I look up at him. This new Ed. This liar Ed. And there’s this part of me that always knew something like this was lurking. Waiting. And he’s right, actually. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to know. It was like a pact. I didn’t ask questions; he didn’t ask questions. Why did he have to spoil it? Why did the secret have to be this big?
‘I can’t do this, Ed. You need to go.’
‘No, Rachel. I’m sorry that this is hurting you so much. I never wanted this. To hurt you – or Gemma. But I can’t let you shut me down this time. We have to talk about this. The police say Laura’s here. In the UK. She flew here a few weeks ago. I’m sure they’ll sort it all out. That it’s some kind of terrible misunderstanding. But until they do—’
And now I feel my eyes widening. My mind opening. My thoughts are expanding like a bird stretching its wings and in this new expanse of air and pictures and puzzles, there’s the sudden realisation that Ed is not just confessing something bizarre about the past. Something over. Historic.
‘Oh my God, so is she dangerous? Violent? Is that what you’re really saying? This Laura. This first wife I knew nothing about. Are you seriously telling me that she may be involved in all of this?’ I glance to the door on to the ward and am thinking about Gemma in her coma with the frame over her horrible stump, the confusion and the shock all at once changing to a new emotion. Real anger.
I glare at Ed and am shocked to find I want to hit him. I feel this terrible bubbling up inside as if all the years of pressing things down, all the pictures and the confusion from the past, from my childhood, are suddenly in the room with us. All the shouting and the secrets and the lies and the pretending. All suddenly too much.
‘Are you saying that your first wife may have shot our daughter?’ I pull myself up, using one hand on the desk, to sit back on the chair by the wall, unsure if I’m steady enough yet to stand.
‘No, I’m not saying that. I don’t believe that for one minute. She wasn’t violent, Rachel, she was unwell. I would have said something right at the beginning if I ever thought that.’
‘So why are you speaking up now? Why are the police suddenly in a panic about all this now?’
My eyes dart wildly around the room as I start to think of DI Sanders, remembering why I need to talk to her too.
I put my hands to my face as the awful reality dawns. Click. The two pieces in the puzzle suddenly slotting perfectly together. The woman watching me. The weird woman at the end of the drive and then outside the hairdresser’s.
He’s not who he says he is. I have to warn you . . .
Not Ed’s mistress. Never Ed’s mistress.
‘I need to see a picture of her, Ed.’
He looks stunned at this request. ‘Why?’ He rakes his fingers through his hair. ‘No. Rachel. You’re upset. I won’t let you torture yourself.’
‘Your phone.’ I stare at his pocket. ‘Do you have a picture of her on your phone?’
‘No, of course not. This is my past, Rachel. Decades ago. A lifetime ago.’
I glance right then left before shutting my eyes, trying to call up the image of the woman outside the hairdresser’s. It takes a moment but suddenly I can see her more clearly. Open my eyes.
‘Does she have striking hair, Ed?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Laura. Your Laura. Does she have strawberry-blonde hair?’
CHAPTER 28
THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR
As he pulls into the drive, Matthew can see Sally at the kitchen window, looking out for him. He raises his hand. She shares a small, nervous smile and then retreats, turning away towards the playroom.
Matthew finds that he’s nervous too, wondering what the counsellor will be like and what exactly will be expected of him. He takes his phone from his pocket and scans the contacts. He starts to write a text but changes his mind. Too difficult to get the tone right. Dials instead.
‘Amanda? Oh good. I just wanted to say thank you for helping us out. She’s here at the house now. Lucy, the counsellor. I’m so grateful. Really.’
‘Oh good. I’m glad she was able to come out so quickly. It sounded urgent.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the details. Something happened. Sort of classified.’ He can’t share details about the dolls. They need to keep it quiet. Something for the interview room down the line – to hopefully trip up a suspect. ‘But my wife and I are incredibly grateful.’
‘Don’t mention it.’