Page 18 of Her Last Walk Home

‘You need to grow up. You promised you’d help me out with Davy this week. I was trying to work from home while minding him.’

‘He’s your kid, not mine. I didn’t head off for a two-week holiday like Niamh did, so shut it.’

‘Where are you even getting the money for these nights out?’

‘I have a rich boyfriend.’

‘Pull the other one.’

‘Believe me or not, I don’t care.’

He grabbed her arm as she put her foot on the stairs. ‘I can’t go through all this again.’

‘All what?’ she shouted over her shoulder.

‘You and drink, and… I think you’re using again. Are you?’

‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ Looking into his sad eyes, she knew his concern was genuine and immediately felt like a bitch. He was only three years older than her, but he was ageing by the day. She noticed a thread of grey had appeared in his dark hair. And he was forgetting how to dress. The faded T-shirt and baggy joggers did nothing for him. ‘George, I’m not using. I had a few drinks. Stayed with a friend. Lost my key. Now I’m home. Once I have a shower I’ll look after Davy for you. Okay?’

‘Sure.’

‘Put the kettle on. I’d kill for a cup of coffee.’

As he made his way into the kitchen, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her brother was good to her. Too good. But she couldn’t stop to think about it. She needed to shower and have her coffee and a nap. Then she’d be ready to do it all over again.

18

Lottie felt a twinge of despair as she entered Laura’s room. She’d left Boyd downstairs comforting Diana and the little boy. He had a way with people, especially those who had suffered trauma. An ability to display compassion better than she could. She was one of those people who tended to keep everything locked down tight. Too tight.

The sparsely furnished room had a mess of clothing flung everywhere. A small table doubled as a dresser with a scattering of make-up brushes, tubes and bottles. Nothing expensive. Nothing to point to a boyfriend who bought Laura gifts.

Besides the Lidl uniform lying in a bundle on the floor, along with other discarded clothing, she found underwear and tops in a drawer, and jeans and hoodies hanging in a free-standing IKEA wardrobe with the door removed. Or maybe it had fallen off.

With gloved hands she flicked through the young woman’s clothing, mainly from Penneys, like her own girls’ clothes. She found no pieces of paper with notes or anything to point to what had happened to Laura. Nothing beneath the mattress and pillows, or under the bed. No laptop or other electronic devices.

Before returning downstairs, she glanced into the other bedrooms. The little boy’s room was nicely painted, with boxes of toys neatly stacked at the foot of the bed. She closed the door, sadness crushing her heart. The poor child. The bathroom was small and clean, though she could see a streak of tan on the shower door and around the plughole. Diana would no longer have to fight with her daughter over leaving a mess behind. The banality of that made her even sadder for the decimated family.

Back in the kitchen, she laid a hand on Diana’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. ‘We’ll contact you about…’ She struggled with what to say in front of the little boy about his mother’s body having to be identified. ‘When we need you, we’ll contact you. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Here’s my card if anything crosses your mind that might help us. No matter how insignificant you think it is, let us know.’ Boyd joined Lottie at the door as she continued. ‘And don’t talk to reporters. Please. We’ll appoint a family liaison officer to keep you informed of all developments before anything is released to the media.’

‘Let yourselves out. I don’t think I can stand. But we don’t need anyone. We’re fine on our own.’

‘All the same, I think it would be helpful for you to have someone here for a few days.’

The woman bowed her head with a tissue clasped to her nose.

They let themselves out as instructed.

For what seemed like hours after the two detectives left, but was probably only minutes, Diana sat with Aaron on her knee, stroking his hair. It was so unlike the child to be this quiet. It wasas if he knew something terrible had happened; something they couldn’t talk about. He didn’t ask about Laura and he fell asleep where he sat.

She felt like her heart had been ripped out of her. A void grew in her chest, threatening to pull her into the darkness. She found it hard to get her head around the fact that her daughter would no longer be bustling in the door like a whirlwind, dropping shopping bags with cheap clothing as she went.

And what of Aaron? What would become of him? Diana knew she could look after him, but he was only four and she had a life to live too. No, stop, she warned herself. Don’t be selfish. She wondered why she didn’t feel profound sadness, just this emptiness. Then she realised she was numb from the shock. There was no handbook to tell you how you should act or react. Here she was, suspended in time and space, with a child sleeping in her arms.

A shiver shook her body out of its numbness. She tried to visualise what the days and weeks ahead would look like. She hadn’t any friends, so there wouldn’t be callers with Tupperware tubs of food. But there was another thing that worried her. The invasion of their privacy by the media. And when the papers tired of Laura being a murder victim, mightn’t they start in on her own life? If they did that, they might find things to write that wouldn’t be nice. Old stuff. Unsavoury stuff. She couldn’t bear that for Aaron. Or for herself.

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