Diane Jeffrey - The Guilty Mother

She’s pissed off with me. She doesn’t have to say anything – I can tell from the silence over the phone. Hardly surprising. It has taken me over a week to call her after cancelling our night out at the theatre. And I’ve just given her the impression that I’m only doing it now because I want her to do something for me.

‘All right,’ she says eventually, to my surprise. ‘Where do you want to meet up? At yours?’

That was probably deliberate, and if so, I deserved it. I’ve never invited her to my house, for obvious reasons.

‘I … you … my …’

She remains silent. She’s not going to help me out here. Picking up a ballpoint pen from the pot on my workstation, I start spinning it around on my thumb and index finger.

Taking a deep breath, I try again. ‘Holly, I haven’t told Noah and Alfie about you and me yet. But I will. I just need a little more time.’

‘It’s OK,’ she says, but her tone of voice belies her words. I’m not being fair on Holly. I really do need to sort this out. Soon.

‘There’s a nice new French restaurant on Chandos Road. They do delicious steaks, apparently.’

‘It’ll be nice to eat out for a change.’ It doesn’t sound like a dig this time. I think she’s being sincere, but her words remind me that she usually cooks for the two of us at her place and I wince. ‘I’m a vegetarian, don’t forget,’ she adds.

‘Right,’ I say, doodling absent-mindedly with the biro on the back of the voucher on my desk. ‘I’ll check the menu and get back to you.’

‘Will you ask me over dinner, then?’

That grabs my full attention as for a split second I think Holly is fishing for a marriage proposal. Then I pick up the note of humour that has crept into her voice. ‘Ask you what?’

‘You said you were calling to ask me out on a date and ask me for a favour.’

‘Ah.’ The way she puts it makes me sound – and feel – like a total bastard, but that’s not quite how I phrased it. ‘Well, no, I can tell you now, if you’ve got a moment.’

‘I’m all ears.’

‘Are you at work, by any chance?’

‘Yes, of course. Why do you ask?’

‘I was wondering if you could get your hands on an old report for me.’

‘A coroner’s report?’

‘Yes.’

‘That depends. How old? Was the post-mortem done here? Can you give me the name of the deceased?’

‘Yes, the post-mortem was carried out in 2012 by your office. The name is Ellie Slade. The Slade baby?’ There’s another silence, longer this time. ‘Holly, can you hear me? Holly?’

‘Yes, I’m still here. I’ll try and get hold of Ellie’s report for you. It shouldn’t be a problem. I can definitely show you the one on Amber’s death if that’s of any use. She died a few weeks before her twin?’

‘I’m aware of that,’ I say, ‘but Amber’s death wasn’t—’

‘I know. I’m the one who did Amber’s post-mortem,’ Holly finishes. That shuts me up. It hadn’t occurred to me that Holly might have been the pathologist who did the report. She and I met long after Melissa Slade’s trial and we’ve never discussed it. I wonder why she carried out Amber’s post-mortem, but not Ellie’s.

Holly promises to see what she can dig out and when I’ve said goodbye, I google the restaurant on my laptop. Damn it! It doesn’t look veggie friendly. I opt for a Thai restaurant in Clifton instead. Holly lives in the suburb of Cotham, so Clifton will be as handy for her as Redland. Distracted by Holly’s involvement in the Slade case, it takes me longer than it should to make the reservations online. Then I text Holly the address of the restaurant. But when I ring Nina to ask her to look after the kids, she’s unavailable.

‘Bollocks!’ I mutter, ending the call.

‘How old are they?’ Kelly asks, making me jump. I hadn’t realised she’d been listening in.

‘Who? My boys?’ I swivel round in my chair so that I’m facing her. ‘Noah’s twelve and Alfie’s nine.’

‘The offer’s still open,’ Kelly says.

‘What offer?’

‘I’ll babysit if you like.’ Kelly is looking at me earnestly.

I’m not sure who else I can ask, but I hesitate even so. Perhaps it’s because I’ve never liked to mix my private life with my professional life. Or maybe it’s because she used the word “babysit”, which my sons would object to. Or is it because I doubt her capabilities?

‘I could use the cash,’ Kelly adds.

I’m about to ask if she’s had any experience childminding , but I check myself. ‘Thank you, Kelly,’ I say instead. ‘That would be great, if you’re sure you don’t mind.’

‘Not at all. So, is Holly your wife, then?’

‘Er, no, my wife …’ I trail off as I notice Kelly peering at my wedding ring. She doesn’t know, and she doesn’t need to know. ‘Holly’s just a friend,’ I say. ‘Here, you may as well have this.’ I hand her the voucher I’ve been fiddling with.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s for two free meals at a posh French restaurant that has just opened in Redland. You’re not a veggie, are you?’ I realise I didn’t ask before buying her the bacon sarnie the other day.

‘No way. I love meat.’

‘Is there someone you’d like to take out to dinner?’

‘I’m single at the moment.’

‘Oh. Well, do you have any brothers or sisters? Or what about asking a friend?’

Kelly’s face clouds over and I wonder if I’ve said something to upset her. ‘My sis …’ She doesn’t finish her sentence. Then her smile comes back, although it seems a bit forced. ‘My mum likes juicy steaks. I’ll treat her. Do I need to write up a review?’

‘You got it.’

‘OK. Cheers for this.’ She waves the voucher at me, winking conspiratorially.

I spend the rest of the afternoon updating stories from my patch, making phone calls, proofreading Kelly’s copy for the next print edition and writing up my notes on Melissa Slade.

The whole time I’m working, I have Holly on my mind. Holly is sexy, smart and funny. She’s perfect for me. She’s perfect, full stop. I met her through an online dating website and when I first started seeing her, I was slightly put off by the thought that the hands touching me had been manipulating dead bodies all day. But Holly made me laugh; she made me feel like myself again. But a year and a half later, I’m still holding back.

She’s kind and patient, she loves kids, although she doesn’t have any, and I know she’ll make a great stepmum. But I’m not sure if my boys are ready. Until recently, Alfie still crept into my bed in the middle of the night and Noah has only just started bringing home good marks and reports again from school. I was so devastated after Mel’s death that the boys suffered not only because they’d lost their mum, as if that wasn’t bad enough, but also because their father was struggling to look after himself and consequently doing a lousy job of taking care of them. We seem to be finding our feet now. I’m worried that if I bring Holly into the equation, it might upset the balance. And I don’t want my boys to think I’m replacing their mother.

An instant message pops up from Claire and so, banishing Holly from my mind, I get up and head for the Aquarium.

‘How are you getting on with Melissa Slade?’ Claire says without preamble as I close the glass door and breathe in the smell of stale cigarette smoke.

I consider her question. It’s strange, the way she has formulated it. I feel an aversion towards Melissa Slade, even though I’ve never met her. Perhaps, given what happened to me, I should feel a connection. I have something in common with Melissa Slade, but it seems to have sprung from a very different experience. I hope I never do meet the woman. I don’t think I’d get on with her at all.