‘I think you should be wary about being rude to a police officer.’ DI Jones scolds me with her eyes, and I know I need to calm down. ‘Tell me about your relationship with your mother-in-law,’ she pushes. ‘You just said she hated you? Did you hate her back?’

I take a deep breath. ‘I didn’t find her easy, but I worked at it. I thought things were improving between us. That’s why I am so shocked and upset by what has happened.’

DI Sarah Jones sits watching me, face like stone. I hear a buzz in her earpiece.

‘Interview terminated at 20.00 hours,’ she says in a steely voice.

‘You don’t look shocked and upset. We’ll continue this in a few hours. We’ll be interviewing you on and off all night. You’ve got plenty of time to confess.’

150

Miles

We are driving to Aiden’s flat.

‘Where’s our mummy?’ Harry asks.

‘Why can’t we go home? I want to go home,’ Ben whinges.

‘The police are just asking Mummy a few questions,’ I reply as I pull up at the lights. ‘Trying to find out why Granny died. And just checking there’s nothing dangerous at our house. We’ll only have one night at Uncle Aiden’s.’

‘Are they stupid?’ Ben asks. ‘Granny died because she’s old.’

‘The police always check what has happened when someone dies. It’s one of their jobs.’

‘How can they?’ he asks, putting his head on one side. ‘The world population is 7.8 billion. So the police must be very busy.’

When did my older son became so full of facts and opinions? I should be pleased about this as I am a philosopher, but today, upset and jaded, it’s too much for me.

‘The UK police don’t have to patrol the whole world,’ I reply, sighing inside as I park the car.

‘What’s Hayley doing at Jono’s? Why didn’t she come here with us?’ Harry starts.

‘He’s her boyfriend. I expect she just wanted to see him.’

‘He looks like a drip,’ Ben announces.

‘Yes he does,’ Harry chirrups.

‘It isn’t very nice to call someone a drip. Have you met him?’ I ask.

‘We’ve seen him through the window. He’s very thin and wears a lot of jewellery. His hair is purple and sticks out. He has a nose piercing.’

I think about Hayley. So wholesome and appealing, she should star in a cereal advert. And yet her boyfriend is a punk. The memory of her flirting with me by the swimming pool pushes into me. Surely if she likes edgy and interesting, a middle-aged philosophy professor is not her type. And even if I was her type, she isn’t mine. Saffron, you are mine. My heart rotates.

Saffron.