The police work through the house and grounds. We settle in the dining room, being untouched by the mayhem committed on our home. James and Klempner speak together in subdued tones.
Mitch and Beth sit together, joint nursemaids with Adam and Cara and Vicky.
Charlotte clutches Harry to her chest, watching me with a flint-and-emerald gaze.
My son.
My little boy.
Everything I ever wanted.
Oh, Christ…
“My father’s told me,” she says, the emeralds glint, all shards and edges.
And I stride forward, taking her in my arms in a loose hold, Harry between us as I rock her from side to side. “I’m sorry, Babe. You were so close to going into labour. We simply didn’t want to worry you.”
Stiffly, she accepts the embrace. Nods. “I understand,” says her mouth. Her eyes speak otherwise.
“Of cour
