I need to tune her out and focus on my stuff. On what’s coming next.
The thing is, I know the only way to avoid trouble is to stay out of sight. And clear up any messes quickly. And I’m trying. Shutting Liam up about Charlie. Nudging the police toward Pauline and Bram.
But Liam just keeps making new problems for me to deal with. Dragging us back into the spotlight every time I think we’re safe.
We had another row this morning, over Doll sacking me.
“What a bitch,” Liam said. “I’ll have a word with Dave. Get him to set his wife straight.”
“Oh, great idea, Liam! This is all your fault—sounding off about your druggy past! She thinks you were responsible. What were you thinking? Leave them alone or you’ll make it worse. Just keep your head down.”
I’m on my knees polishing the floors at the Old Vicarage like a penitent on chapel posters when my phone rings. It’s on silent—Millie says it’s unprofessional to take calls at work—but there have been too many buzzes to ignore it anymore. I rummage it out of my pocket and sit back on my heels.
“Mrs. Eastwood? I’m with your husband at the police station. I’ve been appointed his lawyer and I’ve been trying to reach you for more than an hour to tell you he has been arrested.”
My lips stick to my teeth as I try to speak.
“But he didn’t see him. . . .”
“Sorry? Mr. Eastwood has already admitted seeing Adrian Harman at the festival—that’s not at issue. He is being questioned in relation to supplying a Category A drug.”
Doll must have phoned them about Liam as soon as I left the pub. “But it was Ade,” I say. “Liam hasn’t touched drugs for years. Not since Cal was born.” But I find my fingers crossing on their own.
The solicitor isn’t listening. “I’m trying to organize bail but you should know that the police are getting a warrant to search your house for evidence.”
I sat heavily on the floor. “Evidence?”
“For possession of MDMA, Mrs. Eastwood. As I just explained.”
“Sorry, yes.”
My mind is racing to catch up with what I’m being told. I was prepared for a different story. Charlie’s story. I knew what I was going to say. But I’ve got the wrong lines ready.
“I understand this must be very difficult for you. Your husband will call you as soon as he can. I’ve got to get back.”
And I’m alone in Millie’s hall again.
What has Liam left in the house? He’s stupid enough to have hidden something. I grab my handbag as I run to the front door.
“Have you finished already?” Millie shouts from the kitchen.
“Sorry. Got an emergency at home. I’ll make up my hours next time.”
I drive like a maniac, speeding through town, the information banging its fists on my brain. I screech up outside the house. There’s a police car already parked and faces at the windows opposite. I run up the path—I want to get inside first—but the officers are right behind me.
“Hello, Mrs. Eastwood,” one of them says. “We need to come in. We have a warrant.”
* * *
—
Later, I hear sirens as I’m sitting on the front step. And I startle—then remember the police are already here inside, going through Cal’s Minecraft collection at the moment. The wail fades away. Someone else in trouble. I can hear the officers in the bedroom above me.
I’d like to bundle Cal in the car and leave. And in my head, I’m going to. But I can’t. People will notice. Ask questions. And I can’t have that.
“Stay and face things,” my social worker used to say each time they brought me back to my foster home in Wales. “You’re only making things worse by running away.”
So I stay and watch the washing flapping in the breeze until the police officers nearly knock me off the step as they leave.
“We’re done here,” one calls over her shoulder. They can’t have found anything. And they’re gone.
I get up and go into my house, following their trail. They’ve made an attempt to put things back but I can see they’ve been everywhere. I close cupboard doors and push chairs back into place. Then walk slowly upstairs and stop at our bedroom door. The bed’s been stripped, so I make it again, folding the duvet to air the bottom sheet and plumping up the pillows as if everything’s normal.
I suddenly feel so tired, I sit where I am, on the carpet, and try to make sense of the last few weeks. How my world has fallen apart since my brother died. I’d managed to keep ahead of the past for so long but it’s catching up, nipping at my heels, tearing at my skin, exposing me.