I also remember that when I asked questions about Alex, she started to raise her voice, to get upset. Shouting. And with the echo of the shouting, other pictures start swirling around my brain. From much further back. Years back.
My father slumped at the bottom of the stairs and my mother shouting, shouting, shouting . . .
Opening my lunchbox at school and finding tea bags between the bread and everyone laughing. Tea-bag sandwiches. Come here. Rachel’s got tea-bag sandwiches . . .
I feel very hot suddenly. Confused and terribly hot.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Hartley?’
I can hear DI Sanders’ voice but I feel this sort of daze.
I close my eyes and see my parents in the kitchen. I look down. Pink pyjamas with white embroidered hearts. Rabbit slippers. And then there’s screaming. My mother is screaming . . .
‘Here. Sip this, Mrs Hartley.’
I open my eyes to find DI Sanders handing me water. She must have fetched it from the corner of the ward. But I don’t remember her moving.
‘I’m sorry. I’m very tired.’
‘It’s understandable. Shall I leave? Talk again in the morning?’
‘No, no. Go on.’ I need to know what she knows. Why she really came here tonight.
‘I’m sorry to ask but have they been more exact about the stage of Gemma’s pregnancy?’
I don’t want to say it but she keeps staring at me, raising her eyebrows and then tilting her head to the side. She has quite a nice face, actually. Ed doesn’t like her, I can tell. But she has warm eyes, for all the difficult questions. I guess she’s just doing her job.
‘Fourteen weeks.’
‘Right. Thank you. And she split up with Alex when?’
Again – I don’t want to say it.
‘I’m sorry but I have to ask. It’s important.’
‘About three months ago. I can check. We had to cancel a few things. I can look that up.’
‘Thank you. That would be a help.’
I look away, my brain spinning once more as I do the sums again. I had assumed this baby had to be Alex’s. It never occurred to me it wouldn’t be. I supposed Gemma found out after they split and hadn’t wanted to tell anyone. Not even me – her mother. But could it be true about this affair? Is that why she couldn’t bring herself to confide in me?
‘Did he give a name? Did Alex say which professor he claimed Gemma was seeing?’
‘No. He said he heard rumours but didn’t know who it was. You’re right. He could be making this up but we’ll be speaking to all of Gemma’s tutors as part of the inquiry.’
I find myself trying to think back to conversations with Gemma about her work. She was always mentioning which modules she liked best. Postmodernism was a favourite. But I don’t remember her mentioning the names of any staff. I feel bad for not knowing more. For not asking more questions.
I glance at the window into Gemma’s cubicle and feel close to tears. How could I miss all this, Gemma?
I expect DI Sanders to stand and to leave but she doesn’t.
‘Is there something else? I’m sorry but like I said, I’m actually very tired now.’
Again, she’s looking right into my eyes.
‘I just wanted to ask a few questions about your husband, Mrs Hartley.’ For a moment it is as if the air cools. Yes. The ward, which I normally find so stuffy, feels momentarily colder. ‘Whether there’s been any difficulties between you. In the marriage, I mean. Again – I’m sorry to pry but we have to ask these questions. And your husband has been quite difficult with our inquiry. With me. You must have noticed that.’
‘Our daughter’s been shot, Inspector. Of course, he’s finding it difficult.’
‘Yes. Quite. But I didn’t mean that. I think you know what I mean.’ That intense stare once more as if she can read my mind. ‘I just wanted to say that if there’s anything bothering you. Anything you might want to talk to me about privately, you can. Now. Or at any time.’
I wonder if I should just say it. Get it over with. On and off since we arrived here, I have wondered if I should mention her. The strange woman. I’ve been afraid of the consequence – what I did afterwards, I mean. And I can’t really believe it has anything to do with any of this. But what if I’m wrong?
I look at the floor and get this vivid picture. I can see the scene so clearly – that first day I saw the odd woman, looking at me so strangely from the end of our drive. Right at the house.
It was a Thursday and it was raining. I was looking out of the kitchen window and she was just standing in the rain, staring at the house. No. Not just at the house. She was staring at the window, through the window . . . at me. I’ve been trying to push all this to the back of my mind because I’m ashamed of my own behaviour afterwards. And I haven’t wanted to admit what I did to anyone; Ed will never forgive me if he finds out what I did.