‘Mum! Are you feeling better?’ She moves to make room on the sofa between her and Simon, and I sit down, exhausted by the effort of coming downstairs.
‘Not really. I’m totally wiped out.’ I haven’t felt this ill for years. My bones ache and my skin hurts to touch. There’s a stinging sensation at the back of my eyes that only goes away when I close my lids, and my throat is so sore it’s a struggle to talk. ‘I think I’ve got flu. Proper flu.’
‘Poor baby.’ Simon puts his arm round me and for once Katie doesn’t say anything about what she calls ‘public displays of affection’. Even Justin looks concerned.
‘Do you want a drink of something?’ he says. I must look really ill, I think.
‘Just some water. Thank you.’
‘No worries.’ He stands up, then reaches into his pocket and hands me an envelope.
‘What’s this?’ I open it and find a thick bundle of twenty-pound notes.
‘Rent.’
‘What? We’ve been through this. I don’t want rent from you, love.’
‘Well, food, bills – whatever. It’s yours.’
I turn to Simon, remembering how insistent he’s been lately that Justin shouldn’t have a free ride. He shakes his head, as if to say it’s got nothing to do with him.
‘That’s really good of you though, Justin. Well done, mate.’ The colloquialism sounds forced on Simon’s lips and Justin looks at him scornfully.
‘I thought you were skint?’ Katie says, peering at the notes to see how much is there. I put it in my cardigan pocket, trying to ignore the voice inside my head that wants me to ask where it’s from.
‘Melissa’s put me in charge of the café so she can set up the new one,’ Justin says, as though he’s read my mind. ‘It’s only temporary, but it comes with a pay rise.’
‘That’s wonderful!’ Relief that my son is neither stealing nor dealing makes my response disproportionately enthusiastic. Justin shrugs as though the news is of no importance, and goes into the kitchen for my water. ‘I always knew he just needed a break,’ I whisper to Simon. ‘Someone who could see what a hard-working lad he is.’
I suddenly remember Justin isn’t the only one with job news. I turn to Katie. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t more supportive before your audition, love. I feel dreadful about it.’
‘Oh God, don’t worry about that now, Mum. You’re not well.’
‘Simon said it went brilliantly.’
Katie beams. ‘It was amazing. So, the agent didn’t take me on, because she already had a few on her books with my look and range – whatever that means, but I got chatting to a guy who was waiting in reception. He’s the director of a theatre company putting on a production of Twelfth Night, and their Viola has just had a skiing accident. I mean, how perfect?’
I stare at her, not following. Justin returns with a glass of water. He hasn’t let the tap run, and it’s cloudy and tepid, but I sip it gratefully. Anything to ease my sore throat.
‘Mum, Twelfth Night was the text we did for GCSE English. I know it inside out. And he said I was made for Viola. I literally auditioned then and there – it was the maddest thing – and I got the part! The rest of the cast have been rehearsing for weeks, but I’ve got to nail it in a fortnight.’
My head is spinning. ‘But who is this guy? Do you know anything about him?’
‘He’s called Isaac. Turns out his sister went to school with Sophia, so he’s not a complete stranger. He’s done stuff at Edinburgh, and – here’s the exciting bit – they’re going to take Twelfth Night on tour! He’s incredibly ambitious, and so talented.’
I spot something else in Katie’s face. Something other than her excitement over an acting job. ‘Good looking?’
She blushes. ‘Very.’
‘Oh, Katie!’
‘What? Mum, it’s all kosher, I promise. I think you’d like him.’
‘Good. You can invite him over.’
Katie snorts. ‘I only met him yesterday, Mum, I’m not asking him to meet the ’rents.’
‘Well, you’re not going on tour till you do, so …’ We glare at each other, until Simon intervenes.
‘Shall we talk about this when you’re feeling better?’
‘I’m feeling better now,’ I say, but my stubbornness is undermined by a wave of dizziness that makes me close my eyes.
‘Sure you are. Come on, you: bed.’
I remember his promise. ‘Did you call the police?’
‘Yes. I spoke to someone senior on the investigation team.’
‘Rampello?’
‘I think so. I said how worried you were about the advert – the one that looked a bit like you—’
‘It was me.’
‘—and the guy I spoke to said he could totally see why you were anxious, but at the moment they don’t think Tania Beckett’s murder is linked to any other crimes.’
‘There has to be a link,’ I persist. ‘It can’t be coincidence.’
‘You don’t even know her,’ Justin says. ‘Why are you getting so wound up?’
‘Because she’s been murdered, Justin!’ He doesn’t react, and I look at Katie in despair. ‘And because my photo—’