JEMMA
It’s nearly half past ten by the time I arrive at Devey House. Dad must have heard the wheels on the gravel; he’s waiting for me outside and pulls me into a hug as I step out of the police car. ‘My darling girl,’ he says. ‘Are you all right?’ What starts as an embrace turns into me holding him up. I stagger under his weight, as the strangest thought occurs to me: he wouldn’t have come out to meet me if Marianne were still alive. She’d be in the house too, and he’d know that she would say: ‘Why does waiting for Jemma require going outside? She has a key. I’m sure she’ll manage to find her way in.’
If I were Dad, and Lottie were me, I’d be outside too. I’d be running through the streets until I found her and brought her home.
I wonder if Dad will start to feel more like a dad to me now that Marianne’s gone? Will he look at me and see me, instead of someone who might please or displease Marianne? ‘I’m so sorry, Dad,’ I say, hugging him. ‘You must be in shock.’
‘Better now you’re home safe.’
This isn’t my home, Dad.‘Are the police still here?’ I ask him.
‘Most of them have left for the night but one’s just come back. A lovely chap, actually: DS Kombothekra.’
The unrufflable smiler with the velvet voice. I find it hard to think of him as lovely. ‘Do they have any idea who …?’
‘No. They don’t seem to,’ Dad says.
‘Where’s Lottie?’ I ask. ‘Not asleep, I bet.’
‘Suzanne’s been valiantly trying to get her to bed, but no luck yet.’
I disentangle myself from Dad and move towards the house. ‘I need to see her.’
‘She’s doing okay.’ Dad’s following me, out of breath already. He starts to say something else – it sounds like the beginning of a question – but I can’t talk any more until I’ve seen Lotts. The front door has been left slightly ajar and I pick up pace as I get closer.
Suzanne, at the far end of the entrance hall, sees me and starts running towards me. ‘Jemm! God, am I pleased to see you!’ She rushes over and grabs me, squeezes me tightly. ‘Lotts is fine, but – no, don’t panic, it’s not that sort of “but”. She’s upstairs brushing her teeth. I was just going to say: she knows about what happened to Marianne in 2012.’
‘Shit. I was going to tell her.’
‘I know,’ Suzanne says.
‘Does she know she was in the house when it happened?’
‘Everything, yeah. I told her what we know about that night, helped her to try and make sense of it. She didn’t seem overly … scared or freaked out or anything. Children, teenagers … they can’t avoid experiencing life, you know? The difficult bits too. Jemm, she’ll be fine.’
It’s all fine. Lottie’s fine.
‘Sorry. I just—’
From behind me, Dad says, ‘Would you like a cup of tea, sweetheart? Something to eat? I can heat you up some of—’
‘Just a cup of tea would be great,’ I tell him. ‘Thanks.’ God, he looks appalling under the bright lights of the hall: grey-faced and precarious, like he could fall to the ground at any moment.
Once he’s gone, I whisper to Suzanne, ‘Tell me one thing: Lotts can’t have done this, right? Charlie Zailer told me they know she was nowhere near Dad’s when it happened.’
Suzanne recoils. ‘Jemm, what the … OfcourseLottie didn’t do it. Who’s Charlie Zailer? And yes, it’s beyond doubt. The police have spoken to your neighbours, who saw Lotts with Paddy at yours just after 5.30.’
‘Jemma?’ Paddy’s voice comes from behind me, and I realise he hasn’t crossed my mind since I got out of the police car. I haven’t hoped, or expected, to see him.
He’s halfway down the stairs, stops walking when I turn to face him.
‘Paddy.’
‘Where have you been?’
‘You know where I’ve been,’ I say. ‘I texted you, remember?’
He looks at me warily, eyes moving up and down as if he can’t stand to look straight at me for too long.
