The officer who came into Vivienne’s sitting room was young enough that I briefly wondered whether he had ever had to tell someone a thing they couldn’t survive hearing.
Then he spoke to Beth with such quiet patience that I was ashamed of the thought.
He asked whether there was anyone she wanted contacted. Beth named a cousin. Priya wrote down the number at her request.
Vivienne stood behind her chair.
“She was with us. This whole evening.”
The officer nodded without writing that down yet.
“I’ll speak to everyone.”
He took names, asked who lived at the house and established that we had been meeting there. Outside, another car arrived. Light moved across the curtains.
“A book club?” he asked.
“Every Thursday,” Vivienne said. “It’s been going for years.”
“What were you reading?”
“Nothing particularly memorable.”
He glanced at the coffee table. Five different books lay among cups and abandoned plates.
I wished one of them could account for us.
“And everyone was here throughout the evening?”
“We were all here,” Vivienne said.
Beth held her untouched water. Priya sat forward. Celia had stopped offering tea.
I looked at the notebook in the officer’s hand.
“Not throughout.”
Vivienne turned towards me.
“There were times when I couldn’t see everyone,” I added.
The officer looked at me, not at her.
“We’ll go through that separately.”
It was almost a relief to be told to stop. I did not want to turn a room full of frightened people into a discussion in which the strongest voice supplied everyone else’s memory.
The officer asked us not to compare detailed accounts while arrangements were made to speak individually. Vivienne opened her mouth, then closed it.
I went into the kitchen to ring Tom.
He answered on the second ring.
“Nora? What’s happened? There are police outside.”
“Martin’s dead.”
The line went quiet.
“What?”
I repeated it. My own voice sounded strange, ordinary words being used for an impossible purpose.
“Are you all right?”
“I wasn’t there. We were at Vivienne’s.”
“I’m coming.”
“Stay with Poppy. I’ll ring again.”
This time he didn’t argue. He asked whether I needed anything brought over. I looked down at my sleeves and realised I was cold.
“No. Thank you.”
Afterwards, I stood by the sink. The teapot we’d filled earlier still had a little water in it. A strip of lemon peel lay on the draining board. Nothing about the room acknowledged that our evening had split in two.
Vivienne came as far as the doorway.
“I only meant we were together.”
I turned.
“Then let each of us explain what that means.”
She looked hurt, which made the conversation harder than if she’d been angry.
“Beth doesn’t need people picking holes in everything.”
“She needs us to be accurate.”
“Of course.”
Neither of us moved.
Then the officer appeared behind her and asked if I could speak with his colleague. Vivienne stepped aside.
In the dining room, I gave my name again. I described arriving early, the conversation before the others came, the books. When asked about Martin, I explained that I had seen him during the week and that he had called at my house.
“Tonight?”
“Saturday the seventeenth. And Thursday the eighth of October.”
When we reached Celia’s departure, I said she had gone to collect a present. I described seeing her after Tom sent the photograph of Poppy.
“That doesn’t mean she’d only just returned,” I said.
“No. It means that’s when you saw her.”
I nodded.
“Is the photograph still on your phone?”
“Yes.”
I showed him the message without scrolling through Beth’s conversation. He noted what he needed and handed it back. Poppy’s crooked crown filled the screen, absurdly cheerful in the dining room’s flat light.
“She’s eight,” I said, although he hadn’t asked.
“Someone with her?”
“Her dad.”
“Good.”
I locked the phone. It helped to answer a question whose truth had no uncertain edges. My child was at home. Tom was with her. At that time on that screen, Celia had been offering me milk. I could give him those things without claiming they explained the rest of the evening.
He asked if there was anything I’d remembered since we started talking. I said no, then paused to be sure I wasn’t saying it simply because I wanted to leave.
The distinction steadied me.
I did not know where every person had been every minute. I had never expected to need to. I said so, and the officer wrote without impatience.
When I returned to the sitting room, Beth’s cousin was on the telephone to her. Priya had found a charger. Celia sat with her hands folded, looking at nothing.
Vivienne’s red notebook was still on the table.
She drew it towards her, then stopped when she saw me watching.
For a moment we looked at one another across the books.
Neither of us spoke.