The policewoman came back over to them. ‘We’ll be setting up a mobile incident room, here,’ she said. ‘If anyone has any information, anything that might help us, in complete confidence. And there’s Crime-stoppers too, just ring the number. Completely confidential as well.’ She smiled. Cheryl could tell she’d had her teeth whitened. Some patches glowing brighter than others. ‘Were you girls around earlier?’
‘Nah.’ Vinia shook her head. ‘Just heard about it.’ Cheryl nodded in agreement.
‘Did you know him?’
‘Knew of him, that’s all,’ Vinia said. Cheryl felt her jaw clench. Milo arched his back and yelled again.
‘And who’s this?’ The policewoman bent to speak to Milo.
‘Better get him back,’ Vinia told Cheryl, ‘must be his teatime.’
‘Yeah.’
The woman straightened up, gave them another smile.
Cheryl swung the buggy round and they set off. Milo’s cries got more frantic as the chance of him getting the flowers receded. Fat tears streamed down his cheeks. His crying drilled into Cheryl. Boring into her bones. He was enraged and desolate. She knew exactly how he felt.
Fiona
Fiona was dazed. The world, its minutiae, swam in and out of focus, at times hazy, then cast into sharp relief. Too harsh. Her mind was scrambled, thoughts jumbled like old sticks tangled on the river bank. On the Tuesday evening when Owen got back from school she was bewildered to find herself putting towels in the deep freeze.
She went over her memories of Danny’s death, anxious that they might fade and wilt like wildflowers brought into the house. Then she would be of no use when the police took her full statement.
She reassured her manager Shelley, who was also her close friend, that she was capable of returning to work as scheduled. Fiona couldn’t bear the thought of taking sick leave, of wandering round the house like some spare part: she needed to be busy, occupied, productive.
Tuesday teatime brought fresher weather. As she walked Ziggy the first full drops of rain fell, making little craters in the dusty footpaths. The river was hungry for rain, already the level had sunk with just a few dry days. The smell of mud, brackish and chemical, was pungent in the air. They walked along the river to the east. Fiona remembered her shoes, how the police had taken them, her cardigan: she’d have to get to a shoe shop, her trainers would do for tomorrow but they were pretty tatty.
On the walk back the sky darkened, huge bruised clouds hung low overhead and the first throaty rumble of thunder sounded. Fiona increased her pace, keeping up with Ziggy: the dog hated storms.