‘I’ll be right back,’ she says to her parents, and she follows Elliot down the hallway to the kitchen. She pushes the door closed. ‘What the hell?’
He folds his arms across his chest. ‘They just turned up, and with the fucking dog!’
‘What? That’s unheard of. My parents aren’t the popping-in sort. They haven’t stayed the night with us since Wilfie was a baby.’
He shrugs. ‘They’re your parents. I’ve got to work. I’m on a deadline,’ he says curtly, leaving the house through the utility room.
Her mother is standing at the fireplace, looking at the framed photos, when Emilia walks back into the room. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asks bluntly.
‘Charming,’ replies her mother, putting down a wedding photo.
Her father gets up from the sofa, straightening his trousers. He looks well, she thinks. Ex-military, he’s always smartly dressed and trim, with a neat little moustache that’s darker than his hair. At sixty-five he’s still fit. As a kid she was always a little terrified of him. At nearly six foot two he was imposing in his RAF uniform. They moved around a lot, which was why they put her in boarding school so young so she has never felt truly close to them. She doubts it was the boarding school – her other friends, apart from maybe Ottilie, didn’t experience that problem. She suspects it was more that her mother has never been particularly maternal and her father believes in a stiff upper lip.
‘I read about your stalker in the paper. Why didn’t you tell us?’ her father says, folding his arms across his broad chest. ‘You didn’t mention anything at your launch. I had to read it in yesterday’s paper. I called you straight afterwards, on your mobile, but you didn’t answer.’
Emilia remembers listening to the message, but she’d never had the chance to get back to him before she’d found Louise’s body. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been … an awful time. I have no idea who is doing this and …’ She falters. Her dad looks at her expectantly. ‘And I didn’t tell you because … well, I didn’t want to worry you,’ she lies. She didn’t tell them because she hardly sees them and it didn’t feel like the kind of conversation she could have at her launch or over the phone.
‘Well, we are worried,’ says her mother, standing up and patting her dyed auburn hair. ‘I tried to call you several times this morning but you never answered.’
‘I didn’t see any missed calls on my mobile from you today.’
She waves her hand dismissively. ‘You know I only ever ring your landline.’
Her mother refuses to embrace modern technology, unlike her father. ‘Well, then, you can hardly expect me to answer it.’ Why did she revert to being a petulant teenager whenever she was with them?
‘Do you mind if we stay?’ asks her father. He’s come to stand next to her mother by the fireplace, his stance wide, his arms behind his back.
She softens. It would actually be a relief to have them here. Extra pairs of eyes and all that. And they can’t help the way they are. At least they’re here, showing concern, wanting to help in some way. And they did come to her launch. She knows they’re trying to be better.
‘It would be lovely to have you,’ she says.
They want to hear all about it, of course, in minute detail. Emilia is so fed up with going over it and she’s so tired that she just wants to crash. But instead they follow her into the kitchen and sit on the linen sofas looking out over the garden. You’ve done wonders with this room,’ her mother says, taking a cup of tea with thanks. ‘So open plan. That wasn’t a thing in my day.’
Emilia has given Lloyd a bowl of water and peeled back the bifold doors so that he can wander into the garden. He’s flopped onto the parquet, the slight breeze from outside rippling the back of his fur. From here she can see the side of Elliot’s office. The sun is at the back now, high in the sky. There isn’t a cloud in sight. Her mother fans herself with a hand.
‘So,’ says her father. He’s perched on the edge of the sofa, next to her mother, ready to jump up at a moment’s notice, if need be. She imagines him with a stick under his arm like the captain in Ghosts. Every time Jasmine and Wilfie watch that show they laugh that he’s like Granddad Hugh. ‘Start from the beginning.’
And she does, leaving nothing out. Their eyes widen in shock and her mother gasps from time to time, especially when she gets to the part where she finds Louise’s body. ‘And now here we are,’ Emilia finishes, with a sigh. ‘No closer to knowing who is doing all this. But things have changed, can’t you see? This isn’t just nuisance stuff any more, it’s murder.’ She swallows a sob but her mother notices and gets up from the sofa to sit beside her.
She pats her knee awkwardly. ‘This is awful, darling. What are the police doing about it?’
‘They’re doing what they can. But now murder is involved they’ll step up.’
‘I should think so too. How could they have let it get to this stage?’
She sighs. ‘Whoever is doing this is clever, Mum. They know how to keep themselves hidden. But they’ve done something stupid: they’ve started taking things from my unpublished book. I know I’ve already asked you, but you’re sure you haven’t shared the manuscript with anyone else? Friends? Friends of friends?’
Her mother shakes her head, adamant that she hasn’t let it out of her sight. ‘I’ve already said we’d never do that.’ She sniffs. ‘I’m amazed you let anyone read it before it’s been properly signed off.’
‘Signed off?’
‘Yes.’ She purses her lips in disapproval. ‘It’s littered with grammatical errors. I’ve picked up loads. I’ve made notes.’
Emilia’s heart sinks. ‘Mum, that’s kind, but I have a copyeditor for that and proofreaders …’
‘Well, it’s better to be safe than sorry.’ She rummages around in her handbag, which is by her feet, and pulls out three lined A4 sheets. ‘I can go through them with you now, if you like?’
‘Er … no, that’s kind but I’ll look at them later.’ She takes the notes from her mother and leaves them on the glass-topped coffee-table. She can’t bring herself to look at that book again. Not now. Every time she thinks of it her stomach plummets.
Her mother stands up, smoothing down her dress, and leaves the room to ‘visit the Ladies’。
‘I enjoyed the book,’ pipes up her father, still literally on the edge of his seat, lowering his coffee cup onto the table. She notices how his hand trembles. ‘Very unusual storyline. Where … um, where did you get your inspiration for that?’
‘Which bit?’ She tries to keep her voice even.
‘The Doodle Man and all that stuff with the, um, young girl. Daisy.’
Emilia fidgets. ‘I don’t know. It just … well, it just came to me, I suppose, and it grew from there.’ The lie lodges in her throat.
‘Right. I see.’ He clicks his tongue against his mouth. ‘It must be hard coming up with new cases for Miranda to solve. Is that why you ended the series?’