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‘Does she let you sleep?’
‘Most of the time.’ A lie. She wakes me at least three times a night.
‘You get so tired, don’t you?’
‘All mums get tired.’
Fuck off, Lorraine. You’re not getting me that easily. The truth is, Abi often sleeps in our bed, exhaustion trumping the parenting handbook. I lie awake, pushed to the edge, body tense with the effort of not falling onto the floor while Abi and Matt sleep like angels. Sometimes this is what love is.
‘They’re terrors at two, aren’t they?’ Lorraine insists companionably, but the subtext clangs in my ears.
‘She’s a good girl. I never take my eyes off her, never.’ I break down in front of this nosy stranger. Happy now, Lorraine? Happy now you’ve pushed me to yet more tears? ‘I’m very careful,’ I sob. ‘I only went upstairs because she was clipped into her buggy. I didn’t realise the front door had banged open. I’m a good mum.’
‘I know you are, love.’ She pats my hand.
‘I always put her in the travel cot when I leave the room. I never left her on her changing table. When she rolled for the first time, I was right there. She would have fallen on the floor if I’d left her.’
The sun has moved to the side of the house. The kitchen is by turns brighter and darker as clouds pass across, bringing showers that stop as suddenly as they start. A tall woman in trousers and a lightweight black mackintosh strides slowly past my patio windows. A moment later and she’s in my kitchen. My home – a public space.
‘Mrs Atkins,’ she says. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Sharon Farnham, I’m leading this investigation. Can I sit down?’
I nod. ‘Of course.’
DI Farnham sits on the opposite sofa. She pauses, brushes her chin with her thumb once, twice, three times before meeting my eye once again. Her eyes are hazel – and kind. She’s older than me. Forty, forty-five. She tells me how upsetting this must be, and that’s she’s sorry. She tells me they’re doing everything they can.
‘I just want to go over a couple of details,’ she says. ‘You told the dog handlers that your daughter fell on the pavement and that’s the reason for the blood there, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there any reason you left that out when you spoke to my colleagues earlier this morning?’
‘I… They said they weren’t taking a statement, they just needed information. I was trying to keep it relevant. I wanted them to go as quickly as they could.’
‘I understand that. Of course you did. Could you tell me now exactly what happened?’
‘I told DS Simmonds.’
‘I know that, but can you tell me again, in your own words? Let’s bring it back to when you first left the house with your husband.’ She holds my gaze; it is me who breaks it. I wish Matt was here.
‘I’ve been trying to get out for a walk when Matt leaves for work in the mornings,’ I begin, ‘because Abi’s always up by then and I’m trying to make sure we get out and get some fresh air every day.’ I shake my head, aware that I’m waffling already. ‘Anyway, Abi wanted to get out and walk. I told her to wait till we’d said goodbye to Daddy, but she’s stubborn and she tried to get out while we were moving. I hadn’t fastened the clasp at that point and she fell and took the skin off both her knees and grazed her hands.’
DI Farnham scribbles on her notepad and looks up. ‘Was she distressed? Did she cry at all?’
‘Not really. She gave a shout, but not loud or anything. She was shocked, but then she was more fascinated than anything else. She’s pretty feisty. She told me “My got a hurt”, but she was OK.’
‘But there was blood on the pavement?’
‘Yes. It looked worse than it was.’
‘And did you take her home at that point?’
‘No, we… I mean, I was intending to but she wasn’t distressed or anything so we walked Matt to the corner to wave him off.’
Only a few hours ago, my God. Matt kissing me on the lips at the end of our road, pressing his hand to my belly. Crouching down so he could be at eye level with Abi. I can still feel her hand in mine.
‘Bye bye, Mr Sloth.’ Matt plucked the cuddly toy from her grasp, teased her with it.
‘Stobbit. Stobbit, Daddy.’ Her tiny fingers reached out. They were reddish-pink with blood from her knee. ‘No, Daddy. Mines.’
