Nicole
Nicole
The words assault Nicole as though she has been hit with bullets.
She looks at Andrew, expecting to see disbelief on his face that Abby would concoct such an outrageous story. What she finds, instead, is an undeniable expression of guilt.
‘Is it true?’ Nicole knows it is a rhetorical question, but she needs to hear him say it, needs him to face up to what he has done.
For a few seconds, Andrew says nothing, eyes darting between Nicole and Abby like a rabbit caught in the headlights. ‘It’s not what you think—’
‘Not what I think?’ Nicole cannot believe he has the audacity to evade it, that even now he is incapable of accepting responsibility for his actions.
The kitchen door clicks open, and Nicole panics to see Nathaniel standing there, glancing between the trio of faces.
‘What’s going on?’
Maternal instinct kicks in where all other reason fails. She cannot have Nathaniel hearing this, not now; she cannot allow Andrew’s mistakes to implode their lives any more than they already have. ‘Nothing. We’re just talking. Can you give us a minute?’
Nathaniel eyes her suspiciously, and she knows he will not be so easily fobbed off, knows that the atmosphere in the room is so thick it is like wading through a London smog.
The front doorbell rings, jolting Nicole like an electric shock. ‘Sweetheart, would you mind answering that?’
Nathaniel hesitates before turning and leaving. It will, Nicole hopes, give her a few seconds to think, to strategise, to try to persuade Abby that Nathaniel does not deserve to be party to this scene, that there is nothing to be gained in punishing him for his father’s sins.
But before she has a chance to say anything, the kitchen door opens again, and Nathaniel returns, trailing two police officers behind him. The officers scan the room, and Nicole wonders whether they can detect the tension immediately, whether years of experience have taught them to identify a house filled with incandescent rage.
‘Mrs Forrester?’
Nicole nods. ‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘And you are?’ The male officer looks to Andrew and then to Abby.
‘I’m Nicole’s husband—’
‘I’m a family friend—’
Their voices collide, and the officer pauses before turning to Nathaniel. ‘And you must be Nathaniel?’
Nathaniel nods. Nicole notices how the colour in his face has drained even paler than usual, how he has folded his arms across his chest, taken a step back as if to separate himself from the scene.
‘Mrs Forrester, we’ve got an update on your car. Perhaps we could discuss that with you in private?’ He glances towards Abby, waits for her to take the hint, but she does not move.
‘You didn’t tell me your car had been found.’ Nicole hears the note of challenge in Abby’s voice, does not know what she can say to mitigate the fact of having withheld the information from her.
Nicole begins to gabble, explaining in short, breathless phrases that her car was unearthed three days ago on an industrial estate a mile and a half away. She feels her voice falter as she relays that it showed signs of having been involved in a collision, that the police are carrying out forensics.
Abby stares at her, dumbfounded, before turning to the officers.
‘Is there any chance that Nicole’s car was involved in the death of Isla Richardson?’
There is a steeliness to Abby’s voice that Nicole has never heard before.
The officers exchange a confused look. ‘I’m afraid that’s not something we can discuss. I’d be grateful if you’d give us some time alone with Mrs Forrester.’
Nicole watches as Abby visibly bristles. ‘Isla Richardson was my daughter. If this has got anything to do with her death, then I have a right to know.’
The female officer shoots a glance towards her colleague, takes a moment to compose herself. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Richardson, we didn’t realise.’
Abby ignores her, turns to Nicole. ‘You don’t mind me staying, do you, Nicole?’
Nicole feels herself squirm, knows there is no feasible way she can ask Abby to leave, not after the revelations Abby has brought into her home. Not given the damage Abby could wreak on her family, given all she knows.
Nicole nods her consent. ‘It’s fine. Abby can stay. She’s practically family.’ The words claw in her throat; six weeks ago, they were unfailingly true. Now they are an insult to everyone present.
The officers turn to each other: one shrugging, the other raising a resigned eyebrow, and seem to decide this is not a point that requires pedantry.
‘As you wish, Mrs Forrester. Forensics have dusted your car for fingerprints, and they haven’t been able to find any that don’t belong to a member of your family.’
The words flail in Nicole’s head, and she cannot straighten out her thoughts. It is Andrew who finds an appropriate response.
‘What does that mean? That whoever stole my wife’s car wore gloves?’
One officer looks at the other, raises an eyebrow, and then the female officer turns to Nathaniel.
‘How would you describe your relationship to Isla Richardson?’
Every nerve ending across Nicole’s skin goes on high alert. She looks at her son, sees his fear, and understands, with a knowledge that goes beyond language, that he has something to hide.