‘Please. Don’t say anything. I’m not asking you to lie, just not to say anything.’ He looks so stricken that I find myself agreeing. But it’s not until I’m making a cup of tea that I ask myself what Nathan’s so afraid of.
I’m in the kitchen when Adrian returns an hour later, Mum holding on to his arm as though her life depends on it. The police won’t let them through the front door, so they have to come through the back.
I envelop her when she steps over the threshold and, to my surprise, she returns my hug, her hair brushing my cheek. She smells of disinfectant and something I can’t quite place. Hospital wards and death.
‘I can’t believe she’s gone,’ she whispers, her voice croaky and full of tears.
‘Me neither,’ I say, my eyes filling again.
I lead her into the dining room. Nathan is still sitting alone at one of the tables, with a mug in front of him. He stands up when he sees us, his expression mirroring hers. He goes and fetches us some tea. Mum asks after Ruby and I reassure her that she’s with Julia, Amelia and Evie in the playroom, watching TV.
‘I need to go and see Ruby,’ Mum says, as she sits down.
‘Have this first,’ urges Nathan, who’s arrived with a tea tray. He passes her a mug. ‘You look like you need it.’
Mum sips her tea in silence. There is a large bloodstain on the front of her jumper. She notices me looking and brushes at it self-consciously. ‘I need to change before I see Ruby.’ Her face crumples. ‘That poor child …’
I swallow the lump in my throat.
‘Why are the police here?’ Mum asks.
‘It’s just procedure,’ says Adrian, by my shoulder.
‘What do you think happened?’ asks Nathan. He’s clutching his mug so tightly his knuckles have turned white.
‘She must have slipped.’ If I say it enough, it must be true. But I can’t help the niggling suspicion that the police think there’s more to it.
Adrian turns to me. ‘Have you seen Dean this morning?’
‘No.’ I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s only eleven but it feels much later. Nancy will be here soon. We need to clean the rooms, although what I’d like to do is curl up in a ball and cry.
‘She died on the way to hospital,’ Mum blurts out. She takes off her glasses and wipes under her eyes, which look small, like a mole’s. ‘I held her hand as she passed.’
I squeeze her shoulder. ‘Oh, Mum.’
We fall silent listening to the clock ticking on the wall and the rain drumming on the windows in the kitchen.
I’m making more coffee when I see a man standing at the bi-fold doors. I jump and put my hand to my chest.
I peel back one of the doors. ‘Can I help you?’ I ask, wondering if he’s looking for a room. Maybe the police told him to come to the back.
‘Are you the proprietor of this establishment?’ he asks. He has a sour face and is in his late fifties, with steel-grey hair and the sort of rectangular black glasses that Ronnie Kray used to wear. The rain beats down on his head, flattening his hair and splattering his glasses, but it’s like he doesn’t notice, or care. He’s wearing a long grey overcoat over a suit that looks like it needs pressing.
‘Yes. I’m Kirsty Whitehouse.’
It’s then I see he’s holding up a badge. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Middleton from South Wales Police CID. Can I have a word?’
A detective?
‘Come in,’ I say, stepping aside to allow him into the kitchen.
He looks around without saying a word. He reaches inside his coat, which is marked with dark patches of rain, and takes out a notebook. ‘I understand there was an incident here earlier this morning involving a Selena Perry.’ It’s not a question.
‘Yes. That’s right. She’s my cousin.’
‘And that she fell from a flight of stairs?’ His voice is monotone.
‘Yes. I found her. Well, actually, my mother found her. Her cries woke me.’
