‘But,’ Greg was speaking again. ‘I invited you here this evening, because I wanted to hear all your news, so the next person who says the “J” word picks up the tab. And I am thinking of having at least two more cocktails before dinner, so you really won’t want it to be you!’

  9

  Laura Mallard arrived at Constance’s office the next day, tall and broad-shouldered, with wispy blond hair, its dark roots flaunting themselves under the brash strip-lighting, dragging the scent of cigarettes and coffee in with her.

  ‘What’s happening with Dad?’ Laura settled herself down opposite Constance, her enquiring eyes emphasising her question. She threw her bag down onto the table, keeping her jacket firmly on.

  ‘Is that what you call Debbie?’ Constance said.

  Laura shrugged. ‘Just habit. Is it a problem?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I never called her “Mum”. I’m not going to start now, am I? I could maybe do “Debbie”, I suppose, if I’m going to be a witness.’

  ‘It’s too early to decide any of that. Your dad’s been arrested, but I’m hoping that we can persuade the police to keep on looking for someone else.’

  ‘I do get it. She sits there with her earrings and her necklace and her long hair and I keep saying “Dad”. It’ll look a bit weird, right?’

  ‘It might, but I don’t want you to worry about that.’ Constance glanced at the notes she had prepared, Laura’s preoccupation with the trial temporarily distracting her.

  ‘It’s OK. You can ask me the questions now,’ Laura continued. ‘I can’t spend too long anyway. I’m on my lunch hour.’

  ‘You’re back at work?’

  ‘It keeps me occupied. And Ben’s at my place. If we’re together, we just make each other worse. They’re very chilled at work. They leave me alone. And if what I do is crap, they’re hardly going to complain. I read about it – it’s therapy really.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Constance, not sure she really did. ‘We’ll just start with some general stuff, then, to set the scene. Facts that will be helpful if…if things do progress against Debbie, although, like I said, I’ll do all I can to prevent that. Were you happy, as a family, growing up?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Laura said. ‘Well, I never really stopped at any time and thought, “whoopee, my life is fantastic”. But, yeah. My friends were busy with the usual stuff, parents divorcing, father out of work or buying a sports car or both, mother getting depression or becoming a gym bunny, eating disorders, fatigue syndrome. We were a bit boring by comparison.’

  ‘Really? Your dad was Danny Mallard and your mum was Rosie Harper?’

  ‘That’s what everyone thinks. That we had this dazzling life, full of celebrities and parties. It just meant Dad was always away when I was little, although I did go to some awesome football matches, when Mum let him take me, that is. By the time I can really remember, he was coaching though, and that wasn’t so much fun.’

  ‘And your mum?’

  ‘She was boring. Always going to bed early, because she had to get up in the middle of the night. And not around that often, because of other stuff she did. And, like I said, she wasn’t keen on Dad taking me to matches and stuff.’

  ‘Were you close to your parents?’

  ‘Gran used to help a lot, my dad’s mum. She would come over and make breakfast when Dad was away, and dinner sometimes too. And we had nannies, before that, to get us up in the mornings. But, I mean, that ended a few years ago.’

  ‘Do you know anyone your parents might have fallen out with?’

  Laura snorted with laughter.

  ‘What? What is it?’ Constance asked.

  ‘Oh nothing. Really, nothing.’

  ‘Did they fall out with the nannies?’

  ‘Mum was really strict with them. The last one, though, I really liked. She wasn’t English, from Romania, and she lived in. I think mum took her on as a favour for someone. She had dark hair and pale skin, very dramatic looking. Ben called her “Dracula” and all the delivery men fancied her. She used to let Ben watch as much TV as he liked or go on the PlayStation, and spend hours on her phone, “chatting” with her admirers. Then Mum saw her getting out of one of their vans in the early morning; Tesco it was. She was gone by the end of the week.’

  ‘What did Debbie think about that?’

  ‘I remember Dad teased Mum over dinner about Viviana. Said that if she’d got out of an Ocado van, Mum would have let her stay.’

  ‘And what did your mum say to that?’

  ‘She didn’t think it was funny.’

  ‘No. Do you know who they all were, the nannies?’

  ‘I could give you a list of the ones I remember and I might even have a few pictures, but I’m not sure I knew any of their second names. Mum made them sign contracts when they arrived, so if you can get to her emails you can probably find out. Knowing her, she’ll have a folder for each of them and comments, marks out of ten, that kind of thing. Do you think it was one of them?’

  ‘I’m trying to build a picture of what’s possible. Who had keys to the house?’

  ‘Me and Ben…and the cleaner.’

  ‘What about Debbie?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I mean, probably. I don’t think Mum changed the locks or anything, when Dad moved out.’

  ‘Did you have a lot of security at home?’

  ‘Dad warned Mum about it. Mum said gates made her feel claustrophobic, said most crime was online these days, but he said they were targets. In the end they put a front gate in and had some cameras installed, but she always left the gate open, said she “forgot”, and you can jump over it pretty easily, even when it’s closed. There was a panic button in the kitchen. That worked. Ben pressed it once and three police cars arrived.’

  ‘Any problems your mum had, maybe at work?’

  ‘Ask Jason.’

  ‘Jason?’

  ‘Jason Fenwick, the other half of Mum’s double act.’

  ‘Your dad mentioned him.’

  ‘He’s known Mum for years. She only got the Breakfast Time job because of him. She called him her “second husband”. And I know that sometimes people wrote pretty gross stuff to her; there were plenty of people she blocked.’

  ‘And were your parents happy, as a couple, before the divorce?’

  ‘They got divorced, didn’t they?... I need to smoke,’ Laura said suddenly, her hand already thrust deep into her bag. ‘It’s my lunch break and I always have a cigarette now; it’s my one guilty pleasure. Can I?’

  ‘Not here. We can take a walk outside, if you like.’

  * * *

  ‘I think they were happy before,’ Laura confided, as they strolled along the pavement and settled themselves on a bench in the park behind Constance’s office. Laura puffed on a Marlboro Light, holding it loosely between two fingers. ‘But I’m not sure. What signs should I have looked for? Kissing each other, hugging, touching? They used to do that for the cameras, I’ve seen the photos, but they weren’t like that in private – or not after we came along.

  ‘And they were always juggling so many things. I mean, when Dad was playing, he was away or training long hours and she was always nagging him to watch his weight, drink less, train more. And when he was coaching it was even worse, ’cos he had meetings with the bosses and all those high-pressure times, like transfer windows and cup ties.’

  ‘And your mum took on a lot of charity work?’

  ‘Well...Jason said she should do it, said it went with her “profile”. Dad didn’t agree, said she had enough on her plate. She was late for one of my birthday parties because she was out delivering meals to homeless people. She was asked onto Strictly, too, a year or so back. Thank God she said no. Can you imagine how awful it would have been to see her prancing around in those costumes?’

  ‘You’re not a fan then?’

  ‘No, and Mum wasn’t either. It would have only been about her image. I’m not sure why she refused, in the end. Jason will probably know.’

  ‘Did your parents argue?’

  ‘Not much. So how was I supposed to know, right? Obviously, there was stuff going on with Dad under the surface. He must have been keeping it quiet for years. I remember once I came home early and found him with Mum’s clothes out on the bed. I asked what he was doing and he said that he was finding some old ones to give away. I asked Mum later and she didn’t know what I was talking about. That kind of thing. I think he was desperate not to embarrass us. It’s hardly acceptable playground banter is it? “Hey, Laura. Hear your dad’s now your mum.”’

  ‘But Debbie transitioned, what, two years ago? Ben was still young. Why didn’t she wait?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask Dad…Debbie. I’d left home.’

  ‘And your mother? Do you know what she thought about your dad transitioning?’

  Laura flicked her ash onto the ground. ‘She asked us, me and Ben, not to talk about it to anyone outside the family.’

  ‘She was embarrassed?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be? I mean she was a big TV star.’

  ‘She was worried about her career?’

  ‘Maybe I heard her say it, maybe she was on the phone, maybe she said it to Dad. Maybe he said it. I don’t remember.’

  ‘Is that why they split up?’

  ‘Like I said, you’ll have to ask Dad. Better than me getting it all wrong. Mum would’ve hated that. “Get your facts straight!” That was something she was always saying. Look. I’ve got to get back. I’ll make the list of nannies and anything else I can think of, but go and talk to Jason. He’ll be able to give you the answers.’

  After Laura had gone, Constance returned to her office and reviewed her notes. She had followed her planned questions but, reading back through Laura’s replies, she felt that somehow Laura had been the one in control, that she had suffered a home defeat before Laura had skipped away with the ball, with no promise of a return match. She was certainly a cool customer and keen to be involved in…what had Greg called it? ‘The trial of the century’. And why had Laura laughed so hard when Constance had asked if her parents had disagreed with anyone? Now she wished she’d probed that further. Was it that Rosie was argumentative, or Debbie, or both of them? Was it the opposite, that they were both super-sociable? That was the thing about interviews. Everything seemed obvious and clear while you were talking, but, afterwards, things often became more opaque and you wished you’d asked for more.

  Greg’s face settled in her mind fleetingly. She had enjoyed the evening more than she had anticipated. He was easy company, warm and generous, although, despite his protests, she suspected he had only invited her to hear news of Judith. How would Judith have conducted the interview with Laura? she wondered. No doubt, more persistently than Constance had.

  On her laptop, she called up the image of Danny Mallard lifting the SPOTY trophy, his face a mass of creased joyfulness. And Rosie applauding and cheering from the audience. They both seemed so happy. When had it all gone wrong? Then she pressed the green button on her phone, hoping that Judith was home, had her phone to hand this time and was keen to talk things through.

  10

  Andy was lying in bed, mulling over his meeting with Graham, two days on. He had been preoccupied, at first, with the dizziness which had overwhelmed him at the beginning of their meeting. It was out of character for Andy; he’d jumped out of an aeroplane only last month – with a parachute, for charity – and had no problem with ski-lifts, although he hadn’t made it to the slopes since the children arrived. On his return home, he had marched straight up to the counter at his local pharmacy and tested his blood pressure, which was a little on the high side, but not dangerously so.

  Once he had convinced himself that he wasn’t ill, he had been able to reflect on Graham’s offer. It was the chance of a lifetime, he knew that. And he was delighted to have been chosen out of all the multitudes. Despite his daily, confidence-inspiring ritual, involving chanting and chest-thumping in the early morning, which tended to sustain him through most moderately challenging days, he was not without self-awareness. He did appreciate that Graham’s invitation may not have been earned entirely by virtue of his many talents.

  Nick, his head of chambers, had scored a very significant victory on Graham’s behalf, relating to Horizon’s bid for a rival, a year or so back. And, in addition to a fat fee, which had financed the refurbishment of a couple of meeting rooms, it had been rumoured that a further reward had been promised. However, there were twenty-two of them in chambers, ranging from John, aged seventy-eight and still doing some advocacy, albeit at a rather pedestrian pace, to Andy’s pupil, the deferential Caroline, wet behind the ears at twenty-four, but with great potential. And Andy had been chosen from all of them. That meant something.

  He thought back to Graham’s words. ‘Five days a week,’ he had said, and ‘at least five nights, we haven’t decided on Saturdays yet’, checking that Andy didn’t balk at the hours. Andy wanted to say that it was no more than his family had asked of him for the past seven years, without any payment or appreciation, in fact, probably considerably less, as Graham wasn’t asking him to get up in the middle of the night and juggle a baby, a bottle and a blinding migraine. But he satisfied himself with nodding energetically and confirming that wouldn’t be a problem.

  And ‘very high profile’ and ‘if you play your cards right, it could make you a star,’ to which Andy had replied that sounded very nice too and, if it meant he was recognised undertaking his late-night shop at his local Tesco, then he wouldn’t mind one bit.

  Graham had asked a few questions too: ‘How do you feel about taking orders from a woman?’ To which Andy had joked that he already did, except this one was 99cm tall and still slept with her teddies. Then he had asked Andy if he felt it was appropriate to call out other lawyers, publicly, if they were poor at their job or made mistakes. Absolutely, Andy had replied, with the most enthusiasm so far. The public had the right to expect competent legal representation and there were no excuses for errors, when people’s liberty was at stake.

  Then, finally, what did he think about ‘professionals from other backgrounds’ solving crimes? Andy wasn’t sure what Graham meant at first – thought he might mean people from state schools or deprived families – and he launched into a well-rehearsed speech about the benefits of diversity in the profession, before Graham put him right. What he had been asking about was additional professional disciplines: psychiatrists, psychologists, true crime researchers, AI specialists, experts in body language. This caught Andy off-guard; it was not something he had ever turned his mind towards, but he was able to reply – convincingly, he thought – that he adopted a ‘collaborative approach’ and felt that a fresh perspective was always valuable.

  Alone now, briefly, while Clare was busying herself with the breakfast routine downstairs, Andy found himself frowning hard at the opposite wall. He did have a slight feeling of unease, as he wondered what was behind Graham’s questions, but he would have been stupid to say anything other than what he knew Graham wanted to hear, wouldn’t he? He had to give himself the best chance of moving on to the next stage.

  And while it had been one of the most difficult secrets to keep in his entire married life, he had not said a word to Clare yet, in the main because he knew it would spark off hundreds of questions, to which he still didn’t have the answers. And, there was still the chance he might want to say ‘no’ if the terms weren’t right, and he wanted to be able to make that decision alone, without pressure from Clare.

  ‘Andy!’ Clare’s call broke through his reverie. ‘Can you grab a clean t-shirt for Mia? She’s spilt chocolate milk all down this one.’

  Andy called out his acknowledgement, then rubbed his hand across his face before sitting up, putting on his slippers and heading for Mia’s room, which had been transformed, overnight, by his youngest progeny, from an orderly space into the aftermath of a major environmental disaster. As he ploughed forwards through the debris, to sort through her clothes for a suitable replacement top, he pushed away the nagging thought that, whatever Graham offered, if it meant less time at home for three months, that, in itself, might be no bad thing.

  11

  Judith arrived at Constance’s office with a pile of newspapers in her arms, nudging the door open with her elbow and depositing them noisily in the centre of the table. Then she poured herself a coffee. Constance raised both eyebrows.

  ‘What?’ Judith grinned. ‘Are you amused that my coffee embargo was so short-lived or outraged at my contribution to the destruction of the rainforest? The press coverage is highly prejudicial, of course.’

  ‘Both,’ Constance replied, tapping at her laptop. ‘You can access the same and more this way, you know.’

  Judith sat down and unfolded the first newspaper. ‘It’s not the same,’ she said. ‘I like to touch it for it to really stick.’ Then she paused and unwound her scarf. ‘I mean,’ Judith continued, ‘first all the stuff about the dog and the neighbour, then endless moaning about the chase. Poor Dawson, there’s been a formal complaint to the Met about him overdoing it. Did you know that?’

  Constance shook her head.

  ‘The Commissioner just went along with it, accepting that lives were endangered by the chase through the park. I’m not quite sure what he was supposed to do, if not chase a murderer on the run…’

  ‘Suspected murderer.’

  ‘All right. ‘Suspected murderer. By the way, just so we’re on the same page, I’ve read everything you’ve sent me, I’ve watched Rosie on iPlayer until I can quote her verbatim and I’ve even watched some football tournaments – various – well, the highlights; a first for me, that one.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Which brings me to the relevant stuff – what real evidence do they have against Debbie?’