She braked and stood astride her cycle, thinking for a moment it was a manikin, someone’s idea of a joke to put the thing there, like those arms sticking out of letter boxes. Calling to alert her friend, she continued to stare at it; taking in the ribbons of dark hair in the water, the curve of an arm, something bright around the wrist, a plastic bottle perhaps, shreds of black plastic obscuring the rest. It was the colour of that arm, a greyish white, like mould on meat, which finally made her realise what she was looking at. That filled her throat with fear and sent shock stinging into her fingers.
Not late, not yet, just nearly. Janine Lewis steered seven-year-old Tom out of the house and towards the car. Day two back at work and it still felt like a Herculean labour to get the kids sorted and herself to the police station on time. It was bound to get easier, wasn’t it? Please? Somebody?
At least baby Charlotte had behaved well for Connie, the nanny, yesterday – not even crying when Janine, her stomach knotted with that back-to-school feeling, had left. The older two, Eleanor and Michael, more or less got themselves ready and out. Eleanor, still neat in her new High School uniform, desperately careful to have all the correct books for each day. Still getting used to the transition. And Michael off to sixth-form college, enjoying the freedom of wearing his own clothes, a flexible timetable and – if the amount of grooming he was doing was any indication – the attention of girls. Michael had reacted badly to his parents’ separation but he seemed to be over the worst now; he’d settled down to his coursework, stopped seeing the other lads who’d been such a bad influence.
Connie came out on the doorstep holding Charlotte. The nanny wore her long hair in a single plait which helped emphasise her Hong Kong origins.
Janine walked back and kissed her baby, nuzzled the fine hair on her head. Charlotte made a little sound, an appreciative murmur.
‘Bye-bye, my best girl,’ Janine told her. Turning to Connie she added, ‘Ring me if there are any problems. I should be back by six unless anything new comes in.’
Her first day back had been deskbound: forms and reports to absorb, catching up on the new initiatives that the police force had introduced since she’d gone on maternity leave, updating her ID pass and parking arrangements and reviewing security procedures in the building. She’d needed that space; her head still felt fuzzy from lack of sleep, her mind cluttered with all the tasks associated with being a mother of four, one of whom was still an infant.
