he’d been inappropriate, and he seemed really genuine, Gemma, really, really sorry and really embarrassed about it. So I thought about it a bit more, and I decided to just let it go. I mean, we all do and say stupid things when we’ve had too much to drink, don’t we? And nothing happened, after all. It would just have upset you, and caused a big row, and for what? It never happened again, either. So … well, that’s it really. I just thought that now, with all this going on …’
I nodded. This was horrible, horrible, but it wasn’t her fault. Would I have told her, if the situation had been reversed? Probably not, if I thought it was a one-off. Why potentially wreck somebody’s relationship over a drunken, unwanted advance? No, I’d probably have done exactly the same in her shoes. It didn’t stop it hurting, though. It was shit, SHIT.
How could you have done that, Danny? Eva’s my friend.
‘It’s OK, honestly,’ I said. ‘I’m glad you told me. I just don’t know what to make of it, though, Eva. I don’t know what to make of any of it, and I can’t even think straight anymore, I feel sick all the time and I think my brain is turning to mush—’
BRRRRR.
The doorbell rang, making us both jump. The police, to do whatever forensic stuff they needed to do in the house. They filed in past me, four of them, led by DC Frankie Stevens, the other three clutching cases of equipment, as Eva watched silently from the kitchen doorway.
‘You’re welcome to stay around while we work, but it will take a couple of hours. You might prefer to go out, maybe have a coffee or something. It’s a nice day out there,’ DC Stevens said, and the unexpected kindness in his voice almost made me burst into tears. The previous day had been so horrible, the way DCI Dickens and DS Clarke had looked at me … maybe they didn’t all think I was some sort of lying, husband-attacking witch then? We took his advice, and went out, Eva and I, Albert trotting along beside us, walking towards Clifton Village under a sky so bright we wished we’d thought to bring sunglasses. On a cobbled side street, we found a little coffee shop that sold almond croissants and pains au chocolat, and we ate at a tiny outside table, Albert stretched out at our feet, the sun warm on our faces, any awkwardness that hung between us after Eva’s revelation quietly dissipating.
‘Let’s talk about other things. About anything. Just not about Danny, just for a little while,’ I begged, and so we did, Eva regaling me with tales of newspaper life, stories that made me smile, even laugh out loud once, before I remembered again, and the hollow feeling that had been building in my chest for days now threatened to engulf me, smother me.
Where are you Danny? What are you doing to me? Come home, Danny. Please, please come home.
After coffee, we wandered around for a while, peering into quirky little homeware shops and flicking through the rails in trendy, independent boutiques. But our hearts weren’t in it, and by mid-afternoon we were heading back to the house. As we turned into Monville Road, I stopped abruptly.
‘What’s going on? Shit, Eva, are they for me?’
Halfway up the street we could see a little cluster of people, a large white van parked a few yards away, a satellite dish on its roof.
‘Press,’ she said. ‘Bugger. OK, just walk quickly, and keep your head down. And get your door keys out now.’
I did as she said, but as we got closer a shout went up.
‘Gemma! Gemma O’Connor? Any news about Danny?’
‘How do you feel about him being the third man to go missing, Gemma?’
We were almost at the house now, and I lowered my head, pushing my way through the assembled group, Eva close behind me. They moved aside to let me pass, but the questions kept coming, and there was a sudden flash, then another. They were taking photos. As we reached our gate I could see somebody at next door’s window, the curtains pushed back, a face peering through the glass. Clive? Oh God, what would the neighbours think of all this?
‘Gemma, do you think your husband’s dead too?’
I gasped at that, turning to look at the journalist who’d asked the question, catching a glimpse of a slender, pale man with a neat goatee beard, a