Free Letters To My Daughter's Killer by Cath Staincliffe Page B

just audible above the liquidizer.
    Florence has her hands pointedly over her ears.
    ‘Let Kay get it,’ I say to Jack when he moves to go.
    We hear voices, male, more than one. Not Tony, I can tell his voice anywhere.
    I pour the frothy yellow drink into a plastic cup.
    ‘Can I have a straw?’ Florence says.
    ‘The bits might clog it up,’ I say, ‘but you can try.’
    The visitors come into the kitchen with Kay. Police officers. Jackets wet with raindrops.
    ‘Mr Jack Tennyson,’ one of them says.
    ‘Yes,’ Jack says, looking to see what they want.
    They both hold up their ID cards. And the one who spoke, plump, fair-haired, introduces them. PC Curtis and PC Simmons.
    They must have news! Have they found you? I lean against the worktop to steady myself, intent on whatever is coming next. I’m waiting, eager, poised, holding my breath. The men move further into the room past Florence to Jack at the end of the table. Then PC Curtis speaks again. ‘Jack Tennyson, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Lizzie Tennyson, on the twelfth of September 2009 . . .’
    Shock jolts through me, stealing my breath.
    Jack jumps to his feet, his face white with shock, shouting, ‘No!’
    Florence flies to reach him, knocking her drink over as she drops from her chair.
    ‘. . . you do not have to say anything . . .’ Jack lunges along the side of the table, knocking over a chair. PC Simmons charges after him, blocks him in. Jack wrestles, still trying to get away. But Simmons has a set of handcuffs and he grabs for Jack’s arms.
    PC Curtis keeps talking as he moves after Jack, ‘. . . but anything you do say may be given in evidence and . . .’
    Jack is struggling, shouting, ‘This is crazy! I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything.’ Lunging to try and break free. He kicks out with his legs, knocking a chair over, wrenches away but Simmons holds him fast.
    Florence is screaming, ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ She darts under the table to her father.
    My heart hammers in my chest and I feel the pain needle through it, sharp as a knife.
    ‘. . . may harm your defence when used in court.’
    They have Jack’s hands behind his back. His face has gone rigid, his eyes blazing.
    Florence is screaming and hitting at PC Simmons, trying to reach her father. She squeezes past him and grabs Jack’s leg.
    Kay calls out, ‘PC Simmons, please!’
    ‘Let her say goodbye.’ My voice cuts through the mayhem. I stare at PC Simmons, the one who has cuffed him. ‘Look at her, she’s four years old. Let her say goodbye.’
    ‘Do it,’ says Kay.
    His eyes flicker at me. Jack is still shaking his head, his face flooded with colour now.
    I move round until I’m by Florence and lift her up so she’s level with Jack. She throws her skinny arms around his neck, still sobbing, ‘Daddy. Daddy.’
    ‘I’ll be back soon, sweetheart,’ Jack says, his voice hoarse. ‘Just a silly mix-up.’
    I have to pull her away, use my hands to release hers, peeling her off him, and she falls silent. Suddenly there’s just the uneven shake of her breath.
    The men lead Jack out. The room stinks of banana and male sweat.
    The truth settles on me heavy as lead, the ground is wobbly beneath my feet. I edge on to Jack’s empty chair and sit Florence on my knee and stare vacantly at the walls. Outside a car starts and there’s a splatter of rain on the windows behind me.
    The truth pours through me like water on sand, soaking in instantly. In my belly and my guts, in my arms, my thighs, from the nape of my neck to the soles of my feet. I’m aware of Florence, her weight on my legs, one hand gripping my little finger, the heat from her body against my stomach.
    The truth solidifies inside me, granite-hard yet raw as flesh, quick as lightning and deep as space. Fathomless. I taste it in the roof of my mouth, hear it in the tick of my blood, see it in Kay’s eyes, in the image of Jack trying to run, in the way Lizzie’s hand caught the firelight. I smell