Part 11 (2/2)

Though she nodded, Imogen didn't look look OK. She looked drawn, haggard. OK. She looked drawn, haggard.

'Not too bad,' she said. 'I was so exhausted I slept like a log at any rate. How about you?'

'Oh...I didn't sleep so well. I had too much stuff on my mind. You know?'

Imogen gave a tight but sympathetic smile and reached out to touch her daughter's cheek. 'I'm sorry to burden you with all our problems - mine and Dad's, I mean. We should sort ourselves out, shouldn't we? Not heap it all on you.'

Charlotte shrugged and tried to make a joke of it. 'You need someone to sort you out.' Then she asked tentatively, 'How is dad this morning?'

'Still snoring. I've left him to it. He'll have a killer of a hangover when he comes round, I shouldn't wonder, and it'll serve him right.'

Charlotte's legs felt wobbly. She crossed back to the bed and sat down. 'What time is it?'

'Gone half ten. We've missed breakfast, I'm afraid.' Imogen gave a watery smile. 'We're not really getting our money's worth out of this holiday so far, are we?'

Charlotte yawned. Her eyelids felt full of grit. 'It's OK. I'm not really hungry anyway.'

'Me neither. I could murder a coffee, though.' Imogen paused, then said, 'Chris didn't come back last night.'

'Didn't he?' said Charlotte neutrally.

'No. I think maybe I should call the police.'

'I'm sure he'll be OK, Mum,' Charlotte said. 'He's probably staying away to punish us.'

'All the same, it would set my mind at rest if the police at least knew he was...'

A peculiar expression, somewhere between distress and confusion, crossed her face, and Charlotte knew her mum had balked at the word 'missing'. She understood why immediately. It sounded too ominous, too final.

'I'll come with you,' she said quickly. We'll go downstairs, ring the police, then we'll go out somewhere and treat ourselves to a really nice breakfast. Just give me ten minutes to get ready, OK?'

'OK. You don't mind if I wait here for you, do you?'

'No problem. I won't be long.'

Though all Charlotte really wanted was to sink back on to her bed, close her eyes and blot out the world, she spent the next ten minutes making herself presentable. She had a wash and brushed her teeth, promising herself that tonight, without fail, she would have that lovely warm bath she'd been so looking forward to. She sc.r.a.ped her hair back into a ponytail. She dressed in shorts and a pink sleeveless top, wondering how long it would be before her b.u.mp started to show.

She was desperate to tell Mum about the baby, but she knew this wasn't the right time. She'd know when the moment arrived, she told herself. Everything would come together and she would just know. know.

She was about to announce that she was ready when there came three sharp raps on the door. Charlotte and Imogen looked at each other, Imogen's face a mixture of alarm and hope. Charlotte crossed to the door and opened it. The slight, vulture-like figure of Mrs Macau stood there.

'There are two gentlemen to see you downstairs,' she announced before Charlotte could say anything. She was already turning away when Imogen, still sitting on the unmade bed, stammered, What... who... who are they?'

'Police officers,' Mrs Macau said, the disapproval evident in her voice.

Imogen paled. 'Police officers?'

'Did they say what they wanted?' Charlotte asked quickly.

'I didn't enquire,' Mrs Macau looked as if she was about to turn away again, then paused. 'I don't put up with trouble on my premises.'

Charlotte felt her face flush with indignation, but the words that emerged from her mouth sounded like an apology. 'We're not going to cause any trouble.'

'I do hope not,' said Mrs Macau. 'Good day.'

Charlotte turned to her mum. Imogen's eyes were wide and fearful.

'It'll be nothing,' Charlotte said rea.s.suringly, though her insides were fluttering like a moth. 'They probably just found Chris asleep on a park bench. They'll want us to go down to the station to pick him up.'

Imogen nodded eagerly, but said nothing, and the two of them went downstairs. Charlotte expected the policemen to be uniformed, but they weren't. They were waiting in the hallway, looking hot and uncomfortable in their grey suits and ties despite their unb.u.t.toned s.h.i.+rt collars.

They straightened up when the two women appeared, like army privates in the presence of a commanding officer. 'Mrs Maybury?' said the foremost of the two men. Charlotte was about to defer to her mum when Imogen stepped forward, anxiety making her movements and voice jerky.

'Yes, that's me. What's happened?'

'Is there somewhere more... comfortable we can talk?'

Why? What is it you've come to tell us?' Imogen snapped.

'There's the lounge,' said Charlotte, slipping into the familiar role of arbitrator. 'We can go in there.'

Dusty sunlight streamed through the tall bay windows, enlivening the red flock wallpaper, but seeming to bleach and age the lumpy sofa and pale brown carpet. The sofa rustled when the women sat down on it as though its misshapen cus.h.i.+ons were filled not with foam padding but with straw.

The senior officer perched on the edge of an armchair facing them, elbows on knees, trousers riding up to reveal fluffy green socks. His colleague, a younger man with fuzzy sideburns and wiry eyebrows that clashed in a tangle above the bridge of his nose, leaned against the wall, arms folded.

'I'm Detective Inspector Worthington,' the seated officer said, and there was something about the urgent compa.s.sion in his voice that increased the fluttering dread in Charlotte's belly. 'I'm afraid you're going to have to brace yourself for some distressing news.'

'What is it?' Imogen whispered, and Charlotte could feel her mum trembling beside her. 'What's happened?'

Gently DI Worthington said, 'This morning a body was washed up on the sh.o.r.e several miles from here. We believe it to be that of your son, Christopher.'

In the silence that followed it seemed as though time was coming to a slow, soupy halt. Distantly Charlotte heard a door open and it seemed to give her the momentum to ask, 'Why do you think it's Chris?'

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