The Girl in the Picture - Kerry Barrett

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at the voice. A woman – who I’d seen in the hardware shop when we went in – was behind us, waving. She was tall and athletic-looking with inky dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and she was – I guessed – about seven months pregnant.

      ‘Oh thank goodness you stopped,’ she said waddling over. ‘I’m not sure I’d have caught you if you hadn’t.’

      She had a Manchester accent and a broad smile.

      ‘I’m Priya,’ she said, sticking her hand out.

      ‘Ella,’ I said, cautiously. I may have moved to Sussex but I was still a Londoner at heart.

      ‘I heard what you said in the shop,’ she said, slightly breathless. ‘About you writing crime novels?’

      ‘Thrillers,’ I said. Polite in case she was a reader, but still cautious. I took Stan’s hand.

      ‘Oh God, you probably think I’m a weirdo. I’m not,’ she said, laughing. ‘I promise.’ She took a breath. ‘I’m a police officer who’s stuck on light duties because of this …’ She pointed to her bump. ‘And I’m bored out of my mind. I thought maybe I could help you with research or something.’

      I stared at her, not sure what to think.

      ‘And we’ve not lived here very long either,’ she said. ‘And I thought you seemed like someone I should be friends with, so I knew I had to catch you before I lost my nerve and didn’t say hello.’

      She laughed again, more nervously this time.

      ‘I’m going to start again,’ she said. ‘Hello, I’m DI Priya Sansom from Sussex Police.’

      She stuck her hand out again and I shook it again, smiling properly now.

      ‘Ella Daniels,’ I said. ‘Writer, mother, former tax accountant. And new to rural friendliness.’

      We smiled at each other. I thought Priya was right – she did seem like someone I could be friends with. I was glad she’d approached me.

      ‘Cake, Mummy.’ Stan tugged my arm.

      ‘We were going to check out the café,’ I said to Priya. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’

      Priya was not as far along in her pregnancy as I’d thought.

      ‘Five months,’ she said, through a mouthful of coffee cake. ‘Twins. Bit of a shock.’

      ‘Got any more?’

      She nodded glumly. ‘Two,’ she said. ‘And two stepkids. All girls.’

      ‘Whoa,’ I said. ‘But congratulations.’

      She smiled. ‘I’m excited really, but my husband’s terrified these ones will be girls too. He’s headmaster at Sussex Lodge School – which is all boys. So we can’t even use the discount he gets on school fees.’

      I giggled. I liked Priya already.

      ‘Tell me about your books,’ she said. ‘What are you working on now?’

      I made a face. ‘I’m supposed to be writing my third novel featuring Tessa Gilroy, a maverick private investigator who inadvertently gets caught up in domestic mysteries.’

      ‘Not going well?’

      ‘Not going at all,’ I admitted. ‘I’m hoping moving down here will help unblock me.’

      ‘Let me help you,’ Priya begged. ‘I’m so bored.’

      ‘Bored?’ I said. ‘With four kids and two more on the way?’

      She waved her hand as though six children was nothing more than an inconvenience.

      ‘Jas is at university,’ she said. ‘Millie’s in sixth form, but she’s at her mum’s most of the time anyway, so they’re no trouble. Layla is eight and desperate to be like her big sisters, and Amber is five. She’s quite the little princess and I think not being the baby any more will do her good.’

      ‘I’m five,’ said Oscar.

      Priya looked at him. ‘Then you will be in Amber’s class at school. I’ll bring her along next time we meet up and you can play together.’

      I was pleased she thought there would be a next time.

      ‘I love my job,’ Priya went on. ‘And I’ve got nothing to do. I’m shuffling bits of paper around, because my pregnancy is considered high risk and they won’t let me do anything. Please let me help.’

      I picked up my cup of tea.

      ‘Back in London,’ I said, ‘I had a tame retired police officer – his name is Reg and he’s an old friend of my dad’s. We used to just drink coffee and he’d tell me stories about cases he’d worked on.’

      ‘And it gave you ideas for stories?’ Priya said, her face lighting up. ‘I can do that. And if you need me to check procedural stuff I can help with that too.’

      ‘That would be brilliant,’ I said. ‘I was worried about making new contacts down here – and I’ve been thinking about bringing Tessa to the seaside, so I’d need to get to know the police in Brighton.’

      ‘Where does Tessa normally work?’

      ‘Camden,’ I drawled, Laaaaahndahn-style. Priya giggled.

      ‘I’ve got loads of stories from my time in Manchester,’ she said. ‘And Brighton’s got a dark side too.’

      ‘I don’t doubt it.’ That made me think about what Hal had said. ‘Did you hear what else those guys mentioned?’ I asked Priya. ‘In the shop?’

      ‘About your books?’

      ‘No, before that – about our house?’

      She looked blank. ‘Must have missed that bit,’ she said. ‘I was engrossed in the doorbell selection.’

      ‘Hal said there were stories that there had been a murder in our house,’ I said, lowering my voice so the boys didn’t hear. ‘But Ken said he’d lived here since the Seventies and he’d not heard anything.’

      There was a flash of interest in Priya’s eyes, which I recognized because I’d seen it in my own face many times.

      ‘I just thought it might be a good place to start,’ I carried on. ‘For Tessa, I mean.’

      Priya gave me an appraising glance. ‘For Tessa?’

      I grinned.

      ‘And for me.’

      Priya picked up her teacup and chinked it against mine. ‘I’m on it,’ she said. ‘Watch this space.’

      1855

      Violet

      I didn’t see Mr Forrest again for nearly a week though I thought about him a lot. In my memories of our meeting on the beach, with his blond hair and the sun behind him, he’d become almost like an angel. A guardian angel who was going to nurture my talent and look after me and help me escape.

      Then when I walked into church on Sunday on Father’s arm, there he was. Much more real than in my dreams, but just as handsome. I felt giddy with relief that I hadn’t dreamt our whole encounter on the beach, because I’d started to fear it had all been in my imagination.

      Our pew was closer to the front than Mr Forrest’s, and he didn’t acknowledge me as we walked past. I stared straight ahead, but throughout the service, all I could think of was him. I felt the warmth of his gaze on the back of my neck and barely heard a word the vicar said.

      After

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