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Her handbag was on the seat between us. It sagged open and in the silence my gaze fell on its
contents. A set of keys, phone, plastic-wrapped tissues, A4 papers folded in half, charger cable,
hairbrush, a leather document wallet and yet more stuff underneath: the assorted paraphernalia of a
life.
When Miss May turned back towards me, her expression was unreadable.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s just hard.’
‘No, it’s fine. I just can’t imagine how awful it must be for you. I mean I can’t sleep at night, and
that’s just me. I think all the time about how difficult he must be finding it to settle without his nunny.’
My hand went to my mouth, knuckles pressing on it, trying not to let myself break down again.
‘Sorry.’ This time the word caught in my throat.
‘Please don’t be sorry. I totally understand. I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to upset
you any more than you are already.’
I took deep breaths that shuddered and ached, got control of myself eventually.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘And you’re right. I don’t think he’s ever slept without his nunny before.’
She nodded. The light was murky in the back of the car and her face looked drab and shadowed.
Behind her, through the window, prettier streets flashed past now, houses painted in pastels or
mellow in Bath stone, attractive even under the flat grey sky.
When I think of it now, that moment has a filmic quality, as if time was stilling.
‘Poor little soul,’ she said.
The parting and closing of her lips was mesmerising. An unsettled feeling prickled at the back of
my neck.
I glanced at DI Bennett. He was oblivious to us, concentrating on a turn he was waiting to make,
indicator light thudding, his lips slightly parted in concentration.
‘Are you all right?’ said Miss May. ‘Really?’ She was peering at me.
‘I…⁠’ I started to say something, but lost my train of thought. I was trying to deal with the unease I
suddenly felt, the sense that something didn’t fit.
‘Ms Jenner?’
Her neck looked long and white as she leaned towards me. I turned away from her and towards the
window as I tried to concentrate, to pinpoint the source of my edginess. I replayed our conversation
in my head, and the unease crystallised into a thought, a moment of perfect certainty, a bright white
light that was terrifying for its clarity.
My throat went dry.
‘Is this it?’ said DI Bennett.
The road was narrow, with cars parked on either side, and we were blocking it. We’d pulled up
outside a four-storey Georgian townhouse, fronted by a broad pavement constructed from huge slabs
of stone, uneven and worn. The house was part of a long, elegant crescent, which had leafy gardens
opposite enclosed by wrought iron railings. The crescent had far-ranging views across the city and
the floating harbour, towards the countryside beyond: trees and rooftops in the foreground, then more
buildings falling away below, the glint of the river, and beyond, distant fields and hills under rolling
grey skies, and on that morning sheets of rain approaching relentlessly, one after another.
And I knew then that I had only seconds to act.
What I did next, I did on sheer impulse.