confined to narrow little sash windows, so we made the decision to just”—she made a slitting gesture at her throat, and then laughed—“I think some people are a bit shocked, but trust me, if you’d seen it before, you’d understand.”
I thought of my tiny flat in London, the way it could have fitted into even just this one room.
Something inside me seemed to twist and break, just a little, and suddenly I was not sure if I should have come here after all. But I knew one thing. I could not go back. Not now.
You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all this, Mr. Wrexham. Because I know you’re busy, and I know that on the surface, at least, it seems as if this is nothing to do with my case. And yet . . . it’s everything. I need you to see Heatherbrae House, to feel the warmth from the heating striking up through the floor, the sun on your face. I need to you to be able to reach out and stroke the soft cat’s-tongue roughness of the velvet sofas and the silky smoothness of the polished concrete surfaces.
I need you to understand why I did what I did.
* * *
The rest of the morning seemed to pass in a blur. I spent the time making homemade Play-Doh with the children and then helping them fashion it into a variety of lumpy, lopsided creations, most of which Petra mashed into shapelessness again with crows of laughter and howls of annoyance from Ellie. Maddie was the one who puzzled me most—she was stiff and unyielding, as if determined not to smile for me, but I persisted, finding little ways of praising her, and at last, in spite of herself, she seemed to unbend a little, even going as far as laughing, a little unwillingly, when Petra unwisely shoved a handful of the pink dough into her mouth and spat it out, retching and gagging at the salty taste, with a comical expression of disgust on her chubby little face.
At last Sandra tapped me on the shoulder and told me that Jack was waiting to take me to the station, if I was ready, and I stood up and washed my hands and gave Petra a little chuck under the chin.
My bag was beside the door. I had packed before I came downstairs for breakfast, knowing that I might not have much time later, but I had no idea who had brought it down from the spare room. Not the unseen Jean, I fervently hoped, though I did not know why the thought made me uncomfortable.
Jack was waiting outside with the silently idling car, his hands in his pockets, the sunshine finding specks of deep auburn and red in his dark hair.
“Well, it was a total pleasure to meet you,” Sandra said, and there was a genuine warmth in her eyes as she held out her hand. “I’ll need to discuss things with Bill, but I think I can say . . . well, let’s just say, you’ll be hearing from us very soon with a final decision. Very soon. Thank you, Rowan, you were fabulous.”
“It was lovely to meet you too, Sandra,” I said. “Your girls are lovely.” Ugh, stop saying lovely. “I hope I get the chance to meet Rhiannon sometime.” I hope I get the job, that meant, in code. “Goodbye, Ellie.” I stuck out my hand, and she shook it gravely, like a five-year-old businesswoman. “Goodbye, Maddie.”
But Maddie, to my dismay, did not take my hand. Instead, she turned and buried her face in her mother’s midriff, refusing to meet my eyes. It was a curiously childish gesture, one that made her seem much younger than her age. Over the top of her head, Sandra gave a little shrug as if to say, What can you do?
I shrugged back, ruffled the back of Maddie’s hair, and turned towards the car.
I had stowed my luggage in the back seat, and was just walking around the opposite side of the car to climb into the front passenger seat when something hit me like a small, dark hurricane. Arms wrapped around my waist, a hard little skull digging into my lower ribs.
Wriggling round in the fierce embrace I saw, to my surprise, that it was Maddie. Maybe I had won her over after all?
“Maddie!” I said, but she did not answer. I was unsure of what to do, but in the end I bent down to give her a