‘And then Davies broke into the cottage. Nothing was taken, funny that. But he was obviously looking for something.’
His dad turns to face him and hands him a mug. ‘I know nothing about that.’
‘Of course you do,’ says Theo, taking the tea. ‘Davies never does anything unless you say so. Is this what you were like with the police? They’ll see through it, Dad. You’re tied with Glen now.’
His dad regards him over the mug. It’s one Theo bought him for Father’s Day with a golfer on the front mid-swing. Theo detects a flicker of something in his father’s eyes: guilt, perhaps? Remorse? Fear? He’s not sure. He’s always been so hard to read. So closed.
Theo sips his tea. His dad is still intimidating, he realizes, as he watches him. But he’s a pensioner now. He can no longer hurt Theo. He has no control over Theo’s life. Theo is totally self-sufficient: he has never expected anything from his father. The things he did for him, they were born out of a sense of duty, and love for his mother. It was always drilled into him as a kid to love and respect his father – but it should work both ways. He felt he should love his dad when he was growing up so never questioned it. But now, if he’s really honest with himself, he has no such feelings for him. He swallows his tea. ‘And those photos of the women you had in your study?’
‘They’re just women I helped. I like to keep a record, that’s all.’ His father’s voice sounds strained. ‘I told you this at the restaurant.’
‘Taking photos without their knowledge.’
‘It’s not a crime. I wasn’t hurting anyone.’
‘Then why hide them?’
His dad empties his tea down the drain and almost throws his cup into the sink, where it clatters. ‘I’ve had enough of the third degree. I need to get going.’ He stalks past Theo. ‘Let yourself out,’ he calls over his shoulder, as he picks up his bag of golf clubs by the door and hoists it over his shoulder. ‘And don’t bother sneaking around my study. You won’t find anything.’
‘What about murder, Dad?’ he says, following him down the hallway. ‘Is that why you sent Glen to find the evidence at Rose’s cottage?’ It’s on the tip of his tongue to question him about his mother’s accident too, but he decides not to. For now.
His father stops, his stance rigid, then turns slowly to Theo, his expression menacing.
48
Lorna
Lorna is in the kitchen cooking a vegetable casserole. It was her mother’s recipe, and slicing and chopping calms Lorna, stops her mind racing. She has so much unwanted noise in her head: the bodies, Victor, her mother.
She’s hardly seen Saffy all day: she’s locked herself into her study saying she needs to get on with her work.
She sticks the casserole into the oven. Lorna misses meat. She hasn’t eaten any since staying. She notices Tom just eats fish too, to please Saffy. She could really do with a fat, juicy cheeseburger.
When she goes back into the living room she’s surprised to see Saffy on the sofa. ‘Finished work?’
Saffy rubs her eyes. ‘I’m shattered. I’ve been at my desk for eight hours straight with just one break.’
Lorna feels a punch of concern. ‘You have to take it easy …’
‘How can I?’ she wails. ‘This has all been such a distraction! I’m behind. I can’t afford to get sacked.’
Lorna presses her lips together, not wanting to say anything to annoy her daughter. Saffy was always so even-tempered. Lorna knows this must all be getting to her, not to mention the hormones flying around.
‘I can’t stop thinking about what the police said yesterday,’ says Saffy, with a sigh. ‘About the body not being Jean Burdon.’