Chapter 32

THIRTY-TWO

Joanna planned to go to the apartment the very next day, but first she needed to check on Eliza.

Up at ridiculous o'clock that morning, she'd been the first one in to ITU, relieved not to find that Annabelle had got there before her. Already on first name terms with some of the nurses, she was pleased to see her favourite on duty.

‘Jenny, hi.'

‘Morning, Joanna. You're in early. How did the funeral go?'

She took a deep breath and held out her hands. ‘Difficult. But there were lots of people there which was lovely. How was her night?'

‘Very good. You can see on the chart. She had a little breathing difficulty, but it was only a two and she sorted herself out, didn't you, precious?'

They'd explained to Joanna the scale of one to four they used to record oxygen levels and heart rate – one signifying a drop that the baby is able to sort it out for themselves and four signifying that a nurse had had to intervene – and she knew this was to be expected, but still she worried. ‘Is she okay now?'

Jenny seemed reassuringly unconcerned. ‘Perfectly. She's a model patient. While it's quiet, I'm just going over there to have a cuddle with one of the little ones whose mum can't come in today. Do you want me to lift baby out for you first?'

Holding Eliza was the exact medicine she needed this morning. ‘Yes, please.'

She would never cease to be amazed at the skill and care of these nurses as they looked after these fragile little birds. Eliza felt like nothing and yet everything as she received her into her arms. Jenny slipped her hands away and checked all the wires were in the right place. ‘There you go. One grandaughter ready for cuddles.'

Feeling a little more confident now, Joanna ran her finger gently around Eliza's face, avoiding the edges of the oxygen mask. ‘Your mummy used to like this, Eliza. It used to send her to sleep.'

Jenny paused on her way to the cot opposite and turned back. ‘Eliza? You decided on a name?'

‘Her mummy decided on a name. I found out yesterday.'

She didn't know how much the other nurses knew about her situation. They must know that there was a social worker involved, but no one had spoken to her directly. ‘Eliza. I like that. I'll make sure everyone knows.'

She watched Jenny pick up the baby opposite, holding them in the crook of her arm, rocking gently side to side and singing a song in her own language. These nurses couldn't possibly be paid enough for what they did for these babies, these families. How grateful she was for them.

Joanna couldn't imagine not wanting to be here every minute that you could. ‘Does that happen often? That parents don't come in?'

Jenny tilted her head and smiled. ‘It's life, isn't it? If you've got other children and your partner is at work. You can't be in two places at once. And some of our parents live a distance away. It can be very difficult for them.'

Life was difficult. And confusing. And hard. She leaned towards Eliza in her arms and whispered softly. ‘Granny's here for you, Eliza. Always.'

She only prayed that she would be allowed to be.

She stayed at the hospital until around lunchtime when all the parents who were there were asked to step out for a while because one of the babies had a visit from the doctor. She could tell from the white faces of the baby's parents that this might not be good news and she sent up a silent prayer for them as she left. Alongside one of thanks for Eliza's progress.

It'd seemed a good time to make the visit to Charlotte's flat.

The apartment was part of a modern complex. On the ground floor was a coffee shop, a shared workspace and a small gym. The corridors were carpeted and had the feel of a mid-budget hotel. Freddie and Charlotte's apartment was one of four on the second floor. Though Charlotte had given her a spare key to look after when she moved in, this was the first time she'd used it.

Vanilla. The scent hit her the moment she stepped into the small entrance hall. A reed diffuser on a small wooden table an emotional tripwire of Charlotte's favourite scent. Already, a surge of grief washed over her.

The hall had been repainted a pale blue since she was here last but was otherwise the same. It was too much to look in the sitting room yet. The scene of the crime. She'd work her way up to it. The small kitchen was clean and tidy. Of course, no one else had been here since the police had taken both Charlotte and Freddie to different locations.

She hesitated at the doorway to their bedroom before pushing open the door. It felt intimate and intrusive to enter the room Charlotte had shared with Freddie. The bed was unmade – no surprise there – and there was a pile of shoes in the corner. Again, no shock to see that her daughter's messy nature hadn't changed from when she lived at home. Before she could think, instinct made her reach for the duvet and shake it flat. When she did so, a familiar friend from Charlotte's childhood made her gasp. Lopsy.

When Joanna discovered that she was expecting a baby, her mother had insisted that she knit her something. Joanna wasn't keen on woollen baby clothes, so they'd agreed on a toy rabbit pattern. Sadly, her mother's desire greatly exceeded her talent. And the poor orange bunny had a lopsided face to match its different size legs. She picked Lopsy up to take home for Eliza.

Freddie's side of the room looked much neater. On his bedside table, a fishing magazine and half a glass of water. On Charlotte's, a clutch of used cotton wool balls fought for space with her contact lens case, a paperback thriller with pages swollen – she knew – from being read in the bath, a bottle of nail polish and three silver bracelets. Joanna pressed her hand to her chest. How could these remnants of her life be here when she wasn't? She wanted to take the whole thing home and encase it in glass as a shrine to the daughter who would never again walk between the bathroom and the bedroom telling her all about her night out while scrubbing at her black eyeliner and mascara.

There was nothing here that gave any insight into what had happened. It was time to face the sitting room.

Even more than the kitchen and the bedroom, the sitting room was evidence that this was Charlotte's home. Everywhere she looked, the marks of Charlotte's touch. Where before there'd been a designer but stark navy sofa, now it was softened with mustard and teal cushions. Behind that, the dining table – which from memory had been a glass oval with chrome and leather chairs – had been replaced with an oak square and cream velvet backed chairs. Everything was softer. More feminine. More Charlotte.

On the wall, a copy of Joanna's most favourite photograph in the world. She wasn't in it because she'd taken it. At Aldeburgh beach. Charlotte was about eight and shrieking with horror at the icy wave that had lapped at her skinny legs. Steve had turned at the same moment and was watching her, the love and pride in his eyes clear for anyone to see. Though the original picture was in colour, Charlotte had printed it in black and white. The contrast served to sharpen their expressions. Clarify their joy in each other's company.

‘Oh, Steve. Why aren't you here. I can't do this on my own.'

She let her face fall into her hands. What was she doing here? There was nothing to be gained from torturing herself like this. Shaking her head, she crossed the room to look out of the window onto the street below, pushing aside the heavy blue curtain.

On the windowsill there was a gift bag, the tissue scrunched. She peered inside. A tiny knitted rabbit, in yellow and white. Around its neck a ribbon and tag. She read it aloud until her voice faltered. ‘Here's a bunny for our baby, just like yours. I can't wait to meet him or her. You'll be the best mum in the world. I love you. Freddie.'

Tears made the last words swim in front of her eyes. How could a man who did something like this have hurt the woman he loved? Did she need to give Freddie a chance? She picked up the bag and dropped Lopsy in as well; she'd take both for Eliza.

She was locking the front door behind her when the next door along opened onto the corridor and a neighbour emerged from his flat. He jumped when he saw Joanna standing there. ‘Hello. Are you moving in?'

She shook her head. ‘No. This is my daughter's flat.'

Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, he looked clean and respectable, probably in his late thirties, early forties. He tilted his head to one side. ‘You're Charlotte's mum? How is she?'

This was the first time she'd had to say it out loud. The words were lumpy in her throat. ‘Charlotte passed away a few days ago.'

His eyes widened and he paled in front of her. ‘Passed away? But what…I mean…I just thought it was a domestic.'

A domestic? Did he know something? ‘Didn't the police speak to you? They said they'd spoken to all of the neighbours.'

He rubbed at the stubble on his chin, flicked his eyes to the ground and back again. ‘Like I said, I just thought it was a domestic. Not worth mentioning.' An expression of genuine sorrow ran across his eyes. ‘I liked Charlotte a lot. She was a nice girl.'

Joanna reached for her throat to keep it still. ‘She was. I miss her very much.'

He glanced down at his feet again. ‘Look, I don't know if you know this already, but there was another man. I think I've seen them before. When Freddie wasn't home.'

Joanna stifled her anger that he hadn't mentioned any of this to the police. It was more important that she find out whatever she could. ‘Are you sure?'

‘I mean, I'm not saying there was anything going on but…' He frowned down at his feet, scuffing the sole of one of his shoes back and forth on the carpet.

She waited for him to go on, sensing that an interruption might stop him talking altogether.

She didn't have to wait long. ‘The thing is, they were here that night. I was stretching after my run when I saw them park their car – a white sports car – and then I saw them going into the apartment when I made it upstairs to the landing.'

Her heart was thumping in her chest. What had Freddie said? There was someone else. ‘Did you tell the police this?'

He shook his head. ‘No. I thought Charlotte was going to be okay…But I did hear some shouting shortly afterwards. Although I don't know if Freddie had got home by that point.'

She wanted to scream at him. How often did this happen in houses around the country, around the world? People turning a deaf ear to a ‘domestic'. Not wanting to get involved in other people's business even if they could save them from horrendous things. ‘Would you tell the police that now?'

He resumed the scuffing of his sole on the carpet. ‘I don't know. I don't know anything for certain, I don't see how it would help.'

‘But it might. And my daughter…' she had to stop and regain control of her voice before she could continue, ‘my daughter deserves justice for what happened to her.'

He stared at her, then nodded. ‘Okay. I'll try to remember as much as I can. But I wouldn't be able to recognise him. I only ever saw him from behind.'

Joanna didn't know what good it would do, but at least it was something. A lead. A possibility of evidence.

Walking back to the car, she ran this piece of information through a million possibilities. Had Charlotte been seeing someone else? Is that what Freddie meant by ‘there's someone else'? Had this been an act of jealousy on Freddie's part? Or this other man? She stopped in her tracks when a new, important possibility hit her. Was the baby even Freddie's?

There had to be someone who knew who this man was who visited Charlotte. She needed to call Lucy and find out if she or Rachael knew who he was. And she wanted to find this friend of Freddie's too. Dominic. He must know something.