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Matt is coming down the stairs. He has popped back to see if I’m all right and to change his trousers, which have got soaked in yet another heavy passing shower.
‘Detective,’ he says, no bewilderment at all. ‘Any news?’
‘If we could go into the living room a moment,’ she says.
And I know then with every cell of my being that she has news and that it isn’t good.
‘Ava,’ Farnham says, ‘I think it’s best if you sit down.’
I lower my backside onto the sofa next to Matt. I feel the ache in my thighs, the sting of my sleepless eyes, the weight of Fred in my belly even though he is only the size of a grain of rice. The warmth of Matt beside me. The minty smell of his shower gel. The creak of the leather sofa. My feet are cold. I have not put my slippers on. Bitter saliva fills my mouth. I nod for her to tell us what she so clearly must.
‘I need to tell you,’ she says it quietly, though every word is as clear as a bell, ‘that a coat matching the description of Abi’s has been found at Richmond barrier. We’ve got divers in there now, the RNLI are out there and we’re in touch with the coastguard, but so far nothing else has been found. Now, I need to tell you that the water is high and it’s very fast – apparently due to heavy rain in Oxford over the past few days. If Abi fell in where she feeds the ducks, with her being such a small mass, it’s possible her body will have surpassed Richmond barrier within an hour of her entering the water.’
The rug rushes at me, becomes a single shade of grey. Matt’s fingertips push into my upper arms. I hear my name. The forward loll of my head, then back, my head against the soft velvet of the couch.
‘Ava.’ Matt’s eyes are brown, the whites red. My bones are nothing but dust. DI Farnham closes her eyes. Matt pulls me to him and shushes me, but when he speaks, his voice is ragged and full of fear.
‘But it might not be her coat,’ he says. ‘It won’t be. She’d never jump into the river. She’d never walk that far. She’d… Can we have a look at it?’
I cannot see. All I can hear is myself, this low lupine howl. I feel myself fall as Matt leans away from me. I push the heels of my hands at my eyes. Lorraine hands me yet another tissue and tells me to be strong, not to give up hope. She rubs my back.
Matt is holding an up-to-the-minute iPhone. On the screen is a picture of a coat.
‘That’s Abi’s,’ I say. ‘That’s her coat. Sorry, I… I just…’
I stand up. I walk down the hall and into the kitchen. My phone is charging on the countertop. I unplug it, stretch my arm as long as it will go and bring it down hard, releasing the phone at the last second. It clatters on the tiles but doesn’t smash. I open the cupboard where we keep the vacuum cleaner and a few basic tools. I pull out a screwdriver, a spanner, a hammer. A moment later, I am straddled over my iPhone. I am bringing the hammer down on it, over and over. My phone crunches, bounces, breaks.
‘Ava! Ava, stop!’ Matt grabs my arm as I raise it, holds me like that, like a criminal being disarmed, but then his arms are around me and we are crying into each other’s necks.
‘This is my fault,’ I say. ‘It’s all my fault.’
Ten
Ava
I’m in my nightie and dressing gown, Fred hooked over my shoulder after his morning feed. It’s 7.45 a.m., thereabouts. As I cross the kitchen, my slippers slap on the tiled floor.
Matt is standing against the counter, drinking a quick coffee before he sets off for work. He looks too thin. I don’t think it’s the training. Training doesn’t give you black circles under your eyes. Grief does. Trauma does.
The crinkly invitation to the Lovegoods’ party lies on the bar, where it has been for three days. When I avert my eyes from it, I catch Matt watching me, seeing.
‘Neil said he and Bella are going to go along for a bit,’ he says, sliding a cup of tea towards me. ‘I said we’d maybe come with them. Just for an hour. To be polite.’
My teeth push back into my gums. I wonder if Matt can see my jaw clenching.
‘I said they could come here first,’ he continues. ‘Might be good to see them, just the four of us? We’ve not socialised since… we’ve not seen them for ages, have we?’
We haven’t socialised since the day before Abi went missing. But then Matt and I have not socialised with anyone.
‘I saw Bella the other day actually,’ I say, a rather obvious attempt to change the subject.
‘Oh? You never said.’
‘I forgot.’ I cringe at the memory of the small talk we made out on the street. She couldn’t get into her house fast enough.
‘She was dressed immaculately as usual,’ I add. ‘I looked a state obviously.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t. Did you chat much?’
