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“Oh no,” Henry says. “Not Maddie.”
I swallow hard, fear rising inside me. He must have other relatives, other friends it could be.
James is motionless for a moment, and I watch him cover his face. When he eventually lifts his head, his expression is full of raw emotion.
He glances at us, then looks back at the police and says something. They exchange a few words, and then he gets to his feet and walks out of his office toward us, and comes into the boardroom, the police following.
He stops in front of the table. He’s breathing hard, and he’s gone completely white. “It’s Maddie,” he says. “She was walking along the coastal cliff path. They found her body at the bottom of the cliff.”
I cover my mouth with a hand.
“Leia?” Alex queries, looking horrified.
“She’s all right. She was in her stroller. An elderly couple found her and rang the police.”
“Oh thank God,” I whisper. James glances at me, then looks back at the others.
“I’ve got to go and identify the body,” he says. His chest is heaving, and he’s struggling to control his breathing. He leans forward, hands on his knees. “Ah, jeez, I think I’m going to be sick.”
Alex grabs the wastepaper bin, which is empty, luckily, and about two seconds later James vomits into it.
“Fuck,” he says, dropping into a chair, “sorry.”
“It’s perfectly natural,” the constable says. “It’s the shock.”
Henry takes a serviette from the table and passes it to him. I grab a bottle of cold water from the fridge, run around the table, open the lid, and pass it to him. He takes it from me, his hand shaking, has a mouthful, and spits it into the bin before taking a couple of swallows.
My hands are cool, and I rest one on the back of his neck. “All right, sweetie?”
He nods. “Sorry.”
“Jesus, James, don’t apologize.” I kiss the top of his head and gesture at the bin. “Give me that.”
“Ah, Aroha…”
“It’s all right.” I take it from him and head out to the bathroom.
I go into the Ladies’, empty the bin into the toilet and flush it, go out and rinse the bin under the sink, then stand there and look at my reflection. I press my fingers to my mouth again as tears sting my eyes. I mustn’t cry—he doesn’t need that. But it’s impossible to stop the wave of emotion that crashes over me. I can’t believe it. What happened? Did she fall? Surely she didn’t jump? Oh, poor James.
I think of Leia then, and my hand trembles as I wipe away the tear that tips over my lashes. That little baby… Where is she now? What will James do with her? Will he bring her back with him? Who else does she have? A grandfather in Australia who’s not well, by the sounds of it, and an absent father. James is her only family. What other choice does he have?
I take a few deep breaths, make sure my tears have dried up, then collect the bin and return to the boardroom. James is standing again now. As I go in, he looks over at me, a shadow of a smile on his lips. “Sorry about that,” he says. He’s still white as a sheet.
I put the bin down. “Don’t worry about it.”
He looks at the others. He came back into the boardroom, so he obviously values their friendship. They’re asking questions—what time did the couple call the police, did they see anyone else around, when was Maddie’s body found, how was it identified? Good, kind men, giving him what he needs—solid, practical support.
I feel a bit like I’m intruding—we’re not close, and I’m not sure he wants me here. I go up and stand next to him, rest a hand on his back, and rub it gently. “Do you want me to go?” I murmur.
He doesn’t look at me, but he shakes his head.
“Okay.” I keep my hand there. He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly.
The police are answering all their questions as best as they are able. It’s clear they don’t know much. They seem convinced it’s Maddie, but they obviously don’t know whether she fell or if she took her own life.
I think about the fact that she was unwell, unhappy, and probably lonely. It’s tough for new mums anyway, when they’re full of hormones, physically sore from the birth, and trying to cope with this crying bundle they’re repeatedly told they should have bonded with immediately. But if she had postnatal depression, it would have amplified her stress and anxiety to an astronomical level. I feel a surge of anger at the thought that her health provider, nanny, and other mums refused to listen to her request to bottle feed. At least James tried to help.
“So you spoke to her last night?” the sergeant asks. “How did she sound?”
