All the Rage

She doesn't invite us to sit down, so we stand awkwardly on the narrow strip of carpet between the seats and the glass-topped coffee table.

`˜Was your daughter here last night, Mrs Appleford?'

She nods.

`˜All night?'

`˜Yes. She didn't go out.'

`˜So you saw her at breakfast?'

Another nod.

`˜What time was that?' asks Somer, slipping her notebook discreetly from her jacket.

The woman wraps her arms about herself. I'm trying not to draw conclusions from her body language, but she's not making it easy. `˜About 7.45, I think. I left with Nadine just before 8.00, but Faith had a later start today. She'd have left around 9.00 to get the bus.'

So she doesn't actually know what her daughter did this morning. Just because something always happens, doesn't mean it always will.

`˜Nadine's your daughter too?' asks Somer.

The woman nods. `˜I drop her off at school on my way to work. I'm a receptionist at the doctor's in Summertown.'

`˜And Faith?'

`˜She goes to the FE college in Headington. That's why she gets the bus. It's in the opposite direction.'

`˜Did you have any contact with Faith during the day today?'

`˜I texted her about tennish but she didn't reply. It was just a link to an article about Meghan Markle. You know, the wedding. The dress. Faith's interested in all that. She's doing Fashion. She has real talent.'

`˜And that was unusual `“ that she didn't reply, I mean?'

The woman considers then shrugs. `˜I suppose so, yes.'

My turn again. `˜Does she have a boyfriend?'

Her eyes narrow a little. `˜No. Not at the moment.'

`˜But she would tell you `“ if she did?'

She gives me a sharp look. `˜She doesn't keep secrets from me, if that's what you're getting at.'

`˜I'm sure she doesn't,' says Somer, placatory. `˜We're just trying to work out who might have done this `“ if it could have been someone she knew `“'

`˜She doesn't have a boyfriend. She doesn't want a boyfriend.'

There's a silence.

Somer glances across at Ev. Why don't you have a try.

`˜Were you here,' Ev says, `˜when the cabbie brought her back?'

The woman looks at her then nods. `˜I wouldn't be, normally. But I'd forgotten my reading glasses so I popped back.'

Ev and Somer exchange another glance. I suspect I know what they're thinking: if Mrs Appleford hadn't chanced to be at home the girl might well have tried to hide what happened from her as well. As for me, I'm more and more convinced Ev is right: there's definitely something off here.

I take a step closer. `˜Do you know why Faith has decided not to talk to us, Mrs Appleford?'

She bridles. `˜She doesn't want to. That should be enough, shouldn't it?'

`˜But if she was raped `“'

`˜She wasn't raped.' Her tone is unequivocal. Absolute.

`˜How can you be so sure?'

Her face hardens. `˜She told me. Faith told me. And my daughter is not a liar.'

`˜I'm not saying that. Not at all.' She's not looking at me now. `˜Look, I know rape investigations can be traumatic `“ I wouldn't blame anyone for being daunted by that prospect `“ but it's not like it used to be. We have properly trained officers `“ DC Everett `“'

`˜It wasn't rape.'

`˜I'm very glad to hear it `“ but we may still be looking at a serious crime. Assault, Actual Bodily Harm `“'

`˜How many more times? There was no crime and she is not going to press charges. So please, will you people just leave us alone?'

She looks round at us, one after the other. She wants us to start leaving, to say Faith can contact us if she changes her mind. But we don't. I don't.

`˜Your daughter was missing for over two hours,' says Ev gently. `˜From 9.00 to just after 11.00, when Mr Mullins saw her wandering along the Marston Ferry Road in a terrible state `“ crying, her clothes all muddy, her shoe broken. Something must have happened.'

Mrs Appleford flushes. `˜I gather it was an April Fool. Just a silly joke that got a bit out of hand.'

But no one in the room believes that. Not even her.

`˜If it really was just a prank,' I say eventually, `˜then I would like Faith herself to confirm that, please. But if it wasn't, the person who did this to Faith may do it again. Another girl could suffer the same trauma your daughter has just been through. I can't believe you'd want that. Either of you.'

Mrs Appleford holds my gaze. It's not exactly checkmate, but I want to make it damn hard for her to refuse.

`˜Faith is here at the moment, I assume?'

`˜Yes,' she says at last. `˜She's out in the garden.' For fresh air? For a smoke? Just to get away from all this damn purple? Frankly, I'm with her on all three.

Mrs Appleford takes a deep breath. `˜Look, I'll go and ask if she wants to talk to you, but I'm not going to force it. If she says no, then that's her decision.'

It's better than nothing.

`˜Fair enough. We'll wait here.'

When the door's closed behind her I start to wander around the room. The pictures are Impressionists'. Monet mostly. Ponds, water lilies, that sort of thing. Call me a cynic, but I suspect they were probably the only ones on offer in the right shade of mauve.

`˜I'd love to go to that place,' says Ev, gesturing towards one of the bridge at Giverny. `˜It's on the bucket list if I win the lottery. And can find someone to go with.' She makes a face. `˜Along with the Taj Mahal and Bora Bora, of course.'

Somer looks up and smiles; she's by the mantelpiece, scrutinizing the family photos. `˜Mine too. The Bora Bora bit, anyway.'

I see Ev give Somer a meaningful look that leaves her smiling again and glancing away when she sees I've noticed.

Ev turns to me. `˜I think it might be a good idea if I went looking for the loo. If you catch my drift.'

I nod and she slips quickly out of the room, and almost at once there's the sound of footsteps in the hall and Diane Appleford reappears.

`˜She's prepared to talk `“'

`˜Thank you.'

`˜But only to a woman,' she continues. `˜Not to you.'

I look towards Somer, who nods. `˜It's fine with me, sir.'

I return to the woman and adopt my most charming `˜only here to serve' smile. `˜I quite understand, Mrs Appleford. I'll wait for my colleagues in the car.'

* * *

Ev pauses at the top of the stairs. To her left, the bathroom door is open. White tiles, a heavy plastic shower curtain and a strong smell of bleach. The towels, she notices (neatly folded, unlike the ones in her own flat), are the same colour as the mauve downstairs. It's starting to become a Thing.

Facing her are three more doors, two of them open. A master bedroom with a satin bedspread (no prizes for guessing the colour), and what Ev decides must be the younger daughter's. A jumble of clothes and trainers left where they fell. A duvet carelessly dragged across, a scatter of soft toys, a make-up bag. She crosses as quietly as possible to the closed third door, giving silent thanks for the thickness of the carpet. She could never have anything like that in her flat `“ the cat would have it for breakfast. He loves `˜shreddies'.

The room that opens before her is the polar opposite of the other sister's. Cupboards neatly closed, nothing escaping from the chests of drawers. Even the pile of Grazias is neatly stacked. But that's not what Ev is looking at; it's not what anyone in this room would look at. The whole space is dominated by a pinboard stretching across the full length of the far wall, festooned from top to bottom with pictures cut from glossy magazines, little plastic bags of brightly coloured beads and buttons, hanks of yarn, swatches of material, bits of lace and fake fur, notes written in thick red pen on Post-its and, in among it all, a scatter of sketches which must be by Faith herself. Everett's hardly the one to ask about clothes but even she can see the flair in some of these. How Faith has taken a small detail and made a whole outfit turn on it `“ the shape of a heel, the hang of a fabric, the fall of a sleeve.