My keys were in the footwell there, where I had dropped them. Picking them up, I wondered who I could call. Not Ray. And Diane was still in Dublin. I looked back at the rear windscreen, the bits of glass fringing the hole like some entrance to an ice cave. She’d appreciate it. There was no one to call.
‘Fine,’ I said aloud, my voice husky with tears. ‘Just absolutely fucking fine.’
Then I started the car, took it to have the rear windscreen repaired and went shopping. The world still turned; we still had to eat.
I felt jaded, numb, indifferent even. It was a mask, I think, born of shock, something to get me through the aftermath of being so frightened. And I had to be strong, keep functioning, because there was no one else. I was on my own.
SIXTEEN
While I put the shopping away, I thought about Dryden. He’d left Spain to escape the fraud charges there, and presumably thought I was tracing him for the Spanish authorities or his creditors. His alibi, if it could be proven, was a strong one. And taken with his demeanour, the way he’d sought me out and threatened me meant I no longer considered him a credible suspect. If he was a killer, he’d never have crawled back out of the woodwork like that. He’d have stayed hidden, protected himself.
With Damien gone, and Dryden ruled out, there was no one else who looked guilty. The person most likely to – Heather Carter – had a sound alibi backed up by her respected friend and by third parties.
So, if it wasn’t someone who knew Charlie could it have been an act of random violence? My mind returned again to the possibility of it being a road rage incident. Valerie said they’d tailed Charlie’s car as far as the turn off, then retraced their route home. Might Valerie have seen any bad driving, any trouble between Charlie and other motorists? Surely she would have said as much when notified of his death. Had she seen anyone else following Charlie’s car? Or had Heather? I was reluctant to intrude on the Carters again but plucked up the courage to try Valerie Mayhew. No answer. She might be at the Civil Justice Centre.
At reception, they told me which court Valerie Mayhew was sitting in. I slipped into her courtroom and her eyes flicked my way, freezing for a moment in clear displeasure when she saw who I was.
They were considering a case of non-payment of council tax. Mayhew, sitting in the centre of the panel of three, instructed the man concerned that he would be expected to pay his arrears off at a given rate. She gave him a brief lecture on the powers of the court to act if he failed to comply. The man was dismissed and there was a break between cases. Valerie Mayhew whispered something to her colleagues and they gathered their papers and left. She made her way over to where I was sitting.
I saw her pause and narrow her eyes as she made out the bruising already flaring on my jaw and cheek. Underneath my clothes I could feel a whole bunch more of them emerging.
‘I hope you won’t be making a habit of this,’ she said crisply. ‘I have work to do.’
‘And I’m trying to do mine,’ I said calmly. ‘I won’t keep you long.’
She inclined her head but didn’t sit, reinforcing the impression of a strict teacher.
‘It’s about when you followed Charlie in the car.’
She blinked, frowning. I don’t know what she’d expected me to ask but it wasn’t this.
‘Did you see anything happen on the way? Any near misses, any trouble between him and other motorists?’
‘No,’ she replied.
‘You could see him all the time? Were you immediately behind him?’
‘At first, then there was a car between us. Why?’ she said.
‘Weren’t you afraid he’d recognize you, or the car?’
‘A little, but it was dark. I don’t suppose most of us pay attention to who’s behind unless there’s a problem.’
‘Was there anyone following you?’
She frowned, shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘The car that came between you – did it turn off with Charlie?’
She thought for a moment, ‘No, it carried on.’
‘And you never lost sight of him? You’d no problem keeping up?’
‘None at all. The traffic was slow moving. I wondered if he’d noticed us. That’s why I let the other vehicle in. What’s all this about?’
I wasn’t sure any more. Maybe Charlie had annoyed a motorist further along into his journey. Maybe there was no road rage incident and Sinclair was right. I was scrabbling for theories.
‘Just background,’ I smiled. The gesture hurt my cheekbone.
She didn’t smile back. ‘I really must get on,’ she said. ‘And I’d rather not be interrupted at work in future.’ And with that she walked off.
Ray was still in bed. I’d put my head round his door to see if he wanted a cup of tea, figuring that an amiable approach from me might improve things between us more quickly than if I left it up to him (Ray’s default mode during conflict was to sulk). He was still asleep.
Abi asked me about my face when I swapped ice cream for Jamie, and I’d told her I’d managed to collide with the back door on the hatchback when I was loading the shopping. ‘I’m always doing it,’ I said. ‘Never learn.’
After grabbing something to eat, I fed and changed Jamie. I talked to her and watched her mimic me: trying out shapes with her mouth as I babbled on. ‘What are we going to do with you?’ I rubbed her tummy. ‘What are we going to do?’
It was a good job Ray was out of it; otherwise he’d be back on my case, telling me it was now day seven and we needed to alert social services to the situation. The prospect made me queasy. How would they regard the week-long delay in contacting them? Might they turn the spotlight on me, my motives, examine my circumstances? I’d probably be treated with suspicion at the very least, or as a nutter. With a squirt of anxiety, acid in my stomach, I wondered if they’d question my ability to care for Maddie. Would they want to assess me as a parent? A frightening prospect. Now I was getting paranoid. Wasn’t I?
The doorbell went at one o’clock. I was cautious, jittery, still shaken by the attack and so I checked through the glass before opening the door.
It was a young woman. She’d long hair, dyed an artificial crimson colour, the vivid tone contrasting with the pallor of her face. She was of slight build and wore a bright green coat with three-quarter length sleeves (a style that would make my wrists ache in the cold), black leggings and fake Ugg boots.
‘A’right,’ she said.
Did I know her? There was something familiar in the shape of her face, the narrow planes, sharp nose, the cast of her eyes. She snorted, shook her head and the light glanced off the sheen in her hair, she cut her eyes away and back at me. ‘Leanne,’ she announced. ‘Yeah?’
Leanne! The hair had changed from the mousy rats tails I remember and she was a few years older, but now I knew her. The first time we met she’d been a homeless waif plaiting bracelets to make a few pounds, squatting in an abandoned warehouse. She’d been part of a case I was working on. She’d had a traumatic life in care, horribly abused by the people supposed to be looking after her. The boy I was searching for had been violated in the same way. Parties in the care homes, the young and the vulnerable easy pickings for the powerful men who got pleasure from raping children. I didn’t know all that until it was almost too late. Leanne helped me out at first, then blamed me when things went wrong. I took her out for a meal and to pump for questions and she stole from me. The last time I saw her, she was in fear for her life. I watched her shoot a man dead, vengeance and damage etched on her face, and run away. She was thirteen years old, then. She probably saved my life. I’d never expected to see her again; I’d doubted she’d survive. I’d expected her to disappear into a world of addiction and dispossession. Die alone, in some squalid squat.
‘Leanne,’ I said, still fumbling for comprehension.
‘Where is she, then?’ She had a huge sports bag by her side and hoisted it over her shoulder, stepping inside. She smelt of cigarettes and fabric conditioner.
‘Jamie.’ Connections were sparking, fizzing and rearranging in my mind. I felt dizzy.
‘Jamie?’ Leanne dumped her bag in the hall and pushed the door shut. ‘She’s not called Jamie.’ She sounded disgusted, her lip curling at the thought.
‘I’d no idea what she was called,’ I retorted. ‘You didn’t put that on the note, did you?’
‘Oh, soz. It’s Lola. Jamie’s a boy’s name.’
‘Not always,’ I argued.
‘Jamie Oliver.’ She flung back the name of the celebrity chef. She glanced around the hall, moving into the playroom. Quick, nervy, still a wild quality to her. Questions crowded my head; where to start? She turned to me, her face narrowing with suspicion. ‘Where is she? You didn’t put her in care?’ Her eyes shimmered with anxiety and her voice shook.
‘She’s here.’ I led Leanne into the lounge.
‘Lola.’ She scooped up the baby, hugged her close and kissed her head, then her cheeks, repeating her name and hugged her close again. Her own eyes closed, Lola kicked her legs, chuntered.
‘Where’ve you been?’ I asked Leanne. ‘What on earth made you leave her? Why here?’
Leanne continued to cradle her daughter, swinging her hips slightly from side to side.
‘What’s going on?’ Ray came in, still in his pyjamas.
Leanne opened her eyes. ‘Cool jim-jams.’ She nodded.
‘Leanne,’ I tried to stay on track, ‘I didn’t even know it was you. Why didn’t you explain?’ I looked over to Ray. ‘Leanne, Jamie’s mother.’
‘Lola,’ Leanne corrected. She patted the baby’s bottom. ‘What’s she wearing?’
‘Reusable nappy,’ I said.
‘Ugh, gross.’ She curled her lip.
‘Where’ve you been, Leanne?’
‘You know her?’ Ray asked me.
‘She was a friend of J.B. – the guy who had Digger.’ J.B., a homeless lad himself, had been a kind friend to Leanne and other homeless youngsters. He had been killed when he got too close to the paedophile ring I was investigating. I found his body.
‘You kept Digger.’ Leanne nodded. Then her face altered: sudden worry again. ‘He all right with the baby?’
‘Keeps out of the way,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you come in and tell me what was going on? Instead of just leaving a note. I’d no idea who the baby was, who’d left her.’
‘You might have turned us down,’ she said with a shrug. ‘And I put my name on, anyway.’
‘It was illegible,’ said Ray coldly.
‘Sorry,’ she said, sounding anything but.
‘Why leave her?’ I asked.
‘It’s complicated,’ she said.
Ray sat down in one of the armchairs; he looked horribly serious. ‘So, explain,’ he said.
‘Go on.’ I sat on the sofa.
Leanne sighed. ‘I had to make myself disappear for a bit. I didn’t know where I’d end up. I couldn’t take her with me.’
‘Why did you have to disappear?’ Ray asked.
‘Who’s he?’ Leanne complained to me. She was a teenager still, trying to play us off against each other.
‘Answer the question, Leanne.’
‘This bloke, he’s bad news, he won’t take no for an answer. He’s been inside and he was coming out, expecting to play happy families.’
I heard Ray groan, dismayed at the scenario.
‘He’s your boyfriend?’ I asked her.
‘Was. For, like, five minutes. I didn’t want him near her.’
My heart sank. It sounded like Leanne was still stuck in the same murky, dangerous world as when I’d last known her.
‘Why me?’ I asked.
She shifted Lola to the other shoulder. ‘He never knew about you – wouldn’t have a clue. Anyone else, he might have guessed. You helped us out before,’ she said gruffly, a wash of colour in her cheeks.
‘How did you know I was still here?’
‘The phone call about energy suppliers?’ She smirked. I’d a dim recollection, a cold call.
‘You hung up on me halfway through the spiel. And you’re in the Yellow Pages so I knew you were still in business. So I brought Lola here, then I kept moving.’
‘Where did you go?’ I asked.
‘Seaside. Friggin’ cold.’
‘Where did you sleep?’
‘Wherever.’ She raised Lola up, held her by the waist and let her fly, arms extended like a little astronaut.
‘Outside?’ Ray clarified.
Leanne shot him a pitying look and lowered Lola.
‘Won’t he still be looking for you?’ I was worried for her, for the baby.
‘Nah. He got into a scrap on Saturday night, glassed this bloke. He’s out on licence so he goes straight back in.’ She smiled, lowered Lola and held her on one hip. I thought of Chloe Beswick, managing with her kids, planning her brother’s funeral.
‘So, where are you living?’ I said.
‘Been over in Leeds for a while. I’m on the list for a place; they say it could be eighteen months. I’m at a mate’s, on the couch. Her bloke’s fed up with us being there so I might have to find somewhere else. She been all right for you, then?’
‘You don’t seem to have any idea of the trouble you’ve caused.’ Ray spoke; I could tell from his tone that he was furious.
‘What trouble?’ Leanne’s lip curled.
‘Ray,’ I tried to interrupt, calm him down. I knew Leanne’s apparent recklessness; her insouciance was as much a front as anything else. Lecturing her would only provoke more of the same.
‘What if we’d gone to the authorities?’ he demanded.
‘Well, you didn’t, did you?’ she flung back at him.
‘If it had been up to me—’
‘Well, I didn’t leave her with you, I left her with Sal. Wouldn’t leave a bloody goldfish with someone like you.’
They were squaring up like dogs for a fight.
‘And now you expect us to watch you pick up the baby and sail off, God knows where, sleeping on the streets with her.’ He got to his feet.
Leanne jabbed a finger at him. ‘You don’t know anything about me, mate, so keep your nose out.’
‘Can you look after her? Properly?’ he challenged.
‘Ray, please—’ I tried.
‘Yes, I bloody can. I left her here, didn’t I, to keep her safe. She’s never had to sleep on the streets, she’s never gone hungry. I look after her.’ She was worked up, shouting. Lola was beginning to whimper. I didn’t want Leanne storming out, for the whole thing to collapse into a slanging match.
‘Of course you can,’ I said steadily. ‘Let’s just calm down. Look, you’d like a cup of tea, something to eat?’
Ray made a blurting sound. I ignored him.
‘Yeah, ta.’ She patted Lola again, whispering to her, turning her back on Ray.
‘Ray?’ I nodded to him to get out and make the tea. I thought he’d combust. ‘I’d like to talk to Leanne in private. What’d you like?’ I asked her. ‘Beans egg, toast?’
‘Yeah, ta.’
Ray gave a hollow laugh. ‘You want to feed her, you make it.’ He strode out of the room.
Leanne swung round, raised her eyebrows to me. ‘Knobhead,’ she said.
‘So, how are you doing, really?’ I said quietly.
‘Fine.’
‘Leanne,’ I said gently, ‘it can’t have been easy—’
She sat on the floor, settled Lola on her back between her legs so the child could see her face, Leanne held the baby’s feet, rubbed her thumbs against the small soles. ‘It hasn’t, but soon as I was expecting I got myself sorted, cleaned up.’
‘You were using?’ I tried to keep any censure from my voice.
‘Just pills. Not now, though. Nothing since, well . . . a bit of weed. I’m not going to mess this up.’ She met my eyes, a moment’s direct honesty. ‘You know what happened to me,’ she reminded me. She paused for a fraction, the bitter history hung in the air. ‘Well, I did
a parenting course,’ she said. ‘There’s this project in Leeds. It’s good. I’m gonna do an access course when she’s bigger. I’m going to do right by her.’
I believed her. Or at least I believed the desire behind it. Whether she’d be able to overcome the weight of her past, change the fate she had been dealt and reinvent her life was impossible to guess. ‘What would you like to do?’
‘Youth work,’ she said, quick as a flash. ‘Have to get some exams first. But the tutor says I could do it, just need to put the work in.’
‘Good. I’ll get that food.’
Leanne scrambled to her feet and picked up Lola. In the kitchen she strapped her in the baby seat and chattered to her while I made the meal. When I put the plate down in front of her she said, ‘Ta,’ and began to eat ravenously, smacking her lips and with her eyes on Lola in between.
‘This place you’re staying,’ I asked her, ‘you said it was in Leeds?’
‘Chapeltown. I might move back this way but then I don’t know if they’d transfer me on the lists. Could try the housing associations.’
‘And the access course?’ I said.
‘They’ll have the same sort of thing here.’
Ray came in. He still hadn’t got dressed and ignored us and began making a cup of tea.
Lola grinned and blew a raspberry. Leanne waved her fork at her.
When I thought of them leaving, Lola disappearing, it gave me a hollow ache inside. Then I had an idea. Crazy but perfect.
‘You got any biscuits?’ Leanne asked.
I found her some shortbread. ‘We’ve got a room to let,’ I said. ‘A flat – on the top floor.’
‘You are joking!’ Ray exploded, slamming his teaspoon on to the counter.
‘Don’t think Mr Hitler there’s all that keen,’ Leanne smirked.
‘Sal,’ Ray warned, ‘no way.’
‘A trial run,’ I said to both of them. ‘A month. You’d have to pay your way,’ I told Leanne, ‘rent, bills.’
‘Once my benefits come through,’ she qualified.
‘You are out of your mind,’ Ray said to me. ‘We decide on tenants together – you can’t just unilaterally invite her like this.’
Crying Out Loud Page 15