Chills finger their way up Melissa’s arms and she rubs them savagely in an attempt to get her blood circulating. She’s so cold. Her lips feels numb, bloodless. As she walks to the sink for water, the doorbell rings.
She heads into the hallway, assuming Tilly has forgotten her keys again, but she can see the outline of two people through the glass door. The doorbell rings, once, twice. Her heart slams against her ribcage again. Something Laurie, the English lecturer in her distant past, used to say comes to her, unbidden. What fresh hell is this? The doorbell rings a third time but still she can’t move.
Then the letterbox snaps open. Melissa gasps and covers her mouth with her hands. A man’s eyes peer through at her.
‘Hello? Can you open up? We just want a little word with you.’
Melissa creeps to the front door. Her hands shake as she slots the chain into place before opening it and peering out.
A man and a woman stand on her doorstep. Her childhood radar kicks in and she knows what they are even before the man simultaneously flashes both badge and friendly smile.
He conforms to the cliché perfectly by looking about sixteen, with his fresh face and spiky gelled hair, like some sort of junior estate agent. His suit looks like it was bought for him by his mum. The woman is a little older. Short and pretty, with black hair in a severe bun and intense brown eyes that fix upon Melissa.
‘Sorry to bother you, Mrs Fielding,’ says the male one. ‘It’s nothing to worry about at all. Just a routine enquiry. I’m Detective Constable Steve Milner and this is DC Khadijah Abdul. Would it be okay to come in for a moment?’
Melissa can’t gather enough saliva to speak. She only manages an awkward sort of cough-laugh as she ushers them over the threshold.
‘Sorry!’ She lifts her hand to her face, aware of how blotchy she looks. ‘I’ve got hay fever and I was, um, upstairs sneezing my head off. Do come in. Can I ask what this is about?’
Why is she speaking in that high-pitched voice? She broadens her smile as they come into the hallway. She has already forgotten their names. The man watches her with interest. The other one still hasn’t opened her mouth. Melissa’s question hangs in the air, unanswered.
‘Come through, come through!’ says Melissa now, unable to control her excessive bonhomie as she gestures for them to walk ahead.
‘Can I offer you something to drink?’ she says when all three reach the bright, sunny kitchen. Please say no.
‘That would be lovely. It’s a long drive from Dorset,’ says the man cheerfully, his voice soft with a West Country burr.
Dorset, Dorset. Oh God.
‘Tea? Coffee?’ It’s so hard not to sound shrill and demented. She breathes out through her nose slowly, trying to calm down. ‘Sorry, I didn’t quite catch your names …’
‘Tea, please. And it’s DC Milner.’
‘DC Abdul, and the same for me, thanks.’ Tiny moles are scattered across her cheeks. Her eyes haven’t left Melissa since she opened the door.
Melissa goes to make the tea. With her back to them she says, ‘So what is this all about?’
‘It’s about a young man called Jamie Cox,’ says Milner. ‘I gather he’s an old friend?’
Melissa’s stomach twists and dips. How do they know? It’s over. Is it?
‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly!’ she says with a bright, shrill laugh. ‘Why would you think so?’
The kettle has boiled; everything is ready. She can’t find any more reasons not to sit down so she does, forcing her gaze to meet theirs.
‘He told his Probation Officer all about you,’ says Milner, spooning sugar into his tea and stirring. The sound makes Melissa’s teeth ache and reverberates inside her skull. She forces unwanted black tea past her lips and down her throat, nodding foolishly to buy time.
‘He told her all about how he was friends with someone off the telly. Or at least, their wife.’ He pauses and smiles. ‘We like that programme, don’t we Khadijah? Remember the couple who had the little boy even though the dad was dying of cancer?’
DS Abdul smiles for the first time. ‘That was great, that one. Made me cry.’
I highly doubt that, thinks Melissa. ‘Look, why are you here? What’s happened to Jamie?’
The two police officers regard her. The cheery vibe has dissipated now. ‘That’s the thing,’ says Milner. ‘I’m afraid something has happened to him. His body was fished out of a river in Dorset yesterday.’
Melissa puts her hands to her mouth and widens her eyes. Is it too much? Or too little? How should she react?
‘That’s terrible,’ she says, taking another mouthful of tea and forcing it down. ‘Was it suicide then?’ This is a good question, she thinks. The right one.
‘No, we don’t think so.’ Milner doesn’t elaborate. He takes an audible mouthful of tea and shifts position. ‘The thing is, we were able to triangulate where his phone was last used and could narrow it down to this street. And what with his boasting about celebrity friends …’ He makes air speech marks at these last two words. ‘We were thinking you might have been among the last people to see him alive.’
Melissa nods, buying time, and places her cup carefully on the table. ‘Well, I’m very sad to hear that this has happened. But we weren’t in any way friends. Jamie and I were in care together as teenagers. I hadn’t seen him for twenty odd years until he turned up a couple of weeks ago.’ It’s starting to feel like a well-worn script.
‘What did he want then?’ says Abdul, scrutinizing her over the rim of her cup.
‘He wanted money,’ says Melissa bluntly. No point in pretending otherwise now.
‘And did you give him some? Money?’ Melissa is sure no double entendre was intended by Milner’s open expression, but heat creeps up her cheeks anyway.
‘Yes,’ she says and meets his eye directly. ‘I gave him a hundred pounds and told him to sling his hook. I don’t really want my husband to know I did this. He might not understand. I just wanted to get rid of him, you see.’ She instantly regrets the words and, flustered again, looks down at the table.
‘Did he say where he was going next?’ says Milner, saving her.
‘I’m afraid not. I wish I could help further.’ Please just go …
Milner fixes her with a sympathetic smile. ‘Well, we will need you to pop down to the station to give us a statement to this effect, I’m afraid.’
Melissa keeps her expression impassive as the walls pulse around her. In this moment she understands that, despite everything she has been through, she hasn’t really been tested until now.
Burying her face in her hands, she begins to cry softly. It isn’t very difficult to do.
She can feel the police officers’ gaze sitting heavily upon her and when she raises her head, she attempts a watery laugh of embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘It just sort of hit me then that he was here in my house and now he’s dead. God knows I didn’t want him here, but he didn’t deserve this, did he?’ She pauses and hunts for a tissue in her pocket. Dabbing her eyes, she says, ‘I wish I’d helped him more. I just wanted him to go away.’
‘Look,’ says Milner kindly, ‘sometimes these things happen, particularly when people keep the sort of company he did, if you see what I mean.’
Melissa’s heart jolts at these encouraging words but she nods and lowers her eyes.
‘Well …’ With a sigh, Milner gets to his feet. ‘You can come down to the station and give us a statement any time in the next few days,’ he continues and rummages in a pocket for a card, which he deposits on the table. ‘If you think of anything at all, can you give us a call? Any time.’
‘I will,’ she says, relief beginning to trickle through her. ‘I hope you have a good drive back.’
‘We have to go and see his partner first,’ says Abdul. ‘You were first on the route from the motorway, you see.’ She pauses. ‘They have a little girl.’
Melissa swallows. ‘Oh no. That’s … that’s very sad. He never said.’