Dark Mirrors by Siobhain Bunni Page A

quietly. She paused for a minute on the last step to see if she could decipher the whispers coming from Penny and the two plainclothes police officers, a man and a woman, who sat waiting for her to appear.
    As she rounded the newel post of the stairs all three stood to immediate attention, like schoolchildren greeting the headmistress, mugs in hand, feet firmly together.
    Penny, wearing that same guilty expression that always gave her away when they were kids, made the polite introductions: “Detective Sergeant Maloney. Garda Burke.”
    Esmée nodded as she took each invited hand firmly in her grasp, recognising Detective Sergeant Maloney as the Garda who had turned up the previous night. The mental mist was beginning to clear.
    “How are you this morning, Mrs Myers?” The detective sergeant’s query seemed genuine enough.
    “Esmée, please,” she insisted before sitting on the edge of the sofa opposite them. “I’m fine, thank you.”
    Penny took up a position on the sofa arm beside her and laid a protective hand on her shoulder.
    God, he’s ugly, Esmée thought maliciously, but he probably thinks he’s gorgeous. He’s the kind of geek that kisses his own reflection and prances around naked, admiring himself in the mirror – just like in those really cheesy movies. A Mel Gibson wannabe, but not the cute, modern Mel Gibson, but Mel as he was in the days of the first Lethal Weapon. He was utterly naff, with his highlighted blond hair and that aged brown-leather bomber jacket with the rolled-up sleeves and, oh my God, were they cowboy boots under the legs of those jeans? Ughhhh!
    “We’ve met before,” she realised as she sized him up. “Before last night, that is.”
    “You’re right,” he affirmed with a knowing smile, apparently fully aware that she was giving him the once-over. “I called to your house a couple of weeks ago. You thought you’d had a break-in.”
    “Ahh, that’s right!” Esmée recalled, raising her head slightly, recollecting their previous, fairly nondescript, encounter. How hadn’t she noticed those boots back then?
    “I met your husband that night too, although he didn’t seem too happy to see me and my partner.”
    Esmée nodded in reply, remembering the inexplicable uproar Philip had caused having found the police in the house when he’d got home that evening.
    “Would you like to tell us what happened last night?” he went on. “You didn’t seem up to talking when we called.” He looked to his partner for silent confirmation.
    Esmée’s response was polite, practised and above all cautious. “My husband and I are having some difficulties.”
    It felt strange to use the word husband in the context of this obviously guarded conversation in which she was participating only to appease her sisters, reluctant to explain to these strangers the mess she had created.
    “My sisters shouldn’t have bothered you,” she apologised, casting a reproachful glance at Penny. “Really, it’s nothing. It got out of hand. We argued. That’s all.” She felt Penny’s grip shift and tighten on her shoulder.
    “It doesn’t look like nothing to me,” Maloney responded, eyeing the fresh dressing on her forehead.
    Aware of his stare, she raised her hand instinctively to her head, unable to control the red hue that seeped into her cheeks. “I realise it must look awful but I just tripped on my way to the car, that’s all. I stormed out, you see.” It seemed a plausible answer.
    “Really? And your neck?” he questioned, his sceptical tone telling her he wasn’t convinced.
    Her eyes jerked up to meet his. Either she was being completely paranoid or he was actually mocking her. Who the hell did he think he was?
    “I saw it last night, Esmée. Looked pretty sore to me.”
    Shifting uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa, unconsciously rubbing the base of her neck, she felt the tender ridge beneath the soft fabric of her shirt.
    “We called to your house after we left here last