Dreams of Fear

Twenty-Five

In Northam, Sam and Amelia Ferguson were trying to keep some sort of normality going, if only for the sake of the children. Amelia took them upstairs and helped them change out of their school uniforms into their tracksuit bottoms and T-shirts, whilst Sam called Trevor Hardwick back. It was a call he had to make, but the solicitor’s response was only what he expected.

Hardwick told him that there was a considerable amount of advice he would like to give Felix concerning what he should and should not tell the police officers who interviewed him, and that he could quite probably assist in all sorts of ways. But he could do absolutely nothing at all if a potential client declined his services. And that is what Felix had done. Quite categorically, apparently.

Sam then called the police. He had the mobile number of the senior man at Bideford, a uniformed inspector. He asked where his son was and what was happening to him.

Inspector Braddock told him that Felix had been taken to Barnstaple, which he’d already learned from Hardwick, and that the interview process was ongoing.

‘Has he been charged?’ Sam asked.

‘I’m afraid I can’t give you any more information, Sam, really I can’t,’ said Braddock. ‘All I can tell you is that Felix has been arrested on suspicion of Jane’s murder.’

‘I bloody know that,’ snapped Sam.

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help you any further,’ said Braddock. He sounded awkward and embarrassed.

Sam knew full well that he had put the man in an impossible position and that he should have made his enquiries through the official channels. He didn’t care. He was desperate.

‘Look, can I see Felix?’ he asked. ‘Can you arrange that for me?’

‘You’ve got to be joking,’ said Braddock. ‘Members of the public can’t visit somebody who’s been arrested for murder whilst they are in police custody and being interviewed. This case has attracted the attention of the top brass too. Big time. And not just because of who you are, Sam, I’m pretty sure of that. We don’t know quite what’s going on, to tell the truth.’

‘But you do think there’s something else going on, then, do you?’

‘Nobody tells me anything,’ replied Braddock obliquely. ‘I’m just the senior wooden top around here. Look, I’ve got to go.’

And he promptly ended the call without the formality of a farewell.

Sam was thoughtful. Probably without realising it, Inspector Braddock had added weight to what he already knew. But Sam was all too aware that he had only half the picture — if that.

The children came running down the stairs then and into the kitchen, closely followed by Amelia.

She glanced at Sam enquiringly. He’d told her he would call Hardwick and the police while she went upstairs with the twins.

He shook his head slightly and turned his attention to Jo and Stevie.

‘Right, you two, off you go to the sitting room and I’ll find that film you like and put it on the big screen in there,’ he said, trying, with extreme difficulty, to make his voice sound suitably jolly.

When the twins were safely out of earshot he related the unsatisfactory results of his phone calls to Amelia, leaving out Inspector Braddock’s expression of puzzlement at the level of ‘top brass’ interest in the case, but otherwise giving an accurate account. His wife looked as downcast as he felt. But Sam doubted she was anything like as frightened as he was.

He followed the children into the sitting room, looked out the DVD of The Jungle Book, currently their favourite film which they seemed happy to watch over and over again even if their concentration rarely lasted until the end of it, and put it on the big TV, just as he had promised. Then he sat down and began to watch the film with them; partly because he knew the twins would like that, and he wanted so much to keep them from being distressed and upset, and partly because, at that moment, he could think of nothing else to do.

Only he wasn’t watching the film, of course; just staring unseeingly at the screen, whilst the previously unimaginable horror which had suddenly descended upon his family engulfed every iota of his being.

Amelia went to the kitchen to prepare the children’s tea. Or that’s what she said she was doing. In fact, it didn’t take very long to make Jo and Stevie’s favourite fish finger sandwiches. They were not normally on Amelia’s menu for the twins. She usually tried to provide them with healthier meals, although she did keep a packet in the freezer for special occasions. She supposed this was a special occasion, of the most terrible sort. If fish finger sandwiches would give the twins pleasure, even make them happy, albeit fleetingly, then that is what they were going to get.

She shut the kitchen door behind her. Even the children’s laughter, and the noisy cartoon sounds of the film showing on the sitting-room TV, made her nerves jangle. But at least Sam was making a real effort for their grandchildren, and she admired him for it. She knew it couldn’t be easy for him to put on a brave face for them, any more than it was for her. He was behaving a little more like the solid capable man she had married, the man who had always been able to solve any problem.

When the children had seen as much of the film as they wanted, Sam brought them in to the kitchen, where they polished off their fish finger sandwiches in a thrice. Not for the first time Amelia marvelled at the resilience of childhood. Although she had little doubt that it would take a miracle to avoid Joanna and Stevie suffering long term damage in the wake of the events of the last two days.

Sam, sitting at the table opposite the twins, listening to their chatter, and even joining in, was somehow managing to continue to play the jovial grandparent. She just couldn’t do it. She bustled around the kitchen pretending to be busy, whilst wondering what on earth they were going to do to entertain Joanna and Stevie until their bedtime. She desperately wanted to talk to her husband too. She wondered if one of them should go to the police station, just to be there for Felix, even if they couldn’t see him. At the very least Sam should surely call the police again. Or maybe she should. But that was Sam’s department. That was what he did. And he was so much better at dealing with officialdom than she was, or he usually was anyway. He always seemed to know someone in authority; if anyone could cut through red tape it was Sam.

With a great effort of will she put a smile on her face and sat down at the table with her grandchildren and her husband. She leaned close to him.

‘Don’t you think you should call the police again?’ she asked softly. ‘I can’t bear not knowing what is happening.’

He nodded.

‘I was just about to,’ he said. ‘You stay with these two, I’ll do it in the living room.’

He wasn’t gone long. When he returned he was shaking his head.

‘No change,’ he said. ‘No more news at all. Not that anyone’s passing on to me, anyway.’

Amelia lowered her voice to a whisper again.

‘They haven’t charged him, have they?’ she asked, the very thought of it making her heart race.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Sam.

He looked as if he was about to say more when the familiar beep of his phone indicated that he had received an incoming text.

He took the phone from his pocket and began to study the screen, turning away from Amelia as he did so. She couldn’t see his face, but she noticed his shoulders tensing — or she thought she did.

‘What is it?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Is it news?’

Sam turned around again.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Uh, not really. But I have to go out for a while. Sorry to leave you on your own with the children, but... ’

‘Where are you going?’ Amelia demanded. ‘Are you going to the police station? Is it about Felix?’

Sam had already taken his car keys, from one of the row of hooks on the kitchen wall where they kept all their keys, and was halfway through the door. He looked back over his shoulder.

‘I’m not sure exactly what it’s about but I have to find out,’ he said. ‘This is something I have to do. And I can’t tell you about it yet. I’m sorry. You’re just going to have to trust me.’

At a run she followed him into the hall.

‘Sam, stop! I want to know what’s going on. Where do you keep disappearing to? This is the third time. What is going on? Please, please tell me... ?’

Her words fell upon deaf ears. Sam just carried on through the front door and out of the house.

She was about to follow him outside when she remembered the reporters and photographers who were doubtless still waiting there.

She stopped herself just in time. Her breath was coming in short sharp gasps. She could feel her heart beating far too fast, she was sure of it. She was bewildered, frightened and distraught.

In the distance she could hear her grandchildren calling for her. Then little Joanna appeared by her side. The child looked as if she was about to burst into tears. Amelia had to fight to stop herself doing the same. Her grandchildren needed her to comfort them and take care of them. She just hoped she had the strength.

She bent down, reached out for Joanna, and pulled her close.

‘There, there, Jo,’ she said. ‘Everything’s going to be all right, sweetheart, Grannie promises, everything is going to be all right.’

But even as she spoke she was starkly aware that this was one promise she would almost certainly never be able to keep.