The Perfect Girl

TESSA

I give the DNA swab, but I want to know why they’re doing this and why my interview was interrupted so suddenly earlier.

It wasn’t a dramatic interruption exactly, but there was certainly a frisson of something – suppressed excitement perhaps – amongst the police.

My mind’s racing like a greyhound out of the gate, and I think that I really need to phone Sam now, more than ever, because he might be able to interpret the situation better than me.

Once Katya has finished speaking to her agency, Richard ushers her back upstairs as if he’s a mother hen, and I take the opportunity to try to get through to Sam.

But he doesn’t answer. He has a day off today so I can’t imagine why not. I try a couple of times and eventually leave a message saying that I’ll try him again later.

I try not to feel upset with him for not answering, but part of me thinks it would have been nice if he was on standby, in case I needed him. It’s not like he doesn’t know what’s going on.

As I replace the handset, I notice that Richard is in the doorway.

‘Who are you phoning?’ he asks.

The best lies are those that are closest to the truth. This is a thought that pops into my head, though I’m not sure from where. I don’t consider myself dishonest, in spite of my affair. My infidelity is the only thing I hide; in all other areas of life I’m squeaky clean.

‘I was phoning Zoe’s solicitor,’ I said. ‘Because I wanted to know why they might be taking DNA swabs from us.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He wasn’t there. They said he’s out.’ I think quickly enough to pretend that I phoned Sam’s office, not his mobile.

‘He was very hard on Zoe,’ Richard says. ‘Very hard indeed.’

‘They know each other well enough for that I’m sure,’ I tell him. Richard was learning to consume alcohol in previously unimaginably large quantities during the time of Zoe’s trial, because he had only just discovered that his professional status had fatally stalled. He never once came to Devon to support them. He never witnessed any of it. That is, of course, yet another source of resentment for me.

I hold Grace while Richard begins to heat some food from the fridge for her.

‘Katya told me she likes this stuff,’ he says, showing me a teaspoonful of intensely orange goo.

Grace is watching him intently. I can tell that she likes him, and he makes faces for her that make her giggle, but I can’t share the moment because all I can think about is the fact that Grace probably won’t even remember Maria, and may not even be part of our lives in the future.

‘I hope we get to see Grace,’ I say.

‘What?’

‘Well, she’ll go with Chris, won’t she?’

Richard stands, aghast, looking at me. ‘Will she?’

‘He’s her father! What did you think?’

‘I hadn’t really thought about it.’ He turns around to stir the purée, and I notice his shoulders have fallen.

‘Well, hopefully she can come and stay with us when she’s older,’ he says. ‘And how will Chris cope?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Will Zoe go with them?’

‘I very much doubt it. Why would she do that?’

He catches my tone of irritation.

‘Give Grace to me,’ he says. ‘I can do this on my own. You take some time.’

I’m feeling tetchy because all of this will need to be worked out, and it will be complicated and painful for the children, and probably for us too, and I can’t deal with it now.

I can’t ignore either the small doubts about Chris that have begun to tug at me. It’s dangerous to let my mind wander down this path, I’m very conscious of that, but I’m beginning to reassess some of his behaviour; in particular the way he folded my sister up in a towel and ushered her away at the end of the evening. To me, that looked loving at the time, but in the light of what’s happened I can’t help but put a more sinister reading on it now. Was it loving, or controlling? His aggression with Tom Barlow at the house, and his treatment of Lucas, the way he told him off in front of us all, would certainly edge me quite firmly towards a more negative reading.

I want to ask Richard what he thinks, because in spite of everything he’s a good judge of character, or he used to be, but we’re interrupted by the doorbell.

‘That’ll be the au pair agency, I expect,’ he says.

‘I’ll get it.’

He tries a small spoonful of Grace’s purée and winces. ‘This is too hot,’ he tells the baby, ‘we might need to wait a bit.’

‘What was the number of the solicitor’s office?’ he calls after me, as I leave the room. ‘I might try him again, I think you’re right to ask his advice.’

‘Oh, I don’t remember offhand,’ I say.

‘No problem,’ he calls, as I reach the front door. ‘I’ll just do redial.’

Before I can stop myself, and as I’m opening the front door, I shout, ‘No!’ at him, because I know the call will go through to Sam’s personal mobile. The representative from Katya’s au pair agency gives me a quizzical look, as does Richard.

‘Sorry,’ I say to her.

She offers me her hand. ‘Tamara Jones, West Country Elite Au Pairs. We always aim to respond to emergencies immediately.’

Behind me, I can feel Richard’s gaze on my back and, as I take Tamara Jones upstairs to find Katya, I can see that he has the baby in one arm and the phone in the other.