by Jane Goodall
Seeing a little island of green at the end of the street, she went over and sat on the grass, wondering where exactly she was. The houses were all spruced up around here, freshly painted with black railings around them. Some of the taller ones were hotels, some had ornate boutique signs hanging above the windows. Sharon watched a woman clipping along in high heels, swinging a shiny black handbag. The streets around were silent again until she saw another woman, who was somehow familiar, with long straight hair and jeans, whose rubber-soled shoes made no sound. She went into one of the hotels opposite.
Then something else moved, white and swift at the edge of Sharon’s field of vision. As she whipped round it had disappeared, but Zig was sprinting around the corner in chase.
*
Briony put on the electric jug and went through her suitcase looking for something to change into. The espadrilles were unceremoniously crammed into a corner, the short skirt and floaty shirt had got bundled together with some unwashed t-shirts and the belt was tangled up at the bottom with the necklace. She laid them out and did her best on the creases with steam from the jug. It was a soothing task, and she took her time over it.
Leonie had left her sponge bag in the bathroom, stuffed with all the things Briony had neglected to provide for herself: body lotion, shampoo and conditioner, perfumed soap, eye shadow. She turned her face up to the cascading water and massaged the sweet-smelling lotions through her hair, feeling the lather sliding down over her body. Then she stepped out, wrapping the towel securely under her arms, and scuttled back to her room.
The door swung behind her as if of its own accord. She froze. The surface of her skin seemed to know it before the realisation formed itself in her mind, before any of her other senses picked up the signal. There was another presence, here in the room with her, waiting for her to turn and look.
It wanted to be seen — so she must refuse it that gratification. The one thing she must not do was turn to face it, even as it was poised to strike. The sketch of the figure with its raised arm flashed before her mind.
‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘I know who you are.’ She could detect the faint odour of rubber. ‘And I know what you look like. I’ve seen the pictures ... your pictures — ’ Her voice caught in her throat and she tried to steady her breathing, counselling herself: take your time, take your time.
‘I’ve seen your pictures. You’re quite an artist, Sol. That is your name, isnt it?’
‘No.’ The word was spoken lightly, almost casually.
‘You prefer to be called Walker?’
No answer.
‘What about Blake?’
She flinched as there was some kind of movement behind her, then steadied herself again, gripping the towel with whitened knuckles. He was there, right at the edge of her peripheral vision. Careful to avoid turning her head, she also registered that the door had not fully closed behind him.
‘Sol!’ There was an urgent shout from somewhere outside the room, and his reaction was instantaneous. She found herself in a tight hold, a hand over her mouth and another across her breasts, as the face came searching for hers. With a sharp twist she managed to pull away. But that was a mistake, because now she was looking up into the vacant eyes, at the raised arm with its lethal point.
50
Zig was interviewed first. Sharon was told that she was a minor, which meant she had to have a parent with her before she could be questioned, and evidently there wasn’t any way out of it. So she had to sit and wait for her mother, anticipating big dramas of a kind she just didn’t want to be part of any more. The friendly policewoman called Leonie offered to put her in a separate room so they could have a private reunion, but Sharon said it was no big deal and she’d prefer to just stay in the main waiting area.
All the same, when she saw her mum walk through the door, clutching Debbie against her shoulder, she almost burst into tears. Mum looked really nervous, but Debbie squirmed to the floor and ran straight for Sharon. She climbed on her knee, fascinated by the safety pin in her ear, which of course she had to try and pull out. Mum sat one seat away, using the place between them for the bag with all Debbie’s stuff in it.
‘I didn’t have anyone to leave her with,’ she said. ‘They told me they could get her looked after her while you’re being interviewed.’ She looked at Sharon then put out a hand and stroked her shoulder awkwardly. ‘What have you done to yourself?’
‘Nothing.’ Sharon tried to make herself smile, but it didn’t really work. ‘I’m okay. Everything’s perfectly fine.’
‘That’s not how I’d see it.’ Mum glanced uneasily round the room, where uniformed police were coming and going amidst the people slumped in chairs who looked as if this was the last place on earth they wanted to be. ‘I got such a shock when that policewoman knocked on the door.’
There was an awkward silence between the two of them, in which Debbie participated, looking from one face to the other. Then she suddenly let out a squawk, twisted to the floor and began to smack at Sharon, shouting, ‘Naughty dirl, naughty dirl, naughty dirl.’
Sharon captured her wrists while Mum fossicked in the bag and came out with a juice bottle.
‘Shoosh!’ she commanded. ‘Here, have this.’
Debbie grabbed the bottle in both hands and ran off, gathering attention from around the room as she shrieked and giggled. ‘How long’s she been walking?’ asked Sharon.
‘Since a couple of days after you left. Once they start, you know they’re away in no time. I remember it was just like that with you.’ There was another awkward silence as they both watched Debbie performing in the centre of the room, then Mum said quietly, ‘You are coming home now, aren’t you, Sharon?’
‘No, Mum. I’m not coming back. I’ve got a place to live. And I’ve got good friends.’
Her mother sniffed. ‘Friends don’t stick by you like family.’
‘Don’t they? There’s a friend I have to stick by. She’s going to need me around.’
‘You’re sure she’s not mixed up in this horrible business? You seem to have got yourself into a very dangerous crowd.’
‘It’s not like that,’ said Sharon firmly. ‘They’re not just a crowd. The people are all different — some of them are nice and some of them aren’t. But I like it. It’s where I belong.’
Debbie ran back, deposited her bottle in her mother’s lap and ran off again, full tilt, coming acropper halfway across the room.
Sharon went over and swept her up, swinging her around as she brought her back.
‘We can meet sometimes, if you want,’ she said. ‘For a coffee or something. But I’m not coming to the house.’
‘I’m sad about your nice hair.’ Mum put a hand on her shoulder again. ‘Is there anything you need?’
‘Not really.’
‘They told me you saved that woman’s life.’
‘We only just heard that ourselves. We thought we might have been too late. I tried to stop the bleeding, but I didn’t know how and it seemed ages before the ambulance got there.’
‘Sharon?’ Leonie appeared carrying a folder. ‘We’re ready to talk to you now.’
51
‘Logan Royce,’ said Gareth. ‘Can’t say I know the name. I’ve picked up a copy of Beaten Tracks occasionally but it’s not really my end of the trade.’
Briony thumped him lightly on the arm. ‘You’re a snob, that’s your trouble. If you were content to be a hack you’d get plenty of work here in England. You wouldn’t have to go back to Paris, chasing up commissions in the foreign language glossies.’
‘I’m not going back to Paris.’
She grasped his arm and hugged it. ‘Oh look, I didn’t mean that. I know it’s important for you to make your name.’
‘Well I did mean it. I’m not going back. Not if — ’
‘If what?’
‘If we’re staying together. I’ve been through purgatory the last two weeks, Bry, thinking it was all over. It’s got my priorities sorted. I wan
t us to live together.’
They were walking around the Serpentine in Hyde Park, watching the paddleboats. She was longing for a swim, but that was forbidden for another three days, until the dressing was removed from the wound. It was a superficial injury. The spoke had caught on a rib and failed to penetrate, and the two girls had tackled her assailant before he could strike again. They had quite a story to tell, those two, but for once she’d decided to leave it to Steve to wrap things up in the interview room, contenting herself with a second-hand account.
‘I’ve been sorting some priorities too.’ She smiled at him. ‘At this rate neither of us will have a job. We’ll become a pair of London layabouts, shall we? Spend our days in the parks and our evenings in front of the telly?’
‘There’s no need for you to give up your job, Bry.’
‘I’d be in good company. Aidan’s leaving the Met. Wants to go back into the music scene. It’s funny, you know. He’s a brilliant cop, but he doesn’t walk like a cop — he walks like a muso. I had a hunch he’d jump ship sooner or later but I didn’t expect it to be quite so soon. I feel a bit responsible. I mean, it was me that got him into the undercover job and this case seems to have spun him out.’
‘What about you then?’ He buried a hand in her hair and drew her head towards his shoulder. ‘You been through the wringer, girl.’
‘Losing Macready has been a big shock. But the other dramas — I spose you get used to them. Maybe that’s how life is supposed to be for me. That’s what Macready said, the last time I saw him. He said it was something he and I had in common — that it was our calling to fence in the darkness. But now I’m thinking I might have to leave it — for a while at least.’ She was about to broach the subject that she’d still not quite managed to bring up, when their attention was distracted by peals of crazy laughter from some kids on the lake.
‘Hey!’ she said. ‘I want to go on one of those paddleboats.’