‘Robert, Robert, there was someone there with Robbie when he died,’ I cried. ‘I’m sure of it. I don’t think he did kill himself, I really don’t.’
As I said the words they brought me relief. It seemed crazy, but I realized I would prefer my son to have been murdered rather than to have taken his own life. It was totally selfish and all to do with guilt, I assumed.
While Robert rinsed the toothpaste from his mouth I explained what had just happened in the room upstairs. How I’d moved the desk on my own, leaving nasty jagged grooves on the polished floor and how these were the only marks on the floor.
‘Don’t you see, Robert, don’t you see? The only way that desk could have been moved to the middle of the room in the first place without marking the floor would have been if two people had carried it, one lifting each end. Robbie couldn’t have carried it on his own. You made it out of solid oak. It would have been far too heavy for him. Anyway, you wouldn’t try to lift it, would you? Not if you were going to... going to...’ I didn’t want to say it.
‘No, if he’d been on his own he’d have dragged the desk across the room,’ I went on. ‘Just like I did.’
Robert wiped his mouth with a towel.
‘But he was always very careful with that floor,’ he ventured tentatively.
‘Not when he was planning to kill himself, surely,’ I blurted out finally. And saying it hurt me terribly again, physically as well as mentally.
‘I don’t know, Marion. I just don’t know. What alternative could there be? Anyway, he was alone here, wasn’t he? While you were at work. Who would have come here? And who could possibly have wanted to harm our Robbie?’
Robert had said the last words in a very distracted sort of way. I could see he was still having difficulty taking anything much in. Or else he was just trying to blot everything out. Or maybe a bit of both.
‘I’m going to call the police,’ I said. ‘This changes everything. I’m sure of it.’
‘It’s only just gone half past seven,’ said Robert. As if that mattered a damn.
‘Since when have the police worked office hours?’ I enquired.
‘Look, you’re clutching at straws, Marion,’ Robert persisted.
‘Am I? There aren’t any straws to clutch. Our son is dead.’
‘I know. But it’s the guilt, isn’t it? Don’t you see? I understand exactly how you feel. I told you. I feel so guilty. If our boy killed himself, we must be responsible. Surely? Me mostly. It was me who created this life we have here. Me who cut us off so much from the rest of the world. I reckon that’s what he couldn’t take.’
He was right about the guilt, but I hadn’t invented the marks on the floor. I was just about to tell him so, when I noticed that tears were rolling down Robert’s cheeks.
My heart melted. I went to his side. How could I ever doubt him, or anything about him?
‘You created a wonderful life for us, Robert,’ I said. ‘Robbie thought it was wonderful too. I’ve just been reading his diary. Our boy didn’t kill himself. I’m absolutely certain of it. The police have to listen to me. And I’m going to make them. I promise you that.’
Four
I found the business card DS Jarvis had given me. It was in the pocket of the jacket I’d been wearing the previous day, which now lay in the middle of our bedroom floor tangled up with the rest of my clothes and Robert’s. It seemed the detective sergeant was stationed at Exeter’s Heavitree Road Police Station.
I dialled the mobile number he’d written on the back.
While I was doing so Robert dressed quickly in jeans and a clean shirt and went downstairs. I loved him dearly, but he’d disappointed me by being so apparently unimpressed by what I considered to be my big discovery, and he seemed to have no wish even to listen to any conversation I might have with the police.
As it turned out there wasn’t much of a conversation to listen to.
I had been vaguely reassured and perhaps a bit impressed to find that Jarvis had supplied me with the number of his mobile phone. I was not so impressed to be patched straight through to a duty officer at Heavitree Road.
He said DS Jarvis was not immediately contactable and all he could do was take a message. Unless he could help at all.
‘Perhaps you would like to tell me what you are calling DS Jarvis about, madam?’ he enquired.
‘No, thank you,’ I said. I knew about duty officers who answered calls to police stations nowadays. They weren’t even police officers any more.
‘Just ask him to call Marion Anderson as soon as he can, will you?’ I said. ‘He has my number, I think. But I’ll leave it again.’
I followed Robert downstairs, still wearing my dressing gown.
Vaguely I wondered why he’d been in such a hurry to dress, on the day after our son had died.
I went into the kitchen, expecting him to be making tea. That was our usual routine. He was the morning tea-maker when he was at home. Though my first cup was normally brought to me in bed.
But Robert wasn’t in the kitchen at all. The Aga was still alight — I could feel the heat from it. However, the big old kettle, almost always simmering away on top when Robert was at home, was not in place. Robbie and I were inclined not to bother with it. That day it seemed Robert hadn’t bothered either. I touched the electric kettle gingerly. It hadn’t even been switched on. But then, this was no normal day. Why on earth should either of us be following any kind of normal routine?
I heard a noise in the hall, and called out.
‘Robert? Are you there, Robert?’
He didn’t reply. I stepped into the long passageway. I could see Robert standing by the front door. He was now wearing outdoor shoes and a waterproof jacket over his jeans and shirt. His hand was on the door handle.
‘Are you going out?’ I asked in surprise.
‘Uh, yes. There’s something I have to do.’
‘What? Today? Now?’ I studied him. The way he was standing. The slightly sheepish manner. He seemed unwilling to look me directly in the eye.
‘Were you going out without even telling me?’ I asked incredulously.
I thought his face, not as ashen as it had been when he returned home but still on the pale side, coloured slightly.
‘No, no, of course not. I was just waiting for you to come down.’
I didn’t think he was telling the truth.
‘Where on earth are you going? What is it you have to do on this morning of all mornings?’
‘I have to take the hire car back.’
‘What? Won’t they pick it up from here? Anyway, does it matter if we keep it another day?’
He stood silently for a moment looking at me.
‘I have to go out,’ he said. ‘I have to be on my own—’
‘But you’ve only just got back. I need you with me. Here. In our home.’
‘You must understand. I just have to have a few hours on my own. And this way I’ll be able to leave you our car in case you want to get out too. I can drop the rental in Okehampton later and get a cab home...’
‘But why don’t I come with you? Follow you in our vehicle. Then I can give you a lift straight back.’
‘Look, I thought I might take a walk up over the moors to Meldon Reservoir, or maybe Yes Tor. I need to clear my head.’