‘Mum!’ says a commanding voice. Ruth turns to face her one and only child.
‘Yes, darling,’ she says, trying to channel the caring spirit of Dot Barton.
‘I’m bored,’ says Kate. ‘Can I watch TV?’
Judy is also working from home. It’s been decided that only a skeleton staff will remain at the police station. The boss goes in every day, of course, and the rest of the team will take it in turns. Today Tony is sitting alone in the shared area, deprived of any outlet for his relentless sociability. Nelson will be closeted in his office– doing God knows what– and Leah will be bringing him cups of coffee and answering the printer’s querulous demands for fresh paper. Judy has set up a workstation in her bedroom. It’s not ideal because the rooms in the cottage are small and hers and Cathbad’s is almost completely taken up by their antique brass double bed. Judy has managed to fit in a small table and chair, but she is now wedged beside the window and her Zoom background shows only a flowered curtain and a portrait of Thing, painted by Miranda, stuck on the yellow wall. It doesn’t exactly say ‘modern police professional’. But Cathbad has commandeered the kitchen for home-schooling and the spare room is now full of Maddie and her myriad possessions.
Still, it is peaceful here. The window is open and the warm spring air floats in. It’s strange how this helps with the anxiety. At night, Judy lies awake worrying about work, school and Covid. Waking in the early hours she becomes convinced that she can’t smell anything (one of the symptoms of the virus) and goes into the bathroom to sniff the organic soap. Cathbad sleeps on, regardless, protected by The Goddess. But, when the morning sun streams in, it’s hard to stay pessimistic. Now she can hear her neighbour mowing his lawn and smell the freshly cut grass. Downstairs, the children and Cathbad are laughing as they listen toHorrible Historieson the radio. In her room, Maddie is tapping away on her laptop. A hen squawks from the garden.
Judy turns to her notes on the Avril Flowers case. There’s something she’s missing here, she’s sure of it. Some link between Avril’s death and Samantha Wilson’s. Maybe Karen Head too. Judy flicks through her trusty notebook. She has included a brief sketch of Avril’s bungalow: main bedroom, spare bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, sitting room. Judy thinks about touring the premises with Tanya, who’d been more concerned with its specifications and with her own BMI. What was it she had said in the bathroom?
Nice scales. Should I test them out? Check out my BMI?
Judy hadn’t answered at the time. The house was a crime scene and so the question could only have been rhetorical. Besides, Judy finds Tanya’s obsession with weight and fitness rather trying. But now those words are sounding warning bells.
What did Karen’s headteacher say?She even got us to have a sponsored slim last year. I lost two stone.
Karen Head had organised a sponsored slim for the teachers at her school. Avril Flowers possessed state-of-the-art weighing scales. Samantha Wilson had died with a Weight Watchers meal in the microwave.
Avril Flowers in a stripy dress on Cromer Pier.She thought that dress made her look fat.
She was as fit as a fiddle, always exercising. Not a couch potato like me.
Could slimming be the link between the dead women?
By the late afternoon, Ruth’s head is swimming from trying to read old-fashioned handwriting on electoral registers and birth certificates. Alfred Barton was born in 1900. Dorothy ‘Dot’ in 1902. Dot died in 1970 but Alfred lived on until 1997, when he had died in Ruth’s upstairs bedroom. In 1963, the house had presumably been home to Alf, Dot and numerous foster children. Where does that leave Ruth? Feeling slightly inadequate is the answer. She often complains about her life (usually to herself, it’s true) but she has a good job, a car and enough space for her and her daughter to have a bedroom each. She also has hot water, electric light and the internet. Yet there must be people facing the current crisis without any of these things. She really should start counting her blessings, but she’s had enough of maths for the day. She’s relieved when her phone buzzes. Nelson.
‘How are you finding lockdown?’
‘Has it only been two days?’ says Ruth. ‘It feels like years.’
Nelson laughs. ‘It’s very strange. The roads are empty, and it was just me and Tony at the station today.’
‘I would have thought you’d have liked the empty roads. You’re always complaining about other cars.’
‘I know but when they’re not there you miss them. It’s the same at work. The team drive me mad sometimes, but it doesn’t seem right to be in the office on my own listening to Tony’s constant chatter. Then, when I get home, there’s no one but Bruno to talk to.’
There’s a brief silence. Ruth digests the fact that Michelle is still away. The distance between them seems to contract. Ruth imagines Nelson in his stream-lined kitchen, opening the cupboards in search of fast food, Bruno watching from the hallway. Nelson’s house has always seemed exclusively Michelle’s but maybe that’s just because Ruth doesn’t like to think of the two of them choosing soft furnishings or deciding on paint colours.
‘How’s Katie?’ says Nelson.
‘She’s fine. I think she’ll find it quite boring after a while though. The school don’t send her much work to do although she did have a Zoom lesson today.’
‘She’s so bright. She’ll catch up.’
‘I’m not worried about her falling behind. I’m worried about her getting bored. I’m worried about me getting bored.’
‘What about your new next-door neighbour? The woman I saw the other week?’
‘Zoe? What about her?’
‘Is she company for you?’
‘Yes, she is but she’s a nurse. She works three days a week.’ Ruth has already seen Zoe come home, looking tired. Ruth had waved from the window, embracing her Mrs Grantham persona.
‘I wish. . .’ says Nelson and then he stops. What was he going to say? That he wishes that he was with her? Or that Michelle was back?
‘I wish none of this had happened,’ says Nelson.
