bullshit. It’s not news.’
‘They’re all the same breed.’
‘She’s my friend. My best friend.’
‘Fine. If you trust her then that’s fine, isn’t it?’
‘I do trust her. I can’t believe you’d say such a thing.’
‘Sorry.’
The kettle was noisily reaching boiling point. Nicky leaned against the counter and lapsed into a thousand-yard stare, but I knew her and I knew that behind it her mind was turning. For the first time, it occurred to me to ask about her family.
‘How are the girls?’
Her attention snapped back to me, a funny look. Guilt, perhaps, swiftly disguised, because she had four daughters safe at home while I was missing my only child.
‘Will you tell them?’ I asked.
‘I think it’ll be impossible to avoid. With it on the TV, and in all the papers.’
‘Do they need you to be with them? Don’t you need to go home?’
‘No,’ she said it firmly. ‘My place is with you right now. They’ll be fine.’ She closed the matter by turning her back on me to make tea with concise, measured movements.
After we went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. All night I kept vigil in Ben’s room. I left the curtains open, and lay in his bed, letting my eyes run over the contours of his belongings. Books, toys and other stuff, collected and arranged by Ben on his shelves, had the stillness of museum exhibits. I sat up, wrapped his duvet around me, and stared into the shadows in the corners of his room, and then moved my gaze outside.
I watched a fox leap the fence into my neighbour’s garden and then slink around, nose to the ground, before finding something it could eat and devouring it, gulping it down in a way that was fast and primitive and ugly. When it was done, it ran its tongue over its chops, savouring, before disappearing into the night.
I felt the various textures of my fear: shivery, visceral, tight, pounding, in turn or all at once. I only fell asleep once, in the small hours, and woke to a sensation of being choked, gasping for air, pushing bedding away from me as if it were hostile, or venomous, and then finding my sister standing in the room with fear on her face saying, ‘Rachel, are you OK? Rachel!’
After that we sat together until it was morning, as if it was just the two of us left in the world.
JIM
Addendum to DI James Clemo’s report for Dr Francesca Manelli.
Transcript recorded by Dr Francesca Manelli.
DI James Clemo and Dr Francesca Manelli in attendance.
Notes to indicate observations on DI Clemo’s state of mind or behaviour, where his remarks alone do not convey this, are in italics.
FM : What I’d like to start with today is a discussion of your relationship with DC Zhang.
JC : There’s not much to say.
FM: You were seeing each other when the Benedict Finch case started?
JC: Yes.
FM: How long had your relationship been going on?
JC: About four months.
FM: And were things going well?
JC: They were, yes. I thought they were.
FM: But you kept the relationship secret from work?
JC: I didn’t want gossip.
FM: Were you embarrassed about the relationship?
JC: No! God no. Anyone would have been proud to go out with Emma.
FM: Why’s that?
JC: She’s very clever, and very gorgeous. Funny, too when you got to know her.
FM: She sounds lovely.
JC: She was even better than that though; I’m not describing her very well. She was different from other girls I’d been out with.
FM: How was she different?
JC: She was just… she wasn’t dull like them. It’s like she’d lived a different kind of life, and she wasn’t afraid to know stuff, and she was always wanting to learn new things, to be a better version of herself. When she was a kid she was an athletics star, and she got top grades, and she’d kept that sense of purpose about her. She talked about life as if it was a given that it was interesting or exciting, not about mortgages or package holidays or where she was going out on Friday night. I don’t want to make her sound
‘They’re all the same breed.’
‘She’s my friend. My best friend.’
‘Fine. If you trust her then that’s fine, isn’t it?’
‘I do trust her. I can’t believe you’d say such a thing.’
‘Sorry.’
The kettle was noisily reaching boiling point. Nicky leaned against the counter and lapsed into a thousand-yard stare, but I knew her and I knew that behind it her mind was turning. For the first time, it occurred to me to ask about her family.
‘How are the girls?’
Her attention snapped back to me, a funny look. Guilt, perhaps, swiftly disguised, because she had four daughters safe at home while I was missing my only child.
‘Will you tell them?’ I asked.
‘I think it’ll be impossible to avoid. With it on the TV, and in all the papers.’
‘Do they need you to be with them? Don’t you need to go home?’
‘No,’ she said it firmly. ‘My place is with you right now. They’ll be fine.’ She closed the matter by turning her back on me to make tea with concise, measured movements.
After we went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. All night I kept vigil in Ben’s room. I left the curtains open, and lay in his bed, letting my eyes run over the contours of his belongings. Books, toys and other stuff, collected and arranged by Ben on his shelves, had the stillness of museum exhibits. I sat up, wrapped his duvet around me, and stared into the shadows in the corners of his room, and then moved my gaze outside.
I watched a fox leap the fence into my neighbour’s garden and then slink around, nose to the ground, before finding something it could eat and devouring it, gulping it down in a way that was fast and primitive and ugly. When it was done, it ran its tongue over its chops, savouring, before disappearing into the night.
I felt the various textures of my fear: shivery, visceral, tight, pounding, in turn or all at once. I only fell asleep once, in the small hours, and woke to a sensation of being choked, gasping for air, pushing bedding away from me as if it were hostile, or venomous, and then finding my sister standing in the room with fear on her face saying, ‘Rachel, are you OK? Rachel!’
After that we sat together until it was morning, as if it was just the two of us left in the world.
JIM
Addendum to DI James Clemo’s report for Dr Francesca Manelli.
Transcript recorded by Dr Francesca Manelli.
DI James Clemo and Dr Francesca Manelli in attendance.
Notes to indicate observations on DI Clemo’s state of mind or behaviour, where his remarks alone do not convey this, are in italics.
FM : What I’d like to start with today is a discussion of your relationship with DC Zhang.
JC : There’s not much to say.
FM: You were seeing each other when the Benedict Finch case started?
JC: Yes.
FM: How long had your relationship been going on?
JC: About four months.
FM: And were things going well?
JC: They were, yes. I thought they were.
FM: But you kept the relationship secret from work?
JC: I didn’t want gossip.
FM: Were you embarrassed about the relationship?
JC: No! God no. Anyone would have been proud to go out with Emma.
FM: Why’s that?
JC: She’s very clever, and very gorgeous. Funny, too when you got to know her.
FM: She sounds lovely.
JC: She was even better than that though; I’m not describing her very well. She was different from other girls I’d been out with.
FM: How was she different?
JC: She was just… she wasn’t dull like them. It’s like she’d lived a different kind of life, and she wasn’t afraid to know stuff, and she was always wanting to learn new things, to be a better version of herself. When she was a kid she was an athletics star, and she got top grades, and she’d kept that sense of purpose about her. She talked about life as if it was a given that it was interesting or exciting, not about mortgages or package holidays or where she was going out on Friday night. I don’t want to make her sound
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