Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,10

so violently I can’t stop my teeth from chattering.

‘Emergency services, which service do you require?’

‘Ambulance. Now. Hurry. Please hurry!’

‘I’ll connect you now.’

‘Mum, what’s happened?’

I jump.

Mia is standing in the kitchen, wearing a short T-shirt, her skinny legs and arms bare.

‘Go back to your room now!’ I say, much too harshly. ‘Please, darling, go upstairs. Now.’

She scowls at me but turns and leaves the room.

‘Ambulance service. What’s the address of the emergency?’

I speak in a hushed whisper. My voice sounds as if it’s coming from someone else. ‘The Oaks, Bracken Road, Horsham. My husband. He’s lying at the bottom of the swimming pool. I think he’s dead!’ My voice catches.

‘Where are you?’

‘At home. In the kitchen. I tried to pull him out, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry.’

‘Is he conscious?’

‘No! I’ve just told you! He’s dead. Not breathing, sunk to the bottom of the pool.’

I hear a gasp. Mia is standing in the doorway, her eyes wide, a look of absolute terror on her pretty face.

‘Help is on its way. I want you to stay on the phone until the emergency services arrive. Is there anyone with you?’

‘My children. Please come quickly.’

Mia rushes into my arms and we are both sodden, crying, rocking each other. It seems like forever, but it probably isn’t more than five minutes before I hear the sirens. They get louder and louder, and then the hallway is filled with blue flashing lights.

Ambulance men and women, and police.

‘Where is he?’

‘In the pool at the back of the house.’

They swarm through the house. Someone wraps me up in a silver foil blanket. Another one is put around Mia’s shoulders. I am shaking so much my teeth are rattling in my skull.

A young female policewoman leads Mia into the living room. I go to the swimming pool.

There are lights there now, and someone has lifted Adam out of the pool. He is lying on the side. I think how hard the stones must be; how his last moments should be on a feather-filled mattress. His eyes are glazed and open; his lips are blue.

My husband is dead.

Someone pulls a white sheet over him.

‘Mummy, what’s happened?’

Oliver’s hair is standing up on end and he is wearing his too-big navy pyjamas.

‘Darling,’ I say, rushing towards him and enveloping him in my arms. ‘I’m so sorry, Ollie, something terrible has happened.’

I don’t know whether to tell him, how to tell him. But it’s going to have to be me. He is glancing around, a frown on his forehead as he takes in all of these strangers in uniform bustling around our home. There is no way of sugarcoating it. ‘Daddy is dead.’

The next hour or so is a total confusion. There are lots of people talking to me, taking the children into other rooms, making us all cups of tea. At some point I get dressed. Strangers seem to appear in every crevice of our home. They set up lights outside. Adam is put on a stretcher and zipped into a bag. And that’s when I realise that my husband is never coming back. We may have been planning a divorce, but this is still the man I loved for so many years, the man I shared everything with, my hopes and dreams, disappointments, failures and successes. My children have lost their father. I have lost a partner in life and in business. And I sob.

‘Lydia, is there anyone we can call who can be with you? Siblings, parents?’

I shake my head. My father lives in Australia now. It was such a shock when he and my mum left for the other side of the world. When Mum died, I thought he’d want to come home to be nearer to me and my older sister, Bea, but he explained that he likes it out there. The weather suits him better, and he’s got plenty of friends.

Adam’s parents are both dead. At least they’ve been spared the death of their only son. There’s only Bea, and she’s in London busy with her life. I don’t want to call her, not yet. She doesn’t even know that Adam and I were going to divorce.

‘Cassie,’ I say eventually. ‘She’s my oldest friend. You can call Cassie. Or Fiona. No, call Cassie.’

Another policeman arrives and seems to take over. ‘Lydia, my name is Detective Constable Jack White. I’m going to need to take a statement from you.’ Young and chubby, he has a mop of yellow hair, a flabby face and thick lips. He is wearing a