Page 20 of The Mother-in-Law

‘May we come in?’ Jones asks.

I move back out of the doorway and Jones and Housseini step into the front hall.

‘Nice place,’ Jones says.

‘Thank you,’ I say, though it isn’t especially nice. ‘What can I do for you, Detectives?’

A wedding photo catches Jones’s eye and she pauses briefly to look at it. ‘This is a nice picture,’ she says. ‘Is that your mother-in-law?’

She points to Diana, standing to Ollie’s left in the picture. ‘Yes. That’s Diana.’

‘I imagine it’s a hard time for you all. Were you very close?’

Jones continues looking at the picture, seemingly uninvested in the answer.

‘It’s complicated.’

‘Isn’t it always?’ Jones smiles. ‘My ex’s mother was a real piece of work. I could barely be in the same room with the miserable old cow. It killed my marriage in the end. So how about you? How was it complicated for you?’

‘Oh, you know. Just complicated.’

Jones and Housseini pick their way down the hall, pausing to look at the photos that dot the walls.

‘Did you spend much time together as a family?’ Jones continues. ‘Birthdays, Christmases, that kind of thing?’

I think of the last Christmas we spent together. The ugly words, the gnarled faces, the screaming over the turkey. It wasn’t exactly a Hallmark commercial.

‘I’m sorry, did you say which unit you were from?’ I ask. For a moment I feel like a character out ofLaw & Order SVU, which is, of course, my only point of reference for police showing up on the doorstep.

‘We’re from homicide,’ Jones says evenly.

‘Lucy?’ Ollie calls from the next room. ‘Who is it?’

I take a deep breath and walk into the living room. Jones and Housseini are at my heels. The back door is wide open and Edie seems to have disappeared—a ball must have landed in our yard. Edie adores nothing more than throwing a ball back over the fence.

Ollie stands up, confused.

‘It’s the police,’ I say.

Housseini approaches Ollie and extends a hand. ‘You must be Oliver Goodwin?’

‘Ollie,’ Ollie says, shaking Housseini’s hand.

I see Ollie through the police’s eyes. He looks like hell. He’s wearing navy trackpants and a maroon rugby jumper, his hair is a shambles, his skin has a grey tinge to it. It reminds me of the way he used to look when our kids were newborns and not sleeping, when he would appear in the doorway and beg to go back to sleep ‘just for half an hour’, despite the fact thatIwas the one who’d been up most of the night.

‘I’m Detective Senior Constable Jones and this is Detective Constable Housseini,’ Jones says. ‘We have a few questions, if you don’t mind.’

‘Questions about what?’ Ollie asks.

There’s a pause, then Jones gives a slight chuckle. ‘Uh, about your mother’s death?’

Ollie’s eyes shoot to me and I shrug. Finally, after a second or two, he gestures for the cops to sit down. They do, on the couch.

‘So what can we do for you?’ I ask, sitting beside Ollie. ‘Do you have any more information about Diana’s death?’

‘We don’t have the coroner’s report yet,’ Jones says, ‘but we’ll have it soon. In the meantime, we’re still gathering information. You mentioned to Senior Constable Arthur and Constable Perkins that your mother had cancer, is that correct?’

‘It is,’ I say, when Ollie fails to reply. ‘Diana had breast cancer.’