Mrs Jacobs went well. He got some nice quotes and the photographer who met him at her house snapped some emotive shots of her – vulnerable but brave – but he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his encounter with Paula outside work. Her shouted threat as he walked into the car park has unsettled him. At the time he shrugged it off but it’s worked its way into his body and it’s sitting under his skin making him feel prickly and uncomfortable.
He takes another swig of his pint then reaches for his phone. He needs to discuss moving back in with Jo – personal space or no personal space.
He calls her number but it’s engaged. He waits a couple of seconds then tries again. Still engaged. He could text her instead, but texts can be misconstrued. They need to talk. Max logs into Facebook to while away a couple of minutes while he waits for Jo to finish her phone call. As he scrolls through his news feed, he sees the usual humble bragging, food shots, health updates and political rants but nothing that piques his interest. He scrolls, scrolls, scrolls through his friends’ updates then pauses at one of Jo’s posts. Elise gazes up at him from the screen. She’s sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her and ketchup smeared all over her mouth. And she’s laughing, really laughing. He checks the time stamp – 7.31 a.m. – and his heart twists with pain. While his wife and daughter were bonding over breakfast he was waking up in a grotty hotel room, alone.
As he continues to stare at the photo an unsettling thought pricks at the front of his brain. It’s been nearly 24 hours since he mentioned moving to Chester to Jo and she hasn’t said a thing about it. He had a text that morning to say that she’d dropped Elise at nursery on her way to work, but nothing else. What’s going on in her head? She should be thrilled that he’s suggested moving to Chester. Isn’t that what she’s wanted all along? Or was it only ever the plan for her and Elise to go? Jo had asked for space and he’d agreed to it – they both need to cool down after everything that’s happened – but it’s killing him, not knowing how she’s feeling.
He logs out of Facebook then logs back in, using Jo’s email address and password instead. He’d watched her tap it into her phone well over a year ago, when she was checking Facebook in a restaurant they’d taken Elise to for lunch one weekend. LiLi1108 – his daughter’s name and the first four digits of her date of birth. He’d almost told her to change it, that it was too easy to guess, but he’d kept quiet instead.
He holds his breath as he presses the blue log in button. She’s bound to have changed it.
But no. The screen refreshes and he’s in. He exhales loudly as he taps the messages icon and feels a surge of adrenalin as he looks through the messages. He shouldn’t be doing this, spying on his wife, but he can’t ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut and—
He inhales sharply. She sent a message to her friend Helen at 9.27 that morning. The first five words are in the preview panel.
I’m going to divorce Max.
‘Where’s Daddy? Where’s Daddy, Mummy?’ Elise wanders from room to room, poking her head around the kitchen bar and peering into the downstairs toilet. She’s convinced that Max is playing an elaborate game of hide-and-seek. Her face crumples as she completes her second circuit of the kitchen and she plonks herself down on the tiled floor.
‘He’ll be here soon, sweetheart. I’m sure he just got caught up at work.’
On Tuesday night I asked Max for some space. I was going to talk to him about a separation but he threw me when he mentioned moving to Chester. It broke my heart, the way he was smiling at me and the way that smile slowly faded to confusion. There was a time when his suggestion would have thrilled me but so much has changed over the last few years. We’ve both changed. I’m a needy basket-case. He’s a workaholic. I never would have believed that he’d put us at risk but he has. Whatever he did or didn’t do to Paula has to be connected to his work. He’s covered so many court cases it’s inevitable that there are people out there holding grudges against him. Against us. I spent all of yesterday going back and forth with my decision but when I woke up this morning my head was clear. I knew what I had to do.
Max said he’d be home tonight at the normal time but it’s 6.45 and there’s still no sign of him. Elise should be bathed and in her pyjamas by now but I held off a bit so she could spend some time with Max first.
My phone pings. It’s a text from Helen:
Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m a shit friend. I thought I’d replied to your text. I just got your Facebook message. What’s happened?! I can ring you now if you want?
‘Where’s Daddy, Mummy?’ Elise asks again but this time her question is interrupted by a sharp knocking at the front door. Her face lights up and she picks herself up from the floor, hands on the tiles, bottom in the air, and toddles down the hallway towards the front door.
‘Max,’ I say as I release the catch. ‘I didn’t double-lock it. You could have used your—’
But it’s not my husband standing outside the house.
‘Mrs Joanne Blackmore? My name is DS Merriott from Avon and Somerset Constabulary.’ He flashes his badge at me. ‘Could I come in, please?’
There are four police officers standing outside my house: three men and one woman. The man standing closest to me is bald, with thick, black-framed glasses and a dour expression.
‘What’s this about?’ I touch a hand to Elise’s shoulders to reassure her and fight to keep my voice steady. There’s something about the way DS Merriott is looking at me that makes me feel uncomfortable. ‘Is it about Paula? I told the other police officer I’d changed my mind about reporting her.’
‘If we could talk inside, please, madam?’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
I usher Elise into the living room and am followed by DS Merriott and the female officer. The two male officers remain in the hall. Elise immediately rushes towards her box of toys by the bay window. I sit down in the armchair. DS Merriott takes the sofa and the female officer squats down by the toy box. She engages Elise in conversation, asking her which is her favourite toy.
‘Mrs Blackmore.’ DS Merriott inches forward on the sofa and reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘I have a warrant to search your property. We have reason to believe that you may be handling or distributing illegal drugs and this warrant gives us the authority to look in your rooms and outbuildings.’
He hands me an official-looking piece of paper. My name and address are at the top and it’s been signed at the bottom by a magistrate.
‘Drugs?’ The word comes out sharply. When Elise turns to look at me I lower my voice. ‘There has to be some kind of mistake. No one in this house does drugs.’
‘There’s been no mistake, madam.’ He gestures towards the hallway where the two male police officers are hovering. ‘PC Beare and PC Bagnall will conduct a controlled search now. They’ll endeavour not to make a mess.’
‘They’re going to look through all my things? All my personal things?’ The thought makes me feel sick.
‘They’ll look through everything.’
‘There’s a wooden box,’ I say. ‘In the cupboard over there. It’s got … there are mementos inside, of a baby we lost. Handprints, footprints, a little hat. Please,’ – I glance at the two men in the hall – ‘please be careful with it.’
They look at DS Merriott who nods.
‘We’ll get started then, Sarg,’ says the younger of the two.
I sit in my seat, rigid with shock, as they head next door into Max’s home office. Their boots traipse back and forth on the wooden floorboards