Page 47 of She Saw What He Did

Chapter Thirty

Abby

I glance at my phone. I’m far too early. I’ve been a quivering wreck ever since I dropped Sam off at nursery. I haven’t been able to focus on work at all. I’d barely been able to when Sam had been home with me, but now I was unmotivated and anxiously time watching. I’d finally gone up to tidy Sam’s room. I’d been lulled by the ticking of her Micky Mouse wall clock which I’d checked every few minutes. The time had dragged. I tidied crayons, hung clothes in the wardrobe and changed the bed linen with fresh-smelling clean sheets, and still there was an hour to kill. I’d drunk endless cups of tea and finally sat on the small single bed hugging Sam’s favourite teddy, its soft warm fur a comforter to my jagged nerves. By midday, I was going insane and it was all I could do not to phone the nursery and check everything was okay. Then, my phone had rung, and my heart had raced. I’d grabbed it in a panic without even checking the caller ID.

‘Yes,’ I’d said breathlessly.

‘Abby,’ said a vaguely familiar voice. It had taken me a moment to place it. It was Sergeant Burden.

‘What’s happened?’

‘A body has been washed ashore on Newlyn Beach and …’

My brain had fumbled about trying to understand. What had this to do with Sam?

‘Newlyn Beach?’ I’d repeated. I had no idea where that was.

‘It’s near Porthaven,’ Ellen Burden had explained. ‘Is this a bad time to call?’

I’d checked the clock on the wall.

‘I have to pick up Sam from nursery,’ I’d said, even though I had over twenty minutes before I needed to leave.

‘I won’t keep you long. I wanted to let you know that the body suffered injuries similar to those you described. It looks like this could be the man you saw murdered.’

I’d come over hot and sat down on Sam’s bed.

‘What does that mean?’ I’d asked stupidly.

‘We’ll be putting out a press release,’ she’d said softly. ‘We’re hoping it might jog someone’s memory.’

My mind had gone into a whirl. All I could think about was getting to the nursery.

‘It won’t mention us, will it?’ I’d asked anxiously.

I’d sensed her hesitation.

‘No, it won’t. We’re doing our best to keep your names out of the press. I’ll regularly update you. We’re going to do our utmost to find the killer.’

I’d felt tears on my cheek.

‘Thank you,’ I’d said. ‘I really must go and get Sam.’

‘Of course,’ she’d said kindly.

I’d hung up and hurried to my car. There was no rush. I knew that, but I wanted to get there.

Now I’m early. I can hear the children squealing as I approach the entrance doors. The wall of the hallway is adorned with artwork. I can smell where the children have had their morning snack. I quietly open the door to the nursery where the sound of storytelling reaches my ears. I spot Sam’s pink and white top and feel my body relax.

‘You’re early,’ says Martha, one of the assistants.

‘Yes,’ I say apologetically.

I don’t want her to know what an anxious wreck I am.

‘I’ll just sit at the back and wait.’

Should I tell them about the murder? Would they become more security conscious or just afraid, like me?

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