The Perfect Girl

TESSA

Philip Guerin has crept in from the garden, his face flushed from the heat, and joined us in the sitting room. The Family Liaison Officer is in the kitchen washing up teacups.

Philip has overheard Chris booking a hotel and wants to know where they’re going to be staying, and wonders out loud whether he should do the same thing.

‘There’s plenty of room for you here now,’ says Richard, but Philip pushes on, asking Chris questions of utter pointlessness, about where the hotel is located and how far it is from here.

Chris tells him the name of the hotel and I know as soon as I hear it that Philip Guerin wouldn’t be able to afford to stay there in a million years. I can see that Chris knows that too. He seems irritated, his answers short and his mind clearly elsewhere, though Philip doesn’t seem to be picking up any of these cues. He drones on and on about a hotel that he stayed in once on a trip somewhere else, and it’s the most boring kind of small talk. I want to scream at him to shut up because I’m trying to think. I’m also trying to be normal around Chris, which suddenly isn’t easy, because all I find myself able to do is wonder what he’s capable of.

Our landline rings. It’s always an unfamiliar sound these days, though Richard tells me that cold calls are a frequent annoyance during his long days at home, and I have to bite my tongue to avoid making a sarcastic reply. He doesn’t have much else to do all day, let’s face it.

As the phone trills, my eyes meet Richard’s.

‘That’s probably the solicitor,’ he says.

Chris is alert. ‘What does he want?’

‘I’ll get it,’ I say, and I bolt from the room. I don’t know whether that will look suspicious to Richard, but I don’t care. I need to hear the calm warmth of Sam’s voice; I need somebody to offer me respite from my family. I want his advice, yes, but right now I also want his affection too.

By the time I get to the kitchen, the phone has stopped ringing, and the Family Liaison Officer is replacing the handset.

‘That was Sam Locke,’ she says. ‘He says to tell you he didn’t have time to speak because he’s going into an appointment, but he’ll call back later.’

I feel bereft, unreasonably so probably, but I can’t help myself. Annoyed too, because what appointment could possibly be so important that Sam wouldn’t at least take the time to exchange a quick couple of words with me. I pick up the phone and hit redial and pray and pray through the first few rings that he’s going to answer.

‘Sam Locke,’ he says eventually, and I hear caution in his tone. Probably he’s not sure whether it’s Richard or me phoning.

I wait a second or two to reply because the Family Liaison Officer is carrying a plate of biscuits out of the room.

‘Hello?’ Sam says.

The Family Liaison Officer moves very slowly, as if she wants to hear what I’m saying, but I wait until she’s gone and I ease the door shut behind her.

‘It’s me,’ I say to Sam.

‘Richard phoned me.’

‘I know, I’m sorry, we wanted your advice.’

‘I’m really sorry, Tess, I’ve got to see somebody in a minute, I haven’t got long.’

‘If the police are taking our DNA, do you think that means we’re under suspicion?’

There’s a pause, and then he says, ‘They’ve found evidence, in the house, so yes, I think family are under suspicion. I shouldn’t tell you that, Tess, so please don’t say that I did.’

‘Oh my God. What evidence?’

‘Blood. That’s been cleaned up. It’s the only thing that would show up this quickly, and there might well be more evidence down the line, it’s just that the other tests take time.’

‘That’s why they’re taking swabs from us,’ I say.

‘That would seem likely, yes,’ he says. ‘They’ll want to know whose blood it is.’

‘It’ll be hers,’ I say.

‘Be careful of making assumptions at this stage.’

‘Well, whose else could it be?’

‘All I’m saying is that we won’t have confirmation of that for days.’

He sounds a bit distant; his tone seems more professional and less reassuring than I would like, because I feel very afraid. I want to tell Sam that I’m feeling increasingly certain that Chris has hurt Maria but I’m afraid that if I talk in here, Chris might overhear me.

I think of Philip’s mobile phone. The one he’s been anxiously passing from hand to hand for most of the day, as if it’s a lifeline connecting him to another world, one he’d rather be in.

‘Sam,’ I say. ‘I’m going to borrow a mobile phone and call you back but it won’t be easy to do it privately so please make sure you answer.’

‘I have an appointment,’ he says. ‘I can’t miss it, but it won’t take long.’

‘I’m afraid,’ I tell him and there’s a long silence, and within it I hear him swallow and I think I can also hear the echoing of footsteps as if he’s walking down a corridor.

‘Where are you?’ I say. ‘Sam?’

Another voice in the background: ‘Mr Locke? They’re ready for you now.’

‘I have to go,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try to answer, I promise.’

‘Chris is going to take the baby away,’ I say, but I’m too late, because Sam has hung up.

I’ll admit I feel very stung by that. I’m not used to it. Usually, it’s me who has to end a call prematurely, or behave furtively. Sam has always just been there for me, waiting patiently for me to have time to visit him, picking up the phone whenever I have the chance to make contact.

I try to calm myself down, to rationalise the fact of his appointment, whatever it is, but in truth I’m upset. If it was that important, I tell myself, surely he would have mentioned it to me?

I can’t help feeling abandoned.