Someone Else's Conflict

by Alison Layland

  Jay shook his head. ‘It’ll have to come from you. Facts, Vinko.’ The lad shrugged. ‘Or did you really only come for the ride?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  They travelled on in silence. Jay wished he knew what to say. He wanted to talk. About anything, not prying, not a desperate attempt to make up for years of absence in just a few hours. Talk about anything, the scenery, ask him what music he liked, whatever. And talk to stop himself thinking about what he’d heard. He told himself the fire couldn’t have been his fault. They’d argued about all kinds of things. And it might not even have been as Vinko said; the lad had suggested as much himself. Even if it had been because of him, that didn’t necessarily make it his fault, did it? ‘There’s always blame.’ The train slowed, came to a standstill. Typical Sunday service. He saw a movement in a nearby copse of trees. The boy, watching him. He breathed deeply.

  ‘Vinko?’

  ‘Uh-huh?’

  He turned, his expression open, but Jay’s mind was blank.

  ‘I… Nothing.’

  ‘Why are we stopped?’

  ‘It happens sometimes. It’ll move soon.’

  They waited.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me one of your stories?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Like in the marketplace. Why not?’

  They exchanged a smile and the relief was as good as any talking. But Jay tried in vain to find the words, any words, a key to unlock the gate to his well-trodden escape route. He was saved by the ringtone of Vinko’s phone, which seemed to announce the train lurching into movement. Vinko looked across apologetically, glanced at the screen and edged out of his seat as he answered. He made for the connecting door speaking quietly. ‘Hello? … No, nothing … I haven’t heard a word from you. Really. But it doesn’t matter. I was mistaken and anyway I’ve changed my mind—’ The door swished shut on his voice.

  Jay stared after him for a while before reminding himself he had an important call of his own to make. He hoped he’d be able to find the right words.

  Chapter 19

  Marilyn found it hard to concentrate the following morning, even though her temporary workshop was at the back of the craft centre, which meant she was cut off from any comings and goings. She was on edge, listening for a knock on the door. Even though that usually meant Matt, and she knew it was highly unlikely that Jay would just appear here, the irrational hope persisted. She was missing him, waiting for him to return, and not only because she’d have a thing or two to say to him about leaving her in the lurch.

  It was almost lunchtime when she finished applying the glaze to a batch of mugs and left them to dry. They would keep their final appearance secret until they’d dried and been fired, but that was part of the magic. She was pleased with her morning’s work; the warm feeling of inspiration Jay had kindled in her continued to smoulder despite his absence.

  Following her clearout she had a bag of things for Matt, including the clothes she’d lent Jay, and before settling down to her sandwiches she decided to get the visit over with. Although her own situation had taken a turn for the better during the past week, she still felt the same mix of nostalgia and jealousy as she entered the shop. Lucy looked fully at home behind the counter, with her wavy hennaed hair, nose stud, butterfly tattoo on the back of her hand and floaty blouse that was a bit flimsy for the time of year despite the efforts of the portable gas fire Marilyn could smell above the shop’s air of patchouli. The woman Matt had left her for gave her a friendly smile and didn’t seem at all perturbed at seeing Marilyn. She silently wished them well, despite herself. Lucy phoned up to the flat and told her Matt said to go up.

  ‘He’s just doing some accounts. We were having a big stocktake when you came last week, you know? I think he was also going to look at the figures on that spare workshop. Between you and me, we’re doing OK and as far as I’m concerned I think you should stay as long as you need to, yeah? I mean, seeing as your place was damaged in that storm – something like that’s no fun, is it?’

  She smiled as if to add no hard feelings? to her flow of questions. Marilyn smiled back and was surprised how easy it was. She was also surprised at how calm she felt as Matt let her in and offered her a coffee.

  ‘No thanks, I won’t stay long.’

  She noticed that the room hadn’t changed much; the pile of decorating materials was still in the corner. She felt a flush of self-satisfaction at the amount she and Jay had got done on the barn in the same time.

  ‘Did you get anywhere with the insurance?’ Matt asked.

  ‘These things take time. Still no phone. I was going to pop across and check it out later.’ She walked over to the window and gazed down on the car park. ‘Anyway, whether or not I can get payment for this, we’re doing well with the preliminary work at Stoneleigh. A good start so when I can get Alan, or whoever else, going it shouldn’t take too long. Unless we get finished ourselves in the meantime, that is.’

  ‘That friend you mentioned still around to help you, then?’ he said, obviously trying, but failing, to keep his voice neutral.

  ‘Yeah, we’ve got quite a lot done,’ she said non-committally. She turned to face him in the ensuing pause. ‘Anyway, I’ve been having a clearout. Found some stuff of yours.’

  She handed two large carrier bags over and watched him rummaging through.

  ‘There’s nothing here that couldn’t have waited.’

  ‘It’s OK, it needed doing.’

  He smiled as he held up a hand-knitted, multicoloured jumper. ‘The one your gran knitted me. Hadn’t thought about it in years. Till…till I met this guy in the builders’ merchant last Tuesday.’ He waved his hand towards the pile of decorating materials. ‘Needed a new roller. Time flies. It’s been a week now; can’t believe I haven’t used it yet.’ He looked back at the jumper. ‘So I guessed right – the stuff he was hiring was for your place?’

  ‘No secrets in a small town like this.’ She laughed as the phrase reminded her of the first conversation she’d had with Jay.

  ‘Seemed nice enough. Not that we spoke; just that hello-sorry-to-keep-you-waiting kind of thing at the counter. How do you two know each other?’

  ‘We met.’ She shrugged. ‘Around. He…called by on the off chance last week just after the storm. On a walking holiday in the area. Saw my problem, decided to make it a building holiday instead.’ She laughed awkwardly; gestured to the jumper. ‘His own clothes were wet.’

  ‘No probs. Well, I hope it works out.’

  ‘You’re assuming rather a lot, aren’t you?’

  ‘No need to be so defensive. I could have meant the work on the barn. I take it that means you’re not an item?’

  ‘He’s a good friend.’

  ‘Whatever. Would that be him I saw busking on Saturday?’

  She nodded. ‘We’ve concreted the floor, needed to give it time to dry. I had to sort my stuff out and he came to town.’

  ‘You’ve done the floor already?’

  ‘Only the base.’

  ‘Impressive nevertheless – you’re certainly getting on with it. That lad I saw him with helping you too?’

  ‘What lad?’

  ‘Obviously not. Teenager, dark hair? They were crossing the square, looked like they were heading for the Black Bull. Don’t worry, I wasn’t eavesdropping. Couldn’t anyway; I think they were talking some foreign language.’

  ‘Wouldn’t surprise me. Jay’s travelled,’ she said, distracted by the memory of the youth she’d accused of stealing her purse and the attempt to convince herself this was someone else. ‘I don’t know anything about any lad; must just be someone he bumped into.’

  ‘Must be. Listen, did you say Jay? That reminds me, I’ve got a message for you – got a phone call the other day.’

  ‘You weren’t going to tell me?’ The strength of her feelings made her snap it out.

  ‘Give us a chance. I’d have called down at the workshop if I’d known you were there.’ He held his hands up in that cha
racteristic gesture of mock innocence she’d once have found humorous. ‘Yesterday, Sunday morning of all times, this guy phones saying he’s trying to get hold of you, can’t get through, must have the wrong number for Stoneleigh, could I give it to him? I told him you were ex-directory so, no, I couldn’t, and in any case your phone was down. So, cool as you like, he asks if I could perhaps give him your mobile number instead?’ Matt laughed as if it were the most ridiculous request in the world. ‘Needless to say I told him if you’d wanted him to have your mobile number presumably you’d have given it to him. I did the right thing, didn’t I?’

  She sighed. There had been a series of nuisance calls shortly after she’d come back to Stoneleigh from Ireland, so she’d changed the number and had her listing made private. Even so. ‘Did you have to be so obstructive?’

  ‘Your phone’s been off anyway – what difference would it have made? I’m telling you now.’

  ‘So did you get his number?’ she prompted.

  Matt plucked a piece of paper with a mobile number from a noticeboard by the desk. He frowned as he passed it to her. ‘Strange thing is, he said it was Jay, claimed you’d be expecting him. I assume it’s that friend of yours. So how come—’

  ‘Thanks, Matt.’ Marilyn took the paper from him calmly, determined not to betray her perplexity. She also wanted to ask if he’d said anything else, but didn’t want to reveal that she knew nothing about where he’d gone. ‘Well, I’d better be getting back. Pots won’t fire themselves.’

  ‘Look, is everything OK?’

  ‘Of course.’ As if she’d tell him if it wasn’t.

  ‘I just want to say…this guy had better be all right, is all. Seriously, I hope things work out – you deserve a bit of a break, Lynnie.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She got up to go. For Matt to say something like that was as good as an apology for the way he’d treated her. He went with her to the door and clapped her on her shoulder; she turned and gave him a brief hug.

  She made herself wait until she was back in the workshop with the door closed behind her before whisking the scrap of paper from her pocket and dialling. She got the standard network answering service and her eager anticipation plunged into negativity. What was he up to? Why had he disappeared? Who was he with? She left a brief message, trying her best to sound matter-of-fact.

  On her way home later that afternoon, Marilyn stopped at the last possible moment to try the number again before she lost signal. The recorded message politely informing her that the person she’d called was not available made her feel like throwing her phone out of the car window.

  Passing the farm, she noticed the Harringtons were back; she called in to let Dorothy know she was fine, but didn’t stop long. Her own place was deserted. Marilyn parked the car and looked into the barn; it seemed worse now than it had before the storm. There was still a long way to go; the new floor with its ugly concrete over the damp-proof membrane made the place look soulless even though she knew the underfloor heating and stone flags would be in place eventually, and the window openings knocked into the walls gave the building a derelict air. She thought of what Jay had said about sleeping in barns the day they first met and wondered where he was now. She instinctively drew her phone from her pocket as if the strength of her feelings were enough to give her a signal.

  She was in the porch contemplating the contents of her freezer, wondering what she could make to cheer herself up, when an unaccustomed sound reached her from inside the house. Dropping the freezer lid with a whump that sent Genghis skittering through to the comfort of the kitchen before her, she rushed to the phone.

  ‘Polly?’

  The sound of his voice made her realise how futile any attempts to convince herself she wasn’t missing him had been.

  ‘Good to hear you.’

  ‘Got your message, thanks. I’m sorry I couldn’t get in touch before. And I’m so glad you got mine. I wondered if you would – that Matt’s a difficult one, isn’t he?’

  ‘Can be. So what’s going on? Where’d you get to?’

  ‘Last Saturday…I met an old friend. Well, an old friend’s son. So I missed the bus home Saturday night, and then… I’ll explain when I see you.’

  ‘And when’s that likely to be?’

  ‘Tomorrow, hopefully. Wednesday at the latest. Listen, Pol, he needed my help; I had to… I’ll explain…’

  She wanted to fill the silence by reminding him he was supposed to be helping her, but told herself not to be so self-centred.

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Winchester. Where my house and stuff are. I will explain,’ he said for the third time. ‘It’s a long story. Too long for now. Please trust me. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ve got a confession to make.’

  ‘Confession?’

  ‘I… I soon realised how much I’m missing you.’

  She smiled with relief, savouring the moment, then realised he couldn’t see a smile down the phone. ‘Me too.’

  ‘I feel really bad about just disappearing. I know we’ve got loads to be doing. You OK?’

  She told him she’d been at the workshop, playing down the annoyance and frustration she’d been feeling.

  ‘You can’t believe how relieved I am,’ he said. ‘To speak to you. That you understand.’

  ‘I can’t say as I do, Jay. But I’m glad to speak to you too. You’d better be back soon, though, or that bag of yours is going on the bonfire with my old stuff.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’ As he laughed she heard the muffled sound of a door down the line, a male voice in the background. ‘Look, I’d better go. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. Only a day or two, yeah?’

  ‘I hope so. Thanks for ringing, anyway.’

  ‘My pleasure. It’s lovely to hear you. See you soon, Polly.’

  And he was gone. She wished he’d said more, hoped she hadn’t sounded too distant. As the warmth kindled by his voice faded, she found herself wondering, if it was so important for him to help his friend’s son, whether that ‘friend’ was a woman. She told herself firmly that even if it was, it was in the past. But why so evasive? She tried to convince herself that if he were being evasive he wouldn’t have phoned at all.

  She spent the evening distracting herself by phoning her mother, father, brother. Each time, she played down the storm damage so that she didn’t have to mention the help she’d had in overcoming it. If she’d felt apprehensive about the right way to present Jay to them before, anticipating the disapproval-laden questioning and inevitable need to justify herself, his absence and inadequate explanation made it ten times worse. She came to feel that perhaps the disapproval wasn’t only from outside, and it was herself she was justifying things to. It made her frustration all the more intense.

  Yet as she went upstairs for an early night, she found the rucksack in the corner of her bedroom oddly reassuring.

  Chapter 20

  Two days later Marilyn was trying to rescue her kitchen garden. The sound of tyres approaching over the rough surface of the lane gave her a good excuse to pause in the Sisyphean task. It didn’t sound like either the post van or the Harringtons’ four-wheel drive, and Jay had phoned that morning to say he’d call when he got to Skipton; she’d promised to collect him. She wiped her hands on her jeans and walked down to the yard to see who it was. There were two strangers in the car and she felt slightly embarrassed to be staring as they pulled up. The passenger door opened and a middle-aged, friendly-looking man in a waxed jacket got out, followed by a smart younger woman in a green suede winter coat who’d been driving.

  ‘Marilyn Dexter?’ the man asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘That’s quite a lane you’ve got there. You get stuck much in winter?’

  He had a homely local accent and manner that put her at her ease.

  ‘Not as much as you’d think.’ She gave him a reserved smile. ‘What can I do for you?’

  He produced a card from his jacket pocket. ‘Detecti
ve Sergeant Chris Terry. I wonder if we could ask you a few questions, in connection with a murder case over in Keighley.’

  ‘Murder?’ Marilyn felt a deep fear creep through her, though she had no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘We’re following a few leads, that’s all. It’s a small detail but at the moment we’ve got very little to go on, and any information helps.’

  She examined the ID he proffered and handed it back to him. Like when a patrol car came up behind her on the road, their mere presence was making her feel irrationally guilty.

  ‘This is DC Kate Taylor.’ He nodded to his colleague who flashed her ID dutifully. In an attempt to steady herself, Marilyn reached out for it to take a closer look, earning herself a flash of irritation from the woman.

  ‘You’d better come in,’ she said. The kitchen table was cluttered with her breakfast things so she showed them through to the living room.

  ‘Coffee or tea?’ she asked despite herself.

  ‘We’ll be fine, thanks,’ DS Terry said. ‘I hope we won’t keep you long.’

  He sat in the chair that had become Jay’s.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘an elderly couple, Boris and Anja Pranjić, were murdered on Monday night, at their home in the Oakthwaite area of Keighley. Have you heard anything about it?’

  She shook her head, wishing she’d taken more of an interest in the news.

  ‘It was a break-in. They were shot.’ Marilyn shuddered, and thought of the number of times she’d forgotten to lock her door. ‘At the moment the most likely scenario is an interrupted burglary, but we have reasons to believe there may be more to it than that.’

  ‘Sounds horrid. But what has it got to do with me?’

  ‘You had your purse stolen recently, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She frowned. ‘It was nothing serious. They took the cash and dumped the purse. I got it back, minus the money of course.’

  ‘I believe you suspected someone? Got a description?’

  ‘I can’t be sure the lad I noticed, the description I gave, was actually the thief.’ She remembered the guilt she’d felt at suspecting him. She hated the thought that she might have literally rubbed shoulders with a murderer, but there was a huge difference between stealing a purse and murder, and if he was nothing to do with it she didn’t want to say anything that might get him into more serious trouble.