‘I didn’t do anything wrong and you don’t have any evidence. You have no right to hold me here and question me like this.’
‘Well, that’s not entirely true, Mrs Jenkins. You see, when we searched your holiday rental we found some things that didn’t belong there.’
Lottie swallows, her mind reeling. She has no clue what this woman might say next and finds herself gripping the sides of her chair, bracing herself.
‘And?’ she manages to say, though her mouth is now dry, her tongue beginning to pitch and roll with a swell of nausea.
‘And we found some tools. Tools reported to be missing from the Woolf’s property, belonging to one of the builders.’
Lottie laughs, though it is a hollow sound again.
‘That’s ridiculous. I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. There is no way, no reason why something like that could have … unless, I don’t know, maybe they were planted? Perhaps someone is trying to implicate us …’
Detective Price issues another of her withering smiles.
‘No, I don’t think so, Mrs Jenkins. We’ve found fingerprints on them that match with your husband’s, so you see …’
‘Tim?’ says Lottie. ‘No. He would never. That’s not … He just wouldn’t do something like that. Why would he possibly want—’
‘Well, that’s what we’ll find out, won’t we? In the fullness of time.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s here, now. We asked that he come back in for questioning once we’d analysed the tools. I have to say, it doesn’t look good for him either. It remains to be proven whether he caused any damage to the property, the scaffolding for example, but well … we certainly have motive and intent.’
Lottie sits back in her seat, stunned. She feels her mouth fill with saliva. The sour, acidic machine coffee curdling in her stomach.
‘Wait, if Tim’s in here, who’s looking after our son, Josh?’ she cries, standing up.
‘Sit down, Mrs Jenkins. Rest assured, they’re both fine. Our family liaison officer is well trained in such situations.’
‘You can’t do this,’ says Lottie. ‘This isn’t fair. I want to see my son.’
Detective Price looks to her colleague who is watching Lottie wide-eyed, as though he is unsure whether she might bolt suddenly, lash out or worse, cry.
‘See Mrs Jenkins out, Trev,’ she says with a tilt of her head. She turns back to Lottie then. ‘You’re free to leave with your son. But please stay local for now.’
Lottie sags with relief at the thought of seeing Josh in a few moments, of stepping outside and breathing clean, fresh air.
‘And Tim? What about my husband?’
‘He’ll remain in custody while he continues to help us with our investigation. You might want to consider seeking legal advice.’
55
Olivia drags a comb through her hair and attempts to construct her trademark updo but, like the rest of her, it just can’t seem to hold itself together. She still feels terrible about what happened on Saturday night, can’t bear to think how close she came to losing one of her children. Perhaps it is just as well that she wasn’t there to witness the scene with Drew, the fact he very nearly drowned, as she’s not sure she could bear to have such horrific images ingrained on her memory for the rest of her life. Her imagination is bad enough. And, moreover, she’s aware Tobias and Bella are playing it down somehow, not telling her the whole story. Patronising her as they always do.
After an update from the hospital, she and Tobias went to collect Drew once he had been given the final all-clear and was discharged. He had been quiet and withdrawn on the drive back to the hotel; so unlike her usually chatty, effusive son, it had been painful to see. But he had colour in his cheeks and no serious side-effects according to the doctors and nurses. He had gone straight up to the suite and has remained in his room ever since, despite this being one of the last days of the holiday and the weather achingly beautiful yet again.
It is now lunchtime and Tobias has insisted everyone — including Marcus – should come down to the restaurant and share a meal together. It feels unnecessarily bullish of him, after everything they’ve been through over the last forty-eight hours. As if he is punishing them all, though she’s sure he doesn’t know the truth of it, about her and Marcus. How could he? But then,she concedes, they all still have to eat. So she complies and makes her way downstairs to join the others.
They have ordered a variety of pizzas and, significantly, are all on soft drinks. Olivia herself is sipping at a sparkling water and trying not to look at Marcus. Bella and Drew are tearing away at their pizzas, appetites remarkably recovered, but their voices are low, heads drawn together, almost conspiratorially. Tobias seems to be making a valiant attempt at cheerfulness, though he is fooling no one, she decides. How long before he orders a proper drink to chase away the reality of the renovation property – all their hopes, dreams and money up in smoke, quite literally?
She had been numb when he told her, disbelieving. Already blindsided by the shock of what happened to Drew, she had found the house fire a mere detail in comparison. Olivia had only room in her heart for one tragedy at a time and all her focus has been on her son, his safety, his recovery. Of course, she was appalled to hear about the couple who were dragged from the fire and hopes they will both be okay. She does not even want to contemplate the idea of arson or who could consider doing such a thing and why. Hates to imagine that anyone could be so vile, so full of hate or pain.
No, in fact she wonders if this wasn’t all just some terrible mistake. Perhaps it was the foreign couple who started the fire by accident. If, as everyone seems to say, they were trespassing, even sleeping rough at the building site, it wouldn’t have taken much for a fire to start. An unattended cigarette, an ember, even, from the many fireworks and bonfires that night, a kid with a sparkler or a drunken adult – who knows?
In any case, one thing is for sure. Her idea of living down here and starting again seems to have crumbled before her eyes; all her dreams curling like paper in a flame. Now, she sits here wondering what the future holds. A small, selfish part of her brain whispers that this doesn’t have to mean her plans mustcompletely change. After all, she still has her nest egg – the money her parents left to her – and she is determined to find a way to be more independent, to start her own business. Besides, they still have the London home. Perhaps that could be remortgaged or rented. If, at some point, she and Tobias reach the likely decision to divorce, the house will have to be sold and the assets divided anyway. She and Marcus don’t have to give up entirely on their dreams to be together one day. Although, since the night of the fire something feels to have shifted between them as well. All the mystery and allure that she had once enjoyed has transmuted into an uneasy, uncomfortable sensation. She no longer craves its excitement but fears its potential dangers. Everything about that night now feels tainted with guilt, shame and loss.
