Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,11

white short-sleeved shirt with sweat stains under his arms.

‘Why? Haven’t I already told your colleagues everything?’

‘Let’s go and sit somewhere comfortable away from everyone. Your living room, perhaps?’

‘Ok,’ I say. ‘But Mia and Ollie.’ I look around frantically for them. I need my babies. I need to hold them in my arms.

‘They’re being looked after by one of my colleagues.’

And there they are, sitting at the kitchen table, both of their young faces as white as snow, eyes red and raw. A woman dressed in sensible grey trousers and a grey-and-white striped blouse is sitting between them, talking softly.

I lead DC White into the living room. The lights are on in every room. How Adam would hate that. I sit on the sofa, and he sits on what is normally Adam’s chair. I swallow a sob. He leans forwards, his hands on his knees.

‘Whenever we have an unexplained death, we need to ask lots of questions, find out what happened this evening and in the days leading up to Mr Palmer’s death. I know it’s very distressing and difficult for you, so take your time.’ He throws me a kindly glance. ‘Your husband’s body has been taken to the hospital mortuary for a post-mortem.’

‘What?’

‘Because we don’t yet know the circumstances in which Mr Palmer died, there will be a post-mortem, and the coroner will investigate. It is likely that there will be an inquest. Did your husband have any health issues?’

‘No. He’s healthy. Forty-eight. He swims most evenings and goes running. It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Did your husband drink or take recreational drugs?’

‘No, no. He hated smoking or drugs. He drank, but who doesn’t? Not to excess, just the occasional wine and beer. I don’t think he drank anything this evening, although he was home later than usual.’ It sounds as if I’m wittering, but there is a disconnect between my brain and my mouth. None of this makes sense.

‘Other than him coming home late, was there anything else unusual about this evening?’

I shake my head. I can’t tell this stranger about discovering Marianne here in our house. I can’t tell him about my argument with Adam, which was more ferocious than normal. Because what will he think? Besides, we are always arguing these days. We are, aren’t we?

‘And you didn’t see anyone or hear anything?’

‘No. What are you suggesting? Wasn’t it an accident? Did he take his own life? He wouldn’t. Adam would never do something like that!’ My hand covers my mouth.

‘We don’t know at this stage.’

‘Did he hit his head? Did Adam have a heart attack?’

It’s my fault. If I had looked out at the pool earlier in the evening, perhaps I could have saved him.

I whimper.

‘We won’t know until after the autopsy. At the moment, it looks like a tragic accident or a sudden heart attack. There were no obvious markings on his body.’

Could he have slipped when he got into the pool? Or did his heart just give out on him? ‘He only had a medical three months ago. He was pleased with the results.’

DC White scribbles in a little black notebook.

‘Lydia!’ Cassie comes dashing into the room and throws her arms around me. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispers, stroking my hair repeatedly. ‘I know you were getting divorced, but this is horrendous.’

‘Divorce, did you say?’ DC White is standing up now and frowning at me. His lips have thinned out.

I swallow my sobs. ‘Adam and I were planning on divorcing.’

He nods at me. Surely he doesn’t think that I would have done something to Adam, that he died because of me?

That’s absurd.

6

I honestly don’t know how I get through the next couple of days. If it wasn’t for Cassie… I hate to think. She takes charge. She cooks and cleans and answers the phone. She hugs the children and me and produces box after box of tissues. She fields intruding questions from the local paper. She lets the police in and talks to them in hushed whispers. She gets hold of a sleeping pill prescription from the surgery and nips into the chemist to collect them for me. When I’m in a heavy, drug-induced sleep, she’s awake and on guard.

Cassie is my best friend. We were besties at school, but then she moved away, and for most of our twenties and thirties we lost touch. A few months before Adam and I bought the luxurious house we currently live in, Cassie got in touch. I was excited to rekindle my friendship with her, even