The Truth Will Out by Jane Isaac

grinned, then hid his head in her leg. “You’d better come through,” she said, lifting him back onto her hip.
    Helen and Pemberton followed them down a narrow hallway, past a closed door on the right, stairs blocked by a wooden baby gate to the left, and into a square kitchen. The fittings were basic, grey formica cupboards with mock marble work surfaces. An older boy sat at a round pine table in the middle, drawing a picture. He wore a blue jumper with a gold school emblem, although he barely looked old enough to be at school. He stopped and stared at them.
    “Hello,” Helen smiled.
    He said nothing, but continued to stare, wide eyed. A thick aroma of warm milk pervaded the room.
    Karen put the toddler down, then turned and placed her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry but I think you’ve had a wasted journey.”
    “We just need to ask you a few questions,” Helen said, “it shouldn’t take long.”
    The elder boy lowered himself down from the table and ran to the back door, swiftly pushing his feet into a pair of green wellingtons.
    Karen Paton turned to face him. “Callum, if you’re going outside to play, you need to put your coat on,” she said.
    He grabbed a navy jacket off the back of a chair and went outside without uttering a word. The door slammed behind him.
    Finding herself next to the fridge, Helen studied the photographs encircled by a plethora of fridge magnets, drawings and paintings that decorated it. Pictures of the two boys playing football, one of them holding a fishing rod, another of them posed by a large building that Helen didn’t recognise. She paused on one of Karen, dressed up on a night out on the town, then several others of her below that looked as if they’d been taken professionally.
    “These are nice,” she said. “Where did you have them taken?”
    Karen spied her suspiciously. “I used to do some modelling before I had the kids.”
    “Is that where you met Jules?”
    Karen guessed where the line of questioning was going. “Yeah. He was at one of the shoots.” Her voice was deadpan, her face a brick wall.
    Helen looked back at the photos. Karen Paton was certainly very photogenic.
    A loud wail rose from behind them, “Want to go out too!”
    Karen turned to look at her younger son. “Okay. Put your boots on first.”
    “Don’t want to!” He rushed across to the door and reached for the handle.
    “Ben!” She moved quickly and positioned herself between the door and the toddler. “No,” she said firmly, ignoring the others in the room. “If you want to go outside, you wear your boots and coat.”
    Ben let out a shrill scream and threw himself on the floor.
    “Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” Helen said. She pressed her lips together in sympathy.
    Karen briefly nodded, although her face held a ‘how would you know?’ expression. She turned her attention back to the toddler who was banging his hands on the floor.
    Helen glanced around the room. Apart from some freshly peeled potatoes standing in an uncovered pan next to the cooker, a kettle, breadbin and single kitchen roll, the surfaces were clear. She recalled their earlier phone conversation when Karen had confirmed that her and Jules were separated, although he has open access to the children and comes and goes as he pleases. She also maintained she hadn’t seen him since Saturday and had no idea where he was and no way of contacting him. The problem was Helen didn’t really believe her.
    She suddenly became aware that the crying had abated. The toddler was fiddling with a small box, picking out raisins and planting them in his mouth. She watched Karen lift him onto the side and he swung his legs as she helped him into his jacket, fastening each button separately, then slipped red wellington boots over his feet. His eyes were still fixed on the box of raisins as she pecked him on the nose and lifted him down. She handed him another box and opened the door. “Give those to your brother.”
    As