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‘OK.’
I still have my hood up. The rain is going off but there’s mizzle in the air. I shove the jump leads back into Mark’s cagoule pocket. By the time I’ve got into the driving seat and readjusted it to my short legs, he’s gone. I turn on the ignition, almost die of a heart attack at the deafening blast of Radio 5. I turn it off. I get enough of ill-informed men pontificating on things they know nothing about at work.
It’s quarter to eight when I finally get home. But at least I don’t feel like I’m going to erupt anymore, start spouting boiling water all over the kitchen floor. I should get changed. Only I’m halfway up the stairs when Mark says: ‘Where are you going?’
What he means is:Where’s my tea?
‘I was just going to get some dry clothes on. I might even change into my PJs.’
His face is the original bulldog chewing a wasp. He’s hungry and it’s my fault. I feel the irritation, the hunger in my stomach like I did with Jo, but then I think that I’m probably hungry too and I don’t really know if I’m hungry or Mark is or we both are or what. And as for the irritation, well, obviously I know Mark inside out and back to front and I can tell what mood he’s in by the back of his head, so I suppose it isn’t clear what’s normal and what has to do with the finely tuned instincts of the perimenopausal woman.
‘What were you thinking for tea?’ He’s still standing in the hallway.
‘I was going to do cottage pie. But it’s too late now.’
‘Shall we have fish and chips?’
‘Do you want me to go?’
‘Are you sure?’
The dance we do. I trudge back down and put his cagoule on again.
‘What do you want then?’ I shove a twenty into my damp trouser pocket.
‘Large fish and chips. And curry sauce. I’m starving.’ He isn’t looking at me anymore. He’s walking away.
Thetshof a ring pull reaches me from the kitchen. I’m on the lip of the front door when I hear, ‘Are you going to the chippy?’ Katie, shouting from the top of the stairs. Didn’t even know she was in. ‘Can you get us large scampi and chips and mushy peas?’
‘All right. Set the table.’
I close the door, thinking how funny it is that when I call out hello in the hope of a friendly hello back, no one hears me. But one muttered conversation about fish and chips and Katie develops the hearing of a bloody bat.
20
Katie
Transcript of recorded interview with Katie Edwards (excerpt)
Also present: DI Heather Scott, PC Marilyn Button
KE: On the Saturday I was with Liam and that Thursday I was at home because I was learning how to do acrylic nails in my room – you can check with Thea ’cause I was on FaceTime with her – and then Mum came home with the chips. I had scampi.
HS: Great, that’s great, thanks. And did you see your mother on the Saturday?
KE: I don’t think so.
HS: And the Thursday? How did your mum seem that night?
KE: She was in a right mood. My dad should’ve gone for the chips but she just went in quite a pass-agg way. She does that. She, like, wants you to do something but then she does it before you’ve had time to do it. She was ages getting the chips and by the time she got back she reckoned she was so cold she had to go for a bath, but that was just a guilt trip. Me and dad ate ours in the kitchen.
HS: So your mother was angry? How angry would you say?
KE: She was just in a mood. She wasn’t, like, screaming for murder or anything. I’m telling you she didn’t do anything – she just wouldn’t do anything like that.
HS: Was there anything else about that night you can remember?
KE: Erm. (Pause) I heard the doorbell go and I could smell fags.
