“Jack.” I tilt his face towards mine. “What have you been told?”
His face crumples again. “That Daddy got knocked off his bike by a fast car. And that he was bleeding, and that he has been killed, and I’ll never be able to see him, ever again.”
I pull him closer. “The ambulance people tried everything to make him better Jack. But Daddy was too badly hurt.”
Dad crouches next to us, his eyes full of tears too. He places his hand on Jack’s back.
“But where is Daddy now? Can’t I just see him?”
“He’s in heaven sweetheart. And he’ll always be able to watch you from there.”
“Where’s heaven?”
“We’ve talked about this before. Can you remember when Monty died. Your rabbit?”
He nods, though I doubt he can remember. He was only three.
“Well, Monty went up to heaven.” I point upwards, hoping my words bear a conviction that I’m not feeling. “It’s where good people and animals go. Up there, in the clouds.” I’ve drifted in and out of religion in my time, but remain unconvinced. If there really was a God, then why have I experienced such utter crap in life? Or perhaps it’s because I’m inherently bad like Mum keeps suggesting.
Dad squeezes my shoulder. “You’re doing great love.”
“How can Daddy watch me, from in the clouds?”
I take a deep breath. “I’m not sure, but he loves you, so he’ll find a way.”
“If he loved me, he wouldn’t have died. He would have been more careful on his bike. Like he told me to be.” For a seven-year-old, he says some profound things. Dad and I look at each other again. This has got to be one of the worst moments of my life.
Dad stands and drags a chair towards us. “Sometimes, Jack, accidents happen. I know it feels awful right now, but I promise it won’t always be this bad.”
“Where’s Granny?”
A cloud crosses Dad’s face. “I don’t know love. We’ll find her later. But before that, we’re going to get you home. Then we can do anything you want. Any game. Any food. Any TV programme.”
“I just want Daddy to come home.”
I can’t say anything to make it better. I slide Jack from my knee to Dad’s as my phone rings. No number. “I’d better get this.”
“Fiona, it’s Detective Inspector Diane Green speaking. How are you doing today?”
“Hello.” I glance at Jack, not wanting to say too much in front of him. “As you might expect, really.” I can see Kay watching through the glass in the door. I wish she would leave us alone.
“Have you time to come down to the station today? We’d like to share our findings so far with you, and to ask you a few questions.”
“But I answered your questions yesterday.”
“I know, but we need everything on record. Especially now that we’re looking at a non-accidental situation.”
That’s one way of putting it. “Just a second.” Holding my hand over the mouthpiece, I turn to Dad. “I have to answer some more questions at the station. Can you drop me off, and take Jack home for me?” I know I should probably go home with them, and at least settle Jack down first, but I want to get this out of the way. Besides, I’m anxious to know what additional information they’ve got. I probably need to keep busy, anyway. If I stop, I might just go to pieces.
“Yes, that’s fine love.”
Kay puts her head around the door. “I don’t mean to rush you, but we’ve a class in here shortly. Can I possibly move you into the meeting room?”
“We’re going in a minute.” I say as I lift my mobile back to my ear. “My dad can drop me off in about a quarter of an hour. Will that be OK?”
“See you then.” DI Green hangs up without saying goodbye.
* * *
There’s speculation that the circumstances might be suspicious.
But they’ve got nothing concrete.
Nothing.
Chapter 13
It’s like a sauna in the police station.
“If you’d like to come through.” DI Green pokes her head around the door. “Can I get you a drink?”
It’s literally seconds after I’ve announced my arrival to the man on the desk. A woman in the waiting room scowls at me as I walk towards the door. She’s probably wondering how I’ve got in before her.
“A cup of tea, if that’s OK?” I’m taken aback. I bet most people don’t get this treatment here.
“If I can ask you to wait in the interview room, I won’t be long.”
“Are you interviewing me?”
“I’ll explain everything in a minute.”
I take a seat in the bottle green room. It’s even hotter in here than in the reception area. I glance around, noting the lack of a window and the fact that everything is attached to the walls and floors. It’s the first time I’ve been in one of these places since my early twenties when I got locked up for fighting.
The nausea I have been feeling since I woke up intensifies as I become aware of the globs of chewing gum, stuck to the underside of the table. I hope this will not take long.
“Thanks for coming in Fiona,” DI Green slides a mug in front of me, then takes a seat. The table is etched with graffiti. She looks towards the door. “Thanks John.”
“Hello again.” PC John Robinson enters the room and plugs a fan in. “I don’t know if this will make any difference. It will probably just blow all the warm air around.” The door of the tiny room closes behind him.
“Right Fiona.” DI Green nods towards a machine to her right. “I’m going to hit play on the recording equipment, so everything we discuss is on record.”
“OK.” This is slightly worrying. I wonder for a moment if I’m under suspicion for what’s happened to Rob and think about asking whether I need a solicitor with me. But I don’t ask. Perhaps
