Free The Surrogate by Tania Carver Page B

get on Claire Fielding. She checked her notes once more. ‘What about Julie Simpson?’

    ‘What about her?’

    ‘Anything happened to her recently that strikes you as out of the ordinary?’

    Emma Nicholls frowned in thought. Shook her head. ‘Nothing . . . No. Nothing.’

    ‘Any enemies?’

    ‘Enemies?’ Emma Nicholls looked round the room as if unable to believe what she had just heard. ‘She was a primary school teacher, not a . . . an international terrorist.’

    ‘No,’ said Anni, ‘but she’s also just been murdered.’

    Emma Nicholls’ face fell. Her head nodded forward. ‘No,’ she said to the floor, ‘no enemies. She was liked in this school. Well liked.’

    ‘No . . .’ Anni tried to be tactful, ‘liaisons? Anything like that? Something that could go wrong?’

    ‘No. Nothing at all. Nothing.’

    Anni nodded. There were at least two people she thought would be able to help her more than the professionally guarded Emma Nicholls. ‘Chrissie Burrows, Geraint Cooper,’ she said. ‘Where could I find them, please?’

    Emma Nicholls made arrangements for Anni to see them. Anni put her notebook away, rose to go, thanked the head teacher for her time.

    ‘Not at all. I just wish I could have been more help.’

    ‘You’ve been fine.’

    Emma Nicholls put her hand on Anni’s arm, stopped her from leaving. ‘There is one more thing. Perhaps you were right.’

    Anni frowned. ‘About what?’

    ‘Ryan Brotherton. I know I said it was over between them. But I got the impression . . . and again this is just conjecture, not fact . . . I got the impression that it may have been over but it wasn’t quite finished. Do you know what I mean?’

    ‘I do. Some people are like that,’ said Anni.

    ‘Men in particular,’ said Emma Nicholls.

14

    C aroline Eades pointed the BMW 4x4 towards Stanway, drove out of the city centre. As she took it round the roundabout and down the Lexden Road, she felt once again that she wasn’t just driving a car but manoeuvring a tank. She knew all her friends at the gym were jealous, told her how much they loved it, but she hated it. She wished she had never let Graeme buy it for her.

    Her lunch had passed in a pleasant enough way, the same as it always did. Her friends were good company and it was always fun to catch up with the gossip. The Life café on Culver Street West wasn’t Starbucks or Caffè Nero, and when it was her turn, she always insisted they went there. Everyone else went to the chains because they thought they were somewhere to be seen. And because they had the same menu all day every day in every branch and you knew what you were getting. But Caroline found that boring, depressing even. She preferred Life. And the others went along with her.

    With original art for sale on the walls and iMac internet access, Life was individual, a one-off, and it made her feel like an individual going there. It was bright and airy and the coffee and cakes were good. Not that she allowed herself cakes all that often. She had compromised: a slice of rocky road with the marshmallows removed. Well, most of them.

    She turned off the Lexden Road before it became London Road, feeling her arms ache as she spun the wheel - even with the power steering it was a beast to manage - and headed towards her estate. It was starting to feel like home now. She had moved there nearly two years ago from a small but very pleasant house in St Mary’s, an area over the walkway from the Mercury Theatre, just outside the town’s wall. Bordered to the west by Crouch Street, and on the east by the wall, it had the feel of a little village within the town, but the nearness to the centre meant it wasn’t too cut off. Broad Street also had its delis, designer clothes shops, restaurants, pubs and furniture shops, all adding to the feel. However, like so much of the town, it had become choked by new apartment blocks and she took that as her sign to leave. By then it was just another