by Ruth Harrow
Soon Dad's small backpack seems inadequate and I find that it is too full to take anything to read. The holdall I find in the bottom of his wardrobe seems more practical, so I use that instead. At the bookshelf in the living room, I am once again clueless and use my best judgement to select a couple of new-looking novels and a half-filled puzzle book. The last thing I want Dad to do is to be stuck staring at the tiled ceiling of the hospital with nothing to do.
The hours had seemed endless during my stay in the hospital after giving birth. Eva, in her first couple of weeks of life, was inside an incubator in another ward. Her twin sister she has never been told about had been born minutes before her and hadn't survived more than a few hours.
I felt like the two weeks we spent there lasted forever. The outside world was a revelation once we got out like I had never seen it before.
When I have finished packing, I find myself staring at the vase of Penny's flowers and decide to move it instead onto the end table in the conservatory, out of sight.
30
I spot a pile of magazines on the side table in the living room and pick one up from the top. As I hurriedly make to stow it into the bag, a small blue card falls onto the wooden floor of the hallway. I snatch it back up quickly and see that it is a business card.
Penny & David Edwards
Professional cleaning service
All domestic and commercial cleaning jobs undertaken
Specialists in holiday home maintenance
No job too big or small. Call us now.
I slip the card back inside one of the magazines and do one more sweep of the house before moving towards the front door. When I open it, I find myself face to face with a uniformed police officer.
The surprise causes a gasp to escape my lips.
The young officer quickly looks me up and down. 'Hannah Peterson?'
'Yes?' My heart pulses unpleasantly in my chest. 'Has something happened at the hospital?'
'No, no,' he says. His brow furrows and I'm sure he doesn't know what I am talking about. 'That's not why we are here. I'm PC Richards and this is PC Hayward. We would like to have a few words with you, if that's OK?'
PC Hayward appears at the side of her colleague now. Her creased eyes flit over me too and focus on the holdall I've generously filled for Dad. 'Are you going somewhere?'
'What? Oh, no. My father had an accident this morning. I'm taking some things to the hospital for him.'
The two officers glance almost imperceptibly at each other before PC Richards speaks. 'What sort of accident has your father had, Mrs Peterson?'
'He just hit his head when he had a fall this morning. It's nothing serious. He comes home tomorrow.'
'You seem to have packed quite a lot for an overnight stay?'
'I ... '
The weight of Dad's bag digs into my shoulder blade and I grip the rough canvas firmly. I may have overpacked, but I wanted to make sure he has everything he needs to be comfortable. It has been years since he has stayed anywhere but his own home. He would do the same for me. 'I just wanted to make sure he doesn't miss anything, that's all.'
PC Hayward nods, stony-faced. The lines around her mouth seem deep and I wonder if she saves her smiles purely for when she is off-duty. 'I see,' she says.
'What was it you wanted to talk to me about?'
It is her colleague's turn to speak. 'We are investigating the death of Reginald Green. Do you think we could come in so we can have a little chat?'
'Well, I'm on my way to the hospital at the moment. I don't really know anything, anyway. Can't it wait?'
PC Richards takes a step closer, her foot almost in the doorway. 'It will only take a few minutes.'
I set down the holdall in the hallway and show the officers through to the living room. They sit themselves down and look completely out of place perched on the edge of Dad's chesterfield sofa in their pristine black uniforms.
I'm glad Will is not here.
PC Hayward takes out a notepad and pen and waits for me to sit down too. 'OK,' she says, glancing down at her paper. I get the feeling she only does it out of habit, so she doesn't have to look the people she has to deal with in the eye – criminals, deviants. It feels odd that she would do it with me too. 'So we have been informed that you were present the morning Mr Green was found dead. Is that correct?'
'Well, I was walking past and I saw an ambulance. I wondered what had happened, that was all. The paramedic told me he had died. I couldn't believe it.'
'Why not?'
'I had been speaking with him just the day before.'
'You had been inside his house?'
'Yes – only very briefly. I helped him carry his shopping home. He had been struggling with it.'
PC Hayward scribbles down some notes. 'But you stayed quite a while if you had a cup of tea, didn't you?'
'I really wasn't there that long – and how do you know that?'
'The paramedic you spoke to told us,' PC Richards explains simply.
'Oh,' I say. 'I was just trying to be polite. He seemed to expect me to stay ... '
'What time would you say that you visited Mr Green on Saturday? When you bought his shopping?'
'I didn't buy his shopping. I only helped him carry it.' I glance between the two officers, a sense of dread is creeping over me. 'You are asking me a lot of questions. Is this the usual procedure when an elderly man dies?'
PC Hayward fixes me with a gaze. 'It is when there are suspicious circumstances.'
'What do you mean?'
PC Richards pipes up. 'We are currently treating Reginald Green's death as suspicious. Early indications suggest that his death was not an accident.'
My brain reels. 'But he was very old,' I say. The room feels far away, this whole scene is surreal. 'He wasn't in good shape. What makes you think it was done deliberately? Are you saying someone killed him?'
PC Richards nods. 'It certainly looks that way at this stage. It has been suggested that Mr Green died from carbon monoxide poisoning. We also have evidence that suggests the pipes leading to the boiler in his home were recently tampered with. So it looks as though someone was indeed trying to harm Mr Green, yes. And since you were seen to enter his house recently we have to confirm your whereabouts. Your visit certainly coincides with the damage inflicted to the equipment in Mr Green's house.'
My mouth opens in shock and then I feel an incredulous smile pulling on my lips. 'That boiler was ancient,' I say, almost laughing. This can't be real. 'I saw it the other day. I really don't think that someone would try and hurt Reg deliberately either. That's ridiculous. No one disliked him.'
PC Hayward rushes to take notes. 'So you are saying you inspected the boiler on Saturday? What time did you say you were there?'
'I – no. Of course I didn't inspect the boiler. I just noticed it looked old, that was all. Everything in that house was in bad condition. He wasn't taking care of the place – or himself. Everyone in the village noticed his health was deteriorating.'
PC Hayward cuts across me. 'So what time would you say you were at Mr Green's home on Saturday? Morning? Afternoon? Evening?'
'Morning, yes.'
'A witness reports seeing you enter the house at past one-thirty pm.'
I remember the way the curtain moved in the neighbouring house that day before I stepped into Reg's home. Someone was watching.
'Well, it must have been afternoon, then,' I say. 'I had been out to buy lunch from the supermarket and that was where I saw Reg. I remember now. I had woken up late that morning.'
PC Hayward looks up at me, her pen poised over a fresh page of her notepad. 'Because you were out late the previous evening?'
I sigh, feeling a little annoyed. 'You clearly know better than I do where I was. Why even ask me?'
'We just need to hear it from you for the official record,' PC Richards says. 'You understand, I'm sure. Don't lose your temper, Mrs Peterson.'
'I'm not.'
I'm acutely aware my hands are cold and
damp in my lap.
'We have been informed that your car was seen in the early hours of Saturday morning driving through Little Bishopsford. Could you tell us where you were going at that time?'
'My husband had been to visit an old friend that lives on the other side of the village – Dylan Brown. I had to go and pick him up.'
The officers glance at each other before PC Hayward speaks again. 'As we understand, Dylan Brown lives at the farm outside of the village. You were seen picking your husband up from an address near the railway station.'
'Yes. My husband had been for a walk after spending the evening with his friend.'
'And he ended up at his old residence – Cherrytree Walk? A neighbour reports that he was in the garden. Why was he there?'
I think of Will, of how unbelievably drunk he was when I found him. 'He had been drinking and got disoriented. We aren't very familiar with the village any more. He was lost, that was all. He wasn't anywhere near Reg's house.'
PC Hayward scribbles more notes down and I wait for her to finish. 'So you are saying your husband, William Peterson, didn't return to Mr Green's house in the early hours of the morning?'
'Yes. Of course he didn't. What do you mean, “return”?'
'The same neighbour that saw you enter Mr Green's house on Saturday afternoon also reported that your husband visited Mr Green late on Friday evening. She says he left just before midnight.'
I shake my head. 'No. No, he didn't.'
PC Richards glances at his colleague before looking back at me. 'Were you unaware of this?'
'She must have made a mistake,' I say. 'Will didn't visit Reg. He would have mentioned it.'
'Perhaps it slipped his mind,' PC Hayward says, finishing her notes.
'This is all a big mistake,' I say, shaking my head. As I say the words, I remember the ancient-looking boiler and how drowsy and lethargic I became in the short time I was inside Reg's house. Couldn't it just have been an accident?
'Even if someone did want to harm Reg, you can't surely suspect us. We have nothing to do with this place any more. I'm only here to visit my father and help him through losing my sister. My husband and I have nothing to do with any of this. He is a law-abiding citizen.'
PC Hayward glances again at her partner.
'I'm sure Dylan Brown will confirm that Will was there with him on Friday night,' I say firmly, sitting up straighter in my seat. 'Do you want me to write down his address?'
'That won't be necessary,' PC Hayward says, standing up with her colleague. 'We are familiar enough with the location of Brown Farm.'
I follow after the pair as they move into the hallway.
'We'll be in touch with you again if we need to know anything else,' PC Hayward says, eyeing the holdall in the hallway as she passes and steps outside behind PC Richards.
I shut the door behind them and sink onto the bottom step of the staircase, aware for the first time that my hands are physically shaking.
31
My head is a mess of tangled thoughts on the drive back to the hospital. It is hard to believe it is still the same day that Will and I discussed leaving the village. I can't shake the look on PC Hayward's face when I protested my husband's innocence. What does she know?
Maybe this is standard procedure, I think to myself. They have to treat everyone like a suspect, no matter who they are.
Or what they might have done.
Another thing keeps tugging at me. Will was missing for hours on Friday night after our argument. Had he really gone to visit Reg so late at night? Why on earth would he do such a thing? And why wouldn't he tell me about it?
Dad is in much better spirits when I return to the hospital, Will and Eva at his bedside. 'Goodness, Hannah, I thought I was going home tomorrow! It looks like I'm staying for a week. Is there something you want to tell me?'
'I just wanted to make sure you have everything you need,' I mutter, giving him a one-armed hug and kissing his cheek briefly.
Dad pauses, scrutinising my face. 'Are you all right, Hannah, Love? You look a bit flushed and peaky.'
'No, I'm fine. It's just this heat. 'Listen, Dad, I brought you some books from your shelf, but I wasn't sure if you have read them already. Is there anything else I can get you?'
'I'm sure I'll be fine, thank you.'
'What about some fruit or chocolate? Or a magazine?' I glance across at Will and give him a pointed look. 'There is a little shop on the ground floor, I'll just go and get a couple of things before visiting hours are over.'
Will stands up quickly. 'I'll come with you,' he says, manoeuvring his long legs carefully around his father-in-law's bedside.
A generous distance out of the ward and down the corridor, I look at Will and tell him about the police visit. He looks as alarmed as I must have done earlier. His brow furrows and he stares into the distance as we wait for the lift.
A nurse pushes out a surly-looking teenage boy with his leg in a cast before we step inside alone and the thick metallic doors shut. As soon as they do, I turn to face my husband and voice what has been bothering me all afternoon.
'Will ... Have you ever been arrested?'
The side of Will's face that I can see in the dingy lift lighting seems to stiffen as we descend. 'Why do you ask?'
'The police, they spoke as though you had a history with them.' I take a deep breath. 'Do you have a criminal record?'
He is silent for a few moments. 'Yes,' he says, quietly, as though he doesn't want me to hear.
I sigh.
'But it isn't for what you think.'
'What do I think it's for, Will?'
The lift doors clatter open noisily and an elderly pair of ladies move aside to let us out.
Will ushers me over to the hospital chapel room which is devoid of the constant bustle of people in the corridor. He shuts the door behind us and takes a deep breath now we are alone, his hands on his hips. 'I was arrested once just after I finished college. The same time Dylan was.'
'Was that because of that girl that got assaulted?'
'Yes, that is what she claimed.'
'They arrested you too? I thought it was just Dylan?'
'No, the police arrested me as well.'
'But, why?' A knot forms in my stomach and I'm suddenly not sure I'm prepared for the answer. I try not to think about all the things April said about Will when she found out we were dating.
'The girl accused us both. We were all at the same party together. But it was all lies, Hannah. She made up the whole story. She dropped the charges a week later.'
'Why would she do that?'
He looks at me fiercely and for a moment the effect is quite intimidating. 'Because she knew she was lying and once she went to the police she realised how serious it was. It must have suddenly become real to her.'
I shake my head. 'Why didn't you tell me any of this before?'
'This was all years before we even got together. It wasn't relevant. I didn't see what good telling you would do. It was so long ago.'
I stare at the large wooden cross on the back wall. 'April said it was just Dylan that was accused.'
A muscle in Will's cheek clenches. 'It wasn't a pleasant thing I was being accused of. That kind of mud sticks, Hannah. I didn't want anyone else thinking that of me. I didn't tell anyone. Somehow lots of people heard that Dylan had been arrested.'
'But now the police think we were somehow involved in Reg's death. I'm sure it must be an accident, though. Who would want to kill him?'
My husband looks into the distance again, seemingly unaware of where he is. 'I don't know. It is strange, isn't it?'
'The police say you were at Reg's house on Friday night. A witness saw you. The night you said you were with Dylan. Were you at Reg's house or not?'
'I was there for a short while.'
'What for?' I stare at him for a few seconds. 'Why didn't you mention it?'
Will shrugs. 'I just went over to see how he was doing. He seemed upset at the funeral. I didn't th
ink it was any big deal. The two of us had been arguing, remember? I wanted to give you some space.'
I search Will's eyes for any hint of deceit but can't find any.
He takes hold of my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. 'Don't worry about the police,' he says. 'They are just making general enquiries. The problem is there are too many nosy neighbours in the village peering out their windows.'
'I guess.'
Will pulls me into a hug, my head on his chest. 'Remember, Hannah, the most important thing is that we know we are innocent. In a few days, your Dad will be settled back at his house and we will go home. This whole thing will blow over.'
'I hope you are right.'
Will drops his voice to barely more than a whisper, his breath hot against my ear. 'We just need to stick to the story.'
32
I wake in the early hours before the sun has properly risen and listen to Will's steady breathing beside me.
The house feels oddly quiet without Dad. I can't shake the feeling that I have no right to be here; as though I'm one of Dad's guests that has outstayed their welcome; I have usurped my host and am now staying here unwarranted.
After lunch, I leave Eva and Will watching a film at the house and take the car to pick up my father. He looked so fragile yesterday in the hospital bed with stitches over his forehead wound that it will be a relief to see him home safely.
When I get there, he insists on carrying his own bag and I feel a fresh twinge of guilt that I packed it so well.
Dad is determinedly upbeat on the drive home and I feel claustrophobic in the small cabin of my car with him. Opening the windows does little to help, only allowing a rush of humid summer air to rush over my face.
I pop into the Sainsbury's in Telford on the way home for some essentials and Dad protests that he will accompany me, that he wants to stretch his legs a little and that it is too hot to stay in the car, even while I dash in for a quick shop.