Page 69 of Play Our Song

“She’s bleeding,” Tilly said.

“She’s cuffed,” said the officer gruffly.

Tilly reached into her pocket and found a tissue before she strode over to where Sophie was lying. She pulled at her arms, got her into a sitting position, and then used the tissue to blot the blood from her nose.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, not knowing whether she was apologizing for the bloody nose, the raid, or the fact that she was here at all.

“Right.” Sophie’s face was hard.

“I’m just doing my job. We had an agreement,” said Tilly. “You’ll be out in no time as long as you’ve done nothing.”

“You don’t know that I’ve done nothing?” Sophie said, eyes flashing now. “You think that I could have had anything to do with anything? How could you? How—”

“Three vehicles found in the back,” said an officer, coming in through the rear door. “There’s a storage area out there.”

Tilly turned to Sophie, who’d gone pale now. “I didn’t… We didn’t…”

Tilly’s stomach turned itself into a knot. She’d been so worried about this, it had torn her up inside. And now, now it turned out that it was all true, that she never should have trusted Sophie in the first place.

She felt physically sick.

“Tilly,” Sophie said. “We didn’t do this.”

“Then tell me who did.”

“Don’t talk,” Paul Farmer yelled at his daughter. “Don’t talk without a solicitor. Don’t even say a word.”

Sophie looked at her dad, then looked back at Tilly.

“Tell me who did this if you didn’t,” Tilly said.

Sophie took a breath and swallowed. “I want my lawyer,” was all she said.

Chapter Twenty Eight

The problem with police interview rooms is that they’re so small, it’s impossible to walk off anger. Sophie tried to pace, but ended up looking ridiculous, so she slumped on the chair and let her anger ferment instead.

Anger at herself, at Tilly, at her father, her brother, at the world. Anger that bubbled and writhed inside her but that had no real target, because she didn’t know who to blame. She was angry and, she realized, scared. She didn’t know what was happening.

What she did know was that Tilly had been there. Tilly had looked her in the eye as she’d been arrested. No warning, no nothing. Just a bunch of idiot police showing up in riot gear like they were raiding a mob boss’s lair or something.

And then this. Nothing. Sitting in a room for hours on end with nothing to look at, no one to talk to, just her thoughts and nothing else.

When the door finally did open, Sophie whipped around, sure for a moment that it was going to be Tilly, sure that she wasgoing to get a target for that anger and that sadness and that fear. But instead she saw Max’s familiar face.

“Tea?” he asked kindly.

“That’s it? That’s the best you’ve got? An offer of tea?” It wasn’t often that she felt Italian. Her mum hadn’t been around long enough for it to matter. But there were times when she felt very un-English, and this was one of them.

“Coffee?” Max tried.

Sophie glared at him and he nodded before quietly coming into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Why don’t you have a seat?”

For a second she considered not sitting, even thought about spitting at him. She was so angry. Max’s face was so familiar, but the tone of his voice wasn’t. He was firm, not to be argued with, business like. She came to a compromise; she kept glaring, but she took a seat.

“Right,” said Max, taking a seat himself. “First, I’m sorry that you’ve had to wait. There’s only two of us. I was busy interviewing your dad and, well, it didn’t seem appropriate for Constable Ware to be in here.”

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