I was given a blanket, helped to my feet, led back to the sitting room and left with the female officer, who insisted that I drink some water. She told me her name was Asha, and explained that I was in shock. That felt ridiculous to me. I didn’t like Caro, this had solved a huge problem for me and besides, I hadn’t really seen anything. But looking back, she was probably right. I felt achingly cold, I couldn’t stop shaking and I needed to pee every fifteen minutes. Jimmy didn’t come back upstairs, and I kept asking where he was. The other girl had vanished by then, and I felt too tired to protest when Asha said that I wouldn’t be able to go downstairs and find them. In my head, I replayed the moment that Caro fell as calmly as possible. How close was I? Did she look scared? Could I have done anything?
As I went over it all, my body started to relax and I could feel the anxiety slipping away. I was wrestling control back by working through the chain of events. To have a moment of panic was acceptable – it’s not every day a woman you had sort of wished might die actually does just that right in front of your eyes – but any more than a moment would be indulgent and worse, damaging. Even though it was an obvious accident, I’d have to answer questions. I’d come under scrutiny from the police, something which could be potentially catastrophic. If I didn’t hold it together I might make this situation worse for myself.
By the time a detective came upstairs, I had warmed up, sobered up, and firmed up my story. The man introduced himself as Greg Barker, but didn’t need to ask mine, calling me Grace the moment he sat down on the blue velvet sofa and pulled up his trousers so that I could see his yellow socks. They had little hot dogs on them. I hope his kids bought him those for Father’s Day. I hope he pulled them on in the dark when he was getting ready. There’s no excuse for comedy socks on a grown man. Especially one investigating a tragic death at 5 a.m.
Detective Barker was fairly brusque, but not in an unkind way. I appreciated it, actually; I was fed up with Asha’s hushed tones and arm stroking. I sometimes wish I could wear a badge like some rescue dogs do when they’ve had a rough life: ‘Aggressive, do not pet’。
‘I’m sorry to inform you that Caroline Morton was declared dead by my paramedic colleagues earlier this morning. Obviously you’ve had a terrible shock, Ms Bernard, but it’s imperative that we get a clear sense of what happened here tonight and for that to happen, we really would like to question you sooner rather than later.’
He fixed me with his grey eyes, and I considered pushing back, demanding to go home, have a shower, and take off this outfit which felt absurdly flimsy in the morning light. I wanted to put on a thick jumper and high-waisted trousers. I wanted a structured blazer enclosing my body before I talked to the police. But Greg Barker was still staring at me. And I wondered if it said anything to the police when witnesses stalled. The police aren’t exactly known for their open-mindedness and staunch refusal to make assumptions, so I imagine any reluctance on my part to follow protocol would mean a big black mark being levelled against me.
‘It’s just so fucking awful,’ I said, pushing my left eyebrow up with my palm. ‘So needless. Poor Caro. Poor Jim. Can I see him before we talk?’
At this, Barker tilted his gaze just a fraction. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible today. But Mr Latimer’s family have been called and he’s in good hands, so don’t worry too much.’
I’m his fucking family. His mother will be a ghoul, weeping and repeatedly talking about how terrible it all is. His sister will become increasingly anxious and retreat into herself. And John will try to be practical. Help arrange things. Family friends will turn up as if they’re needed and not just there to signpost their own goodness by making their presence known early on. The kind of people who get to funerals early so they can sit near the front and signal to those sitting further back that they are important. But Jimmy needs someone to scream at. Or be silent with. Or sit in his old bedroom and watch old episodes of The Sopranos with because sometimes that’s all that helps.
Again, to push or accede? This time, I thought it would only make me look caring to insist.
‘Sir’ （men always like being called sir）， ‘I want to make sure my friend is OK. He’s just lost his fiancée, surely I can just see him for five minutes – if his family haven’t arrived yet I think he’ll need me.’
Again, Barker settled his gaze somewhere just below my ear and let out a tiny grunt. ‘I’m afraid it won’t be possible today. I assure you my officers will look after him.’