Her Perfect Family

by Driscoll, Teresa

  CHAPTER 46

  THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

  Amelie has paint all over her hands when Matthew arrives at the school. She’s in the art room of the nursery wing with one of the classroom assistants, and beams as he walks into the room.

  Matthew sweeps her into a hug, not caring about the paint, and closes his eyes with relief.

  ‘You’re hugging too tight, Daddy.’

  ‘Sorry, darling. Sorry.’

  ‘I got paint on your shirt.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Listen – I need to just have a quick chat with the head teacher and then we’re going home early.’

  ‘Am I in trouble?’

  ‘No, no. Of course not.’ He kisses her on the forehead, cupping her face.

  ‘What about my lunch? They said it’s crumble and custard today.’

  ‘We’ll have lunch with Mummy. Find you something nice. Ice cream.’

  ‘With chocolate sauce?’

  Matthew ruffles his daughter’s hair, relief still sweeping through him. Trust Amelie to play the advantage card. He stands and looks towards the head teacher Mrs Lewis who’s waiting in the doorway. She’s in charge of both the main school and the nursery wing too.

  ‘Yes to chocolate sauce. I’ll be back in just a moment. You finish your lovely picture.’

  Matthew follows Mrs Lewis into her office where a uniformed officer is waiting. The PC introduces himself and looks wary. Matthew’s already explained on the phone that there are ‘complications’ but he’ll need Mel to sort out the protocols. The head teacher gave him an outline on the phone and he’s shared the bare bones with Mel. But they urgently need more details.

  ‘My wife should be here in about ten minutes.’ He checks his watch, thinking of his own frantic drive here. Sally was at the hairdresser’s and is distraught to have missed the school’s call, which went to voicemail while she was at the basin.

  Mrs Lewis adjusts her screen so that Matthew and the police officer can see the footage from the school’s security cameras.

  ‘We had a problem a couple of years back with reports of a man hanging around outside. So we had these installed, covering the playground and the gates. As I said, Amelie came in during the morning playtime to say she had a letter for her daddy.’

  Mrs Lewis presses play on her machine and Matthew watches the blurred image. Amelie is playing hopscotch on her own near the corner of the playground and then suddenly looks up. A woman is standing outside the playground railings. Amelie pauses as if listening and then walks over to the woman. Matthew feels his stomach muscles tighten.

  Amelie and the stranger talk for just a moment and then the woman passes something through the railings. They seem to say something else to each other and then Amelie moves across the playground, out of sight of the camera.

  ‘She came straight inside and told a teacher about the letter.’

  ‘Wasn’t there a teacher on playground duty for the little ones?’ Matthew can’t help his tone. The nursery has its own section of the playground. Closer supervision surely?

  ‘Yes, of course. But the staff member with Amelie’s group was dealing with a child who’d fallen over and hurt her knee. So she didn’t see what happened.’ Mrs Lewis straightens her back.

  ‘Right. So was Amelie upset?’ Matthew tries to calm his tone. He doesn’t want Mrs Lewis to be defensive. Not her fault. But he can feel fury rising inside him that his daughter has been dragged into this . . . again.

  ‘No. She said the woman told her she had an urgent letter for Daddy. That she’d missed the post. We told Amelie that she’d been a good girl to tell us right away. But—’ The head teacher lets out a long sigh. ‘Look, I don’t want Amelie to feel she’s in trouble, but we will obviously need to agree how we take this forward with her. And with the other children too. We’ll need to be open that the woman was in the wrong; that children don’t always have to do what an adult says. We’ll need to reinforce the stranger rules. We can’t have this happen again.’

  ‘No. Of course not. We’ll talk to Amelie carefully.’

  Matthew rakes his fingers through his hair. They’ve warned Amelie not to talk to strangers but she’s so young, she can’t be blamed. How could she know what to do in this situation? She was in nursery; supposed to be safe. And the woman was crafty – implying she was helping her daddy. Wretched woman. What the hell was she really doing? He asks Mrs Lewis to play the tape again and leans in even closer. The image of the woman is blurred. She’s wearing a pale mac with a belt and has long hair. Could be Laura. Could equally be someone else entirely.

  Just this morning his money was on Alex as their man but now he’s not so sure. If this is Laura, he wonders what might have triggered her to suddenly pursue Ed after all these years. And his family too? He must speak to Ed again – see if there’s anything in recent times that might have upset Laura. Set her off. Stirred up her illness and made things worse?

  ‘I’m involved in a major investigation at the moment. With DI Mel Sanders.’ Matthew is directing this as much at the uniformed officer as the head teacher. ‘There’s a possibility this is linked. DI Sanders will want a copy of this tape to see if we can enhance it.’

  The PC is looking worried now. ‘So this is definitely being bumped? I’ll still need to do a report.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll get DI Sanders to liaise with you. I can’t say too much at the moment. A lot’s confidential.’

  The PC makes a note in his pocket book, still looking curious. Wary.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Lewis. And the letter. Did anyone open it?’ Matthew’s desperate to see it but is reluctant to push too hard; he doesn’t want to clash with the PC in front of the head.

  ‘No. We called the police straight away. Tried to keep things low key for Amelie.’

  ‘Good. Thank you.’

  ‘Should the school be worried, Mr Hill? We need to be fully in the picture if there’s a threat. If this could happen again?’

  Matthew feels his heart sink. This is the last thing he wanted for Amelie. And Sally too.

  ‘I’ll ask DI Sanders to speak to you as soon as possible, Mrs Lewis.’

  ‘Right. Good. And what about Amelie in the meantime? I understand she’s been having counselling. She’s been much more her usual self in nursery these past couple of days but I’m concerned this will set her back.’

  Matthew notices the police constable raising his eyebrows, clearly wondering what is really going on here.

  ‘Yes. This is the last thing we all needed. May I see the letter, please?’

  The PC puts his hand in his pocket, fishes out an evidence bag and puts it on the head teacher’s desk. Inside the sealed bag, ready for forensics, is a white envelope.

  ‘I’ll need to log this myself,’ the PC says, as if reading Matthew’s mind.

  ‘Sure.’

  Matthew uses his phone to take a photograph of the evidence bag to show Mel while it’s being processed. It’s handwritten. Neat, sloping writing with quite a distinctive ‘M’– shouldn’t be difficult to get it checked against Laura’s.

  ‘As soon as my wife arrives, we’ll take Amelie home and be in touch once I speak to DI Sanders again.’ Matthew pulls back. He doesn’t add what he’s really thinking. That he’s not even sure if it’s safe to take his daughter and wife home.

  He’s thinking of the dolls. So where does this fit in?

  Matthew’s mind is spinning. Maybe his family should go away somewhere? Take a break while he and Mel try to figure out what on earth is really going on here. He looks away towards the door, spooling through the options. Mel’s mum is a close neighbour so that’s no good. Maybe an Airbnb. Tell Amelie it’s a little holiday? He badly needs to bounce this past Mel; see what she thinks.

  Also Sally. He checks his watch again, bracing himself for her arrival. He prays she’s driving safely. She’s going to be horrified. Frightened. And quite possibly angry with him too for dragging them into this. He remembers how upset she was when he left them i
n town that very first day. There’s a gunman in the cathedral.

  Sally’s face in the summer house when he arrived – the bomb squad checking the doll in the kitchen . . .

  ‘Do you want tea while you wait?’ Mrs Lewis says at last.

  ‘No. But thank you.’

  ‘That would be very nice,’ the PC contradicts. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

  Mrs Lewis picks up her phone while Matthew and the PC both stare at the evidence bag on the desk, Matthew wishing he could just grab it and rip open the letter.

  Desperate to know what it says.

  CHAPTER 47

  THE FATHER – BEFORE

  There were several things about Laura that both puzzled and delighted Ed in the early days of their relationship. Long, long before he had any idea that their story was to end so badly.

  They moved in together within just a couple of months. A few friends raised their eyebrows, but Ed had no doubts at all. They were almost ridiculously happy, they were spending nearly all their time together, so why not live together? It was an hour commute to the school in Wells where she taught music but Laura loved driving; she was only working three days per week and insisted she didn’t mind. She played classical favourites at full volume and told him that she liked the space; the time to herself.

  Sometimes he worried that she had made too many compromises, agreeing to be the one to move for starters, but it was all very spontaneous. And also a question of practicality. Laura had a tiny studio flat with very limited cooking facilities on the outskirts of Wells. The first couple of weekends he went to stay with her, but mostly they ate out because her oven and hotplate was broken and the landlord was ignoring all her pleas to fix it. They each confided that they actually loved both to shop and to cook, so Laura offered to visit him instead. She fell instantly in love with his much larger kitchen . . . and more significantly his range cooker. So very quickly they switched to spending nearly all their early weekends at Ed’s flat. Then, while pouring wine as she ladled stock into a risotto one night, he just blurted it out. Why don’t you just stay? Move in, I mean. Forget the rows with your stupid landlord. She just smiled. I thought you’d never ask.

  And yes – in those early months, she was this extraordinary puzzle – constantly surprising him. He discovered very quickly that she rose ridiculously early, 6 a.m. every single day, to do her exercise routine before music practice. He had imagined weekends would be different as she relaxed into their relationship, that she would look forward to a lie-in with him at weekends . . . but no.

  He would wake groggy and slightly disorientated, an image of sex from the night before bringing a smile to his face even before he opened his eyes. He would reach out across the bed, hoping for a repeat, only to find her gone. A glance at the clock would bring an involuntary groan. Seven a.m. and he was already alone. He would then tiptoe to the loo as a pretence to see what she was up to, and every morning would be the same. He would find her on her exercise mat, her strawberry-blonde hair piled into a messy, high bun.

  Laura said the early rising was part nature and partly due to her short stint in the army. The discipline. That was a shock too – the whole military thing, but she said it was perfect, just a limited spell and mainly for the music. Financial independence from her parents after uni and a chance to play in some huge concerts. She’d loved it.

  I played for your Queen once.

  You didn’t?

  I bloody did.

  But didn’t you have to go on military tours? What if there had been a war?

  Ed associated the army with violence. Killing. And Laura was the least violent person he’d ever met.

  But what if they’d sent you into battle? That’s the contract, isn’t it?

  Chill, Ed. I played fabulous concerts, I had access to the best gyms and I worked in financial admin. It was a breeze.

  Sometimes he would just stand and stare at her a while, wondering at the contradictions. Her extraordinary energy. The differences between them. He liked to laze about on a weekend morning. She wanted to get out and about as early as possible.

  Come on. Let’s go for a walk. Get brunch.

  Don’t you ever feel groggy? Tired in the morning? Never? What is the matter with you, Laura?

  My brain doesn’t ever let me keep still, Ed. It’s always buzzing. Too noisy. Music is the only thing that makes it quieten down. When I’m not playing music, I can’t bear it. Come on. Let’s go out . . . please.

  Later, when everything went so terribly for them in Canada, he would look back on those conversations and wonder if he should have heard an alarm bell ringing. Ask her what she really meant about her brain buzzing all the time. Was it a factor? Was it some small missed signal for the trauma that was to come?

  But at the time he just felt they had different biological clocks. An owl and a lark. Also – it was rather good for him to get out and about more than he would have chosen. Laura was the champion of finding quirky places to visit – forever checking out composers and singers and dragging him to see their homes.

  He lost count of the number of times he was positioned outside a property to be told that a special piece of music had been written within its walls.

  Something that will last forever. Isn’t that amazing, Ed?

  He wished that he could say it was; he wished that he could match that wonder in her eyes. But Ed was more practical by nature; a man who liked to see evidence. To feel a connection with wonder, he needed to see flints and golden coins and actual treasure dug up and displayed in shiny cabinets. Alongside Laura, he very often felt prosaic, despite his supposed creative career. I write for a living, he liked to tell people. He did not add that it was marketing and advertising copy.

  So was he jealous of Laura the musician? Laura who could make the piano seem to sing? Laura who had played in a concert for the Queen? No. Very quickly he realised in those moments when he stared at her on her exercise mat at a ridiculous early hour of the morning, or gazing transfixed at the home of some composer or singer, that he was not only in love with her but in complete awe of her.

  She’s extraordinary, he would tell people who questioned how quickly they moved in together.

  For him, the relationship did not move too fast. He had no doubts. For during that spell in Wells and the early days in Canada, they were genuinely very happy.

  There was just one small piece of the puzzle Ed would forget until it was much too late.

  Once, from her exercise mat, she made an aside as – groggy and half asleep – he was messing with the coffee machine. It was loudly hissing its disapproval, the water tank nearly empty, so he didn’t quite pick up what she was saying.

  We should make it our thing. Cathedrals. Don’t you think, Ed?

  Sorry. I can’t quite hear you over this machine. What did you say?

  We should go to a cathedral for all our special anniversaries. Ten years. Twenty years and so on. It would be romantic. To remember how we met.

  Sorry, honey. Now he was running a tap to fill the water tank. I can’t really hear you . . .

  CHAPTER 48

  Blue

  It’s 5 a.m. and I’m sitting in the new chair in the nursery. I still don’t sleep – not properly – so it’s become a habit to move in here to wait for the light. Though it’s very hard, actually, sitting here and not knowing how things are going to map out.

  It’s cold, which always makes me feel more afraid and unsure, but that’s probably natural. The tiredness. The quiet. The cold. I am tapping my right foot up and down, up and down, and try to still it. But it’s so difficult to be still.

  I just have to stay positive. Determined. For me. And especially for the baby. Everything will be different when there are two of us in here. Our little bubble away from them all.

  If I’m perfectly honest, the chair is not as comfortable as I’d hoped. Another of my impulse buys. I fell in love with the design and the colour – sea blue – and I let that sway me. I’ve tried different cushio
ns but I just can’t get comfy. Oh well. I suppose I could get another one delivered.

  Some people say it’s bad luck to get everything ready too early but I find it exciting. It makes me feel in control and some days it’s the only thing that keeps me going; to come in here and wind forward to the days when we will be here together. Just the two of us. All the stress and the hurt behind me.

  There are a few things still to put together but it won’t take long, so I’m going to wait until all the fuss dies down.

  I’ve kept the blind down because I don’t want anyone looking in. Watching me, I mean. They might get the wrong idea and meddle. People do that way too much. Meddle. Ask questions. Drives me mad.

  Are you sure you’re OK?

  Of course I’m OK. Leave me alone.

  And that’s the beauty of this plan and the thing I hold on to when I can’t sleep. The thought of being alone in the best possible way. In here. With the baby. Just me but not truly alone any more.

  No one to misunderstand.

  No one to let me down.

  CHAPTER 49

  THE MOTHER

  ‘That’s enough for today. I’m getting a bit hoarse, darling.’ I close the book, marking the place with a postcard. This one’s a much better choice. An old favourite of Gemma’s – The Mill on the Floss. I put the book down on the bedside locker and glance at the laptop.

  I am trying to resist prying. I am trying to concentrate on Gemma and to respect her privacy but I can feel my heart quickening every time the light catches the shiny surface of the laptop lid. The truth is I’m burning to know if there’s any more diary stuff by Gemma hidden in those files. I’ve looked. Of course I’ve looked; the problem is there are a lot of real essays. It’s like searching for a needle in a haystack. Lots of work on poetry and Shakespeare. Also some creative writing – very good, I thought.