Tommy had only occasionally been physically violent, which he supposed was what had made it so hard for his mother to leave. His abuse was verbal, emotional. He had controlled and manipulated until his mother had doubted her own thoughts. Until Jonah had possessed no shred of self-confidence, and begun to believe his father when he claimed that obeying his every whim was what a loving family should do.
“I was working all day yesterday, I’m afraid, Mum,” Jonah said lightly. “But I’ll call her.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t bother. Maybe she doesn’t like me anymore.”
“Of course she does,” he said. “I’ll ring her in a bit. See you this evening, all right?”
He ended the call and stayed lying there for a moment, feeling frustration in all the muscles of his head and arms. He could gladly have thrown his phone across the room. But instead he rose, finding Barb’s number and sending her a message instead of calling. He wasn’t willing to wake her up early, and he would forget if he left it till later.
He picked up a towel from the radiator and went to the bathroom. He stood for too long in the shower thinking the same circular thoughts about his mother that he always did. That he somehow needed to save her from herself, but that he didn’t know how. That it wasn’t his fault that she was like this. That it had been Tommy Sheens who’d caused it all, from the moment she’d married him.
By the time Jonah had dressed in his charcoal suit and pale-blue tie, his standard media-facing outfit, he had shelved thoughts of his family. He had forty-five minutes to prepare himself to face the press.
He opened his front door on to a misty day full of drizzle, which seemed like an unfair letdown after the day before. He checked his phone before climbing into his Mondeo. No messages or emails from McCullough. He would be giving the briefing without a tox report. Which in some ways was better. He didn’t have anything to hide. He just had to stand up there and tell them it was Aurora, and that they were pursuing new lines of investigation.
Hopefully, by the end of the day, they’d actually have a few lines of investigation to pursue.
* * *
—
TOPAZ HATED BEING in her parents’ house. She hated the clutter and the unchanging nature of it; the way it made her feel her life draining away while they sat in the tired kitchen and drank tea out of stained cups. More than that, she hated the fact that coming here made her a child again. It made her remember the person she had been.
And then there was Aurora’s room, which was still so very much her younger sister’s. It was dusty and tired-looking now, but it was still festooned with butterflies and flowers, from bedspread to ceiling.
Connor was already in his jogging kit, and seemed unfazed by the persistent rain and the increasing muddy puddles. He was drinking coffee in little gulps, and she found herself watching him while her mother clattered around making breakfast.
They’d barely talked about Aurora since they’d left Edinburgh. For most of the flight they’d made nothing but stilted, facile conversation about practicalities. About getting shopping in for her parents on the way from the airport, and about whether they’d decamp to a hotel for the next night.
They also hadn’t mentioned Daniel or Brett, or Coralie or Jojo. Even though Topaz was burning with curiosity to know what the others were doing, and how they were holding up.
And she wanted to talk to them, too. To Daniel, maybe, who would be sympathetic. To Brett, who would just listen without judgment. Or even to Jojo, who would probably make them both laugh in spite of everything.
Connor finished the coffee, and nodded to her before heading out. He usually kissed her before leaving. But for some reason she wasn’t sure she even wanted him to. She couldn’t help thinking about Aurora, and her own fractured memories of that night.
It was almost a relief once Connor was gone, but the moment she was alone with her mother she regretted it. She found the pretense of caring about her friend’s new dog, or the shop parking, infuriating. There was such restless frustration in her that she felt raw.
Eventually, she excused herself from the kitchen for a short while on the pretext of making a work call, even though it was still early, and she’d told them she was