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Her voice said she’d been expecting them. It made me wonder what else she’d done, what else she was expecting.
‘Are you Amelia Brennan?’
He glanced down at the paint chipping on her toenails.
My mother nodded.
‘And this is your daughter?’
‘Yes. Sophie.’
I heard her saliva crack, her tongue peeling away from the roof of her mouth. My mouth was dry too, my heart thudding like a tethered animal trying to break loose.
‘What’s this about?’
I folded my arms across my chest, planted my feet wide the way Matty had done with Des on Parliament Hill. Damned if I’d let them see I was afraid.
Jones answered, addressed my mother.
‘We understand that Matty Melgren is your boyfriend. Is that correct?’
She shifted her weight onto the other leg, pulled at the sweater cuffs dripping over her wrists.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘And how long have you been together?’
She hesitated.
‘About six years.’
Duckworth had taken a notebook out of his jacket pocket. He made a note of her answer. It made me uneasy that everything we said was going on record.
‘So, Mr Melgren is not your daughter’s father?’
My mother blushed, fiddled with her hair. It was lank, needed a wash.
‘I was married to someone else when I had Sophie.’
Jones smiled kindly, explained that they simply wanted to clarify the relationship between her and Matty.
‘And are you aware that he was arrested this morning?’
‘In connection with the North London murders,’ Duckworth added, watching us closely.
The room spun. But I refused to give them a reaction. I bit the inside of my cheek, concentrated on a fixed point on the wall to keep my tears in check.
‘Yes,’ my mother was saying. ‘I heard.’
The detectives nodded as if it had been some kind of test.
‘May we sit down?’ Jones asked. ‘We’d like to ask you some questions if that’s all right.’
‘Of course.’
I sleepwalked behind them into the living room, conscious of the galloping beat of my heart.
‘Should I call a lawyer?’ my mother asked.
