What Came Before He Shot Her by Elizabeth George Page B

nappies, and collective bad breath. Toby stopped just beyond the threshold, then his body stiffened as he backed into Kendra. The rank odour was acting like smelling salts on him, pulling him from the safety of his mind directly back to reality. It was present time and present place for him now, and Toby looked over his shoulder as if considering flight.
    Kendra pushed him gently into the room. “’S okay,” she told him.
    But she couldn’t blame him for his hesitation. She wanted to hesitate herself.
    No one looked their way. A golf tournament was on the television, and several people sat before it, eyes glued to the limited action provided by that sport. At one card table, four others worked upon a large jigsaw puzzle while at another, two ancient ladies were hanging over what looked like an old wedding album. Three other people—two men and one woman—were doing nothing more than shuffling along the wall, while in a corner a wheelchair-bound person of indeterminate sex was calling out weakly, “Gotta have a piss, God damn it,” and going ignored. On the wall above the wheelchair, a poster hung, printed with, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” On the floor next to it sat a long-haired girl, silently weeping.
    One person in the room was given to industry, on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. She was just beyond the jigsaw puzzle table, working from the corner of the room. She had no bucket, no broom, no mop, no sponge to assist her in her endeavour, just her bare knuckles, which she swept repeatedly in an arc on the lino floor.
    Joel recognised their mother from the ginger of her hair, which was similar to his own. He said to his aunt, “There she is,” and he tugged Toby in her direction.
    “She’s Cleanin’ Caro today,” one of the jigsaw ladies said as they approached. “Going to make things nice ’n’ tidy, she is. Caro! You got company, luv.”
    One of the jigsaw companions put in, “Wearing out the bloomin floor’s more like it. And tell her to do summick about your brother’s nose.”
    Joel inspected Toby. Kendra did the same. The little boy’s upper lip was slick and shiny. Kendra searched in her bag for the tissue or handkerchief that she did not have, while Joel looked round the room for something to clean Toby up with. There was nothing to hand, so he was reduced to using his shirttail, which he then tucked into his jeans.
    Kendra went to the kneeling figure of Carole Campbell and tried to remember when last she’d seen her. Months and months ago, it had to be. Or perhaps even longer, in spring the previous year because of the flowers, the weather, and the fact that they had met out of doors. Since then, Kendra had always been too busy. Scores of projects and dozens of obligations had sufficed to keep her away from this place.
    Joel squatted next to his mother. He said, “Mum? Brought you a magazine t’day. Me and Toby and Aunt Ken here. Mum?”
    Carole Campbell continued her useless swiping, making large semi-circles against the dull green floor. Joel eased forward and laid the copy of
Elle
before her. “Brought you this,” he said. “It’s brand new, Mum.”
    It was also a little the worse for wear, rolled up while they were walking from the station. Its edges curled upward as they headed towards dog-eared, and a handprint marred the cover girl’s face. But it was enough to make Carole stop her cleaning. She gazed at the magazine and her fingers went to her own face, touching those features that made her what she was: a mixture of Japanese, Irish, and Egyptian. She compared herself—uncared for, unclean—to the flawless creature who was pictured. Then she looked at Joel and from him to Kendra. Toby, sheltered at Joel’s side, tried to make himself small.
    “Where’s my Aero?” Carole asked. “I’m meant to have an orange Aero, Joel.”
    “Here it is, Carole.” Hastily, Kendra brought it out of the bag. “The boys got it for you at WH Smith when they