The Whole Truth

A low laugh. ‘Let’s just say you could do worse than mugging up on the life and career of one Adam John Fawley.’

Yates frowns; he knows that name. Every reporter in this city knows that name. ‘Hang on, are you seriously telling me –’

‘Too right, mate. That’s exactly what I’m telling you. The bastard who raped and murdered Emma Smith? It was Detective Inspector Adam Fawley.’

* * *

‘I wanted Cheerios,’ says Ben, standing by the open cupboard. He’s just back from his bike ride, sweaty, dusty and in quest of quick carbs. ‘But we’ve run out.’

Nell Heneghan glances across from the sink. ‘I’m sure we haven’t, darling. I only got another packet a couple of days ago.’

Ben is standing his ground. ‘We’ve run out,’ he says in martyred tones, ‘because Auntie Alex keeps eating them. They’re supposed to be for me.’

Nell smiles. ‘I told you, didn’t I – pregnant ladies sometimes have weird cravings. I stuffed myself with pickled onions when I was carrying you – I’ve never been able to eat a single one since. Auntie Alex just happens to fancy Cheerios right now, OK? It’s not a problem – there’s plenty to go round.’

‘No,’ says Ben stolidly. ‘There isn’t.’

Nell’s slightly nettled now. ‘You’re probably just not looking properly.’

Like his father, like her father. It’s one of those bloke things.

Ben’s still not moving, so she puts down the potato peeler with an audible sigh and goes over to the larder. But three frustrated minutes later she has to concede defeat.

‘Can’t you have something else? I can make toast – there’s Nutella –’

Ben’s the one frowning now. ‘But what about tomorrow? What about breakfast?’

Nell checks her watch. She could nip out now and be back in time to get the food on, and then go and collect Nicky from judo. And Gerry should be back in twenty minutes.

‘OK,’ she says, ‘I’ll pop down to Tesco to get some. Can you keep an eye on Auntie Alex while I’m gone?’

He shrugs. ‘I can’t. She’s got the door closed.’

‘Don’t be so literal, darling. You know what I mean. I’ll just pop up and tell her before I go. And in the meantime, the toaster’s over there if you’re on the brink of death.’

She tousles his hair, gets an annoyed shrug for her pains, then turns and goes upstairs.

There’s no sound from the spare room and Nell hesitates at the door. Because what Ben said has rekindled her own concern. Alex has been acting oddly all day – in fact, she’s been acting oddly ever since last night. She hardly ate anything, just kept fiddling with her tablet, which really got on Gerry’s nerves, because they don’t let the boys bring devices to the table. And she didn’t appear for breakfast at all. Nell’s been up twice with cups of tea, but Alex just called out that she was fine and would be down soon. Nell knows her sister is a private person – that she’s acutely embarrassed about taking up space in the house and getting in the way – but this is getting ridiculous.

‘Alex?’ she says, knocking firmly this time. ‘I’m just nipping out to the shops. Do you need anything?’

Silence.

Nell’s heart quickens – privacy is one thing but her sister is pregnant, very pregnant –

She hesitates one second more, then grips the handle and opens the door.

* * *

The pub is busy. It may be Monday but it’s hot, and it’s the holidays, and the place is heaving, though the first fat drops of rain dropping on to the scorching tarmac have scuttled people back to the gloom inside, where the loud drinks in primary colours with straws and umbrellas now look ludicrously, endearingly out of place.

Despite the rain, the door’s wedged open to get what passes for fresh air on the Banbury Road, and there’s a slight blonde woman standing at the threshold. And she’s not just looking for a way to stay dry – she’s intent, scanning the crowd. The light is behind her and the room dark, so it’ll probably take a few moments for your eyes to adjust. But you’ll recognize her soon enough.

She starts to move now, through the crowd towards a table near the back. There are two young people sitting there already, a young man and woman talking in low voices, their heads and bodies close together. He has a white T-shirt and an angular hawk-like tattoo on his left forearm that you’ve seen somewhere before. As for the girl, she has her auburn hair in a tiny ponytail …

There’s a bottle of wine on the table and three glasses. When they look up, you can see the expectation in their eyes.

The blonde girl dumps her bag and sits down.

‘It’s done,’ she says, the words coming in a rush of breath. ‘He just called from the police station. They’re giving him a caution, and he says I’ll probably get one too, but that’s it – nothing more. It’s over. Pour me a bloody drink, will you, Sebastian – I fucking need one.’

The other two are looking at each other; triumph on her face, relief on his.

‘You aced it, Freya,’ says the girl, holding out her glass for wine. ‘We seriously owe you one.’

‘It’s Caleb you should be thanking, not me.’