He nodded. His heart blocked his throat, his vision tilted.
‘Tiger wants a walk,’ she said. He stared at her.
‘Come on, then,’ she said impatiently.
He stood clumsily, grabbed the lead from the hook, keeping his eyes locked on her. The dog, hearing the chink of chain, skittered round the kitchen, winding its body to and fro in anticipation.
Chris opened the back door and the dog darted through. Ann-Marie stepped out afterwards. Chris followed, bent to fit the lead on Tiger and, as he straightened, Ann-Marie slipped her hand into his.
When they got back, the dog shook itself, rain spangled everywhere. Chris hung up his jacket, regarded the clutter. He moved the pots to the dishwasher, opened the cupboard under the sink and got out the dustpan and brush. His face was wet, tears dripping steadily from his nose as he laboured, small huffs of breath shook his shoulders.
He heard Debbie coming downstairs and wiped one sleeve across his eyes, the other across his nose.
She stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped about her waist. ‘The police rang, they’ve arrested Lee Stone.’
He felt his shoulders drop, the crash of relief. Still kneeling, avoiding her gaze.
‘Chris, there are things we have to do. The registrars, for the death certificate, the funeral home…’ she spoke with effort and he could tell she was fighting emotion. Being practical. ‘I can’t do this on my own.’
He bobbed his head. ‘We’ll go first thing.’
He heard a little sharp exhalation – she’d been holding her breath, her turn now for relief.
‘Debbie,’ he halted, his tongue thick, the words like broken stones in his mouth. ‘I can’t… don’t, don’t want to talk,’ he managed.
‘OK.’
‘Just get through this.’ He meant the funeral.
He would come and sit at her side while they watched the registrar use a fountain pen to meticulously enter the facts of their daughter’s death. He would make sure he had cash from the ATM to pay for their copy of the certificate. He would drive with Debbie to the undertakers and choose a coffin and listen while she talked about what clothes they wanted her to be dressed in and when the viewing would be and special mementoes they wanted to put in the coffin. ‘We,’ she would say but in his silence Chris would leave it all up to her. Because none of it mattered. He would stand with her while the small coffin slid from view, shake hands with the rest of the family, the teachers, acknowledge the children’s flowers and poems. He would listen while she dictated the text for the memorial stone. Sit beside her as they were driven home. Walk the dog.
