I think about my dad, doting on Ben, making him breakfast and snuggling up with him on the couch, maybe doing a puzzle or reading him a book. Having Ben was the greatest gift I ever gave to my father. A new era of the Woodstock family, meaning that Mum dying was officially a generation ago. That chapter could be sealed off and relegated to the past. Towards the end of my pregnancy Dad seemed almost scared to breathe around me. His eyes would fill with tears every time he looked at me. I was terrified something bad would happen. I had almost resigned myself to the idea that I would never hold my child, that happiness would loom close and then be briskly whisked away from me.
In the end Ben was early. I started labour hard and fast three weeks before my due date on a cold June morning. Asleep on the couch in the lounge, I woke with a jolt, the TV chattering softly in the darkness. Was it a noise outside I’d heard? And there it was again, a soft groan. It took me a moment to realise that it was coming from me. The baby was coming. My baby was coming. I didn’t move. Instead, I lay as still as I had ever lain before. The room flickered with the light from the TV and the large photo of Mum looked down on us from the worn wooden mantelpiece, and I clenched my throat against a wave of pain then sat up in a crouch on the floor, letting it wash over me. The wetness came too but I still didn’t move. It was the last time that I would ever truly be alone again. Instinctively I knew this. I was a cat heavy with kittens, a wild animal. Almost a mother. The skin on my translucent belly moved, moulded by little arms, legs. My son. The pain came again and again. There was a break, finally, and I got up and quickly cleaned the floor with a towel, soaking up the water that had kept my son safe all this time. I shuffled into the doorway of our bedroom, the floorboards ice beneath my feet. In the moonlight Scott breathed in and out, his arms wrapped around my pillow.
‘Scott,’ I said, and I felt the pain rising again, pushing against my heart, making my voice swell. ‘Scott. We need to go to the hospital.’
He tumbled out of bed, a tangle of limbs and adrenalin, and looked at me, eyes shining.
And in that moment all I could think was: I’m having a baby and it isn’t Jacob’s and nothing about this makes sense.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Sunday, 20 December, 9.11 am
It’s quiet as I walk into the station. Jonesy has been under pressure from above to stop everyone’s leave from banking up and has ordered skeleton staff whenever possible, so there isn’t the typical buzz of the admin crew filling the rooms. A couple of people mill about in reception, eager to report lost wallets and damaged letterboxes. It’s so different from the past week of frenzied post-murder activity. The walls groan in the heat. My desk is scattered with papers and stray pens. I look over at Felix’s neat desk, his pens standing like little soldiers in a home-made clay mug. A present from one of his daughters. I wonder briefly whether a child of ours would be more him or me. A girl or a boy. My head is pounding with last night’s wine and shame. I yearn for a day with no people. Where I don’t even need to open my mouth. I swallow thickly, still tasting the acid of the alcohol and vomit.
Anna has left a chocolate heart on my desk. Re-gifted to you from my latest NQR date. Enjoy! reads the post-it attached to it. I throw it in a drawer as I try to think past the nausea. My mobile phone jumps to life, vibrating across my desk. I jump too.
‘Woodstock,’ I say and my throat burns with the effort.
‘Hi. Um, I hope it’s okay to call. You said to call if there was anything else that I thought about. To do with Rosalind Ryan.’
I try to pull my thoughts together. ‘Absolutely. We’re looking for any information that might help. Who is this?’
A short nervous laugh followed by a sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh, sorry. It’s Isabel Mealor. Izzy. I teach at Smithson. You gave me your card.’
I picture the bright red hair and dramatic eyeliner. ‘Yes, Izzy, of course. I’m listening.’
‘Well, look. I’m not sure that this is related but I suppose it’s playing on my mind, and after the service on Friday, well, I don’t know, it just feels like I’d rather say something than not, you know?’
‘Definitely. In situations like this we want to know as much as we can. Things that seem irrelevant might absolutely be important.’
‘Yeah. I figured. So, look, I’m not sure about this, but a few weeks ago I left my wallet at work, on my desk. I realised when I was out at a dinner I didn’t have it and so I decided to go back and get it on my way home. Sometimes the cleaners are in early and I didn’t want to risk it being stolen.’
‘When exactly was this?’
‘Thursday three weeks ago. I just checked my diary to be sure.’
‘Okay, great, so you went back to the school. Around what time was that?’
‘Maybe nine? It was creepy being there when no one was around, so I just rushed in, grabbed my wallet and went back to my car.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘Well, I saw two people coming up from the hall, down near the Forrest Wing, where the portable classrooms are. I sort of ducked behind my car so they couldn’t see me. It was Rosalind. And, um, she was with a student.’
‘Do you know who it was?’
‘I’m not one hundred percent sure, but it was definitely a student. Tall but young. You know how you can just tell by the way they walk.’
My heart thumps uncomfortably. ‘Okay, but you couldn’t see who it was?’
‘No, it was dark and I didn’t want to look like I was spying on them or anything,’ Izzy says.
‘Did anything else happen?’
‘Well, it just seemed a bit odd. And then I remembered that she was doing all these rehearsals for the play after hours so I figured that one of them had just finished and that’s why they were there.’
I let out a breath that I didn’t realise I was holding. ‘So do you think that’s what they were doing?’
‘Probably. It makes sense. But …’
‘What else?’
‘Well, they got into her car, which I thought was a bit strange—but I guessed that she was giving him a lift home, which seemed fair enough. But then they just sat in the car for a while in the dark. Talking, I suppose.’
There is a long pause during which Izzy breathes deeply into the phone. Finally, she says, ‘Look, it was dark and I was wedged between two cars, trying to look at them through another car window, but the thing is, their heads were close together and I’m pretty sure I saw them kiss.’
‘Very interesting,’ Felix says when I update him on the call with Izzy.
He took the morning off to go to Melissa’s dance concert. When I asked him how it was he shrugged and said, ‘It was a dance concert for thirteen-year-olds.’ He doesn’t ask me about my night, doesn’t seem to notice my red eyes and sallow complexion. I watch him fuss at his desk, opening drawers and closing them again, avoiding my stare. He’s feeling guilty. I can tell by the way he looks to the left of my pupils when he talks. I know him so well. We understand the competing pieces of our worlds. We understand the pull of obligation rubbing against the addictive feeling of him sliding inside me. My skin is like plastic on my face and I think I might be sick again. I breathe out slowly, letting seconds become a minute.
‘Maybe we can catch up after work?’ I say.