Teresa Morgan - Meet Me at Wisteria Cottage

‘Miss Hart?’ said the male officer, flashing his badge – God, it really was like something out of Life On Mars , only without the flares. Would a gold Ford Granada appear and wake her from this nightmare? She’d only been watching some old episodes a couple of nights ago … was this her subconscious?

If only she could wake and find out this was all a dream.

‘Yes. That’s me.’ Maddy’s heart chilled, goosebumps travelling down her arms. No, this was real. The sun was already warm; there was still the smell of old bonfires in the air.

‘I’m DC Adams, this is DC Stone, we’ve been asked to investigate the fire at your property. Is there somewhere we could go to ask you some questions?’ Both officers looked a similar age to Maddy, in their late twenties, yet their presence intimidated her, whether intentional or not. She hadn’t done anything wrong, yet guilt, dread and anxiety washed through her.

I haven’t done anything wrong.

‘Officers, you can use my house.’ Harry had come along yet again to Maddy’s rescue.

‘Yes, yes, I’ll lead the way,’ Maddy said.

She crossed the road, and welcomed them into Harry’s house offering teas and coffees. The three of them sat in Harry’s lounge, one making notes while the other officer talked. They asked what time she’d left the house, where she’d been all day, did she have a witness? Why did Maddy feel like a criminal? She had nothing to hide.

‘I didn’t do this!’ she blurted, unable to hold in her tears. Her chest had tightened, rising to her throat. ‘Why would anyone want to burn down their own home?’ The female DC pulled a packet of tissues from her jacket pocket and handed one to Maddy.

‘It’s okay to be upset,’ she said, smiling tenderly.

‘Miss, we have to ask these questions as a matter of procedure. To rule you out as a suspect,’ said DC Adams. His expression was sympathetic towards Maddy, putting her at ease. ‘Our team are making enquiries with the neighbours to see if anyone saw anything. And we’ll speak to,’ he flicked through his notes, ‘Mr Tudor, too.’

‘Yes,’ Maddy nodded, wiping her tears and then her nose with the tissue, ‘Harry.’

‘Miss Hart, do you know of anyone who would wish you harm?’

Maddy shook her head. ‘No.’ She tried hard to hold in her tears, taking a deep breath to steady her fear.

‘Does anyone else have a key to your property?’

She shook her head again. ‘No.’

‘Have you always lived at the property on your own?’ DC Adams asked, always keeping eye contact with Maddy while DC Stone continued scribbling notes.

‘No, I used to live there with my boyfriend, Connor.’

‘Did he used to have a key?’ DC Stone looked up from her notepad. Both officers suddenly focussed intently on Maddy.

‘Yes … of course, but he gave it back.’ Maddy frowned. Would Connor do something like this to her? And if so, why?

‘Even so, we’ll need to follow this up.’

More notes were made as the officers took more information from Maddy, everything she could give them on Connor, and also Valerie’s contact details, so she could verify Maddy had been at the gallery all day, and then they let her go.

Maddy left Harry’s house with her brain in a whirl. CID had asked so many questions; she couldn’t believe how long she’d been sitting with them. She prayed she’d repeated strongly enough that she wouldn’t want to set fire to her own home. The officers had been nice, not condescending. So hopefully they believed her.

She found Harry outside talking to a couple of the fire crew while wiping his hands on an old rag. As soon as she drew near, he turned his attention to her, so she smiled meekly. ‘The police would like to speak to you, as you discovered the fire,’ she said, hoping her eyes weren’t swollen and her face too blotchy from crying.

‘Of course, I’ll go talk to them now.’ Harry nodded thoughtfully. ‘I need to go wash my hands, too.’ He showed his large, ink-stained hands to her – the black ink ingrained into the creases of his palms and fingers. CSI had taken his fingerprints too.

‘See you in a bit.’

***

Maddy found herself watching everything going on around her again. What she desperately wanted was some clean clothes.

A lady wearing red overalls and a hard hat stepped out of Maddy’s front door. Maddy recognised her as the same woman who’d taken her fingerprints earlier.

‘Excuse me … Uh, Rachel, isn’t it?’ Maddy asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Is it possible for me to go in and get some clothes? And I need to get my insurance details.’

‘Yes, of course,’ the woman replied, smiling. ‘Hang on a minute, though, and I’ll check it’s okay to bring you through.’ Rachel came back five minutes later and ushered Maddy through her front door. ‘It’s safe to come in, but please don’t touch anything downstairs.’

Straight away, the stench of smoke, so much stronger than outside, hit her. The burnt, blackened smell turned her stomach, making her hesitate in the small hallway. Usually, her habit would be to kick off her shoes here. Little point today . She shrugged off her fear, needing to face the devastation, and followed the crime scene investigator into the house. Walking through the lounge, it seemed untouched, although there was some black soot in places around the ceiling. A small wave of relief flashed over her – Maddy couldn’t see the two canvases she’d wrapped up for a commission. The fact that her paintings weren’t in the lounge meant she had moved them into the garage. She still wanted to check on them to put her mind at rest. Currently, her brain was doing cartwheels with all the thoughts and worries buzzing around.

‘You’re lucky you’d shut the door to your lounge, otherwise there may have been a lot more damage in here,’ Rachel said, leading Maddy through her own house, her overalls making a swishing noise as she walked.

Weird, I don’t remember closing it. Maddy always left the door between her dining room and her lounge open so Sookie could go out of the cat-flap in the back door. Should she mention this? If she did, would they think she’d set fire to her house? Maybe she’d discuss it with Harry first. The lounge had minimal smoke damage because the smoke had travelled up the stairs instead.

They entered the small dining room, and Maddy felt transported into a film set where a crime scene investigation was taking place; people working, wearing overalls, photos being taken. Only it was real. She could smell it. The reek was even stronger here. The door between the dining room door and the kitchen was charred, hanging off its hinges, and the carpet was black and sodden near the kitchen entrance. Her dining room was blackened by the soot and the smoke, stinking worse than a working men’s club in the days when you could smoke inside a pub. The smell clung to her nose. The dining table was grey and dirty with the soot. On the wall closest to the kitchen, hung a frame, the family photos of her niece and nephew inside ruined. A tear trickled down Maddy’s cheek. The devastation fire could do overwhelmed her. But she had to look at this more logically and less materialistically. Importantly, no one was hurt; she and Sookie were alive. The kitchen could be replaced. Everything could be replaced. But not a life. Even in this day and age, so could the photos. She’d printed them off, taken from her own phone. And as the disaster had happened in the kitchen, her old family photo albums and other irreplaceable items stored in the loft hadn’t been lost either. This situation could have been a whole lot worse.

‘Can I … can I … take a look at the kitchen?’ Maddy asked Rachel, who nodded.