Page 75 of None of This is True

The woman pauses, and Roxy stares at her as if to say: ‘Well, go on then.’

‘Erin Fair.’

‘What, sorry, my sister, who is currently in a coma, paid for a hotel room for some random guy?’

‘We don’t think it was your sister, Roxy. We think your mother has been using your sister’s card. And here’s the thing, we’ve been investigating your sister’s bank account and, well, there had been a remarkable amount of money in there. Over forty thousand pounds. And in the last two weeks, over ten thousand of those pounds have been taken out from cashpoint machines in Queen’s Park. And according to what your mother told Mrs Summer, your sister, Erin, had special needs. She ate baby food and didn’t leave the house and yet she had money coming into her bank account on a daily basis. All from a livestreaming company called Glitch. Do you know anything about this aspect of your sister’s life?’

‘Yeah, she’s famous.’

‘Famous for what?’

‘Gaming. People pay a subscription fee to Glitch and then they get to watch players online. And my sister is one of the best.’

‘So, she earns money playing video games?’

Roxy can’t believe how old some people sound, like they live in a different world to her, but she controls the urge to roll her eyes and she says, ‘Yeah. That’s right.’

‘So, erm …’ Both detectives adjust their sitting positions. The man stares at his paperwork; the woman glances up at Roxy: ‘Where do you think your mother might be?’

Roxy lets out a rasp of laughter. ‘You’re asking me that?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘Not going to be able to help you, I’m afraid. My mother …’ Roxy stops, her spiky façade slipping for just a moment. ‘My mother hated me. My mother hated my father. My mother hates my sister. She’s obviously taken Erin’s money to start a new life without any of us in it.’

‘But is there anywhere in particular? A place that meant something to her? Mrs Summer suggests that your mother was very nostalgic about the early days of family life. Overly so, maybe? So was there somewhere you went as a family, maybe?’

Roxy shrugs. She doesn’t see her childhood in that way. There’s no golden glow emanating from any area of it. ‘We used to go to the Lake District every summer. For a week. I hated it, all of us stuck in a caravan, or some hairy cabin with, like, spiders everywhere. But she loved it. She used to drink wine every night and go on and on about the views.’

‘Can you remember whereabouts in the Lake District you used to go?’

‘Yes. Ambleside. Right by the water.’

Roxy watches them write this down. She narrows her eyes at them and says, ‘You know there’s no way my dad ever laid a finger on my mum, don’t you?’

‘Well, we do have photographic evidence that shows your mum’s injuries.’

‘How?’

‘Mrs Summer took them, last week.’

Roxy sighs and tuts. ‘Sorry, Mrs Summer … Mrs Summer . Who the hell is this Mrs Summer?’

‘She’s your mother’s friend.’

‘But my mother doesn’t have any friends.’

‘She’s a friend, but she’s also been making a podcast with her.’

‘A podcast? What sort of podcast?’

‘She was interviewing your mother about her life.’

Roxy can’t help but laugh. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes. We’ve listened to the recordings. They’re quite … harrowing.’

‘In what way?’

---