Page 54

Marina

The yellow crime scene tape and the white forensic tents had been up next door for nearly two weeks. Apparently the Andersons were staying in their second home in Cornwall.

Marina brought a tray of coffee to some of the reporters hanging around on the pavement outside.

“Have they found anything yet?” she asked casually, passing round a plate of her children’s homemade biscuits.

“Don’t think so,” said the BBC woman.

“I think that bitch was lying,” said the man from the Mail . “I don’t think she buried her husband there at all. He’s probably alive and well and living it up in the Maldives.”

“Underneath the patio is a classic, though,” said a dark-haired man with a scruffy dog and a microphone. Marina thought maybe he was a podcaster. “It was good enough for Fred and Rosemary West...”

“Why do they think that there’s a body there at all?” asked Marina, innocently. “I’m not clear on that part. What did this woman have to do with the Andersons?”

“It was the coordinates she gave on her confession video.” The podcaster sipped coffee. “And she mentioned disposing of a body in a building site. They’ve been doing a lot of construction here, haven’t they?”

“They sure have,” said Marina, with feeling.

“No knowing what these posh idiots have buried in their back gardens,” said the man from the Mirror . “No offense, love.”

“They’ve finished with the garden and the patio, though,” added the woman from the BBC. “They’re taking down the extension now.”

“Oh, and that’s the real shocker,” said the man from the Sun . The others crowded round. “Turns out the owners never had planning permission for any of the work they did. So once this lot comes down, it’s not going back up. Whether they find a body or not.”

“What a shame,” said Marina.

“If they do find a body, it’s not going to be great for property prices,” said the man from the Telegraph .

Marina told them she had something in the oven to attend to, so please leave the mugs inside her front gate, she’d collect them later.

I love you , she said silently to Opal.

* * *

Just over an hour later, she held a warm casserole dish in both hands and rang the bell for Jake’s flat with her elbow. Actually, it was still Freya’s flat, but Jake was staying in it until he could find a place of his own. Freya was staying with her parents in Chelmsford.

Jake opened the door: unshaven, pale, his hair greasy, dark circles under his eyes, wearing baggy gray sweatpants and a T-shirt with food stains on the shoulder.

“Thank God you’re here,” he said, and behind him, the children shouted “Mummy!” and Archie and Lucy Rose crowded the door to hug her legs.

“Careful darlings, Mummy has a hot dish,” she said. “Let me take this through to the kitchen and then we can have a cuddle.”

The kitchen looked as if a bomb had hit it. Dirty dishes and spilled food littered the table; the counters were covered with opened packets; the dishwasher was full and open and more dishes were piled up in the sink. A bottle of milk lay on its side. There were small handprints on all the cupboards and the front of the refrigerator. Marina hoped they were that color because they were chocolate.

She put the casserole dish on the top of the stove and scooped up Archie and Lucy Rose. “Did you have a fun weekend?”

“Yeah!” said Archie, sweet and loyal as he was.

“I eat the yellow Play-Doh,” said Lucy Rose.

“It’s probably the best-tasting flavor. Where’s Ewan?”

“I only just got him down for a nap,” said Jake. He leaned against the counter, looking like he could do with a nap, too.

“Did you have a fun weekend?” Marina couldn’t stop herself from asking. “You know, I think this is the first weekend ever that you’ve had the kids all to yourself since they were born.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it into work tomorrow. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

She turned to Archie and picked a Cheerio out of his hair. “Have you packed your stuff, sweetheart? Or do you need me to help?”

“I do it.” Lucy Rose marched out of the room, Archie following.

“Have you heard from Freya?” asked Marina. She should not savor Jake’s pained expression. She really shouldn’t.

“I don’t understand it,” exploded Jake. “One day everything was great, and then suddenly she’s all like ‘I need to look at my options’ and ‘I think a co-parenting situation would be better than a romantic partnership.’ I don’t know what happened to her. Maybe she’s been watching those feminist videos.”

“You can’t trust YouTube these days,” agreed Marina. “Anyway, I hate to think of you here all on your own eating nothing but ready meals, so I knocked together something for you. It’s your favorite.”

Jake peeled the foil off the top and inhaled. “Shepherd’s pie. Thank God. I thought you were going to say it was some of that foreign gunk that you like so much.”

“Would I do that to you?” She smiled. “Now, this is all for you, so don’t share it. I made it specially.”

He found a spoon and dipped in. “Not bad.”

“Glad you like it. I’ve got a few more in my freezer with your name on them, when you’ve eaten that one.”

In the freezer, where she’d kept the piece of Xavier’s left thigh, wrapping it in foil and sneaking it into the drawer next to bags of frozen peas and corn, when she was supposed to be packing it away in her pushchair with the rest of the body parts, to be dumped into the Thames.

Thawed, filleted and ground, it turned out to be beautifully lean—so much so that she’d had to add a little fatty lamb mince so the meat part of the pie wasn’t too dry.

Apparently that no-carb diet had worked wonders for Xavier.

Jake said, “I don’t know how you managed to put on so much weight when you were at home with the kids. I barely had a minute to sit down and eat anything all weekend.” He took another big spoonful of shepherd’s pie.

“It must be the female metabolism,” said Marina, cheerful and not in the slightest bit angry. She went to the spare bedroom to help her children pack and to wake up Ewan, warm and sleepy and snuggly, so she could take them all home.

Lilah was coming for supper. They would eat vegetarian food and start making plans.