‘It’s an emergency,’ Rachel says. ‘We can’t leave a baby in a dirty nappy.’
‘Are you sure it’s safe for me to leave you here?’
‘I can deal with Edgar. I’m sure there’s a proper explanation.’ Rachel doesn’t look convinced.
‘We should tell the police what we’ve found. It’s not safe.’
‘I don’t want to tell them anything until I’ve given him a chance to explain. That’s why I’m waiting for him to get home. Please, Anna. I can’t bear the idea of poor Rowan . . .’
Just then, there’s a crash at the front door.
Edgar comes crashing into the room, veering from one side of the doorway to the other. He’s hammered, stinking of alcohol.
‘What are you doing?’ he says.
Rachel wheels around to face him. ‘How have you got in this state? How could you take Rowan off like that?’
‘I went to my sister’s, left the baby. She’s perfectly capable of looking after babies. You shouldn’t have left me on my own to deal with it.’
‘Why the hell have you drunk so much?’
‘I’m upset, all right? Victor is my friend.’
Lucy sticks her head round the kitchen door, her face tightening when she sees Edgar. She comes in slowly, stands behind Anna.
Rachel’s not letting him off the hook. ‘What have you done with Marie? I know everything.’
Edgar roars. He lunges at Rachel, his arms flailing, but he’s too drunk. She manages to side-step him and he falls to the ground. Anna is poised, ready to leap to Rachel’s defence, but instead of raising himself up, Kraken-like, Edgar slumps his head between his knees and starts to sob, a low, guttural sound that rips right through Anna. Through Rachel, too, by the look on her face, and Lucy.
After a moment, Rachel kneels beside him, puts her hand on his shoulder. He turns to her and leans his head against her, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. They stay in that position for a few minutes, while the sobs gradually decrease in intensity.
There’s a connection between them. However aggressive it seems, the way that they hold on to each other looks solid to Anna, unbreakable. She steals a glance at Lucy. By the stricken look on the girl’s face, she can see it too.
At last, the sobs subside. He gets up, clutching Rachel for support, and sits at the table. The burst of emotion seems to have sobered him somewhat – he seems steadier than before. Rachel gives him a pint of water and stands over him as he drinks it, then sits down opposite him.
49
Lucy’s emotions are in complete flux. She’s been obsessed with Edgar for years. She knows he needs her, but when she looks at him now, he seems shrunken, pathetic. In comparison to him, Rachel is vibrant, beautiful. It’s not just that she’s so much younger than him. It’s her whole demeanour. She’s so much more alive. Lucy feels a wave of shame for ever going near him.
Rachel is looking at him with an expression of pity. Love. Edgar’s staring back at her intently, too, as if he’s trying to read her face, memorise it. If Lucy didn’t know better, she’d say it looked like a long farewell. She bows her head. She’s been messing with something she can’t understand, she sees that now. He’s all withered, hunched – bleached, as if someone has washed all the colour out of him.
‘I thought I was doing the right thing,’ he says.
‘What have you done, Edgar?’
It feels like a purposefully vague question. Lucy’s breath catches in her throat at the thought of how he might answer it.
‘I got funding for a research project,’ Edgar says. ‘It was about prisoners on life sentences. Whether there was a way for them to be reintegrated safely into the community, whether living off the land would work for their rehabilitation.’ He has sobered up a lot, but he’s still slurring his words as he speaks and Lucy needs to concentrate hard on what he’s saying. ‘There was this woman I’d talked to a lot through my work. She killed her kids – the lowest of the low in terms of public opinion. She was due to be let out, but there was nowhere for her to go. She was going to be hounded wherever she went – you know what people are like about killer mothers.’
‘What does this have to do with Marie?’ Rachel says, her voice measured.
‘I’m getting to it,’ he says, the anger of earlier resurfacing. He pauses, drinks some more water. ‘Let me just finish. I thought this could be a way of looking after that woman. Seeing if it might have broader applicability for other lifers. Much cheaper overall than keeping them inside. If I could get it to work. I put together a research project, putting her in a house that was effectively a prison, but without any of the restrictions you’d expect.’
‘What was it?’ Lucy says. She can’t help bursting in.
‘A home,’ Edgar says. ‘A quiet place that she could live almost normally, without the intrusion she’d get anywhere else. She wasn’t eligible for an anonymity order, though her solicitor tried. Tom, actually. You know, there are very few anonymity orders granted. They only go to people like Maxine Carr and Shannon Matthews’ mother. The Bulger killers, too, of course—’ He’s veering off course, describing the minutiae of the scheme. Lucy can see it’s annoying Rachel, though she would love to hear more about it.
‘Please, stick to the point, Edgar. You can explain the details later. Where was this house?’ Rachel says impatiently.
