by JANICE FROST
“Thank goodness.” Lizzie embraced her sister, all hostilities forgotten — or suspended, at least. PJ felt like an intruder. She gazed around the canteen. Soon she’d be back here with Steve. “I’ll be off then,” she said. “I hope Cam will be okay.” She turned to go.
“Detective Jenkins.” It still gave PJ a little shiver of pleasure to hear herself addressed in this way. She looked at Val.
“Thank you for coming. I appreciate your concern.”
PJ inclined her head and walked away. She could sense Val’s eyes upon her. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about Ruth. I’ll be back to ask more questions. PJ sighed. Ruth had won herself a reprieve.
* * *
Lying in bed that night, Jim Neal reflected on his meeting with Myrna. He knew that Ava had been fishing for information on their drive to Cambridge, but he hadn’t felt ready to talk with her yet. He needed some kind of hiatus, a breathing space before he could move on with his life. And there was the case, of course. But then there was always going to be a case.
It had been unsettling seeing Myrna again. They hadn’t met face to face in years, and the sight of her walking towards him across the police station car park had reeled back the years at a dizzying pace.
At the time they’d parted, back in Edinburgh, Myrna had been determined to make a name for herself in the music world. Opera was her first love, but her voice was still immature and she had gone off to London to train. In the meantime, she’d accepted minor roles in musicals, and was now becoming known in musical theatre.
Neal had looked her up online from time to time, so he already knew that she’d changed her hair colour and looked a lot more polished than when they were together. But no picture could evoke the strange mixture of feelings he’d experienced on seeing her for real.
She’d walked up and kissed him right away. He’d kissed her back before he knew what he was doing. The sensation of feeling her lips on his was so familiar.
His friend Jock always said that Myrna was an enchantress, and she’d bewitched him. Looking at her after so many years, Neal could almost believe that the spell had never been broken, only pulled taut and Myrna was now rewinding the thread.
Myrna had been the first to pull away
“Jimmy. What a welcome!” Myrna stepped back and looked him up and down. “Still the handsome devil, I see.” She linked arms with him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Catching sight of Tom and Ava’s car just turning out onto the main road, Neal experienced a twist of anxiety.
“So where are you taking me, Jim?” Myrna asked. Her accent took him right back to the West Lothian village they had both grown up in.
“There’s a nice little Italian in the cathedral quarter that you might like. Italian used to be your favourite food, if I remember rightly. Though things change, of course.”
“Oh, I still adore Italian food.”
Neal led Myrna through a cobbled alleyway, a shortcut through to the top end of the High Street and the start of the Long Hill. “Just like an Edinburgh close,” Myrna remarked. “Don’t you miss it, Jim? I never thought you’d leave Edinburgh. Remember all those times we’d bunk off school and catch the bus into town, and just walk and walk?”
“I remember,” Neal said, somewhat wistfully. It was true. He did miss Edinburgh, but he’d made a life for himself and Archie here in Stromford. And unless he was mistaken, Myrna’s home was in London now.
“No harm in a wee bit of nostalgia, is there, Jimmy?”
“I suppose not.” He wondered whether he should tell Myrna the reason why he’d left Edinburgh. How he’d needed the promotion to make a better life for Archie. House prices were cheaper here. No need to mention any of that. He was happy enough with his choices. He’d been the one who wanted to be a parent. He’d pleaded with Myrna to carry their child to term, with the promise that she would never have to bear any of the responsibility.
“This is it,” he said, stopping in front of the little restaurant where he, Maggie, Jock and Archie came to eat regularly. They went inside and the waiter greeted Neal with a friendly, “Ciao,” and a questioning glance at Myrna. A couple of women were enjoying a meal and a bottle of Prosecco. They looked up as Myrna and Neal settled themselves at their table. Probably assumed they were a couple.
Myrna looked around, and Neal noticed her grimace of distaste. She never used to be so particular. “Not what you’re used to?” he asked, amused. Myrna assured him she was perfectly happy with the restaurant, such as it was, but this was only the first in a string of criticisms.
She couldn’t find her favourite dish on the menu. The wine tasted peculiar and she sent it back. Her pasta wasn’t al dente, could they do it again. In fact, it had put her off, could she order pizza instead. Her voice was too loud and her tone with the staff brusque, almost arrogant. Despite the evidence of his eyes, Neal began to wonder if this really was Myrna sitting opposite him. Surely she hadn’t always behaved this way. Soon, he found himself cringing with embarrassment for her and as soon as she went off to the toilet, he apologised to the staff. How many other things had he failed to notice about Myrna back then?
Myrna dominated the conversation throughout the meal. That was nothing new, Neal recalled. He’d always been the listener in their relationship. He’d been so besotted with her that he’d been content to look at her, not really caring what she said, just unable to believe his luck that she’d chosen him to talk to. Now it took him no time at all to realise that Myrna really only had only one topic of conversation — Myrna.
Myrna had talked non-stop, but she hadn’t once mentioned Archie. Only once they had ordered dessert, and then coffee, did she.
“So, how is our boy?”
Our boy. Neal’s heart filled with dread. Since Myrna’s phone call, he had been preparing himself for this. For what Maggie kept referring to as ‘Myrna’s hidden agenda.’ Maggie had run through all the possibilities the previous evening, after Archie was asleep.
She’s got some incurable disease and wants to see Archie before she dies. This theory topped Maggie’s list, followed by the one that Neal hated most: Archie isn’t yours. The look on Neal’s face when Maggie came up with this one had made Jock bellow with laughter. “For pity’s sake, Jim, have you not looked at the laddie lately? Archie’s your bloody double. And, Maggie, you need to stop watching so many soaps.”
Neal’s imagination was less fertile. He’d assumed that Myrna could have only one reason for turning up in Stromford — she had suddenly changed her mind about being involved in Archie’s life. He’d lain awake for hours the night before, worrying that Myrna planned to whisk Archie off to London to live with her.
Before he could comment, Myrna gave a hearty laugh. “You don’t have to worry about me getting all maternal and trying to take Archie away from you. Nothing’s changed on that front, Jim.”
Neal was overwhelmed with relief.
“Look at you. Is that what you thought?”
“It did cross my mind.” Understatement of the decade.
“I expect Maggie’s been twisting the knife. She never did like me.”
“That’s not true.” Liar.
“What’s she doing these days, your sister?”
“Maggie’s been living here in Stromford. She’s getting married in the new year. To my friend, Jock.”
“Jock Dodds?” Myrna’s incredulous expression puzzled Neal.
“I slept with him once, you know.” It was Neal’s turn to look incredulous. “It was a couple of years after we split up, Jim. I never two-timed you if that’s what the long face is about.”
Neal stared out the window. Why had Jock never told him this? Did it matter? It wasn’t as if his friend or his ex-lover had betrayed him. Did Maggie know?
“It was only the once. I was in Edinburgh doing a show in the Fringe. I bumped into a very drunk Jock and I seduced him, shameless hussy that I am. Even then he was carrying a torch for your sister. I never thought he’d get up the courage to ask her
out, never mind marry her.” She leaned across the table. “He wasn’t nearly as good in bed as you, Jim.”
Neal stole a glance at the Prosecco women, but they seemed not to have overheard. Or perhaps they were being polite. Maybe Myrna’s voice wasn’t as loud as he thought it was. And then he caught the eye of one of the waiters and he knew it was.
“You’re as red as a beetroot,” Myrna teased. “What happened to you, Jim? You never used to be such an old stuffed shirt. You used to be fun.” She paused. “I can’t believe you ended up being a copper.”
I grew up, Neal was tempted to say, irritated at her mocking tone and the word ‘copper.’ But he had no desire to provoke her. If she cared to, she could complicate things for him and Archie.
He was still curious as to why Myrna’d come to Stromford. Was Maggie right in suspecting that she had some hidden agenda? The waiter hovered near their table and Myrna barked, in that unfamiliar, brash voice. “Can we get the bill?”
It was not until they’d left the restaurant and were sitting in a bar nearby that Myrna revealed the reason for her visit.
“You’re probably wondering why I’ve come to see you after so long, Jim.” Myrna laid a hand on his knee.
Here it comes. Neal braced himself.
“The thing is, I’ve met someone and we’re getting married. He’s a musical theatre director, an American. From Boston, actually.”
It was worse than he thought. She was going to take Archie out of the country with her. A feeling of doom descended on Neal.
“It probably sounds a bit weird, but before I went ahead with the wedding plans, I wanted to be sure that Joey really is the one.”
Whatever Neal had been expecting, this certainly wasn’t it.
“You were my first love, Jimmy. We lost our virginity together. Remember how awkward it was that first time, at my parent’s house, fumbling around with the condom in the half-dark?”
Neal nodded, wondering if it was too soon to feel relief. “Aye,” he said, hoping Myrna wouldn’t delve any deeper into that particular memory. He had a sudden vision of Sandy McCloud, Myrna’s dad, eyeing them with suspicion whenever they came downstairs after an extended session in Myrna’s bedroom. And his warning. “If you get my daughter in the family way, I’ll tan the behind aff ye.”
Myrna chattered on. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’ve thought about you a lot over the years, Jim Neal, and I just wanted to be sure that I wasn’t still carrying a torch for you. Before I go off and tie the knot with Joey.”
Her grip on his knee tightened. So did Neal’s chest. Was Myrna about to declare that it had been a terrible mistake splitting up with him after Archie was born? But she’d already said she wanted no part in Archie’s life, hadn’t she? Perhaps he’d misunderstood. Myrna’s words filtered through his panic, slowly turning his emotion to elation.
“. . . And after this afternoon, I can say, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that the torch is completely extinguished.”
“Er . . .”
“So do I have your blessing, Jimmy?”
“Absolutely, one hundred per cent,” Neal said, a little too effusively. Myrna grunted. “Oh. Right, well. I take it the feeling’s mutual, then.”
He felt easier in her company after that. Maggie had been wrong. There had been no hidden agenda. Or, there had, but the outcome was positive. It seemed to clear the air between them. More drinks followed, and before Neal knew it, the afternoon had given way to evening.
And then they were standing outside Myrna’s hotel. There was an awkward moment when Neal wondered if he should kiss her goodbye and if so, would a peck on the cheek suffice. Then Myrna asked, “Want to come up?” Neal was appalled.
The air around them vibrated with Myrna’s peal of mischievous laughter. Suddenly, Neal was reminded of the girl he’d fallen in love with. The girl who’d given him that wonderful, amazing gift of a child. His son, Archie.
“I thought it might be nice, you know, for old time’s sake. But I can see that someone else has your heart now, Jimmy.” Myrna kissed him on the cheek. “Whoever she is, I hope she appreciates you.” Another chaste kiss, before she shooed him off, saying, somewhat enigmatically, “No regrets, Jim.”
Neal walked home slowly, the past vivid in his mind and in his emotions. When he reached the cathedral, he paused and stood for a moment, admiring the ornate Romanesque stone carvings on the columns on either side of the west front doors. They rose up to form a series of arches, and every one of them was different. Some were decorated with geometric shapes, others with birds and beasts, real and fantastic. Neal had spent a pleasant afternoon in the summer, watching Archie sketch some of the designs for a school project. He’d taken pictures on his phone and downloaded them into a folder on his laptop. Archie sketching the arches. No, he had no regrets.
Back at his house, Neal closed the gate to his small front garden and strolled up the path. Maggie waved to him from the window, and met him in the hallway, bursting to hear the news.
They went into the sitting room at the front of the house, where Jock was reading a newspaper.
“Archie’s asleep. I read him the last couple of chapters of Stormbreaker. It’s bad news, isn’t it?” Maggie said. “Myrna’s been diagnosed with an inherited disease that affects the male line and you’ll have to decide whether to have Archie tested.”
“Where do you get that crap from?” Neal said. Over the top of the Guardian, Jock studied him closely.
Neal decided he’d better put Maggie out of her misery.
“Myrna’s getting married and moving to the States. She hardly even mentioned Archie.” His sister threw herself upon him and hugged him in jubilant relief.
“That’s brilliant news! I can’t wait to tell . . .” Maggie’s voice tailed off. Jock had a sudden coughing fit and asked for a glass of water. Neal surprised them both by declaring he was having an early night.
Chapter Fourteen
Fin O’Shea stood at the nurses’ station and looked down the row of beds. It was six thirty in the morning, the ward hushed and softly lit. His heart ached at the sight of Ruth, curled in a chair, loosely covered with a hospital blanket, asleep at their son’s bedside. Her cheeks were flushed. Damp tendrils of brown hair curled around her forehead, and tiny bubbles escaped her pursed lips as she exhaled. Fin was overcome. He tore his eyes from Ruth and looked at Cam, fast asleep also, lying atop the covers, wearing only a nappy. A wave of tenderness engulfed him and he felt tears prick his eyes.
He settled into a chair beside Ruth, and waited. It was alright. Cam was going to be alright, he told himself. Ruth had assured him that Cam’s condition wasn’t life-threatening. When she’d first called, from an ambulance on her way to the hospital, it had seemed that his whole life was falling apart. Now he could allow himself a moment’s respite from worry.
Ruth’s had not been the only bad news he’d received that day. Fin sighed. He’d already had plenty to worry about, even before her call.
The previous afternoon, an unlikely caller had turned up at their house in Cambridge. The unexpected sight of Darren Sharp on his doorstep had set alarm bells ringing. Ordinarily, Darren wouldn’t set foot outside his own territory, and his mere presence in Cambridge could signify only one thing. Trouble. He was right.
Fin had been expecting some kind of fallout from that day in London when he’d taken Hector to meet Liam. It had taken its time in coming, nearly two years. But now it had arrived in the form of Liam’s brother, with a story Fin could hardly believe.
“It’s bad, man,” Darren had said, stepping into the house without invitation. “Your mate Hector’s ripped Liam off, and you know what my bro’s like when someone pisses him off.”
Fin knew. He thought of the severed ear. The way Liam had flicked it casually across the room, as though it were the skin from an apple he’d just peeled and didn’t want left sticking to his knife. His victim’s screams hadn’t provoked so much as a blink.
“Tell me wha
t Hector did,” Fin said.
It was worse than he imagined. A few weeks ago, one of Liam’s dealers had been attacked in his home. His attacker had made off with twenty grand’s worth of coke. The mystery man had been wearing a scarf to cover the lower half of his face — one of those with grinning skeleton teeth — and ski goggles. It had taken a little time, but Liam had managed to bribe a corrupt police buddy to get hold of the CCTV footage for the area, and it had revealed a man fitting Hector’s description getting into a flash red sports car parked several streets away.
“This has nothing to do with me,” Fin said.
“That ain’t how Liam sees it.”
“I introduced Hector to Liam, that’s all. I can’t be held responsible for his actions.”
“C’mon, man. You vouched for him. Way Liam sees it, that means you are responsible.”
Fin’s head reeled. Of course. Everything was black and white in Liam’s world.
“Wh-what am I supposed to do?”
Darren had a plan. “You take me to your mate and we beat the shit out of him to teach him a lesson. If he has the merchandise, I take it back to Liam. Problem solved.”
“And if he doesn’t have it?” Fin asked. He had a sudden vision of Dana Schell. Of the drugs the police recovered from her bedroom. Darren didn’t answer. There was no need.
It was difficult for Fin to comprehend Hector’s lack of judgement, his sheer idiocy. Hector was an arrogant bastard. He probably believed that his ill-conceived robbery had gone without a hitch. In addition, he most likely thought he had nothing to fear from a low life like Liam. He was wrong on both counts. That was the problem with entitled pricks like Hector. They lacked all understanding when it came to those they presumed to be socially inferior.
Fin wondered if Hector’s perspective would shift when he caught sight of Darren standing outside his front door. Would he wonder how the sleazy underworld of East End drug dealing could possibly find its way to his own doorstep?
But when Hector had answered the door to Fin and Darren at his luxury home in Marton Tower, he had a poker face that made Fin marvel that he ever lost at cards. Hector’s gaze brushed over Darren, to Fin, who read the silent question in his eyes: Why have you brought this piece of human garbage to my door?