Ted sighs heavily and my heart sinks, anticipating what he’s going to say. ‘But Clive didn’t kill Flora, did he? At least, there’s no evidence of that now. The body isn’t hers!’
‘But if he killed this other young girl he might have killed Flora too,’ I say. ‘Dylan said he’d been at the fair around the same time as Flora. He might have met her.’
Ted grunts. ‘“Might have” isn’t good enough.’ He slaps the edge of one hand into the palm of the other.‘We need cold, hard facts. And the fuckingDaily Newsseems to be getting everything before we do.’ A tense silence falls between us. Ted’s blue eyes are cold as he stares off into the middle distance, still chewing.
‘You know, Jess,’ he says, still not looking at me, ‘HQ are looking for any excuse to shut this place down. They want us all under one roof. I’d hate that, and so would Seth. We’re too old and jaded to make that move.’
I’d hate it too. I love the freedom we have here.
‘We’re the ones who are coming up with the good stories on this,’ I say, my cheeks hot. ‘Not them.’
‘Only because you know the family. It keeps Jared off our backs.’
Jared is ten years younger than Ted, suave with his slicked-back hair, expensive suits and soft-top sports car. Ted is the antithesis to Jared. Ted is what I call old-school. Ex-Fleet Street. There’s nothing suave or slimy about Ted.
I have one ace up my sleeve, although I’m not sure how ethical it would be to use it.
But I need to prove to Ted that he wasn’t wrong to employ me. He hired me because of my track record.
I take a deep breath and it all comes out in a rush. ‘Margot said I can go with her this afternoon to see Heather.’ I feel as if I’ve thrown a hand grenade into the room and am waiting to see if it explodes.
His eyes flick back to mine and he looks more alert than I’ve seen him all week.
‘I’m not sure I’ll be allowed to interview her,’ I add hastily. ‘But proceedings aren’t active yet because they still haven’t charged her due to her health.’
‘She’s getting better, though. It’s only a matter of time.’
‘I know. It’s a long shot, but she might give me something.’
He stands up, actually rubbing his hands. ‘Yes. Yes, she might. It’s worth a shot. You’ll be the first journalist to see her, to interview her. Great. Great. That’ll get Jared off our backs.’
‘Even if they say I can interview her, I don’t know if she’ll agree …’ I begin, but he’s already walking away.
I’ve arranged to meet Margot in the entrance to Southmead Hospital and she’s already there when I arrive. She’s wearing a wool camel coat that reaches mid-calf, and a large black cashmere scarf slung around her neck. I’m struck again by how elegant she is. She’s wearing lipstick and her hair is styled, the streaks of white at the front giving her a distinguished appearance. For a moment, a millisecond, really, I feel a stab of envy for Heather that’s so sharp I gasp. My own mother never even called me back after our brief, awkward phone chat last Friday night.
When Margot spots me, her green eyes light up and she hurries over, pulling me in for a hug. I allow myself to be engulfed by her warmth, the smell of her familiar musky perfume, before she releases me.
‘Thank you for coming. Heather will be so pleased to see you,’ she says, taking my arm and leading me through the atrium towards the maze of corridors while I wonder if this is true. I’ve no idea of the reaction I’ll receive from Heather and my heart races at the thought. She’d be within her rights to tell me to get lost.
Margot’s chatting the whole way, and I wonder if she’snervous. I can’t help the small thrill that runs through me at the thought that I’m allowed into her inner sanctum.
But I know not to be fooled. Behind that refined politeness Margot would fight to the death for her family. I’ve been on the receiving end of her hostility, and I don’t want that to happen again. I need to tread a very fine line here between being loyal to her but also getting Ted the story he wants.
Yet again I wonder if I’m the right person for this job. How objective can I be? I’ve already admitted to myself that I want to believe Heather is innocent and that there is a rational but not-yet-found explanation for all of this – although, as time goes on, it’s looking less likely.
My heart starts to beat faster as we approach Heather’s room and my mouth is so dry I can only nod as Margot tells me Heather’s no longer in ICU and that the police will be formally questioning her tomorrow, now the doctors deem her well enough. She doesn’t say it but I sense her unease about what will happen when Heather is discharged. Will she be taken straight into police custody or will she be allowed home? At least she has Margot to fight for her. I’m sure she’ll get her the best lawyers, the best defence team. I imagine she has money squirrelled away. She’s never been one for material things, preferring to spend her cash on her animals.
I can’t believe I’m about to see Heather again. How will it be between us after all these years? We’ve both changed so much. I swallow, wishing I had some water.
A police officer is standing outside Heather’s door. A man: young and slim with closely cropped hair and apointed chin. He doesn’t smile as we approach but he nods to Margot, standing aside to let us pass.
I wasn’t expecting that. She’s in hospital, hardly able to go anywhere. I dart Margot a questioning look but she just shakes her head briefly.
Heather is sitting up in bed when we enter, on top of the blankets. She’s wearing sheepskin slippers and lilac pyjamas, and her hair – which is exactly the same as I remember it – is long and shining, as though it has recently been brushed. She’s older, of course, with faint lines around her eyes, but she’s still got the amazing complexion I remember, pore-less, almost, with a hint of peach at her cheekbones. There is no sign that she’s been so ill, apart from a bandage around her head. She blushes when she sees me but her face breaks into a wide smile – she still has that dimple in her left cheek – and in that moment she’s my fourteen-year-old best friend again. My eyes fill with tears and I blink them away. I must be going soft.
‘Hey, you,’ she says.
I rush towards her bed, then hesitate, wondering whether to give her a hug. But she saves me making that decision by leaning forward, her arms outstretched. I bend towards her and hold her, her silky hair brushing my nose. She smells of shampoo and hospitals.
