Jane Renshaw - Watch Over Me

Beckie said nothing.

‘What do you think Dad would have said?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I think he’d have given you a big hug… like this … And he’d have told you how much he loved you, and that he wanted you to be happy again just as soon as you could be. And you know what he was like – he’d probably have asked you something about food after that. Maybe: have you had lunch, and what did you have?’

‘Lara made tomato pasta but I could hardly eat it. It was all funny in my mouth.’

‘Oh, darling, I know. It’s what happens when you’re really sad – you don’t feel like eating and any food you do eat tastes funny. But we have to eat to keep our strength up, don’t we?’

‘Do you think Dad would have said that?’

‘Definitely.’ She looked over Beckie’s head at Caroline. ‘Where is Lara?’

‘In the kitchen,’ said Caroline, getting up and taking Beckie gently by the shoulders. ‘Why don’t you go and help her wash up, Beckie, after she was so kind making us that pasta?’

‘Okay.’

When Beckie had left the room, Caroline opened her arms and Flora walked into them.

When she could speak: ‘They think I killed him. And Saskia. They know about Saskia, they know I was in her flat right at the time she was killed, I just blurted it out like an idiot… And they kept asking things like Were you rowing about the Johnsons? and of course I had to say yes, I had to tell the truth because they’d find out, wouldn’t they –’

Caroline eased her down onto the sofa. ‘That’s hardly a motive for murder. And where’s your motive for killing Saskia? There’s no good reason why you would kill either Saskia or Neil.’

‘But the way they were looking at me… It’s usually the spouse, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, when it’s the man’s killed the woman. Other way round’s surely pretty rare. Would you even have the strength to strangle him? They’re just fishing. You stuck to the story, yeah?’ She rubbed Flora’s arm.

‘I tried, but… It was going on and on and on… They kept asking me the same things again and again, in different ways… I must have been in there for hours. They took my fingerprints and everything, they said they needed to eliminate them for the forensics in the house… They need you to go in and give yours too this afternoon, and Beckie…’

‘I can take her, no problem, while you get some rest, yeah?’

Flora nodded. ‘Okay. Thank you… Oh God, Caroline, it was awful . In the end I couldn’t think straight. They made me go over the whole of yesterday again, and they kept asking me about what I said in my statement… Like I forgot, when I was giving the statement, that we’d picked up Edith before driving to the beach – How could I have forgotten that?’

‘But that’s not a problem. Who’s going to remember every little detail of any particular day? It would be more suss if you had everything off pat. Why would you want to miss out the bit about picking up Edith when she’s part of your alibi, for God’s sake? It’s actually good that you got muddled up about that, when it’s obviously not something you’d need or want to lie about. It’ll make any other mistakes seem more innocent.’

‘The only lie was about the window… I don’t think I should have done it. Broken the window, I mean. It wasn’t –’

‘Listen, Flora, those fuckers are trying to frame you for murder, right? What’s wrong with trying to protect yourself from that? Chances are they’ve been extremely careful not to leave any forensic evidence behind that puts them in the house, and what with the CCTV not showing anything… That broken window is crucial. It’s the evidence the police need to put the Johnsons in the frame – without it you’d be fucked.’

‘But Caroline –’

‘You’ve got to get yourself into the mindset of an innocent person. You’re convinced the Johnsons did it –’

‘They did do it! You believe that, don’t you? You believe I didn’t do it?’

‘I know you didn’t, Flora. I know you didn’t. And we’re going to get through this, okay? They can’t have enough evidence against you or they’d have charged you by now. It’s going to be fine.’

Flora stared at her, at this woman who for some unknown reason seemed to think she was worth saving. ‘Thank you. Thank you. I don’t know how to thank you.’

Caroline pulled her into a hug.

It’s a lovely wee scene, so it is: a granda bonding with his grandkid. Jed’s in his La-Z-Boy with my tablet and Corrigan’s leaning over him eyeballing the screen. He’s, ‘What’s that word?’ and Jed’s, ‘Bile… Biligist… Bio-lo-gist,’ and Corrigan’s wrinkling his face just like Granda, and then he’s, ‘What’s that word?’ and Jed’s, ‘Strangled.’ Right back in his comfort zone.

‘That’s no appropriate for a wean,’ I goes. ‘You fucking prick. What is it any road?’

Jed gives me evils.

‘A bit on that blog Edinburgh Crime Scene ,’ goes Corrigan. ‘But there’s no even any photies of the body.’

I puff. ‘Course there’s no.’

‘When’s that bint getting arrested?’ goes Jed.

‘What bint?’ goes Jordaine.

I goes, ‘Connor son, get Corrigan and Jordaine a lolly in the kitchen, aye? And yous can take the dug an’ all.’

Connor sighs. He and Jordaine have been making a wee card for Willow, Carly’s babby, and there’s pink fucking glitter all over the coffee table, the carpet, the settee, Connor, Jordaine and the dug. Jordaine’s put a massive sticker of a Labradoodle on the dug’s heid and he’s going mental so he is.

‘Can I get a strawberry mivvi?’ goes Jordaine.

‘If Corrigan hasnae had them all.’ Connor picks the sticker off of the dug.

‘I’m wanting two lollies, minimum,’ goes Corrigan.

Connor gets up. There’s a bit of pink card glued to his arse with ‘KIK HEAR’ written on it in black marker pen. Corrigan’s giggling away, the wee bastard.

When they’re out the room, I snatch the tablet off of Jed and have a wee look at the article. There’s a photy of Neil and Flora’s house with police tape across the driveway and the gate, and a polisman standing doing fuck all. Article goes on about how Neil was a respected scientist and worked at Edinburgh University. There’s quotes from his colleagues about what a nice guy he was. Quotes from DI McLean saying they’re pursuing several lines of inquiry, blah fucking blah. And then a bit about ‘a source’ saying that Mr Parry may have been strangled.

By an intruder.

Fuck .

Polis have been round interviewing Jed and the boys, right enough, and searching the place, but they found fuck all. Alibis are fucking solid. What are the bastards playing at? They cannae be thinking intruder . That’s just some eejit mouthing off on the internet. The polis have got to like Flora for it. How can they no?

Jed’s spot on for once in his fucking life – why have they no arrested the bint? Ryan keeps on about how the polis have to have their ducks in a row, but they fucking ducks are lined up ready and waiting. What is their fucking problem?

‘Okay, darling. We’re here,’ Flora said unnecessarily.

She pulled in opposite Caroline’s. There were still two police vans parked at the gate of Number 17, and tape across the entrance to the drive. Beckie had glanced at it all as they passed their old house – Flora was already thinking of it as their old house – but she hadn’t said anything.

Beckie hadn’t cried, not once, in the four days since Neil’s death. She had acquiesced to all Flora’s suggestions about how to fill their days. This afternoon they’d been at Shona’s, and Beckie and Edith had played quietly on the carpet, threading beads to make necklaces and bracelets, while Shona had talked – so Flora didn’t have to – about her new job in a florist’s and the awkward customer she’d had yesterday, a man who’d insisted on pulling all the plants out of their pots to check their root systems. Beckie had hardly said a word, and she had stayed within a few feet of Flora the whole time. But Shona had succeeded in persuading her to eat a blueberry muffin, a very nice one with huge juicy blueberries in it, which Beckie had seemed to enjoy and had almost managed to finish.