‘Do you have a contact address or number, just so we can verify your account of the evening?’ Littlewood asks.
‘No,’ I admit sheepishly.
She clears her throat. ‘What about your ex-husband? Can you give us his address and phone number?’
‘Why? What’s Theo got to do with anything?’ I’m getting a little impatient and nervousness is making me antsy.
‘We’d just like to talk to him, that’s all. Get a complete picture.’
Picture of what? Reluctantly, I scribble down Theo’s address and number on the back of an envelope. I can imagine Harper will have a field day when she finds out I’m a suspect in a murder case.
‘How would you describe your relationship with your ex?’ Sergeant Fisher sits back, lacing his fingers over his belly.
‘Um, civil. We’re trying to keep it friendly for our little boy’s sake.’
‘Very commendable. My ex and I don’t speak . . . or if we do, it’s only in four-letter words.’ He chuckles.
DI Littlewood throws him an icy look – clearly, he’s deviating from the script.
There’s a silence while DI Littlewood looks around, her sharp eyes scouring the room, and Sergeant Fisher leans back, his arm draped along the back of the sofa.
‘You haven’t asked us why we’re asking you all these questions,’ he says. ‘You must be wondering.’
I nod slightly. Of course, I already know why, but I’m unsure whether it’s wise to let them know that.
DI Littlewood clears her throat and hands me a printout. ‘A witness provided us with this description of a woman they saw outside Charlotte’s flat the night she was murdered,’ she says.
The paper trembles in my hand. I take a deep breath and glance down at the picture. It’s the same image I saw on TV last night. My own eyes stare mildly back at me from the page. Instinctively, I reach up and touch the mole on my cheek – the one mirrored on the photofit. I wasn’t imagining the resemblance last night. If anything, on closer inspection it looks even more like me.
‘Of course, now your hair is blonde you look a little different,’ DI Littlewood is saying. Her voice seems to be coming from a long way away, as if I’m underwater and she’s on the surface calling down to me. ‘But I think you’ll agree that it’s uncanny.’
I try to laugh, but it comes out as a sort of frightened squeak. ‘Yes, I saw it on the news. It does look like me, I know. But obviously it’s not. You can’t seriously think . . .’
I wait for them to laugh with me – to reassure me that it is indeed ridiculous. But DI Littlewood just gives me a small, thin smile and Fisher gazes at me thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against his thigh.
‘Witness testimony is notoriously unreliable,’ says DI Littlewood. ‘But you have to agree it’s a strange coincidence. How would you explain it?’
I breathe slowly through my nose. My heart is racing in my chest. I can’t let them see how rattled I am. That will only make them suspect me more.
‘I don’t know,’ I shrug helplessly. ‘Maybe the witness mixed me up with someone else or saw me another time and got muddled about when they saw me. Who gave you the photofit?’
Littlewood exchanges a glance with Fisher. ‘I’m afraid we can’t reveal that information,’ she says evenly.
‘You can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt you? Cause trouble for you?’ asks Fisher. ‘Do you have any enemies?’
‘No, of course not.’ Harper maybe, I think. But I would want to cause trouble for her more than she would for me. She’s the one who wronged me, not the other way around.
There’s another long, awkward silence while they both stare at me curiously. I’m starting to think it might be a tactic. Some people can’t bear silences. Perhaps they think that if they’re silent long enough, I’ll start talking and incriminate myself. Well, I’m not falling into their trap. I fold my arms in front of my chest and meet their gaze defiantly. Then, I look pointedly at my watch. ‘I’ve got to go and pick up my son from school soon,’ I say.
‘At eleven o’clock?’ Littlewood says sceptically.
‘Yes, it’s his first day. He’s finishing early.’
‘Okay, well . . .’ she stands up slowly and Sergeant Fisher follows suit. ‘I think that’s about all for now. Thank you very much for your time, Mrs Bayntun. We’ll be in touch.’
Is it my imagination or does it sound like a threat?
Five
It’s started raining while we’ve been talking and Littlewood and Fisher dash to their car, holding their bags over their heads. After they’ve gone, I close the door firmly behind them, lock it and head to the kitchen where I rip off the picture of the skinny model in a bikini I have sellotaped to the fridge. I tear it up and throw it in the bin. Then I root through the fridge, cut myself a large chunk of cheese and shovel it into my mouth. After that, I open a packet of Penguin biscuits and steadily munch my way through them. I eat automatically without even tasting, and I know even as I’m doing it that it’s not a good idea, that I’ll regret it later, but I can’t seem to control myself. The food slips down my throat. It has a welcome numbing effect on my mind.
‘Food is not your friend, Cat.’ I hear Theo’s voice in my head. It almost feels as if he’s standing behind me. I can see his raised eyebrows, the slight amused curl of his lips.
Fuck off, Theo, I think. You don’t get to judge me any more. Not after what you’ve done to me. He always said he didn’t mind my generous curves, even when I piled on
