‘It looks later than it is because the moon is hiding behind the clouds tonight,’ I said, trying to keep my voice jolly. ‘It’s only eight o’clock.’
‘I’m tired.’
‘We’re nearly home, not far now, just up the hill a bit. What about a piggy-back?’
You nodded eagerly and I bent down to allow you to climb up. You wrapped your little arms around my neck and I grabbed your ankles. ‘Giddy-up,’ I said, trying to pretend to be a horse as I jogged up the hill, even though I thought my legs would buckle from exhaustion. Fear that Victor might suddenly appear from behind a bush gave me the adrenalin to keep going.
‘Where’s Daffy?’ you asked, as the cottage came into view. My heart sank when I could see there were no lights on.
‘We lost her,’ I said, my voice sounding small in the darkness. ‘But don’t worry, she won’t be far behind.’
You jumped off my back as I opened the front door.
The cottage was cold and dark and empty. I felt uneasy, as if someone was about to jump out at me. I turned on the light in the hallway. Daphne’s coat wasn’t hanging up. Where was she? An image of her and Sean flashed through my mind and I pushed it away.
I turned on all the lights downstairs. The windows were opaque. Was someone out there, looking in?
I shivered. A firework exploded overhead, making me jolt.
‘Come on, Lolly, let’s get you to bed,’ I said, taking your hand and leading you upstairs.
I tucked you up in bed and read you a story but you fell asleep before it was finished. And then I kissed your forehead and stroked your lovely curly hair away from your face.
Another noise outside made me jump. It didn’t sound like a firework this time.
It was coming from the garden.
Carefully I got up from your bed and went to the window, pulling aside your pink gingham curtains.
I froze with fright.
There was a man on my lawn looking up at the house.
It was Victor.
58
Theo
‘Okay,’ says Theo, into the phone, glancing across at Jen, who’s pushed her sunglasses onto her hair and has raised her eyebrows questioningly. She’s lying on the sun-lounger in their little garden, her bare legs stretched out in front of her. ‘So he’s been charged?’ He’s standing on their patio, the sun beating down on his neck. ‘And,’ he lowers his voice, ‘he’s now been transferred to Wakefield prison?’ The French windows that lead into their living-dining room are open and he walks into the shade, worried the neighbours might hear him. There has already been a storm of press interest.
‘That’s right,’ says Ralph, his father’s solicitor. He has a deep voice and Theo imagines he’s the kind of person who enjoys a fine wine and nights at the opera, although he’s never met the guy. ‘Because of the seriousness of the charges. He’s on remand until the trial. He’s been charged with murder as well as sexual assault.’
‘And what about the fertility fraud?’ Theo still doesn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle, just what they’ve managed to fit together from the evidence Saffy found.
‘Yes, that looks likely too. Although it’s more of a grey area. Thanks to all the press interest, a number of women have come forward to the CPS. He’s been doing it for years.’
Theo feels sick. Those women’s photos he’d found in his dad’s study had been a catalogue. A way for him to remember exactly whom he’d artificially inseminated with his own sperm. The other women, the ones in the folder Saffy found … He can’t bear to think about that.