The Trawlerman, стр. 41
Neither was ready to sleep. After visiting the Younises’ house, they both felt jumpy and strange.
In the kitchen, Zoë was making herself a cup of mint tea. ‘I had to sit in the dark next to that creepy house where two people were murdered.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You have to tell me why you made me let off the balloon. It’s not fair if you don’t.’
Alex nodded. The kettle clicked. ‘Is it true you’re thinking of leaving home?’
Zoë’s jaw dropped. ‘Did Kenny tell you that? He had no right,’ she said angrily.
Alex put her hand on her daughter’s. ‘He kind of let it slip by accident. It’s not really his fault. Is it true?’
‘Maybe.’ She sniffed. ‘I don’t know. I just thought I could live in a caravan somewhere. There are loads for rent. I asked him if he knew anyone with one, that’s all. He wasn’t supposed to say anything at all.’ She poured the hot water and stood for a while, dipping the tea bag in and out of the cup.
‘I think it’s a great idea,’ said Alex.
Zoë kept her eyes fixed on her cup. ‘Maybe in a little while. When . . . you know. It’s a bit easier.’
Alex nodded.
‘So? The balloon?’
Alex sighed.’Do you want to hear this, Zoë? It’s pretty gruesome.’
‘It always is, Mum.’
‘You’re seventeen.’
‘You seen the stuff we can actually see on YouTube?’ She picked up her cup and cradled it in both hands.
They went to sit on the living-room sofa together, side by side, and as she talked, her daughter leaned in close, laying her head against her shoulder, and it felt like the first time they had been like that for months, together and close; and it made Alex sad to think that she might soon be gone.
On Thursday she called DI McAdam at his desk, but there was no answer. When she tried Jill’s number, Jill said he had gone to a conference in Maidstone and wouldn’t be in until tomorrow. ‘I can prove that Robert Glass is innocent,’ she said.
‘I’m not supposed to talk to you about this,’ said Jill miserably. ‘I told you. He gave me orders.’
‘Who else can I speak to?’
Jill lowered her voice. ‘Like I said, he’s told everybody they shouldn’t discuss it with you. Only because he’s worried about you. You know that, don’t you?’
Alex returned home after work, still angry. Even Zoë noticed. ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’
‘You don’t mind if I go out tonight, do you?’
Zoë shrugged.
It was a new detached house in a perfectly maintained garden with close-cut grass and neat borders. There were two cars on the driveway, his and hers, so she parked hers on the narrow verge and walked up to the large blue door surrounded by yellow roses. A security light blinked on as she approached.
She had only just rung the bell when DI Toby McAdam answered, yanking the door back with a loud ‘Ta-da!’
He was wearing a red sequinned dress that stopped mid-thigh.
Thirty
DI Toby McAdam’s grin vanished. ‘Oh. I wasn’t expecting . . .’
‘Clearly not,’ said Alex. He was wearing eyeshadow too; it made him look unexpectedly good. She tilted her head to one side. ‘Sorry. Am I interrupting something?’
‘Toby?’ A voice from inside the house.
‘No. Wait,’ said Toby, beneath the arch of yellow roses. ‘I’d better explain . . .’
‘Are they here?’ Inside the house, Colette McAdam, Toby’s wife, was calling to him. ‘I need to pin the back properly first.’
‘I need to talk.’
‘It’s for a play,’ her senior officer explained. ‘What the Butler Saw. The local am-dram. We’re doing a costume-fitting.’
Colette appeared around the door. ‘Oh.’ She looked Alex up and down. ‘It’s you.’ She gave a tight, small smile. ‘Work, is it?’
‘Kind of.’
Colette sighed. ‘Could you be a dear and come back later? The director was going to come here to check on Toby’s costume? Oh. Here he is now.’ A man with an exuberance of grey hair and a paisley shirt had arrived on foot with a paper folder under his arm. Colette paused, looking from her husband to Alex, and back again. ‘I suppose you’d better all come in then,’ Colette said. ‘You can wait until they’re done.’
The McAdams lived on the edge of one of those downland villages that were now full of couples, one of whom usually working in London, the other raising the kids. They were hamlets full of community spirit.
‘There was a part for a policeman who wears a dress. I thought it would be hilarious if Toby did it,’ Colette explained, unsmiling. ‘After all, he never does anything else, apart from work.’
Alex waited in the kitchen while the amateur-dramatics director and the costume maker worked on Toby’s dress. She heard occasional gales of laughter. The fitting seemed to take an age and then the director stayed for a glass of Picpoul. In his boomy voice he announced he thought it absolutely hilarious that his actor had opened the door to a police officer, dressed in his wife’s party dress. ‘I’m sorry. I expect you’re here on important business.’
‘At nine o’clock in the evening,’ said Colette McAdam.
‘Priceless,’ the director declared, when he finally left. ‘Absolutely priceless. You will come and see the show, won’t you?’
‘I’m just going upstairs to put some clothes on,’ Toby called as the man left.
Alex was finally allowed into the living room. ‘Toby says you’ve been ill,’ Colette said. ‘He said you’ve had some mental health issues.’
‘Did he?’
‘He’s been very worried about you, actually.’ Colette McAdam was a tight-wound woman, who sent her husband to work each day with neatly made packs of sandwiches. ‘Are you on the mend?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ Alex smiled brightly, her jaw clenching. ‘Much better.’
‘Really?’ Colette smiled.
Toby McAdam bounded down the stairs. He had quickly changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt; almost as if he had been reluctant to leave the two women alone together for too long. ‘I suppose you’ll tell everyone at work that you saw me wearing a dress?’
‘Of course.’
‘Oh God.