, cheese. I’ll make pizza.’
‘How is Harper, by the way?’ I fire a casual shot. I’m sitting with my feet up on a chair, sipping coffee and watching him knead the pizza dough. I hate to admit it, but Theo makes the best pizza. Perfectly light and doughy. Just the thought of it is making my mouth water.
His back stiffens at the mention of Harper. We have a tacit agreement not to talk about her. It only leads to arguments.
‘Fine?’ he says warily.
‘Where is she this evening? Doing her Art Through Music, I suppose?’
Harper is an art teacher at Theo’s school. But in her spare time, she paints to the accompaniment of her friend’s sitar playing in front of an audience. Apparently, she goes into a sort of trance and paints whatever the music inspires her to paint – judging by the artwork on Theo and Harper’s wall, usually a load of squiggly lines that Dylan or any of his peers in reception would have no problem knocking out. It’s the kind of thing that Theo used to find pretentious and would have mocked mercilessly when we were together, but now seems to think is inspirational.
Theo frowns. ‘Actually, if you must know, she’s gone to see a therapist.’
‘What? Why?’
‘She suffers from depression – always has done. I persuaded her it would be a good idea to talk to someone.’
‘What on earth does Harper have to feel depressed about?’ I say crossly. As far as I can tell she leads a charmed life. She’s beautiful and slim with a great job and a man she’s stolen from me.
‘It’s complicated. Her father left when she was young, and her sister died when she was a baby. She has abandonment issues.’
Theo is a sucker for a damsel in distress. I wonder if Harper’s emotional problems were even more of a turn-on for him than her gorgeous blue eyes or her tiny, pert breasts.
‘By the way, the police came to talk to me earlier today,’ he says, changing the subject. ‘They were asking about Friday night.’
Touché, I think. Way to bring the focus back on to me. ‘What did you tell them?’ I ask carefully.
‘The truth of course – that you dropped Dylan off at about six and that’s all I know. What’s going on, Cat? They don’t seriously suspect you, do they?’
‘I don’t know,’ I sigh, thinking of Littlewood’s solemn face with a twinge of unease. ‘They said it was just routine and that witness testimony was notoriously unreliable, but they still asked me a lot of questions about what I did that night.’
‘And what did you do?’ Theo glances at me curiously.
‘I was out with Gaby most of the night. We went to the Black Bear.’ No need to mention Luke.
‘It’s ridiculous,’ he pronounces loyally, ‘completely ridiculous. What the hell do the police think they’re doing? They should be out there finding who really committed this horrific murder, not harassing you. You’re the last person who could kill someone. I told the police you couldn’t hurt a fly. You’re a vegetarian, for Christ’s sake.’
I feel an unexpected rush of affection and gratitude. Theo knows me better than anyone. We have so much history together and, after all the suspicious looks today, it’s reassuring to hear his faith in me. Despite the unforgiveable things he’s done, right this second he feels like an ally and I badly need one of those.
‘What did DI Littlewood say to that?’
‘She said Hitler was a vegetarian.’
‘Hm,’ I snort grimly. ‘That sounds like her.’
Theo puts the pizza in the oven and comes and sits opposite me at the kitchen table.
‘It’s just so strange, that’s all,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘I’m trying to think why someone would have given your description to the police. Do you think they could have seen you in the area? The police said the murder victim lived on Cecily Hill. Were you anywhere near there on Friday night?’
I sigh. ‘No, definitely not. Maybe the witness saw me somewhere else another time and got muddled.’
‘Yeah, it’s possible,’ Theo chews his finger thoughtfully.
‘Or . . .’ I give voice to the fears that have been dogging me all day, ‘maybe someone is trying to frame me.’
Theo gives a short bark of laughter, then breaks off when he sees my expression. ‘Oh, you’re serious? That’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it? Who would want to frame you? You haven’t got any enemies, have you?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. But it’s not completely true, I realise, thinking about a long time ago – things that I haven’t thought about in years . . .
‘Cat, did you hear me? Are you okay?’ Theo is gazing at me, concerned.
I give myself a mental shake. ‘Why wouldn’t I be okay? I’m only a suspect in a murder investigation. No biggie,’ I say, burying my fear under sarcasm.
Theo smiles uncertainly and then shrugs. ‘You always did get yourself into scrapes but this one takes the biscuit.’ He checks the pizza and starts laying the table.
‘Who took the biscuit? I want a biscuit,’ Dylan says coming in, and we both laugh at his unintentionally comic timing.
‘Nobody’s taken any biscuits. Don’t worry,’ says Theo, winking at me. I don’t smile back. Although Theo has risen in my estimation over the past few minutes and I appreciate his support, I’m not about to accept winking as a form of communication between us.
‘You’re having your tea in a minute,’ I say to Dylan. ‘But you can have a Kit Kat afterwards.’
When we sit together around our small kitchen table, it’s just like old times. I can almost imagine that we do this every evening – that we’re a family again, the
