Chapter 6
Sian Fox-Carnell pulled at the cuff of her tracksuit bottoms. She huffed and tutted in disappointment when the material failed to cover the electronic tag on her right ankle.
The tag – and the restrictions on her life – angered her, but she’d hidden that when she sat next to Susanna Reid on Good Morning Britain, looking every inch like a woman who had been let down by a not fit for purpose justice system.
She’d hooked strands of unwashed hair behind her ears, winced when she’d touched the bruise on her cheek and had fiddled nervously with the buttons on her dress.
She’d worn the same dress when she’d appeared on Newsnight the night before and had dabbed Vicks VapoRub in the corners of her eyes.
She’d cried when she said that she wished she’d been there when Leonard Calgary had died and that she blamed herself.
Sian knew what she was doing. She was appealing to the public, to that man and woman who may be a potential juror on her trial in twelve months.
The sounds of the train departing Brockley train station rumbled behind her as she checked the map app on her phone.
Her destination was a twelve-minute walk away.
Sian pushed her phone back into her bag, adjusted her headphones and walked along Coulgate Street.
She felt her heartbeat increase as she obeyed the guided instructions and turned onto Foxberry Street.
‘When is Daddy coming home?’ Emma asked as she held on firmly to Henley’s hand.
‘Daddy will be home on Friday night,’ Henley replied.
‘Can’t he come home now?’
‘No, sweetie. I told you this before. Daddy has to go away to work so there are going to be days when it’s going to be just you, me and Luna.’
Emma stopped abruptly in the road, snatching her small hand away.
Henley groaned at the well-known signs of an emerging tantrum.
Emma’s tantrums had become more frequent since Rob had started his new job, and their routine had been disrupted.
Rob now worked in Manchester every Thursday and Friday but today was forced to go in for a Tuesday morning meeting which had not made life any easier.
Henley had not been prepared for a three-and-a-half-year-old’s determination not to eat the breakfast that was put in front of her, even though it was the exact same breakfast that her dad made for her most mornings.
‘Ems, come on, we’re nearly home,’ Henley said wearily. ‘Give me your hand and let’s go.’
‘I don’t want to go home. I want Daddy.’
‘I’m not in the mood for this. Give me your hand now.’
‘No!’ Emma turned around and started to walk in the opposite direction.
‘Where are you going?’
‘The bus stop.’
Henley’s annoyance quickly gave way to bemusement as she watched her daughter walk determinedly along the pavement. ‘What’s wrong?’ Henley asked when Emma stopped and looked at her, a mixture of confusion and annoyance on her young face.
‘I don’t know where the bus stop is,’ Emma admitted.
Henley did her best not to laugh. ‘Come on, let’s go home. Luna is on her own.’
‘Can we have pizza?’ Emma asked, running to keep up with her mum’s pace.
Henley didn’t get a chance to admit that she’d already placed the order because something caught her eye.
There were five roads that separated Henley’s street from the main road.
Henley’s street didn’t experience a steady stream of traffic, she’d lost count of the number of times that a visitor or a cab driver had told her ‘It’s so quiet around here’.
Both Brockley train station and the nearest bus stop were a good walk away.
As a figure wearing a long camel coat and black tracksuit walked towards them, maternal and detective instincts combined, and Henley picked up her daughter
Henley sped up as her hypervigilance and anxiety – symptoms of her PTSD – kicked in. A Tesco delivery van turned onto the road and blocked her field of vision. She placed Emma down at her front gate.
‘Hello.’
Sian’s voice sent tremors of anger and fear through Henley’s body. The acidic aroma of cheap wine was heavy on Sian’s breath.
‘Baby girl. We’re going to play a game,’ Henley said to her daughter. She opened the gate with her free hand and gently pushed her into the front garden. ‘I want you to run to the front door as fast as you can, and then cover your eyes and count to ten. Now.’
For the first time that afternoon Emma listened to her mum and ran, her Spider-Man rucksack bouncing against her back, to the front door, stopped and covered her eyes.
‘I missed seeing my daughter and my son at that age.’ Sian’s face darkened with fury.
‘It’s such an important time. You really see their personalities shine through.
My daughter Penny is ten years old now and my little boy, Lyle is seven.
The last time you would have seen them both was when you arrested me at my house that Saturday morning.
I’d just finished breastfeeding Lyle, and I’d planned to take them both to the park.
Six years is a long time to be away from your babies.
Their father refuses to let me see them. ’
‘You can’t blame him,’ Henley said, fighting to keep her voice steady.
‘You stole my children from me.’
‘No, Sian. You did that to yourself. Now leave.’
‘I don’t have to do anything except make sure that I’m home by 9 p.m. which means that I’m free to …’ Sian stepped back and spread out her arms as though she was about to take flight. ‘I can do what I like. Take long walks. Refamiliarise myself with the area,’ she said.
‘Your area is on the other side of the river.’ Henley’s pulse gathered pace when she heard the sound of footsteps running across gravel. She saw Emma tapping at the large bay windows as Luna pressed her nose against the glass.
‘My bail conditions don’t stop me from travelling,’ said Sian, placing her hands on the gate.
‘Leave, Sian. Right now.’ Henley’s tone was firm. ‘I promise you that I will find a way to throw your arse back inside if I see you near my home again. Do you understand me?’
Sian tapped her fingers against the wooden slats of the gate as a moped turned the corner and came to a stop at the kerb.
‘Pizza,’ Sian said disapprovingly. ‘It’s not the best food choice for a child, but I suppose it’s hard, working to put the wrong people away and also finding the time to raise a family.’
‘Mummy, I thought that we were playing a game?’ Emma shouted, running back towards Henley.
‘Your mother lied,’ Sian shouted as Henley accepted two boxes from the deliveryman.
‘We are, sweetie. We’re going inside now to finish the game,’ she answered, handing Emma the smaller box. ‘Go on. Be a big girl and carry this for Mummy. Fast as you can.’
‘Enjoy your dinner. If you can call it that. It must kill you,’ Sian said. ‘All of that hard work to put me away for life and here I am. Standing in front of you.’
‘I’ve already warned you. And I’m not in the habit of repeating myself. Do not come near me or my daughter again or—’
‘Or what? What can you do, Inspector Henley? What can you really do?’ Sian taunted. She turned her back on Henley and walked away.