Pinpoint

by Sheila Mary Taylor

  And she was right. From the very first bar of music Julia could see that there was something magical about the way Nicky moved that was different from all the others. Looking so cute in her gathered net skirt, she wished Simon could see her now.

  ‘Four steps soft. Three stamps and one clap. Big smile please. Hands behind backs. Heel close, heel close. Three claps, feet together,’ sang Sonya above the sound of the piano.

  After half an hour of lively tap, the children changed into their pink ballet shoes for the part of the class Nicky always said she loved the best.

  ‘Fairies can’t be seen,’ Sonya said, leading them into a circle. ‘They can’t be heard either. I don’t want to hear a single sound but I want to see magic fingers sparkling. Now, feet in first position, arms nice and round. Three slow demi-plies. Now zip up your legs. Feet together. Up on your toes. Spin round with arms up . . .’

  Julia watched mesmerised as the graceful fairies were transformed into witches. ‘Catch the bat. Into the pot. Grab the spider.’

  After that it was point and close, point and close to a lively waltz, and finally the promised pony races.

  ‘It’s the team who do it best, not the fastest,’ Sonya said. ‘Two ponies at a time. Trot, gallop and o-ver the jumps.’

  At the end of the class Sonya waited for Julia at the door. ‘I’m glad you came, Mrs Grant. She was better than ever today. But I’ve been having second thoughts.’

  Julia felt her smile fast disappearing. What now, she wondered.

  ‘For a few weeks we’d like Nicky to come to extra classes on Tuesdays, four till five-thirty, just until she catches up with the others. It’s only fair to her. I’m engaging a new young teacher, Dominique, a brilliant dancer. Nicky will adore her.’

  Nicky tugged at Julia’s hand as Sonya carried on. ‘Apart from ballet and tap, Dominique will also concentrate on musical interpretation, so important at this stage.’

  At last Julia found her tongue. ‘I’m sorry. Tuesday’s are out of the question.’

  ‘Oh, Mummy. Please.’

  Julia dragged her fingers through her hair. ‘Four till five-thirty . . . I’m afraid I just can’t get away in time to bring her. Perhaps some other time.’

  ‘Please, Mrs Grant,’ Sonya said quietly. ‘It’s not every day we get someone like Dominique. Or Nicky.’ She patted the child’s head. ‘Can’t someone else bring her?’

  Nicky looked up, her big blue eyes wide with expectation.

  ‘Mummy, Wendy can bring me. Please. Say yes.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Wendy can bring her. Four o’clock, you said?’

  Nicky flung her arms round Julia’s waist. ‘I knew you’d say yes, Mummy.’

  - 76 -

  Floating at least ten feet above the seat of his car, Alan swung into Manchester Road and headed for the city. The call-out could wait. This couldn’t. He’d told them to turn everything off at the mains so they’d be fine for another hour.

  Wow! This was the weirdest feeling he’d ever had. He would never have believed he could become such a great big softie, but he couldn’t help it. His baby. Growing inside Wendy’s smashing little body.

  Zooming past the University and the BBC, he turned off Oxford Road and parked near the G-Mex Centre, watching the sun glint on the glass roof and thinking all the time of running his hands over the swell of Wendy’s belly, the swell of his baby. Come to think of it, she did have a slightly more rounded look to her than usual.

  After a brisk walk he found the Register Office in a smart modern building near the Manchester Evening News, tucked in a leafy square between the law courts and Deansgate. What a rat he’d been to her lately. It would serve him right if she walked out on him, so the sooner he did this the better.

  He was first in when they opened at nine. The receptionist directed him to the Superintendent Registrar’s office on the first floor to give notice of marriage and apply for a licence. Apart from a few tricky questions when it came to surprising Wendy for her birthday, it was plain sailing. She must not feel pressurised, the charming Registrar warned. And Alan laughed. ‘There’s no danger of that.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, with an empathetic smile Alan felt sure was genuine. ‘I’ll show you the marriage rooms now, and you can choose which one you’d like.’

  Twenty minutes later he was running down the stairs two at a time with the appointment booklet in his hand. The Gold Room. Tuesday afternoon. It was lucky you needed only one clear day’s notice, not including a Sunday, so Tuesday was perfect. He would ask her to meet him somewhere. Then, just like in the movies, he’d whisk her away and get married. The most perfect birthday present he could give her.

  Oh, he couldn’t wait to see her face.

  - 77 -

  Julia was clearing the lunch dishes when she heard the sound of a car in the driveway.

  Nicky and Duchess had their noses pressed to the hall window.

  ‘Mummy. Quickly. It’s Paul. Can he come with us to The Wizard of Oz? Please.’

  Julia unlocked the door and watched Nicky fly into Paul’s outstretched arms. As he held the child tightly to his cheek, she tried to analyse the strange feeling this sight aroused in her.

  He smiled at her over Nicky’s head. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Are you two ready to go?’

  Nicky tightened her arms around Paul’s neck. ‘Yes, ’course we’re ready, aren’t we, Mummy? Is this our surprise, Paul?’

  Julia glared at him. ‘Paul. I promised Nicky we’d go to The Wizard of Oz. Besides, there’s the puppy. And the kittens.’

  Paul cocked his head to one side. ‘Come on. We can all go to The Wizard another day. We can’t waste such good weather. And I’m sure Wendy would take care of the puppy and the kittens.’ He looked into Nicky’s eyes, bigger and bluer than ever as she stared back adoringly at him. ‘How about it, Princess? Shall we all go to White Pool Farm? They’ve got horses.’

  Nicky looked open-mouthed from Paul to Julia and back again to Paul, then flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

  Paul grinned at Julia. ‘Looks like that’s settled, then, doesn’t it?

  Julia couldn’t help wondering if he were using Nicky to force the pace between them. Second only to her beloved ballet, horses were the unrequited passion of her daughter’s life, and Paul knew that. Then with a pang she remembered his daughter Tandy and the way he’d listened to the Carly Simon song. Maybe he needed a temporary substitute for his daughter, and who could blame him? Nicky loved him. He loved her. And perhaps that was all there was to it.

  She led the way into the house, still not certain what to do. So far there’d been no call from Smith. A good sign or a bad one? She hardly dared put her thoughts into words. According to Martin Bedlow’s prognosis, Smith was unlikely to be able to phone her, let alone execute his threats.

  Yet yesterday morning I saw him in the court.

  Her chest tightened. Smith needs the money, must be desperate for the money, now more than ever. I know he won’t let go without a fight.

  She sighed, collecting herself as she tried to push Smith, the murderer, from her mind. Because that’s who he was. Just a murderer called Smith trying it on. He’s nothing to do with you, Julia, so stop worrying about him. He won’t have been badly injured. She still had a few days grace and in any case she couldn’t get her hands on the money until Tuesday. There was nothing to stop her going. She looked back at Paul’s and Nicky’s expectant faces.

  ‘I’ll throw some things into a bag,’ she said, grinning broadly, for what else could she do. ‘Then I’ll phone Wendy. Can you wait ten minutes?’

  - 78 -

  Nestling in picture-book rolling countryside, White Pool Farm was a small unpretentious hotel Julia felt certain must be the Peak District’s best kept secret. Clearly Paul had chosen it with Nicky in mind. Besides a paddock full of ponies, with children’s rides supervised by the owner’s daughter, there was a virtual menagerie of animals. And at bedtime she’d struggled
to prise her daughter from the playroom.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ Paul said as they sat enjoying a coffee and liqueur at the bar just off the dimly lit lounge.

  She smiled. He had the same intense look she’d seen last night at his flat. She hoped she wasn’t betraying her sudden awareness of their unaccustomed intimacy. I should have let Nicky have dinner with us, she thought.

  She’d always considered him attractive, in the way you’d admire a charismatic world figure, like Nelson Mandela. There was about his bearing and his manner a quality not many women, or men, would fail to find appealing. But how strange that after knowing him professionally for . . . what? ─ four years ─ she’d only just become aware of his powerful sexuality. Perhaps this was an inherent quality that all men of this calibre possessed as part of the total package labelled “charm”. And she’d just been too provoked by their professional differences to appreciate that underneath all that police toughness there was this gentle being, this fiercely attractive man.

  Last night at his flat he had aroused in her a variety of responses. Not only the conflicting realisation that in spite of the fear, the stirrings she felt were extremely pleasurable, but a far deeper need that if indulged in at this stage could make him impossible to resist, and thus place her in a hopeless situation. It’s weird, she thought. Even though I’m frightened by this new and unexpected feeling of wanting him to make love to me, I also want to be near him all the time. Share things with him. And I also desperately want, need, to tell him . . . what? Yes, dammit, about what happened long ago. Unburden the mantle of horror and guilt that began to envelop me from the moment I first saw Smith. Guilt that in just the last couple of days has begun to encompass an even more frightening dimension as the seeds of Smith’s ghastly accusation have begun to sprout tentative tendrils of almost clear recollections of a scene so violent that what Smith had said could almost be true. But surely this was merely a manifestation of Smith’s cunning, that by planting a seed it would undoubtedly germinate in her fertile mind . . .

  She sipped her coffee. How cruel fate was. How ironic that in her present situation, this tug of war going on in her mind, Paul was the last man on earth she could confide in. It was doubtful she would have the strength to satisfy the one need without fulfilling the others. It wouldn’t be long before, as a natural progression of falling in love, she would find herself telling him everything.

  Paul signalled to the barman to refill their cups. Then he turned back to Julia.

  ‘Well, Julia. Aren’t you going to tell me what’s on your mind?’

  Under his intent gaze her bones seemed to turn to water. He had that all-knowing look that shouldn’t really have surprised her. After all, he hadn’t risen to the rank of detective chief superintendent for nothing. She had a feeling he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  The longer she kept silent, the deeper she felt the invading flush redden her cheeks. She stirred her coffee. How can you be shy at the age of thirty-six, she asked herself, when every day you deal with complete strangers who seek your help. When every day you stand up in front of learned magistrates defending those strangers with what everyone told her was such ease and eloquence.

  But somehow this was very different. She thought of the night to come. She twisted her stool to face him, trying her utmost to look relaxed yet afraid of committing herself to what she knew would be an irretrievable step.

  ‘Julia . . .’ His voice was low and soft. ‘I think I know what you’re going through.’

  ‘Do you?’ she asked, pressing her hand to her mouth.

  Paul’s intuitive powers were legendary, but he couldn’t possibly know who she thought Smith might be, or about the fleeting childhood memories that had begun to haunt her. Or perhaps they had been haunting her for years, without her realising it.

  And least of all could he know about Smith’s terrifying accusation and how this had since driven her every discordant move.

  Paul might think he knows, but he can’t possibly know about the daily phone calls. Or my witnessing Joe Sagoe’s arrest while frantically reversing my car. Or that weighing down my handbag is an unlicensed gun with ammunition supplied by Charlie Kuma, a convicted criminal. Or that on Monday morning Smith followed Nicky to school. That on Tuesday night he rammed my car and on Wednesday night, in fear and desperation, I plunged a three-inch hatpin into his intestines. Nor could he know that I forged my partner’s signature to pillage money from a trust fund. And that a clean-shaven Smith sauntered unmolested into the Manchester City Magistrates’ Courts and I did nothing to alert the police . . .

  So how the hell can he possibly know what I’m going through?

  He edged closer to her. ‘When Sam Smith threatened you in court, you thought nothing of it? Right? But damn it, Julia, since then he’s committed two more murders. He’s dangerous, for Christ’s sake. You must be scared out of your wits. It would be unnatural if you weren’t, and there’s something so odd about it, I wish I knew what it was.’ He clenched his fist into a tight ball. ‘And the bastard could be anywhere.’

  Julia shrugged with what she thought was convincing nonchalance, wondering just how long she could keep up the façade. She wouldn’t put it past Smith to have followed her here, except that according to Martin he’d be in no fit state to be swanning around these remote Derbyshire hills.

  Unless he’d managed to get medical attention . . .

  Yet Smith might even at this moment be on his deathbed. Perhaps he’d already died. On the other hand Martin may have exaggerated the effects. I must not underestimate Smith’s strength, she warned herself. Or his determination and his capability of carrying on in circumstances few people would tolerate. She took a deep breath. Whatever made me think that? Is it because I am made of the same stuff as he is?

  Paul gripped her arm. ‘Is there anything you want to tell me, Julia?’

  She looked straight into his eyes. She had to say something, just to keep the questions at bay.

  ‘I still think Smith means to get the money, but surely he’d have made another move by now. And, well, he hasn’t.’ She stopped. It would be unsafe to say any more.

  Paul’s eyes narrowed. ‘He may be saving you for later. You do realise, don’t you, that you bear a vague resemblance to Joanne Perkins, or maybe it’s just the hair.’

  Julia felt the air rush from her lungs. ‘Can we change the subject, Paul? I’m more than capable of looking after myself, especially after that course in self-protection.’

  He gave her one of those lopsided smiles of his. ‘Sorry. The idea of coming here was to get away from it all, to help you to relax. I promise not to mention it again tonight. With one proviso.’

  Julia held her breath. ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘That you promise to let me know immediately he contacts you again.’

  She wished she wasn’t being forced to go so far outside the system. Because for Nicky’s sake, and for Paul’s and her own, his request was unthinkable. The last thing she could afford to do was make it easier for Smith to fall into the hands of the police.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. And mentally crossed her fingers.

  With one hand he lifted her chin while with the other he traced the outline of her lips. ‘I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you,’ he said.

  But she barely heard him. She was remembering last night. Remembering his hand on her thigh and how much she had wanted more.

  ‘We both know what’s happening, don’t we Julia.’ He pushed a strand of hair off her cheek.

  She looked down and smiled, not meeting his eyes. Oh yes, she thought. It’s happening all right. On these two bar stools in a remote hotel in the Pennines. For the first time in my life it is happening. It was never like this with Simon. Simon broke through my fear, but only because of his extreme kindness and gentleness, not because of an explosion inside me that is not like anything I’ve felt before. Already I am way beyond the point of reason where I might have sat back and said don’t do
this, Julia. Make sure you know what you’re doing, Julia. I am powerless to stop. My newly awakened body has taken over. Everything else has ceased to exist. Even Sam Smith.

  Paul had been watching her. He’s reading my body language and my thoughts as though I’d spoken them aloud, she thought.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  He helped her off the stool and led her briskly up the stairs, not looking at her and not saying another word. For the first time Julia knew what it meant to walk on air. But in spite of the urgency each moment appeared suspended in time, giving her the chance to etch it on the screen of her mind to recall later when she might doubt this night had ever happened.

  Paul walked straight to the door of his room, which was adjacent to the one Julia shared with Nicky. As he put the key in the lock he stopped. His shoulders sagged. He glanced down at her and frowned.

  For a long moment he stared at her, then took a deep breath. ‘You’d better go to Nicky, Julia.’

  ‘I’ll just see if she’s all right,’ she said, hardly recognising her own voice. She unlocked her door and slowly pushed it open. She winced as it creaked.

  ‘Mummy, where’ve you been? I had a horrid dream.’

  Paul’s fingers tightened on her hand. In the light from the passage she saw Nicky sitting up in bed.

  She looked at Paul. A pain shot through her as if a vital part of her body were being surgically removed without an anaesthetic. Still gripping his hand, she twisted away.

  ‘It’s all right, Nicky. I’m here now, darling.’

  She didn’t dare look at Paul again. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she whispered. ‘At breakfast.’

  ‘Julia . . .’

  As though tearing it away sinew by sinew, she withdrew her hand and quietly closed the door.

  SUNDAY

  - 79 -

  The mist swirling, the voice . . . Come with me, Julia, echoing around the craggy hills . . . the rocks receding . . . yes . . . one more glimpse . . . the loss more agonising than usual . . . holding on . . . fading . . . fading . . .