‘Shit,’ said Ang.
James swayed and wiped his mouth and wondered how much the puddle of vomit had cost him. Whatever it was, they couldn’t afford it. Maybe Anna would start working again, now she’d started going outside. Maybe going to the church hadn’t been such a terrible thing, if it had reminded her that going out was what normal people did. Not going out to polish your dead child’s footprints, but going out to the shops and the post office and a job, and coming home to a husband who wanted you back.
Outside the garage, the footprints were filled with rain, and dancing with more.
James stared down at them, and then squatted awkwardly. He put out an unsteady hand to touch the nearest of them, and only Ang’s quick grip on his shoulder stopped him from falling on his face.
He didn’t try again.
‘So sorry, James,’ said Ang tenderly.
‘Me too,’ said James.
The five footprints didn’t remind him of Daniel; they reminded him only of doing something so wrong that he could never make it right. Anna would never forgive him, and he couldn’t blame her. Even he couldn’t forgive him.
When James got in the lights were out, so he didn’t turn them on. Anna was a restless sleeper. The kitchen floor was wet and the washing machine was on. Anna had obviously begun a major sweep of the house. He knew that the next few weeks would be chaotic as she took the clean flat apart and put it back together even cleaner.
It was mad, but it could be worse. Better a clean flat than a filthy one. And things would improve with time. James lived in the hope that they would, that they must.
Even though he was drunk, James knew he wouldn’t be welcome in their bed tonight – even hanging off his own edge of the mattress. So, with a sigh, he opened the door to Daniel’s bedroom and switched on the light.
‘Jesus!’ he breathed, and sobered like ice.
It was all covered with paint. Blue paint. James recognized the can on the chest of drawers as one of several that had been in the cupboard under the stairs for a few years. He’d used it to paint Daniel’s toy chest, which had been pink when they’d got it from the charity shop.
Anna had painted four huge circles on the walls, each the radius of her own arm, wonky and sloppy, with drips all over the floor and furniture. Three circles filled one wall, and the fourth ran on to the next. She had moved the chest of drawers to accommodate the last one, and there were blue handprints all over that too.
It made him realize that she hadn’t even used a brush. He looked at the circles and saw the unmistakeable trails of fingers and palms. His wife had interrupted her obsessive cleaning operation to vandalize her own home.
Unless someone else had done this.
It suddenly seemed more likely – more horribly possible – that some crazed smack-head had broken into the flat while he was out getting pissed, assaulted his wife, vandalized the room, taken what little they had— Had he left the door open?
James rushed into their bedroom and banged on the light with a frightened fist.
Anna woke with a start. ‘What?’ she said. ‘What’s wrong?’
She shielded her eyes with a single blue hand.
25
‘MY WIFE TELLS me you told her to stop the cheque for the reward money.’
Superintendent Clyde had sneaked up on Marvel like a bad smell.
‘That’s right, sir. A thousand pounds is a lot of money. I thought you’d like to make sure this boy deserves it.’
‘He brought the dog back,’ said Clyde flatly. ‘He deserves the money.’
Marvel was rendered almost speechless by the naivety of the man. What was it that plaque on the super’s desk said? Something about the Lord taking over when the law was broken. Marvel suddenly wondered just how appropriate it was for a senior police officer – or any police officer – to have that motto on his desk. As if day-to-day police operations had been contracted out to the Almighty like catering or cleaning. It smacked of the same sort of abdication of responsibility as no questions asked – as if Clyde’s heart really wasn’t in this crime-fighting lark.
He spoke carefully. ‘What if he pinched the dog in the first place, sir? People will do a lot for a thousand quid.’
‘You should have a bit more faith in human nature, John.’
Marvel almost laughed in his face. What an idiot!
Out loud he took a more conciliatory tone. ‘Sir, I just want to make sure you and Mrs Clyde aren’t being ripped off, that’s all.’
‘Thank you for your concern, but I’m sure and I think that should be enough, don’t you?’
Marvel didn’t reply, but the super seemed to assume the affirmative.
‘You’ll be reassigned to another case shortly, and I’ll deal with the matter from now on, thank you.’
Marvel remained mutinously mute.
‘Understood?’ said Clyde.
Marvel understood. Clyde wanted the Mitzi business over and he didn’t want anything happening that might prolong it – even if that meant ignoring an infringement of the law.
Marvel understood that. And he wanted the super to know that he understood.
So he looked steadily up at Clyde and said, ‘No questions asked, sir?’
‘That’s right,’ snapped Clyde. ‘No questions asked.’
‘No questions asked?’ said Debbie. ‘But that’s what everybody puts on posters.’
‘Well, everybody’s wrong.’
The dog, now named Buster, stretched out between them, its round pink belly stretched by food. Buster was allowed to have all four feet on the Habitat couch, while Marvel still wasn’t allowed even one.
‘People aren’t wrong just because they don’t agree with you, John.’