Page 45 of No Safe Place

Thursday | Evening

Field

Her house was in darkness, when she got back.

When she was married to Chris, they’d had a four-bed semi-detached on a sleepy street in Kidbrooke. It was boring, but the schools were good, and the commute wasn’t bad.

After the divorce she wanted a complete change, along with her downsize. Toby was nearly eighteen by the time the house sale went through.

Her little house on Market Street was perfect.

A row of tiny Grade 2 listed Victorian houses, probably built for munitions workers in the Arsenal.

It looked like a shoebox from the outside, but inside it was plenty big enough for the two of them.

Cosy, that’s what they called it, that first day they unpacked.

Field stood on the step, key in hand.

Each of the five houses had its doors and wooden window frames painted a different colour. Hers were aquamarine blue, the paint now beginning to fade.

Inside it was hot. The windows and doors had been shut tight all day. She turned the fan on with the remote, and then went to open the back door for a minute.

Her galley kitchen wasn’t dissimilar to Callum’s in shape. Cabinets on either side, barely room for two people to pass each other. Back door at the far end, next to the fridge. Field’s kitchen was always spotless and gleaming, from lack of use rather than effort.

Not today, though. Pans were piled in the sink, a dribble of milk on the counter. In two strides she was by the open microwave, pulling the door back.

A dinner plate was inside. Three sausages, a mound of mash, and some peas. Gravy poured over the top, thick and congealed. A note in Toby’s handwriting read, Don’t forget to eat x.

It was thoughtful, and it shouldn’t have pissed her off, but it did.

She scraped the cold food into the bin, and stepped out into the backyard for her first cigarette in months.

That was where Field was when she got the call from the hospital. Halfway through an illicit cigarette, bummed off a drunken football fan at kicking-out time.

She didn’t stub it out, but she didn’t take a drag either. The cigarette burned in her hand as Dr Wheatley explained that David Moore had suffered multiple system organ failure, and died without regaining consciousness.