The Husband’s Secret

other.
    ‘Seriously?’ said Lucy. ‘How peculiar. In my day infidelity was a much raunchier affair.’
    ‘I’m ready!’ Liam came running down the hallway.
    ‘For what?’ said Tess.
    ‘To go fly a kite with that teacher. Mr Whatby or whatever his name is.’
    ‘ Connor ,’ breathed Tess, and nearly lost hold of her mother. ‘Shit. What time is it? I’d forgotten.’

    Rachel’s mobile rang just as she got to the end of Rob and Lauren’s street. She pulled the car over to answer it. It was probably Marla, ringing for Janie’s anniversary. Rachel was happy to talk to her. She felt like complaining about Lauren’s perfectly toasted hot cross buns.
    ‘Mrs Crowley?’ It wasn’t Marla. It was a woman’s voice. She sounded like a snooty doctor’s receptionist: nasal and self-important. ‘This is Detective-Sergeant Strout from the Homicide Squad. I meant to call you last night, but I ran out of time, so I thought I would try and catch you this morning.’
    Rachel’s heart leapt. The video. She was calling on a Good Friday. A public holiday. It had to be good news.
    ‘Hello,’ she said warmly. ‘Thank you for calling.’
    ‘Well. I wanted to let you know that we received the video from Sergeant Bellach and we have, er, reviewed it.’ Detective-Sergeant Strout was younger than she first sounded. She was putting on her best professional voice for the call. ‘Mrs Crowley, I understand you may have had high expectations, that you even thought this might have been something of a breakthrough. So I’m sorry if this is disappointing news, but I have to tell you that at this stage we won’t be questioning Connor Whitby again. We don’t think the video justifies it.’
    ‘But it’s his motive,’ said Rachel desperately. She looked through the car windscreen at a magnificent gold-leafed tree soaring up to the sky. ‘Can’t you see that?’ She watched a single gold leaf detach itself and begin to fall, circling rapidly through the air.
    ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Crowley. At this stage there’s really nothing further we can do.’ There was sympathy there, yes, but Rachel could also hear a young professional’s condescension towards an elderly layperson. The victim’s mother. Obviously far too emotional to be objective. Didn’t understand police procedure. Part of the job to try and soothe her .
    Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. The leaf vanished from sight.
    ‘If you’d like me to come around and talk to you after the Easter break,’ said Detective-Sergeant Strout, ‘I’d be happy to make a time that suits.’
    ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Rachel icily. ‘Thank you for the call.’
    She hung up and threw the phone so that it landed on the floor in front of the passenger seat.
    ‘Useless, patronising, miserable little . . .’ Her throat closed up. She turned the keys in the ignition.

    ‘Look at that man’s kite!’ said Isabel.
    Cecilia looked up to see a man on the crest of the hill carrying an enormous kite in the shape of a tropical fish. He was letting it bob about behind him like a balloon.
    ‘It’s like he’s taking his fish for a walk,’ huffed John-Paul. He was leaned over almost double, pushing Polly on her bike, because she’d just complained that her legs had turned to jelly. Polly was sitting upright, wearing a glittery pink helmet and plastic rock-star sunglasses with star-shaped lenses.As Cecilia watched she leaned forward to drink cordial from the purple water bottle she’d packed for herself in the white mesh basket.
    ‘Fish can’t walk,’ said Esther without looking up from her book. She had a remarkable ability to walk and read at the same time.
    ‘You could at least pedal a bit, Princess Polly,’ said Cecilia.
    ‘My legs still feel like jelly,’ said Polly delicately.
    John-Paul grinned at Cecilia. ‘It’s okay. Good workout for me.’
    Cecilia breathed in deeply. There was something comical and wonderful about the sight of the fish-shaped kite swimming jauntily through the air behind the man in front of them. The air smelled sweet. The sun was warm on her back. Isabel was pulling tiny yellow dandelions from hedges and sticking them in between the strands of Esther’s plait. It reminded Cecilia of something. A book or a movie from her childhood. Something to do with a little girl who lived in the mountains and wore flowers in her braid. Heidi?
    ‘Beautiful day!’ called out a man who was sitting on his front porch drinking tea. Cecilia knew