She struggled to her feet, switched off the light and curled up in a ball on the sofa.

31

Christmas Day 2013

It was dark when Lou woke, the bones in her arms and legs fused by the cold. She lay perfectly still, attempting to unravel the events of the previous evening into manageable strands. They resisted, springing back into a tangled mass of confusion. She turned on the lamp and blinked. Like a boxer coming around on the canvas after a knock-out blow, she was punch drunk, dazed, numb.

Unfurling her body, she sat up, rested her elbows on her knees and let her head hang. It was Christmas Day. She would have laughed at the irony if only her funny bone hadn’t been amputated in her sleep.

She picked up the phone and dialled the number on the card the senior officer had left on the table. She asked after Stephen, and while the man on the other end of the line went away to check, she went through to the kitchen. Balancing the phone between her ear and shoulder, she filled the kettle and switched it on. An inspection of the tea caddy and fridge revealed only the dust of old tea bags and a dribble of sour milk, a week past its use by date.

The man returned. ‘Your brother’s been remanded to go up before the magistrate the day after tomorrow. Don’t bother laying him a place at the table. Looks like he’ll be eating his turkey sandwiches with us. Sorry.’

He didn’t sound sorry. Lou asked if she should get Stephen a solicitor. No need, the duty brief was working on his case. Could she visit him?

‘It’s not The Savoy, love. We don’t lay on afternoon tea for guests.’

Lou chucked the phone down on the table. Steam rose from the kettle, and the water rumbled as it came to the boil. Her stomach growled. She scavenged a couple of stale crackers from a tin in the cupboard.

The clock on the oven flashed seven-thirty. With any luck, Dean had been asleep at his mate’s by the time the police ransacked the house. None of their neighbours had bothered to knock on the door to see if she was ok, but they would have wasted no time in posting videos of Stephen’s arrest on the net. Lou rescued the phone from where it had landed in a pizza box and wiped it on her jeans. Dean wouldn’t thank her for waking him, but it was better than him finding out about Stephen through social media.

She dialled Dean’s number and waited.

‘Hello, Dean’s phone,’ a stranger’s voice said. It sounded too old to be one of Dean’s mates. In a split second, a barrage of awful images vied for position in Lou’s head. Dean had been in an accident. This was an A&E doctor answering his phone. Dean was hurt. He was …

‘Hello?’ the man said again. There was something familiar about his voice.