She closes her eyes and is somehow moving through the water and the clouds and the blue of the sky all at the same time. And now the strangest thing. She can smell her favourite perfume – all around her.
And as she drifts or flies or floats, she suddenly feels this wetness on her forehead.
Like the spray from the sea. But no; it isn’t spray.
She holds her body very, very still.
We’re here, darling girl . . .
It feels like a kiss – this touch to her forehead.
Yes.
She’s crying again.
This feels just like a kiss.
CHAPTER 5
THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR
Matthew checks his diary on his phone. Blank. Good. He moves from his desk through the door that connects to the adjoining flat and turns on the coffee machine. He sighs as he watches the light flashing red, knowing it will be a while before it signals the correct temperature.
Once upon a time he was more patient; he would tell anyone who would listen that good coffee was always worth waiting for. Now? As a parent and the owner of a growing business, his life’s unrecognisable. A see-saw of different worries. He either has too much work or not enough. When business is hectic, he worries about balancing it with family life. When work’s slow, he worries about paying the bills. The upshot is he worries more and sleeps less.
And he’s not so good at waiting . . .
He glances around the small kitchen and thinks back to the time he lived in this flat right alongside his office. That different version of Matthew before he met Sally. Before the gift and the puzzle that is their lovely Amelie.
He slumps on to the stool at the breakfast bar, willing the light on the machine to hurry up. At last there’s a little buzz as the colour blinks from red to green. He presses the button for a double espresso as his phone rings – the display confirming DI Melanie Sanders. Again.
‘Hello Mel? How’s it going?’ He’s surprised to hear from her so soon. It’s Friday – two days since the horror of the cathedral – and she’s already phoned several times, on each occasion sounding more and more stretched. It’s unlike her.
‘Listen. I know I shouldn’t ask but do you have time to meet at our café, Matt?’ Her tone’s uncertain and her voice is quieter than usual. He can’t read it.
‘Yeah – sure. Not much on here today actually. An hour?’
‘Perfect. Thank you.’
‘You OK, Mel?’ He’s surprised she even has time to meet him.
There’s a pause. ‘No. Not really. The politics on this one are off the scale, Matt. We’ve got the media crawling all over us. I’m wondering whether I’m up to this.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, you’re up to this.’
‘Everyone wants a decision on whether the final graduation ceremony should go ahead next week. I mean, we’ve ruled out terrorism, but it’s an odd case. So public. I’m not sure I can make the call yet. We’ll have the CSI team on site a while.’ She’s talking too fast. ‘Don’t they realise I have to put the inquiry above everything else? Above the politics. Above the economic worries—’
‘Right. Take a deep breath, Mel. Save it for the café. One step at a time. We’ll talk it all through.’ He pauses. ‘Order carrot cake. A huge slice. You need sugar.’
At last she laughs. ‘Thank you, Matt. I appreciate this.’
‘No problem. See you in an hour.’
He hangs up and sips at the coffee before quickly dialling home. Sal texted earlier to say their daughter was playing up again.
‘Hi there, honey. How’s Amelie?’
‘Complete nightmare.’ Sal’s whispering. ‘She still won’t go to nursery. I’ve tried absolutely everything.’
‘Tummy-ache routine again?’ Matthew’s frowning. They let Amelie stay off an extra day after all the drama but he’d expected it to blow over by now. Day three.
‘No. Hang on, Matt. I need to move . . .’ There’s the click of a door at Sally’s end. ‘Sorry. I don’t want her listening in. She says she’s worried the bad man will come to the nursery with his gun.’ Sally pauses again. ‘She says she feels safer at home.’
‘Jeez.’ Matthew stands and checks his watch. He should go home but is now torn. He needs to leave straight away for the café if he’s not to hold Mel up. Or rather let her down. ‘Right. Well, we need to talk this through some more this evening; maybe I underestimated.’ He rakes his fingers through his hair, taking in a long, slow breath. ‘I’d hoped she’d just forget it at her age. Maybe we should take advice. Get someone professional to talk to her.’