Hope to Die

PENROSE: So you are looking into it then?

FAWLEY: What I can tell you, is that Nigel Ward was categorically not the father of the missing baby. We’ve run the DNA and there’s no question – he was not the father of that child.

PENROSE: So who is?

FAWLEY: That’s what we’re trying to find out. We’re running a familial DNA search but that’s a long and painstaking process and even then may not yield any results. That’s why we hope your viewers will be able to help us. Ms Rowan herself is still insisting that the father was a man called Tim Baker –

PENROSE: Do you really believe that? You’re an experienced police officer, you know how much legwork went into trying to find this man – do you really think he’s out there after all this time?

FAWLEY: I have no idea. But we have to assume he is. Unless and until someone can prove otherwise.

PENROSE: (TURNING TO CAMERA) Thank you, Detective Inspector Fawley. We’ll certainly be keeping in touch with this story as it develops. Back to you, Helen.

HELEN KERRIDGE: Thank you, John. A fascinating story, and one I’m sure we’ll be hearing more of in the coming weeks. And now, Brexit – with the UK and EU still unable to reach an agreement over arrangements for the Irish border, will Theresa May ask for an extension to the transition period?

* * *

‘What did he say when you confronted him?’

Ev and Sargent are in the Ladies. It’s about the only place they can avoid being disturbed, but that’s not why they’re here. They’re here because when Ev came in ten minutes ago she found Sargent at the mirror, reapplying her mascara. She’d clearly been crying.

Sargent sniffs a little now. ‘He denied it all – said he’d had no idea I’d been looking at the trainers – that we must have just come up with the same idea at the same time.’

Ev doesn’t buy that for a minute, but she’s trying to stay neutral. ‘Did you believe him?’

‘Of course I didn’t believe him, the lying little shit.’

She heaves a heavy sigh. Her pretty face looks drawn and pale.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Ev. ‘I’m not sure what to suggest.’

Sargent sighs. ‘It’s fine,’ she says, her voice slightly choked. ‘I just needed to vent at someone. Sorry.’

‘No need to apologize.’ There’s a pause. ‘Do you want me to talk to Gis?’

Sargent shakes her head. ‘I have to fight my own battles.’

‘I know, but he’s a mate – and it’d be less formal coming from me.’

‘There’s no point, is there? I can’t prove anything – I know someone sat on my chair but I can’t prove it was him, and I don’t see how he could have got into my PC.’

‘You definitely had the screen lock on?’

‘Of course – I always do. We had it drummed into us by my first sergeant.’

Ev looks hopeless. ‘Then I’m not sure what else I can do.’

Sargent tries a weak smile. ‘How about buy me a drink? After work?’

Ev checks her watch; it’s gone six. ‘How about right now?’

* * *

Adam Fawley

26 October

20.19

‘It was a bloody disaster – he crucified me.’

The phone’s on speaker but the line’s not good, and the noise on the motorway isn’t helping.

‘Honestly,’ says Alex, ‘everyone thinks that when they see themselves on TV – there was nothing wrong with it.’

I can hear her sshhing now, making little soothing noises. I’m not sure if they’re meant for me or Lily.

‘It was a bloody clusterfuck.’

‘Adam, it wasn’t – really. He’s trained to be a tricky bastard in interviews –’

‘So am I,’ I say with a sigh. ‘Allegedly.’

‘You gave as good as you got. I mean it.’

‘I actually heard myself say “what’s important” – for fuck’s sake. Who do I think I am, Tony bloody Blair?’

She laughs. ‘I didn’t even notice! But maybe there were one too many “unfortunatelys” –’

‘Gee, thanks, that’s all I needed.’

‘Stop it! It was fine – more than fine. You got out the message that you wanted to get out and you didn’t shoot yourself in the foot. If anyone came off badly it was South Mercia.’

I swipe at the phone screen. ITV, BBC, Sky. ‘At least we seem to be getting some decent coverage.’

‘There you are then.’

She starts cooing again. I can hear Lily’s little gurgly laugh.

‘I should only be an hour or so now.’

‘It’s pouring here so be careful – you know what you always say about most accidents being in the first or last ten minutes of a journey –’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘– and you have a meal in the oven and a glass of wine waiting to be poured.’

‘Have I ever told you I love you?’

‘Maybe,’ she says, with laughter in her voice, ‘perhaps once or twice.’

* * *

Sheila Ward goes over to the sideboard and pours herself a brandy. Her hands are trembling and she spills a few drops on to the silver tray. A wedding present from her parents. Nigel always hated it. Said it was just plate, not proper solid silver. Not the ‘real thing’. She remembers the tone he used every time he said it. As if it was her he was really talking about. As if she was substandard goods too. Not the woman he thought he was marrying. Not the real thing.