She laughs. I sigh inside with relief. At least she has a sense of humour. ‘No. I’m retired. But I used to be in forensics too,’ she replies.
‘What sort of forensics?’ Alastair asks.
‘An academic. Professor of Forensics at the University of West London.’
‘So why did you quit?’ he pushes.
She hesitates. ‘It’s difficult to feel fully involved in crime when you’re based at a university. So distant from the cut and thrust of the police.’
‘So why didn’t you move to my side?’
‘Too boring and repetitive.’ A slow, strangled smile. ‘In this life nothing is ever perfect.’ There’s a pause. ‘And I would like perfect.’
‘Wouldn’t we all,’ Alastair replies. ‘But I have to say, I get a lot of satisfaction from my job.’
‘Each to their own.’
She turns to me. ‘Come on, Emma. Enough small talk. Come and help me with the starter.’
I stand up and follow her from the room. Out through the dining room, across the hallway. Into a smart, shiny kitchen with white cupboards and a black granite top. A large arrangement of black and white orchids adorning the central station. The type of orchids that look as if they are plastic, but if you squeeze their stems they bleed. She opens the stainless-steel larder fridge, takes out four dishes of prawn cocktail and bangs them onto a tray.
‘It’s ready. I don’t need your help, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you in private.’ She leans towards me, across the kitchen counter. ‘I want to warn you that my husband Tomas has a wandering eye.’
‘What do you mean? Are you trying to tell me that he’s unfaithful?’
She sighs. ‘He’d be upset if he knew I was talking about him behind his back.’ She shrugs. ‘But, yes. He has a penchant for having affairs.’
I stand looking into Jade’s sad face, unsure of what to say.
She blinks and shifts her weight from side to side. ‘Come on, let’s go back and join the men. Make yourself useful – carry the tray.’
6
Emma
‘What do you make of our new neighbours?’ I ask you, later that night, as we lie entwined in my king-sized bed.
‘Tomas seems all right,’ you reply. ‘But Jade’s a strange one – disparaging about my job. Unenthusiastic about her own.’ You pause. ‘A glass-half-empty type to be wary of.’
I snuggle up closer. ‘When I was on my own with her in the kitchen, she said Tomas has “a penchant for having affairs”.’
‘Strange thing to tell your neighbour the first time you meet.’ You kiss my neck. ‘I reckon she’s a clusterfuck.’
I giggle. ‘Clusterfuck. I like that. But maybe it’s a bit unfair. Lots of people are glass-half-empty about their jobs.’
You laugh, ‘But not many people are so disparaging about their husband to a complete stranger.’ You roll away from me and slide into your sleeping position. ‘Living so close to her, I guess you’ll soon find out what she’s like.’
7
Alastair
Driving home from the lab after a boring day. Hanging around in scrubs for too long, waiting for some evidence that required urgent analysis to arrive. So urgent the police hadn’t found time to bag it. By the time it came it was 5 p.m., so I stayed a few extra hours to make a start, but I’ll have to finish off tomorrow. The salary I’m on is not enough to justify pushing the boat out and staying all night. Perhaps I would if they promoted me.
Stuck at the lights, longing to get a beer. Longing for a chat with Mother. Hoping Stephen is in bed. I fancy a quiet time. Supper, beer, TV, chat with Mum.
I park on the street outside the Italian restaurant and open the door beside it, which leads upstairs to our flat. As usual the scent of toasting mozzarella and basil assaults my nostrils, making me feel hungry as I climb up. As soon as I step inside my home, Mum scuttles into the hallway.
‘Heather is here. In the sitting room. Waiting to speak to you,’ she whispers. ‘Stephen’s in bed.’ My heart sinks. Heather, my ex-wife. Another clusterfuck. ‘Now you’re here, I’ll leave you in peace and go and relax in my room,’ Mum continues.
She pads along the narrow corridor rubbing her back. Sixty years old, hunched, as if she was eighty. Why won’t Heather take responsibility for our son? What’s wrong with her? Mum disappears into her cramped bedroom. I’ve made it as nice as I can, with a small TV, and big cushions, to make her bed double up as a sofa. I wish I could afford a nanny. Mum needs a break. If I could, I’d send her on an exotic holiday, to Mauritius, or the Caribbean.
Sighing inside, I open the door to the lounge. Heather is sitting on the sofa, glued to Love Island. As soon as she sees me she turns the volume down, but leaves the picture on. A group of women with pouty lips and extravagant figures are sitting by a swimming pool drinking cocktails; an orangey-brown mixture decorated with pink umbrella cocktail sticks. And laughing. A male Adonis walks towards them, beer in hand, and their eyes fix on his pecs. I try to ignore the screen and look at Heather, but I become glued to his pecs too. I really should work out more.
‘We need to chat,’ Heather says, forcing me to drag myself away from the on-screen overdose of oestrogen and testosterone.
‘OK then. But let’s turn the TV off.’
‘I can watch and chat,’ she snarls, her upper lip curving upwards like a horse’s.
‘Well, I can’t. So if you want to talk to me, you need to turn it off.’
She waves the remote at the screen, remaining transfixed as it closes down, then turns to look at me. Her hair is a mess, and she’s gained quite a bit of weight. I thought newly divorced women tended to smarten up. With Heather, divorce has had the opposite effect. What is going on with her?
‘What do you want to talk about?’ I ask, hovering in the doorway. I haven’t had a civil conversation with her since the day she left me.
‘I need more money. I can’t cope.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t have any more to give you.’
‘Yes you do. You’ve shacked up with that wealthy bint.’
‘If you mean Emma, I’ve only just met her. And I haven’t shacked up with her. As you may have noticed, I live here with our son Stephen, who you’ve abandoned. Hardly the lap of luxury, is it? A flat above an Italian restaurant. If I’d taken better advice I’d still be in the family home.’
She shrugs her shoulders. ‘Well, I’m not in the family home either. The Robinsons who bought it off us are.’ She hesitates. ‘You know I’m living with a girlfriend for now, while I decide what to do.’
I frown, exasperated. ‘I know you’re living with Shelly. But that’s your choice. You got your share of the house sale.’ I pause. ‘What have you done with it? Why are you asking me for more money?’
‘That’s a no-brainer, isn’t it? You know I’m out of work at the moment.’
‘Get a job. Any job. It was your choice to stop your teacher training.’
She sighs. ‘I was finding it too stressful, after everything that had happened between us.’