POLICE
“She” being—?
AL
Louise.
POLICE
Yes, right.
AL
She got done for stalking before. Caz said some bloke had to take a restraining order out against her.
POLICE
When was this?
AL
I don’t know the details. Look, don’t you people have computers or something? You can look it up.
POLICE
Ms Lark, are you all right? You seem a little upset. Would you like to take a break?
AL
Sorry. It’s just … [Pause.] I know Caz is my friend and everything, and I would say this, but she’s, like, so the opposite of a drama queen. I’ve been telling her for months to report Louise, but she wouldn’t have it, said it’d just make things worse. But that woman hated Caz … [Pause.] Sorry.
POLICE
We can take a break here if you’d like.
AL
Sorry, no, I’m … I’ll be fine.
POLICE
Roy, would you get Ms Lark some tea? For the tape, Detective Sergeant Steve Roy is leaving the room.
AL
I told Caz not to go to that damn party – I knew something bad would happen.
POLICE
Why?
AL
Things have been building up. Ever since—
POLICE (SR)
DS Steve Roy re-entering the room.
POLICE
Here you go. Careful, it’s hot.
AL
Thanks. It’s just … no one believed Caz and look what’s happened. Louise is really plausible, but I’m telling you, there’s another side to her; honestly, I think she’s unhinged. I mean, that business with the cat, and all the nonsense she pulled with the school play. Who does that?
Six weeks before the party
Chapter 6
Min
Luke is curled up on the sofa when I come downstairs on Saturday morning, a small boy snuggled into the crook of each arm. All three are covered with Coco Pops, the empty cereal box on the floor testament to their nutritious breakfast. Akin to the unshod cobbler’s child, the offspring of doctors are the least healthily nourished in the land. ‘I can’t believe I slept in so late,’ I exclaim. ‘It’s after eight. You should have woken me.’
My husband cranes his neck around me so he can still see the television. ‘You pulled a double shift. You needed your sleep.’
‘Mummy! You’re in the way.’
‘What are you watching?’ I ask, glancing at the screen.
‘Stranger Things,’ seven-year-old Sidney says.
‘Luke! Isn’t that a bit scary for them?’
‘We like scary,’ Archie says, burrowing further into his father’s arms.
I pick up the cereal box and open the curtains, ignoring the boys’ squeals of protest as the Stygian gloom is dispelled. ‘Where are the twins?’
Luke finally yields to the interruption and pauses the TV. ‘It’s not lunchtime yet. Where d’you think?’
Dom and Jack transitioned effortlessly from getting up at five to sleeping in till noon as soon as the clock struck teenager. The sadist in me takes great pleasure now in waking them up for school, frequently with the aid of cold water, after a decade of being rudely bounced from my bed before sunrise. ‘I promised I’d go over and help your mother with the party this morning,’ I say. ‘Can you make sure the twins get to footie practice on time?’
‘What’s she need help with? The party’s not for weeks.’
‘She’s invited Andrew and that woman,’ I say indignantly. ‘Someone has to talk sense into her!’
‘Ah. So not exactly help then. More like interfere.’
Sidney grabs at the TV remote. ‘Dad! Push play!’
‘Your mother and I are talking,’ Luke says, holding the remote out of Sidney’s reach. ‘Honestly, Min, it’s up to Mum who she invites. I wouldn’t get involved.’
‘I know you wouldn’t,’ I say crossly.
Luke Roberts is the very definition of a good guy. He loves his family, works hard – doing what, I’ve never quite worked out, something unfathomable in IT, I think – and buys me flowers for my birthday, our anniversary, and sometimes for no reason at all. I’ve loved him heart and soul for more than thirty years, ever since he walked into double biology and tripped over my backpack, literally falling at my feet. But he is aggravatingly neutral about everything. Nothing bothers him. He never takes sides, or voices an opinion. Which is all very well, but we can’t all be Switzerland, or the world would be overrun by Nazis.
I’m not saying Celia Roberts is a Nazi, of course. But she could run the Gestapo with one hand tied behind her back. God knows, she’s had to be strong to survive what happened to her family; not many women could go through a tragedy like that and stay on their feet. But that’s no excuse to let her get away with murder. This nonsense with Andrew has to stop. It’s been four years. It’s not healthy to keep giving Lou false hope. She insists she’s over Andrew, but she isn’t, not even a little bit. She hasn’t even dated anyone since he left her. We all know how intense she can get, and I fear Celia’s started something with this party that won’t end well.
I leave the boys to their dystopian television programme, feed the dog, and drive over to Celia and Brian’s. They’ve lived in the same lovely old stone property on the outskirts of Steyning for nearly forty years; Lou and Luke both grew up there. Celia’s very lucky her children both live so close to her – something my own mother, up in Yorkshire on her own, never tires of reminding me.
My mother-in-law is kneeling by a flowerbed in the front garden when I arrive. She puts down her trowel and stands up when she spots me. ‘Min, how lovely to see you,’ she exclaims, tilting her cheek for me to kiss. ‘Was I expecting you?’
‘I’m sure you were,’ I say dryly.
‘Lemonade, darling? I made it fresh this morning. We can sit on the terrace in the back garden and enjoy the sun.’
I follow her around the side of the house. Brian waves genially in my direction, but doesn’t come over. He’s perfected the art of fading into the background over decades, and, like his son, hasn’t offered an opinion on anything in years.
Celia pours a tall glass of fresh lemonade for each of us, and we settle into a pair of wicker chairs on the veranda, for all the world as if we’re in an episode of Downton. My eyes water as the tart lemonade hits the back of my throat, but it’s delicious, especially on such a warm day.
‘You’ve got new tomato beds,’ I say, suddenly noticing the rectangle of dark, loamy earth enclosed by old railway ties at the end of the lawn. ‘How wonderful. You’ve wanted a raised bed for ages. When did you have it put in?’
‘Andrew came over last weekend and did it,’ Celia says.
‘Andrew did it?’
Celia takes a sip of lemonade. ‘You needn’t look so surprised. He knows how to get his hands dirty.’