Looking Good Dead

supper?’
    Tom stared at WPC Buckley blankly; supper hadn’t even occurred to him. All he could think about at this moment was the expression on Detective Sergeant Branson’s face, when he had pointed out on the CCTV film the dickhead who had been on the train.
    The strangely clipped response when he’d asked him if he knew who the man was: Yes. We do.
    And then the detective’s refusal to say any more about him.
    Turning to the WPC, Tom said distractedly, ‘Yes, thank you, that would be fine.’
    ‘There are some bits in the fridge – tomatoes, lettuce, radishes. I could knock up a salad.’
    ‘Great,’ he said.
    Lady came bounding in through the dog flap, looked at Tom and barked once, then wagged her tail, right as rain again.
    ‘Are you hungry, Lady?’ Tom asked.
    She barked again, then looked at him expectantly.
    ‘I don’t like salad!’ Max protested.
    ‘I only like Mummy’s salad!’ Jessica said in a kind of solidarity.
    ‘This is Mummy’s salad,’ Tom retorted. ‘She bought it.’
    ‘But she’s not making it, is she?’ Max said.
    ‘This very nice lady is going to make it instead.’ Tom picked up the dog’s bowl and began to fill it with dried biscuits. Then he opened a can of her food. The vet had been unable to say what was wrong with the dog – probably just a bug, she thought. The detective had asked her whether she might have been drugged and the vet had responded it was possible. She would need to send a blood sample to the lab foranalysis and it would take several days. Branson had asked her to do this.
    ‘I’ve found some very yummy lemon ice cream in the freezer,’ the WPC said breezily. ‘You could have ice cream afterwards!’
    ‘I want Mummy’s ice cream,’ Max said.
    ‘I want chocolate, or strawberry,’ Jessica demanded.
    Tom exchanged glances with the police officer. She was in her mid-thirties, he guessed, with short blonde hair, a pleasant, open face and a warm but efficient nature. She seemed like someone who could cope with most situations. He gave her a whatever shrug, set the bowl down on the floor, then turned to Max.
    ‘It is Mummy’s ice cream. OK?’
    Max looked up at him with big round eyes but they seemed completely devoid of expression. Tom could not read them, could not figure out exactly how his son was feeling. Or his daughter.
    Or himself.
    He desperately wanted to quiz Jessica some more about the vodka she claimed Kellie drank. What the hell was that all about?
    ‘I don’t like lemon ice cream,’ Jessica said.
    Tom knelt and put his arms around her. ‘We don’t have any other flavours tonight. I’ll get you chocolate and strawberry for tomorrow – how’s that?’
    There was no reaction from his daughter.
    ‘Give Daddy a hug, darling. I need a hug.’
    ‘When will Mummy be home?’
    He hesitated for a moment, wondering what he should say. The truth, that he just didn’t know? Or a white lie? The lie was easier.
    ‘Soon.’ He scooped his daughter up in his arms. ‘Bath time?’
    ‘I want Mummy to bath me.’
    ‘She might not be back until quite late, so Daddy’s going to bath you tonight. OK?’
    She looked away sulkily. In the living room he heard the volume of the television rise: tinkly music, the sound of car tyres squealing, a high-pitched American voice protesting about something. Max was watching The Simpsons . Good. At least that would keep him occupied until supper – or should he give him a bath, too?
    He suddenly realized how little he knew about the kids’ routines,about anything to do with the house. Dark, cold mist and a terrible fear engulfed him from within. Tomorrow morning he had to make a major presentation to Land Rover. Their marketing director was talking about a massive contract. If Kellie did not come back tonight, he just didn’t know how he was going to cope with it.
    Oh God, my sweet, lovely Kellie, please be OK, please come back. I love you so much.
    At the top of the stairs, he carried Jessica into her bedroom then closed the door behind him and sat her down on the bed. He sat beside her.
    ‘Jessica, can Daddy ask you about something you said this morning about Mummy? I said we would ask Mummy what she would like to do today if she came back in time, and you said, “She’ll probably just want to drink vodka.” Remember?’
    Jessica stared silently ahead.
    ‘Do you remember saying that, darling?’
    Pouting grumpily she said, ‘You drink vodka, too.’
    ‘Yes, I do. But why did you say