by Alex Clare
‘Just talking to people.’ Lorraine took a sip of her spritzer.
‘Anyone would think you were going for promotion.’ Graham set the card down on the table.
Lorraine met his look. ‘Yeah. What about it?’
More seconds of silence. Graham half-shrugged. ‘About time too.’
‘When does your hockey season start, Ravi?’ Robyn had seen Lorraine’s fingers tighten on her knife and didn’t want the conversation to continue.
Ravi put down his glass with a bump. ‘Sorry, Guv. Were you talking to me?’
‘Yes. Just wondering when your hockey league starts?’ Her new evening shoes, with proper kitten heels, were pinching. She had slipped them off under the table.
‘It’s started. I missed the first match for the wedding.’ He stopped and his eyes dropped to his empty plate.
Robyn swore under her breath. There seemed to be no safe subjects. ‘Do you think you’ll do well this season?’
‘Hope so. We’ve had a couple of players retire, so I’m playing left wing now, which is new for me.’ This was better: Ravi’s voice was sounding more positive. ‘It’s OK, I just don’t get as much time in front of the goal as I’d like.’
‘I hated hockey at school.’ Lorraine smiled. ‘It was always freezing, the mud went everywhere and people kept hitting me with sticks.’
‘So why did you join the police? Now half the town wants to hit you.’ Graham spoke through a mouthful of garlic bread.
‘We didn’t do hockey at my school – too posh for the likes of us.’ Chloe laughed. ‘We played football in winter.’
‘Girls playing football?’ Graham shook his head. ‘What’s the world coming to?’
Lorraine glanced at her watch. ‘OK, I need to go and get ready. Our set starts at nine, so I’ll see you all there.’ She got her wallet out of her bag.
‘No, it’s your birthday. You organised, so we’ll sort it out.’ It had been a long time since Robyn had been out on a social evening like this and she realised now how much she’d missed the simple act of being with people.
‘OK, thanks, Guv. I’ve asked the club to reserve you a booth. See you.’ Lorraine dashed into the street.
‘We’ve got half an hour, would anyone like another drink?’ Robyn looked around. ‘This is on me, by the way. We don’t go out much as a team and I’ve enjoyed it.’
‘Told you so, Guv.’ Graham held up his glass towards a waitress. ‘Hi, another beer for me and, who else?’
Ravi stood up. ‘I’m going to go home.’ He seemed to be struggling for words. ‘It’s been … well, I need to go home.’ He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and the team’s goodbyes followed him to the door.
‘I’ll have an orange juice, please.’ Chloe tilted her beer bottle to get the last drops from it before handing it over.
‘And a sparkling water for me.’ One was her limit because she had to drive. Watching Graham drain his glass, Robyn wondered how he was getting home. Her phone rang, Becky’s picture appearing on the screen. ‘Bugger.’ Swearing at her daughter didn’t feel right: she wanted to talk to Becky so much, just not in public. ‘Sorry everyone, got to take this, back in a minute.’ She stabbed at the phone, anxious to catch the call before it rang out. ‘Hi Becky, hang on a sec.’ Dodging a waitress with a giant pepper grinder, she weaved through the tables. In the street, she walked under an awning to get out of the drizzle. ‘Sorry, I was in a restaurant, I’m outside now.’
‘I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?’ Becky’s voice was cold.
‘No, no. One of the team’s birthdays and we were out for a meal. It’s lovely to hear from you.’ There was silence from the other end. It seemed to be up to her to make conversation. ‘You’ve done your play now, haven’t you? How did it go?’
‘Fine. We might even end up giving another performance.’
‘Sounds great.’ Robyn had the feeling she had when questioning a witness, where answers would have to be dragged out. ‘Can I come this time, if your mother won’t be there?’
Becky sobbed. It was a simple noise of pain and the sound cut Robyn like a physical blow.
‘Sweetheart, what’s wrong?’ The distance between them felt enormous. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’
‘It’s mum.’ Becky took a shuddering breath. ‘She and Richard are getting divorced.’
Robyn breathed out. Her first reaction was relief it was nothing wrong with Becky. ‘Oh goodness. I’m sorry.’ She hoped it sounded sincere. Even though she knew it was selfish, it was hard to feel sympathy for an ex-wife who thought you were a freak. ‘What can I do?’
‘When you arrested her it was the final straw.’ There was another burst of wet sound. ‘Richard said she’d been getting too extreme and he wasn’t going to be married to a criminal.’
Robyn turned away as Graham and Chloe walked out of the restaurant. Graham waved so she could no longer pretend she hadn’t seen them. ‘I settled up, Guv. You coming?’
She covered the phone. ‘I’ll be along in a minute.’ She waited until they were out of earshot. ‘Sweetheart? Are you still there?’
‘Still here.’ Becky’s voice was flat, miserable.
‘You sound terrible. What can I do?’
‘I need to come down and stay with you.’ There was a long sniff. ‘Mum’s said she wants to come and “hang out” with me and “bond as women” – I’ve got to go somewhere ‘til term starts and all my friends are away for the summer.’
The snub was clear: Robyn was happy to ignore it. ‘And I guess my place is the last place she’d want to come, eh?’ She’d hoped for a laugh and heard nothing. ‘Come any time, sweetheart. You’ve got a brand new room to stay in. I’ve been decorating.’
‘You’ve changed, Dad.’ There was a new note in Becky’s voice.
‘Yes, I’m happy.’ Robyn was grinning. ‘But I’m still your dad.’ She realised what she’d said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Now, just call me before you arrive so I don’t leave you waiting on the doorstep if I’m out on a case.’ A horrible thought struck her. ‘And, if you get here and it’s dark, get a cab. A proper one I mean, the sort you book. I’ll pay for it. There’s been a few attacks on girls.’
‘Round the Docks estate?’
The casual acceptance in the tone made Robyn wince. ‘No, all over town. It’s women walking on their own late at night, so please don’t take any chances. When you get to the station, call me. If I can’t make it back, I’ll send the key to you in a taxi, which you will then take.’ She was trying to convey just how serious this was without scaring Becky. ‘You’re the most important thing here.’
‘OK. Thanks, Dad. I’ll call you when I’ve checked trains.’
‘See you soon, sweetheart.’ After the call finished, she found herself staring at the phone, not really believing she could have got so much happiness from it. A small, practical part of her mind wondered how Becky would react to her new appearance if she was already upset but the fear was swamped by her feeling of exhilaration.
Up the street, Graham stood outside the Black Cat Bar, talking to a doorman. Chloe, standing next to him, only reached the man’s chest. ‘Good timing, Guv, Lorraine’s band will be on in ten minutes. See you, Stan.’
The three walked through the entrance corridor into the main bar. Clusters of people stood around swigging from small bottles. There were a lot of young men with beards. A hodge-podge of sound came from a raised stage in the back corner where men in black were setting out instruments.
‘As I picked up the tab in the restaurant, think the least you can do is get the drinks, Guv.’ Graham leaned over the bar. ‘I’ll have a – the one with the green label – how the hell do you pronounce it?’ He straightened up. ‘They do loads of really interesting Belgian beers here. Some of them are as strong as wine.’
‘I’m sorry, how much was it? I’ll get cash out tomorrow and pay you back.’ Robyn peered into the darkness behind the bar. ‘You’re right, these do look good.’
‘What are you looking so happy about, anyway?’ Graham accepted his beer, holding the bottle up to the light. ‘Look at the colour of this.’
‘Just had some good news.’ Robyn ordered herself a beer to celebrate. She told herself it would be good for her if she walked home. ‘My daughter’s coming to visit this summer after all. Cheers everyone.’
‘Cheers.’ Chloe took a sip of orange juice. ‘How old is she?’
‘Nineteen. Well, nearly twenty, it’s her birthday soon.’ Robyn looked at Chloe. ‘Actually, that’s a point – what an earth do you get a twenty-year-old for her birthday?’
‘How about –?’
‘Guv, before the band starts.’ Graham spoke over Chloe. ‘Just heard a juicy whisper.’
Robyn knew she should be interested in what Graham was saying but she really just wanted to relax and enjoy the moment.
‘Stan on the door was saying there’s a lot more drugs around than he’s seen for a while. He also gave me a name.’
A man carrying a guitar stepped up to the microphone. ‘Good evening, thanks for coming to the Jazz Jam, we’re the Fatback Five.’ Drums and double bass started a low rhythm. ‘We’ll be entertaining you for the next half hour, so don’t be shy about getting up and dancing.’ Lorraine’s clarinet soared over the backing.
Robyn was looking at the stage. She jumped as Graham touched her arm. She could see his mouth moving though the music was too loud to hear the words. She shook her head.
He said something and this time she watched his lips move and saw the smug expression on his face. ‘You think it’s the Dearmans.’ Graham’s obsession with the local Dearman family had been inherited from Prentiss. She turned away and took a sip of her beer to give herself a chance to calm down. ‘The Dearmans haven’t committed a crime since you arrested Gabriel and Micky over three years ago. Why do you think it’s them?’
‘It’s in their blood. They’ve been criminals for generations.’ Graham tapped the table. ‘And I know we haven’t arrested any of them recently though we can’t say for definite they haven’t committed crimes, can we?’ He sat back. ‘Just means we haven’t been looking at them as carefully.’
The band finished the introduction and accepted a smattering of applause. The next song was a faster number; Robyn found her foot tapping.
‘Just as you did with the old cases, think I should have a look back and see whether it looks as if the Dearmans are still up to their old tricks.’ Graham had raised his voice, to be heard over the music.
‘Look, this isn’t the place to discuss anything when anyone could hear us.’ Robyn leant closer to try and avoid shouting. ‘Also, this is meant to be a social – we shouldn’t talk shop.’
Graham raised both hands. ‘All right, have it your way, Guv. Just wanted to make sure we’re doing our job of tackling crime.’
Robyn’s good mood was slipping away. ‘We are dealing with it. There’s a new regional task force being set up to look at drugs coming in. Lorraine is our representative.’
Graham stared at her. ‘Wait, it’s being handed over and Lorraine is in charge?’
Out of the corner of her eye, Robyn could see Chloe pushing herself back into the corner of the booth, trying to keep her eyes fixed on the band. ‘Yes. It will be good for her to get more exposure.’
‘I see.’ Graham sat back, folding his arms.
Robyn had no wish to prolong the argument and turned away from him, facing the stage so she could enjoy the music tonight, though she would have to have it out with Graham tomorrow. At the end of the song, her bottle was already empty. She was about to offer a round when Graham’s phone rang. He glanced down at it, then hunched over, covering his ear.
There didn’t seem any point in going to the bar: Chloe had barely touched her juice. A moment later, Graham tucked the phone back into his pocket. ‘Gotta go.’
‘Everything OK?’
Graham pushed himself up, both hands on the table, rocking the bottles. His ‘see you tomorrow’ seemed to be aimed at Chloe. He took a step towards the door, hesitated, then turned back to the stage, raising a hand for a second towards Lorraine, before walking out.
Robyn watched him go, then caught Chloe’s eye. ‘The music’s great, isn’t it?’
Chloe looked relieved at the attempt at normal conversation and nodded. The band finished the song and the guitar player called a greeting to some new arrivals. Robyn had a sudden urge to get drunk.
TUESDAY 20 SEPTEMBER
22
Without opening her eyes, Robyn resisted the urge to go to the bathroom for as long as possible until it became an imperative. The moment she swung her feet to the floor, her eyes jerked open. It had all seemed like such a good idea last night, to have a couple of beers and walk the mile home from the town centre. She had ended up in her bare feet because her new shoes hurt so much: the skin of both feet was a patchwork of red blotches, the soles blistered.
She wondered how long she had before the alarm was due to go off. Squinting at the clock, it took seconds to process what she was seeing. She had slept through the alarm. The headache was pushed to the back of her mind as she realised how late she was going to be. She had trouble focusing on the mirror while shaving and there were patches where the skin was scraped raw, a dribble of blood welling from a cut. Yesterday’s suit was in a heap on the bedroom floor. When she picked up the trousers, there was a very definite damp patch around one knee. Touching the patch brought away a brown stain. Swallowing, she chucked them in the bath without investigating further. Her other suit needed mending: it would have to be either one of the skirts she wore around the house in the evenings, jeans or a pair of casual trousers she hadn’t got round to sending back. When she put them on, they sank down her non-curving hips, exposing a large patch of stomach. The only top long enough to cover everything was a slouchy jumper that looked very casual. She didn’t dare look at herself in the mirror.
The kettle seemed very loud as it boiled. When she poured, she got a dribble of water with a lot of dregs and scale. If she had forgotten to pre-fill the kettle, the walk home had not sobered her up as much as she thought. Shreds of kebab meat, lettuce and an empty paper takeaway cup sat on the counter. A brown stain ran down the front of the units to a pool on the floor. One piece of good news then was the stain on her trousers must just be cola. Although food was the last thing on her mind, she put a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and gulped down a glass of water which did nothing to take away the stale taste in her mouth. The bandages had gone from her hands, she had no idea where. The toast was taking so long, she began to wonder whether the machine was even working. Popping up the tray to look, the bread hadn’t even begun to colour. Pushing it back down, she put the radio on.
Eight o’clock on North Kent FM, the news headlines, I’m Jenny Falconer. The leading feminist, Dr Felicity Bergmann has attacked an ‘erosion of female consciousness’ during a debate in Meresbourne last night. Bergmann described the media as ‘letting anyone believe they can be a woman as if it were a fashion statement’. The event, held at the town hall, was trouble-free though there was a heavy police presence following the disturbances at the weekend.
Robyn stared at the radio. Her nagging headache was replaced by a sick feeling. A dark smell caught the back of her throat: a thin stream of smoke was coming from the toaster. Robyn had to dash to the downstairs cloakroom.
As she washed out her mouth, she was struck by shame at getting into this state and a sudden fear of whether she had disgraced herself in front of Lorraine and Chloe. There was also the question of how she would get through the day when all she wanted to do was go back to bed. The idea of taking a sick day was out of the question so she called for a taxi.
Abandoning the burnt toast, she forced down a couple of slices of plain bread with two glasses of water. She slipped into her work shoes. The laces put more pressure on the tops of her feet though at least they were not rubbing on the same points. As the taxi honked outside, she hur
ried up to the bathroom and grabbed a packet of paracetamol.
‘Good morning.’ The formal greeting was in a thick, Eastern European accent. ‘To the police station, yes?’
‘Morning. Yes please.’ Robyn settled into the back of the cab and spent a minute trying to click in the seatbelt. Once done, she reached into her handbag for her make-up pouch. She had seen women putting on make-up in all sorts of places: she didn’t see why it should be any different for her. She uncapped the foundation. As she squeezed the tube, a bubble of air popped, sending small drops of fawn liquid over her trousers and some onto the car seat.
‘Bugger!’
She was conscious of the cabbie’s eyes flicking to the rear-view mirror. Putting the cap back on the tube as fast as she could, she reached into her bag for tissues and began dabbing at the smears. The motion of the car was not helping her stomach and the air was too hot: she fumbled around the door.
‘You try open window? I do here.’ He pressed something and the window slid down. They were out onto the ring road now in stop-start traffic and the air smelled of diesel.
‘I’m sorry, could you pull over? I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘You no sick in my car.’ The driver had half a car’s space in front of him and lurched the wheel to the left, bumping onto the verge. Robyn pushed open the door and leant out, not even managing to undo the seatbelt. The sickness travelled up her throat until she retched, lumps of bread clogging in her mouth. She waited until she was sure there was no more. She tried not to think about the faces in the cars passing and hoped there was no one from the station. When the shaking stopped, she shut the door. ‘I’m sorry. I’m OK now.’
‘I’m adding money for cleaning.’ The cabbie forced the car back into the line of traffic. At least he kept quiet for the rest of the journey while Robyn tried to piece together exactly what she had done last night. Chloe had left straight after the set finished. Robyn remembered sitting down with Lorraine and the band, sticking to beer. She was sure it was no later than ten-thirty when she’d left. There was a moment’s relief that she had done nothing bad in front of her colleagues. It had been on the way home when she had run into Ady who was on his way back from covering the Loveless panel debate at the town hall. Because both of them were off duty, one of them had suggested a nightcap: she had a horrible feeling it might have been her because she finally had something to celebrate. They had ended up in a bar with a Scottish landlord and a great selection of whiskies. She remembered laughing when Ady quoted some of the speakers’ more ridiculous statements and his impression of Fell had been hilarious.