in her voice.
I look at her, confused. ‘I’m really not sure what you’re getting at. I grow herbs as you know. And flowers. They have meanings. But there’s no story.’
‘I’d disagree. It was something your therapist, Sonia Richardson, said to me, about gardens telling stories – apparently she came to see you and found you standing in your neighbour’s garden. She overheard you apologising.’
‘That is out of context,’ I contest hotly. ‘I was fond of Mrs Guthrie. I was sorry I hadn’t been more help to her – that was all.’
‘When I asked Ms Richardson why she’d visited you, she said she’d been in Steyning to see a friend. As she was near, she’d gone to check how you were. Apparently, she had concerns about you – you saw her before, some years ago, didn’t you? She said you’d had some kind of breakdown when your marriage ended and she was worried you were on the edge of another one. Once she was satisfied you were coping, she said you talked about the plants in your neighbour’s garden. Quite a coincidence that she has the same interest in herbs and flowers that you have. She told me she had this theory that a garden could somehow tell the stories of the people who’d lived there.’ For a moment, she sounds disbelieving of herself, as beside her DI Lacey looks irritated. ‘To be honest, I didn’t pay too much attention. But then I went back to your garden. After the conversation with Ms Richardson, I started looking around. One of our officers is a bit of an expert and between us we identified some of the plants, so that I could look them up. And like I said, it’s only a theory, but you have mock orange – which means deceit. Anemone, meaning forsaken. Marigolds, which signify pain and grief – they are everywhere. Narcissi – for egotism. Lavender – it isn’t in flower at the moment, but its meaning is distrust. The aconites are coming up in your polytunnel – meaning poisonous words. Oh – and down behind your workshop are a clump of yellow hyacinths. Interesting choice of colour, because they’re about jealousy, aren’t they Amy? Rosemary, for remembrance of whatever it was that’s taken place there. I have one question.’ She pauses. ‘Tell me. Are there snowdrops in your garden?’
I remember Sonia asking the same question, of Mrs Guthrie’s garden. Snowdrops mean hope. And they used to be there, but they stopped flowering a year or so after I moved in. ‘There used to be.’ I frown. ‘Most of the plants you’ve named were there when we moved in.’
‘Maybe your garden is cursed.’ Beside her, DI Lacey shifts in his chair.
‘Maybe it is.’ I swallow, willing her to change the subject, but the questions keep coming.
‘Some of the shrubs must have been planted years ago.’ Breaking off, she frowns. ‘Did you know the previous owner, Amy?’
I shake my head. ‘As far as I know, it belonged to an elderly woman who had died. It had been empty quite a while when I moved in.’
‘It never seemed an odd choice for a single mother and a young child, to be so far away from community life?’ Each word is like a bullet, carefully loaded, aimed at me.
I defend myself. ‘It wasn’t that far. I love the countryside – and it’s a wonderful place to bring up a child. I needed the garden for my work. Steyning is only two miles away. That’s nothing. And when Jess was young, Mrs Guthrie used to help out babysitting.’
DI Lacey glances towards her. ‘This is the neighbour who died recently?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Nodding, PC Page falls silent, apparently satisfied by my answers, at least for now.
‘It wasn’t suspicious, was it?’ He sounds thoughtful.
It’s the same question I asked PC Page when I met her in Mrs Guthrie’s garden that evening. ‘It wasn’t.’ But there’s what sounds like a hint of doubt in her voice.
For a moment I’m aware of how fragile my position is. How little it would take, in the eyes of the police, to swing the balance from being a suspect to guilty. But then we’re interrupted by a knock on the door. It opens enough for me to see the uniformed officer who completed the paperwork when I was brought in.
‘Can I have a word, sir?’
Getting up, the DI follows him out, closing the door behind them. Left with PC Page, I seize my chance. ‘How much longer do I have