An awkward silence fell over the table as they chewed their food. Swann racked his brain for a neutral topic of conversation, but came up blank. He watched as Elea chased her vegetables around her plate.
“So, Elea.” A hint of a slur tainted Alice’s voice. “There must be more to your life than work, work, work. What do you do for fun?”
Elea’s fork paused mid-air, a piece of buttered asparagus hanging off the end. “There’s not much to tell. I keep busy.”
“Of course.” Alice leaned forward. “Because you have no life of your own, right? That’s why you want mine.”
“Hey, that’s enough.” Swann squeezed Alice’s arm, his voice low. He’d known that this was coming, but the outburst arrived sooner than he’d thought. When Alice got like this, alcohol accelerated her words.
She shook him off, eyes blazing. “What’s the plan, eh? Aren’t you going to share?”
“Alice,” Elea spoke calmly. “You’ll wake the twins.”
“Why are you worried about them?” Alice snorted. “You already have my partner. You want my kids, too? After all, you couldn’t hang onto your own.”
“Alice!” Swann stared in disbelief. But the damage was already done.
Elea slowly lowered her fork to the table. But Swann saw the flicker of pain in her eyes as she was reminded of her grief. She pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Richard,” she said softly. “Goodnight.”
She took her bag from the back of her chair before turning and leaving the room. Swann got to his feet, torn between going after Elea and dealing with the mess Alice had made. The twins’ cries drifted from the baby monitor, their sleep disturbed.
“What is wrong with you tonight?” He wanted to shake some sense into Alice as she stared down at her plate, her chest heaving with angry sobs.
“What’s wrong with...me?” Her words came in stops and starts. “She’s the one who won’t give you a divorce!”
But there was no sympathy from Swann as he leaned over her. “She’s lost everything.” He snatched the bottle of wine from the table. “And you’ve had enough.” He marched over to the sink and allowed the bottle to release its contents down the plughole.
He caught Elea at the front door, pulling on her boots. “I’m sorry...” he muttered, palms outwards in apology.
“I should never have come,” Elea mumbled, barely able to meet his eye.
“Then why did you?” Swann’s voice lowered to a whisper.
“Because she kept shitting well texting me.” Elea pulled her phone from her pocket and drew up Alice’s recent texts on the screen.
“Even so...” Swan sighed.
“The funny thing is, I was actually starting to feel sorry for her. She’d made such an effort. It was pitiful really. But then that comment...She couldn’t help but stick the knife in.” She gave him a half-smile, the anger evaporating from her words. “Go. Hug your babies and put them back to bed.”
Her exit was silent as she slipped out through the front door. Sadness carried in her words, because Elea loved children. Alice’s remarks would have cut her to the bone. A floorboard creaked in the kitchen. Alice had been listening in. The babies’ cries grew louder. Swann loosened his tie and popped open the top button of his shirt. He was getting too old for this. He climbed up the stairs to settle his children, wondering if things could ever be made right.
Chapter 23
“Keep the change.” Elea pressed a twenty-pound note into the hand of the taxi driver before getting out of the car. It was a generous tip, given that she’d only gone a few miles, but he had a look of her father, and the memory of his presence had been enough to calm her down.
“Cheers,” he said, glancing up at police headquarters. “Stay out of trouble!”
“Iamtrouble.” Elea winked, before closing the car door. She’d have to enquire about hiring a car of her own soon, and perhaps rent a place in Lincoln for the near future, too. If anything, Alice’s attitude had made her all the more determined to stay. Tonight it had taken all of her self-control not to launch herself across the table and pull out a chunk of her hair. Alice had not only pushed the knife deep into her chest, but she’d taken pleasure in twisting it. She checked her watch: 10.30 p.m. A lot had happened in the short time that she’d been in Richard’s home. Whoever had said, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words cannot hurt me,” well, they’d never experienced the loss of a child. Notloss, Elea shook the words away. Liisa wasn’t dead, and she hadn’t lost her, either. She’d been taken, and she would get her back. She stared up at the looming police building, clenching and unclenching her fists.
Dark clouds blotted the moon, casting the car park in a gloomy monochrome. She approached the building, head low, her security pass in hand. Tonight had escalated so quickly. But then again, Alice had already downed half a bottle of red wine by the time she got there. The 2020 bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape was one that Richard had kept for a special occasion, according to the mother of his children. There was no inhaling the bouquet for Alice, or swishing it on her tongue; she’d knocked it back as if it was a bottle of cheap plonk. She’d seemed almost pleased to see Elea when she had first let her in.
Richard’s presence had changed everything. Elea couldn’t deny their chemistry. The knowing looks across the table. The familiarity that only their history could bring. There was love there. Always would be. Alice had felt it, too.
She fumbled with her pass, pressing it against the black electronic pad at the thick metal back door. With a final turn, the door clicked open, and she pushed her weight against it to step inside. Had she gone straight back to her hotel, she knew how it would end up: with a drink or three in her hand and a stranger in her bed. She wasn’t getting on that merry-go-round tonight. Work would soothe her frayed nerves and stop her endless analysis of Alice’s hurtful words.
It was a relief to see that the team had all gone home. She stood among their desks, basking in the smell of stale air, uneaten food, and coffee that had turned cold. She clicked on a small desk lamp. Yes, she was exactly where she needed to be. Her footsteps moved quietly as she glanced at each work surface, cluttered with the remnants of a long day. Kelly’s desk was neat and tidy, her pens laid parallel next to a thick A4 pad. Her cup had been washed, her computer powered down.
Elea would have known Ness’s desk even if she hadn’t seen her sitting there. It was just like her personality: disorganised, but comforting. A half-empty plastic tray of cupcakes was perched on one side, an empty Gregg’s wrapper next to it, and a chipped but clean mug that read “World’s best nanna” on the other side. The photos on Ness’s desk displayed her grandchildren, two boys with bright-pink faces as they posed proudly next to their sandcastles on a sun-washed beach. Elea passed the other desks, each one reflecting the personality of the officer who used it. She thought of her desk in Helsinki, which displayed a photo of Liisa—a constant reminder of her failures as a mum.
