Warhol's Prophecy

97

SHE HADN’T SLEPT well the night before.

Hailey yawned, and studied her reflection in the mirror – noting that the image staring back at her had dark rings beneath the eyes.

Dressed in just bra and panties, she carefully put on her make-up, occasionally glancing across at the bed.

She had no idea what time Rob had come up the previous night. One o’clock? Later? He’d slipped into bed beside her, and soon she had heard his low breathing.

She’d thought about rolling across to lie nearer to him but, when he turned onto his side and showed her his back, she’d decided against it.

He’d left the house about half an hour ago. Despite her protestations, he’d announced that he would first take Becky to school, then later that morning he was going back to work. He needed, he’d told her, to get out of the house.

Hailey finished doing her make-up and crossed to the wardrobe, where she selected a grey two-piece and black shoes.

She was buttoning the jacket when she heard the front door open. Heard footsteps climbing the stairs.

‘Was she OK?’ Hailey asked as Rob walked into the bedroom.

He nodded. ‘Fine,’ he announced, running appraising eyes over her. ‘Like you said last night, perhaps it’s about time I started doing more for my own daughter.’

‘That wasn’t what I said.’

‘It’s what you meant. I didn’t realize I was so useless as a father. Perhaps you should have told me before.’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous. Stop being such a bloody martyr, Rob. You twist everything I say to suit you.’

He regarded her silently.

‘I’ll pick Becky up,’ Hailey said, brushing fluff from her skirt.

‘If you’re not too busy?’ he chided.

Hailey exhaled. ‘Don’t start, Rob,’ she said. ‘Not now.’

‘I was just making sure. I didn’t know if you might be out until late again. I didn’t know what Jim Marsh might have in store for you today.’

She heard the disdain in his voice.

‘What time are you getting home?’ she wanted to know.

He shrugged.

‘You shouldn’t really be going in to work yet, Rob,’ Hailey told him. ‘The doctor said you had to rest, and I’m sure Frank can manage without you. Even you’re not indispensable, you know.’ She smiled, but he didn’t return it, merely looked at her indifferently.

She was about to say something else when she heard the doorbell.

‘I’ll go,’ Hailey said, making her way down the stairs.

They creaked protestingly as she hurried down to the hall, running a hand through her hair before she opened the door.

There was something familiar about the man who stood there. Dressed in a dark brown suit and shoes that looked as if they hadn’t tasted polish for a while, he smiled thinly at her.

‘Mrs Gibson?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Hailey.

‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ said the newcomer. ‘I’m not surprised. The last time we met you had a lot on your mind.’ He fumbled inside his jacket for a slim leather wallet that he flipped open. ‘Detective Constable Tate.’

Hailey smiled.

‘Yes, I remember,’ she told him, her smile fading slightly. ‘You were at the hospital the night my husband was attacked.’

He nodded.

‘What can I do for you?’ Hailey wanted to know.

‘It’s your husband I’d like to speak to. Would that be possible?’

‘Is there something wrong?’

‘Yes, there is.’