I just couldn’t face it, thinks Diane. The forms, the grief, the mother’s inevitable protest. I wanted to be the good guy, for a change. That child was happy—she was sure of it. Absolutely certain.

“I decided there was no need for intervention. So the procedure was irrelevant. That’s all.”

Belinda’s voice is low and dark. It cuts like tiny knives. “The procedure was irrelevant? Not even an incident form, a statement from the mother?”

Hearing Belinda say it, she realizes how very unprofessional it sounds. She sinks into her chair and rests her arms on the desk, allows her head to droop momentarily.

“I’m not very well, Belinda.” It comes out whiny, like a child declaring that she has a tummy-ache.

The other woman snorts, implying that Diane is pathetic. Fair enough, thinks Diane; what kind of an excuse is that, for a grown-up?

“Well, I hope you have the contact details at the very least.”

Diane presses a tissue to her streaming nose. “Of course. I was going to pass them on to the service in Sheffield when I had time.”

“I suppose that’s something. Let me see.”

Belinda holds out her hand for the note, then takes it over to her desk. She types for a few seconds.

“Huh. Fake address. Haven’t you checked it?”

“No, I told you. I’ve been snowed under.”

“Fake name too, I’ll bet.”

Diane’s head throbs. She wonders again if it is too soon for another painkiller.

CHAPTER

22

NOW

Joanna

Sunday, December 23

ON THE MOTORWAY, Joanna mused on the particular tragedy of this year’s Christmas, trying to look at the positives. Yes, Ruby had gone AWOL from their lives, and at this time of year it hurt more than usual. She’d been dreading Christmas Day without Ruby, the empty spot at the table sure to bring back memories of the fight the previous year. Marianne would be drunk as usual, Dad would be struggling to keep up the pretense as usual. Jo had hoped that the day after the fight, when Marianne sobered up and learned what her words and actions had brought about, she might seek help in earnest. Instead, she’d sunk further, had progressed from being drunk almost every day to being drunk every day without fail, allowing herself to pour the first measure a fraction earlier each time. Joanna found it hard not to let her anger toward her mother show; Whenever they were together, Jo fantasized about grabbing Marianne’s frail shoulders and shaking her back to sobriety. So, on the upside, it was a relief to have an excuse to duck out.

Atkinson, in the passenger seat, sighed dramatically, breaking Harper’s train of thought.

“Honestly, if people could just choose to try to top each other any other week, it would really help my personal life.”

“Ah, she at home is not happy, I take it?”