I Know What I Saw

by S K Sharp

  ‘Mum and Dad had another row,’ I say, and I’m right there in the bathroom again, hearing it all and feeling utterly miserable. ‘I don’t know what to do. I think … I think they’re breaking up.’

  Kat sort of sags and moves to sit next to me, hugging me close. ‘You can always come here, if it gets too much.’

  ‘I’m scared, Kat.’

  I remember what a mess Kat was when her second dad left, back at the start of fourth year. Still is, really, just doesn’t talk about it any more. And then Kat asks me if I’ve read the bit in Smash Hits about Madonna’s America tour, and we get back to talking about movies and music; and by the time Dad knocks on the front door, I’m mostly thinking about Dec again, and of the party, and of the two of us slipping away together, and that’s all much better …

  There’s bunting everywhere when we reach the Shelley, and a great big Arty Robbins, Fifty Years banner hanging over the front door. Vincent and Madge Robbins and Mr Crane are all dressed in pristine white shirts and green aprons, pulling pints and lining them up. I spot Mum in a purple dress as she comes out of the kitchen with a plate of sausage rolls, and Kat’s mum following with a tray full of glasses, both of them heading for a line of tables already loaded with cheese-and-pineapple sticks and prawn-cocktail glasses and melon balls and egg-and-cress sandwiches, and stuff like that.

  ‘Get you two girls a drink?’ Dad asks, then comes back a minute later with two halves of shandy. It’s a lovely summer evening, so Kat and I go outside and sit on a wall, swinging our legs and sipping our shandies.

  ‘I saw your Uncle Arty sneaking round the back of your house last night, by the way,’ I say. ‘And it’s not the first time, either.’

  As soon as the words are out, I wish I could snatch them from the air and pull them back inside. I mean, I can’t believe Kat doesn’t already know about her mum and Dec’s dad, but even so, I promised myself I wouldn’t say anything. I’m already starting to say I’m sorry because I know she’s going to be mad; but what actually happens is that she goes as white as a sheet and looks about to see if anyone is watching and then looms in close and hugs me and bursts into tears. It’s all so unexpected that I don’t know what to do.

  ‘Kat, what is it?’

  ‘You can’t tell anyone! Please …’

  So she does already know.

  Her eyes go wide. ‘You haven’t told Dec, have you?’

  ‘No!’ I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, it seems like maybe he ought to know, but … ‘It’s a bit awkward, really.’

  ‘Oh God, Nicky, you can’t!’

  ‘OK, OK, I won’t. I promise.’ I heard what some people at school said about Kat’s mum after Kat’s second dad walked out. I remember seeing Kat crying when she thought no one was looking. I guess it’s been hard for both of them since he left.

  ‘Promise-promise?’

  I take her hand and squeeze. ‘Promise-promise.’ I draw my fingers across my lips. ‘It’s a bit weird, you know? I mean, he’s my boyfriend’s dad and …’ And I don’t know quite what, but parents aren’t supposed to do stuff like this.

  ‘It’s over,’ Kat says. ‘It was just a … I don’t know. A thing.’

  It didn’t sound very over last night, but I don’t want to upset Kat any more than she already is. I suppose it’s not really my business what her mum gets up to. ‘Well, maybe mention to your mum how I’m not the only one who can see into your back garden, eh?’

  There’s a weird look on Kat’s face for a moment, like what I said doesn’t make any sense. Then she hugs me again, and then Dad comes out and brings us each another half-pint of shandy with a don’t-tell-your-mother wink, and everything is back to being OK and we talk about other things until it starts to get dark.

  There’s a bit of a cheer when Dec’s dad finally shows up at half-past nine. Back inside the pub, the crowd breaks out into ‘Happy Birthday’ and Vincent is all over him with hugs and back-slaps. I sidle over to Dec and we sneak out the back to kiss where no one can see. Or at least, where we think no one can see.

  ‘Get a room!’ Kat’s head pokes out of the kitchen window, one big cheesy grin, and I can’t think of anything to say because that’s exactly what I was planning for later, thanks, and maybe Kat can read my mind because her eyes go all big and wide, and I really ought to say something right now but I’m frozen and I can’t and …

  Kat’s mum saves me, appearing at the back door. ‘Declan, your dad’s looking for you. I think he’s about to make his speech.’ She has a camera on a strap around her neck, a big old Minolta that I think is actually Dad’s. Her eyes settle on Kat at the kitchen window. ‘Oh, perfect! The Three Musketeers, all together.’ She circles to face me and Dec, with Kat leaning out next to us, takes a couple of pictures and then disappears back inside. Kat ducks back, too, but not before she gives me the most exaggerated wink imaginable. A round of applause breaks out inside the pub. Dec tells me he reckons he’d rather be kissing me than listening to his dad bang on; I tell him I think he’s got a point and so that’s what we do, and when we finally come up for air, I tell him my plan: we’re going to slip away in a bit, just the two of us, because who wants to stay here getting bored? I feel the anticipation thrumming off him. It’s inside us both, an electric thing that can’t wait.

  We go back inside. Vincent Robbins is standing on a chair, telling everyone how the Shelley served pints all through the Second World War, even after a stray bomb fell on Wordsworth Park and put the crack in the south wall that’s still there. He yells at us all to enjoy the food, all bought and paid for by his son Arty – who, by the way, in case you didn’t know, also bought a new minibus for the school at the start of the year and put up a big chunk of money for the new Youth Centre they’re building in the park. He launches the crowd into a chorus of ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’ as he steps down.

  I look around for Mum and Dad, trying to work out how to make a stealthy exit, and spot Mum with Dec’s dad. Half the people in the pub are still singing, but the last ‘And so say all of us’ falters into uncertainty as more and more people turn to look: it’s obvious that Mum is livid and giving Dec’s dad a piece of her mind because Arthur is all red-faced, and Dec’s mum, right beside him, looks like she’s seen a ghost.

  I shrivel up inside and look away, because what else can this be about except me and Dec, and I don’t understand because I thought Mum actually liked him. She as good as said so! I see Mr Crane stock-still at the bar, looking on. Kat is standing on her own, staring at them like she’s got laser-eyes. Actually, about the only person in the room who isn’t watching them now is Gary, lurking in the shadows of a corner, and now all I can think of is: what’s he even doing here? But I suppose he’s Dec’s mate …

  What Gary’s doing here right now is watching Kat, the pervert; but Kat doesn’t notice because she’s watching Mum and Dec’s dad, trying to hear what’s being said over the hubbub with an intensity like it’s Simon Le Bon talking to Madonna about doing an album together.

  ‘I want to go,’ I say to Dec.

  Someone turns on the music. Mum twists on her heel and storms away, out the back of the pub, snatching a packet of cigarettes from the bar as she goes. I catch a glimpse of her face. She’s furious, her hands shaking with rage.

  ‘What was that about?’ asks Dec.

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t want to hang around to find out.’ I start trying to pull him outside. ‘Maybe your dad started on the canapés before he was supposed to.’ I look again for Kat to tell her we’re going, but she’s still staring at Dec’s dad.

  ‘I see you found him.’ I jump, startled, and there’s Gary Barclay in his stupid coat even though he’s indoors, creeping up next to us like some obnoxious ghost. I open my mouth to say something clever and pithy but my brain comes up empty and so I end up gawping like a sour-faced idiot. Gary grins, like he thinks that’s about right. ‘Excuse me.’ He gives Dec a leery grin and a nod and pushes past, heading for Kat. I’m half-minded to foll
ow, because Kat doesn’t want anything to do with the likes of him, but Dec catches my arm.

  ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Let’s just go.’

  Mum will be out the back, smoking. I look for Dad and spot him on his own, staring through the crowd as though he’s looking for someone, but his eyes slide right over me and on. I don’t know what’s going on but I’ve had enough of this place, and if we don’t leave soon then I’m just going to go back home to bed and cry.

  Outside, I hear Kat around the corner in the car park.

  ‘It’s over.’ She sounds scared. ‘It’s finished!’

  ‘You tell me who he is!’ That voice – it’s Gary bloody Barclay again. ‘Tell me and I’ll fucking kill him!’

  Dec tries to pull me away but I’m not having it. I’m done with people being stupid and mean; done with this whole rotten party. I don’t like Gary and I don’t care if he and Dec are mates, because I really don’t like the way he sounds, and Kat is my best friend. I head for the car park and turn the corner and see Gary with a face full of rage and Kat cringing away, which just goes to show I’m right.

  Gary glares at me. ‘Piss off!’

  ‘Everything OK?’ I ask, not budging an inch. It clearly isn’t.

  ‘It was until you got here.’

  Music and the muted buzz of conversation waft around us, punctured by raucous laughter. I feel Dec’s presence behind me but he’s not exactly helping. I mean, it ought to be him that’s doing something – Gary’s his friend, and Kat’s his cousin – but he won’t. Bit of a wet blanket sometimes, my Dec, but Kat looks really scared, and so I shove right past Gary and grab her by the arm and walk her away before anyone can stop me. We go and sit on the same wall where we sat with our shandies, and Gary doesn’t follow, thank God. Maybe Dec is holding him back, warning him to leave his cousin alone. But probably not.

  ‘It’s OK,’ says Kat. ‘Really.’

  ‘You and … Gary?’ I probably shouldn’t ask but I can’t help myself. ‘Were you breaking up with him?’

  ‘No!’ She sounds shocked. ‘We’re not … It’s not – it’s not like that. Gary’s … he’s all right. Really, he is. He gets a bit—’

  ‘Gary? All right?’ I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  Kat gets up, obviously still upset. ‘Just … leave it, will you?’ She stomps back into the Shelley, and I don’t know where Gary’s gone but I can’t see him. And what the bloody hell was that about?

  I find Dec where I left him, in the car park.

  ‘He thinks he’s so special but he’s not,’ I snap.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Gary bloody Barclay!’

  ‘He’s all right,’ Dec says, but he says it very quietly and doesn’t look at me.

  ‘Some day the police are going to visit that van of his, and that’ll be that.’ I can’t see Gary skulking out here anywhere so I suppose he’s gone back inside. Him and his stupid coat. Honestly, I know Gary and Dec were friends years ago, but I have no idea why Dec still has anything to do with him.

  I squeeze Dec’s hand. ‘Think your mum and dad will be here for a while?’

  He nods. ‘It’s Dad’s party. They sort of have to be.’

  ‘So, let’s not go to the park then.’

  4

  Saturday 1st February 2020

  Detective Scott is busy making notes. ‘What time was it when you left?’

  ‘I didn’t check, but it must have been about ten.’

  ‘And you left with Declan Robbins?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘We went to his house. We were there until just after midnight. I was with him all the time.’ I hesitate, wondering how much to say, wondering how much Declan has already said. I settle for silence. If Detective Scott asks questions about what happened there, then I’ll answer them. If he doesn’t, then so be it. It’s not really his business.

  ‘Did anyone see you, that you can recall?’

  ‘What: going to Declan’s house? No. Everyone was in the Shelley and … we didn’t want to be seen, Detective Scott.’

  ‘And you didn’t see anyone else on your way there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about at the party before you left? Anyone suspicious? Anything unusual?’

  ‘No, not really. I mean, I don’t know what was going on between Mum and Arty Robbins – that was unusual. But …’

  ‘Did you go straight from the Mary Shelley to the Robbinses’ house?’

  ‘We might have stopped on the way for some snogging, but otherwise – yes.’

  Detective Scott shoots me a baleful look. ‘So … you and Mr Robbins left the Mary Shelley together at around ten. You went back to his house, and no one saw you.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘How long were you alone together?’

  ‘As I already told you, I was with him until just after midnight. When I got back home it was seven minutes past.’

  ‘From the clock on the mantelpiece?’ He gives me a side-eye. I suppose he can’t help himself.

  ‘Unless it was set to Timbuktu time,’ I say, which at least draws a hint of a wry smile. ‘At which point, your Constable Simmons was in the lounge with Dad.’

  ‘Constable who?’

  I look him in the eye. ‘I already told you that, too: when I got home, there was a policeman already there, talking to my dad. He was asking about Arty Robbins. They were in the lounge. I didn’t hear most of what they were saying but I did hear the policeman mention Mr Robbins. I remember his name from the badge on his uniform. That was when I saw the clock on the mantelpiece. Dad told me to go to bed, so I went upstairs and stood at my bedroom window. Declan had said he was going to go back to the Shelley, so I waited. I watched him come out of his house. He looked up at me and waved, then I watched him walk down the road until he reached the end and turned towards the pub.’ I remember it vividly: how I kept watching long after he was gone, thinking about what we’d just done, until I heard the policeman in the lounge getting ready to leave.

  Detective Scott makes another note. ‘What time was that? Roughly?’

  ‘It was only a few minutes after I went upstairs. Quarter past midnight, maybe? I didn’t check the time. But, Detective Scott, don’t you see? Your constable was asking about Arty Robbins. Arty Robbins was already missing.’

  Detective Scott nods, but something isn’t right. I’ve landed what should be a killer blow and it barely seems to register.

  ‘You’ve got the wrong man,’ I say. ‘Declan didn’t do it. He was with me. He can’t have done it.’

  ‘That’s for the investigation to decide, Ms Walker.’ He flashes me a look that tells me exactly what I can do with my opinions. ‘While you and Mr Robbins were alone, what did you do?’

  I wonder: is he deliberately trying to make me uncomfortable? ‘I don’t know what you mean, Detective Scott. We had sex, but I already told you that so I’m really not sure what else you want to know. Are you expecting me to tell you who was on top? How many times?’

  ‘No, Ms Walker. I mean, was there anything else? Did anyone else come to the house, for example, while you were there?’

  I hesitate at this. The fact that he’s asking must mean Declan remembers some of it. I suppose that’s to be expected, given what happened.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Declan’s father.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘I don’t know. There wasn’t a clock in Declan’s room. We can’t have been there for more than ten minutes, though. We were still dressed.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He was … he was looking for his wife, I think. He asked Declan where she was. Declan said he didn’t know. He was … very angry.’

  ‘You’re referring to Mr Robbins?’

  ‘Yes. No … I mean his father. Arty. Arty was angry. They … It got pretty heated. Something to do with Declan bunking off school for a day earlier that week and taking his mother to see her sister. I …’ I shrug. ‘H
e wasn’t there for very long. A few minutes. I was hiding under the bed, so I didn’t see much more than his feet. I don’t think he knew I was there.’ All of which is true, but only touches the edges.

  ‘So, Mr Robbins’ father left his own party and went home, and he was looking for his wife, you say.’

  ‘That’s what he said. He asked about Dec’s friend, Gary Barclay, too.’

  ‘Wasn’t his wife at the Mary Shelley, which was where you last saw Mr Robbins’ father?’

  ‘As far as I knew, yes. Everyone was.’

  ‘Didn’t it seem strange, then, that he was asking after her?’

  ‘It all seemed strange. We certainly didn’t expect to be disturbed. But, Detective … We were young. We had other things on our minds.’

  ‘Can you give me some idea of when Arthur Robbins left?’

  ‘Around half-past ten, give or take.’

  ‘And you stayed there, with Declan Robbins, until shortly after midnight.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t leave the house at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you didn’t see anyone else?’

  ‘No. We talked for a bit and then …’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘Really?’ I sigh. ‘Fine. We talked about us, and we talked about our parents. The Robbins household clearly wasn’t as happy as it seemed from the outside, and my parents had had a row the night before. I thought they were about to get divorced, if you must know. We talked about the future and what we were going to do together. We talked about why there was a porno magazine under Declan’s bed. All sorts. What are you looking for?’

  Detective Scott frowns. ‘Did Mr Robbins talk about his father at all?’

  ‘Mostly he talked about leaving home. We talked about how it would work for us if he wasn’t living across the road.’

  ‘Robbins was planning to leave home?’ Detective Scott’s brow furrows as though I’ve told him something important.

  ‘He was sitting his A-levels,’ I explain. ‘If he got the grades, he wanted to go to university in Nottingham.’