Chapter 63
The living room is dimly lit and my head rests on Charlie’s shoulder as we sit on the sofa waiting for the police to arrive.
It’s finally started to rain and the blissful scent of petrichor drifts in through the open window.
We listen in silence to the drumming on the bonnets of cars and splashing over roof tiles.
Eventually I lift my head from Charlie’s shoulder. ‘Do you think Kit’s okay? It’s been over an hour.’
‘That’s what I was wondering too,’ says Charlie, standing up and going to the window. ‘I can’t see any police, but a car is parked outside the Morgans’ that wasn’t there earlier.’ He moves closer to the glass. ‘A black saloon. Maybe it’s an unmarked police car.’
‘I hope they haven’t done anything to Kit …’
‘They won’t hurt him if he tells them he’s their son,’ Charlie says. ‘The police could be in there now, questioning them.’ He returns to his seat next to me on the sofa. ‘They’ll be here soon.’
‘I’m so tired,’ I say, my eyes drooping.
‘Maybe we should go to the hospital …’ I can hear the concern in his voice, but I assure him I’m fine.
I pull the throw back over me and snuggle down in the crevices of the sofa, my feet on Charlie’s lap.
I must drop off because the next thing I know I wake with a jolt when I hear the bang of a car door.
Have more police arrived? I reach over and shake Charlie, who has also fallen asleep and is snoring gently, his chin to his chest.
‘Wha … what’s going on?’ His eyes ping open. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘I don’t know.’ I rush over to the window. The black saloon is gone. I glance at the clock. It’s nearly 1 a.m. Kit left to go to the Morgans at eleven. Why haven’t the police called to talk to me? Have they just left?
Charlie reaches for his mobile. ‘I’m calling Kit,’ he says, phone pressed to his ear.
I perch on the arm of the chair with a sense of dread.
‘He’s not picking up. It’s just ringing out.
’ Charlie frowns as he ends the call. ‘I’m going to call the police myself, find out what’s going on.
No, don’t get up. I’ll do it.’ He wanders out of the room and I follow him into the kitchen.
I don’t want to be on my own, even for a minute.
I just hope the Morgans have been arrested and are in a prison cell right now.
‘Fuck it,’ Charlie says, placing his mobile on the worktop and turning to me. ‘The police know nothing about it. Why didn’t Kit report them?’
‘What if something’s happened to him? He might not have had the chance to call the police.’
‘But we saw him on the phone as he walked over to their house.’ He scratches his stubble. ‘He must have been pretending. Why the fuck didn’t he report them? Out of some sense of duty because they’re his parents?’
My heart plunges. ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’
‘I should go over there and see –’
‘No way!’ I cut him off. ‘Leave it to the police, Charlie.’
‘They’ll be here soon,’ he reassures me. ‘And then they can throw the book at both of them.’
‘What book?’ And we both snigger because it was something we always said to each other when we heard cops using it on TV police dramas. And then we sober up as the reality of the situation hits us again.
We have no choice but to wait. I make a cup of tea. Rufus comes down the stairs, claiming he can’t sleep, and sits with us at the kitchen table. Charlie goes through to the living room to close the windows: the rain is heavier.
‘Dad’s told you about Jackson, hasn’t he?’ Rufus pipes up, and I wonder if that’s another reason why he can’t get to sleep.
I nod and reach for his hand. ‘I wish you’d told me.’
‘I wanted to.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t listen. So … you and Jackson? Are you an item?’
‘An item?’ He laughs, and it’s such a lovely sight.
‘Sorry, it’s what Nanny Pat always says.’ I grin, referring to Charlie’s mum.
Rufus swallows, then blushes. ‘I don’t know. It’s complicated.’
‘Well, if you ever want to talk about it …’
‘Thanks. But, Mum, I do think you should apologize to Jackson’s mum.
Some of his friends found out and made my life a bit hellish for a while, and Jackson and I did have a fight about it because everyone was poking their noses in so I went along with the bullying story.
I was glad to leave school and not go on to sixth form there, but Jackson was never mean.
You saw the bruises and jumped to conclusions. ’
I squirm when I think of how rude I was to Collette about her son. ‘Of course,’ I say. ‘And I really am sorry. So, Freddie? He’s just a friend?’
He pulls a face. ‘God, yeah. Of course. He has a girlfriend.’
‘Right. Okay.’
Charlie rushes back into the kitchen. ‘Two police cars have pulled up outside,’ he says, and anxiety makes my heart race.
I glance at Rufus and we all troop back into the living room.
Charlie pulls aside the curtains to look out.
‘I think they’ve kicked the door down,’ he whispers.
He turns away from the window to look at us, then says to Rufus, ‘Do you think you should go to bed?’
‘No way!’ he exclaims. ‘I hope Kit’s okay.’
‘We should have insisted we called the police,’ I say, ‘and not left it to Kit.’
The doorbell rings and we all jump. ‘I’ll get it,’ insists Charlie. ‘Stay here.’
I hear him go into the hallway and open the door, then the murmur of voices and footsteps before he returns with two detectives. A man and a woman. They are both wearing matching grave expressions.
‘Elena Fletcher?’ asks the woman officer. When I nod, she continues, ‘We need to take a statement from you about what happened tonight. This is now a murder inquiry.’
I jolt in shock, my chest tightening. ‘Murder? Who – who’s been murdered?’ Surely they wouldn’t have hurt Kit, their own son.
Her eyes narrow. ‘Henry Morgan. Your neighbour.’