by Ali Harper
‘We didn’t recognize you,’ I said, somewhat needlessly. It struck me as we stared like unblinking goldfish that when you looked up close you could tell her skin was a bit older than that of your average student. But, as a mature, late-twenties, biology or earth science graduate, I totally believed in her.
‘Let’s go to the refec,’ she said, leading the way to the left. ‘It’s busy in there.’
‘How old are you?’ I blurted.
She didn’t answer. We followed her through the vast hall, and as I caught sight of her bum in her tight blue jeans I cursed my own stupidity. I was supposed to be a private detective for crying out loud. Susan Wilkins clearly wasn’t old enough to be the mother of a 22-year-old. I’d seen what I wanted to see.
The refectory was in the Student Union building – two minutes across campus. It was half-full, even though it was Saturday. It was getting close to finals time of year. I’d overheard the word ‘dissertation’ three times by the time we’d bought coffees. Mrs Wilkins led the way to the tables at the far side, furthest away from the doors we’d just come through.
I always feel like a fraud when I’m in the university – ‘the’ pronounced to rhyme with bee. I studied at the one down the road, Leeds Beckett, which has always lived in the shadow of the University of Leeds – both literally and figuratively. Posh and Becks is how everyone refers to them.
We sat at a table that was littered with empty cans of Coke and Red Bull and the plastic wrap of a sandwich. Jo tidied the rubbish while I faced our client.
‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Where is he?’
‘What’s with the hair?’ I said.
‘I know. I—’
‘How old are you?’ I asked again.
‘I wasn’t completely honest—’
‘I’m struggling to think of one thing you’ve said to us which wasn’t a total lie.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ she said, emptying two packets of sugar into her coffee and stirring it with a wooden stick. Goosebumps ran up and down the length of my forearms. Wet wood sets my teeth on edge.
‘I want to know how old you are.’
Jo slipped into the seat next to Mrs Susan Wilkins, effectively barring her escape.
‘She’s thirty-five,’ said Jo.
‘I’m thirty-three,’ Mrs Wilkins fired back. She took a breath and steadied herself. ‘All this is putting years on me. Where’s Jack?’
‘You need to pay us,’ said Jo. ‘Before we tell you the news.’
‘Why the disguise?’ I asked, dropping my voice to a whisper.
She glanced around her to assess whether the tables nearest to us were within hearing distance. She obviously decided they weren’t because she returned to stirring her coffee. ‘I’m being followed,’ she said. ‘It’s freaking me out.’
‘You think it’s to do with Jack?’
‘Did you find Brownie?’
‘Money first,’ said Jo.
‘I paid you a deposit, yesterday.’
‘We’ve done twelve hours, weekend rate,’ said Jo, as she pulled a figure out of thin air and gave it to Mrs Wilkins. ‘And you’ve lied to us. You’re lucky we’re not charging you danger money.’
Our client didn’t show a single emotion as she pulled a wad of notes out of her jeans pocket, peeled off a few and handed them to Jo. She hesitated, then added another couple to the pile. ‘I know you’ve been working hard,’ she said. ‘And I’m sorry about your offices.’
Jo nodded and tucked the money into her denim jacket pocket. In truth, money was the least of our problems, but even so, excitement made my stomach fizz. We were being paid for doing what I love. In that moment I didn’t really care who she was, or that she’d told us a whole bunch of lies. She was still our client.
‘So,’ Jo broke the moment. ‘We’ve found out quite a lot.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ Jo glanced at me. ‘Where to start?’
Something inside me just told me to go for it. The whole situation we found ourselves in was caused by people not being straight with each other. Time to lead by example, cards on the table. I took a mouthful of tea and swallowed. ‘We’ve found out you aren’t Jack’s mother, step or otherwise.’
She didn’t stop stirring her coffee, round and round and round.
‘We found out Jack hasn’t been home for Christmas for years,’ I continued. ‘Him and his dad haven’t seen each other in a long time.’
Mrs Wilkins let go of the wooden stick, and I grabbed my moment. I snatched it from her coffee and added it to the pile of rubbish Jo had moved to the table next to us. When I turned back, Mrs Wilkins had dropped her head into her hands. She had a bunch of silver rings on her fingers, the kind you’d find in hippy shops. No sign of a wedding band.
‘Not married anymore?’ I asked.
She looked up. ‘You didn’t talk to his dad, did you?’
‘Another thing we’ve found out is that you’re not the only one looking for Jack,’ said Jo. ‘There are, shall we say, retail suppliers,’ – Jo made inverted commas with her fingers – ‘searching for him too.’
‘Probably something to do with the fact that Jack owes them a lot of money,’ I added, compelled to give her something she didn’t know. She had paid us, after all. A thought struck me. ‘And while we’re on the subject, if you’re not his mother, where are you getting all this cash from? To pay us?’
‘Why don’t we start again,’ said Jo, smiling like she was a bank teller getting someone to open an account. She took out the notebook and turned to a clean page. ‘Let’s start with the easy ones. Who are you? I mean, really.’
Mrs Wilkins ran a hand through her fringe and tucked it behind her ear. There was something about the gesture that made me think this hairstyle was the real one, that she was used to having hair get in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I should have been upfront, right from the start. I didn’t want to get you into trouble.’
‘We find honesty is the best policy,’ said Jo. ‘In our line of work it really helps.’
‘I thought the less you knew, the easier it would be.’
‘Name,’ said Jo. ‘Tell us your name. If you say Susan, or Wilkins, we’re out of here.’
‘I didn’t want to get you involved in this drug dealing issue.’
‘So, you know Jack’s a heroin addict?’ I asked.
She hesitated. ‘I suspected. I wasn’t certain.’
‘We know he’s not your son.’
‘He’s a friend. A friend of a friend.’
‘So, who’s the friend?’ asked Jo.
Mrs Wilkins blinked. I cut to the chase. ‘Are you dealing?’
She nursed her mug of coffee in both hands. ‘It’s all going pear-shaped. I’m trying to help.’
I leaned across the table towards her. I didn’t intend to appear threatening, but the suspense was too much for me. I wanted to shake the words out of her. ‘We can’t work for you if you don’t tell us who you are.’
‘I’m a wreck,’ she said, and from my close-up viewpoint I couldn’t help but agree. Her eyes were bloodshot, had dark circles beneath them. She looked knackered. ‘Can’t eat, can’t sleep. I’m terrified.’
‘Who’s following you?’
‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’ Her eyes glistened. ‘I’ve never felt like this before. Don’t know what to do with myself.’
Women. I’d heard these words before and I know what they mean, even though I’ve never experienced it first-hand. Lust, yeah, but not the love stuff. Thank God. As I stared at her, something happened and inspiration hit me full on, right smack between the eyes.
‘Brownie,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said, in a voice so quiet it was difficult to hear.
I leaned in closer, so that I could feel the heat of her breath when she exhaled. It wasn’t until I saw it, that I knew what I was looking for – the small hole in the right-hand side of her nostril, the hole that would normally house a small silver ring.
�
�Hello, Martha,’ I said.
Tears brimmed in her blue eyes. Jo pulled a pack of tissues from her bag, took one out and handed it to her. ‘We’ve all been there,’ she said.
‘Start from the beginning,’ I said.
Women in love are the same the world over. All they want to do is talk. Having never been in love, I don’t know what that feels like – but from the outside it looks like a disease.
The tears cascaded down her hollow cheeks. Her words came out in half-formed sentences, random blurts. ‘Met him last summer. Didn’t mean it to happen. Not like this. Not my type.’ She grabbed breaths like she might be drowning. ‘Last thing I wanted.’ She grabbed Jo’s arm. ‘You have to believe that.’
‘Always happens when you’re not looking for it,’ said Jo.
I sat back in my chair and listened to Jo soothing Martha, saying all the right things in all the right places. It struck me then that Jo was back, really back, and for a moment my eyes stung. For a long time after she’d caught Andy with his other woman, she’d been like a zombie – like the light inside her had gone out.
I focused on the stripes on Martha’s shirt. They were red or purple, or perhaps red and purple. The lines blurred before my vision.
‘Where’d you meet?’ I heard Jo ask.
‘The Chemic,’ said Martha. ‘He bought me a drink. We got talking. I knew, straightaway. Have you ever had that? Just. Boom. Told myself I could handle it. We could be mates, hang out. We went out a couple of times. Then he turned up at mine. And that was it.’
‘Wow,’ said Jo.
Martha blew her nose. ‘Everyone thinks he’s bad news, but he’s not, he’s just got this exterior, once you get past that he’s so gentle, so scared. If you knew what he’s been through …’
‘Sounds amazing,’ said Jo. ‘Almost too good to be true.’
Martha pulled a face at her. ‘I used to be as cynical as you. I’m not stupid. I’ve been around.’
‘So where is he?’
‘He has trust issues.’
‘They’ve all got trust issues,’ said Jo. ‘That’s because they’re untrustworthy.’
Martha continued like she hadn’t even registered Jo had spoken. ‘Specially round women. His mum did her best, but he’s damaged.’
‘And you think you can fix him?’
‘I love him.’
‘Sweet Jesus,’ Jo muttered.
‘You know he’s a heroin addict?’ I asked.
She looked at me, long and hard. I returned her gaze. ‘That’s not his fault,’ she said after a long time.
I pulled a face. I didn’t see how anyone could take heroin without it being their fault. There’s always the first time, the time when you could say no. That’s the thing about junkies. In my experience they’re the ones who think they’re a bit better than everyone else, a bit cleverer. Heroin is addictive, but not to them.
‘What, he was held down and forced to inhale?’
Anger flashed across her face, turning her blue eyes a shade of purple. ‘Ever been in care?’
I shook my head. Didn’t say that when I was nine I rang social services and begged them to take me away. They came round once, but decided my mum needed me to remind her to take her pills.
I forced myself to concentrate on what Martha was saying.
‘Brownie grew up in and out of care homes. Here, Halifax, Scarborough. He’s been in them all. His mum would get sectioned, he’d get taken into local authority care. One time, he told me, his mum stripped him naked then set the house on fire. He was 5, 6 years old. It’s one of his earliest memories. I mean what chance?’
‘Doesn’t explain the smack,’ I said. I know I sounded judgemental. But we all have stuff to bear, our crosses. Not everyone turns to Class As.
‘The staff in the care home used to give the kids heroin to smoke, to keep them quiet, manageable. So they could abuse them.’
‘No way,’ said Jo. But I knew from her tone she didn’t have any trouble believing what she was hearing. ‘Jesus.’
‘I checked it out. Spoke to a drug and alcohol counselling agency in the area. There’s more than one allegation although no action’s ever been taken. Apparently, they told the kids it was a joint, but it was heroin, not pot.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ I said, which was the wrong thing to say, because the worst thing was I did.
‘It’ll all come out one day. What chance did those kids have? They were addicts before they had a chance to be people.’
‘He should report them,’ I said.
Jo turned to me. ‘That’s making it his responsibility.’
‘He can’t let himself feel,’ said Martha. She was speaking directly to Jo. ‘But watch him on a hunt, fighting to save a fox, and you see how much love he’s capable of. The kind of guy he is.’
‘He loves you?’ asked Jo.
‘When he gives you attention, when you’re under his spell, it’s the best feeling in the world.’ Her eyes widened, like she was pleading with us to understand. I wish I did. Or maybe I’m glad I don’t.
‘So where is he?’ asked Jo.
She wiped under her eyes with the back of her index finger. ‘He’s off on one. He thinks he can’t trust me. Thinks I’m out to get him, but I swear I’m not. I’m trying to help.’
‘How? How are you paying us? Where’s the money coming from?’ I asked again.
‘Everyone’s on his back.’ She glanced around. ‘You know they’re in debt, Brownie and Jack, and the people they owe aren’t what you’d call patient.’
‘Why tell us you were Jack’s mother?’
‘I didn’t want Brownie to think I was going behind his back. I thought if you talked to him, and told him I’d hired you, he’d freak out.’
Martha leaned across the table to me. ‘Jack’s dropped his best mate in the shit and taken off. Not surprising Brownie doesn’t know who he can trust.’
‘So, you’re not looking for Jack, you’re looking for Brownie? Really you wanted us to find Brownie?’
‘How does finding Jack help you find Brownie?’ Jo asked.
I thought I knew the answer, but I waited for her to explain it to us all the same.
She paused for a moment and then said: ‘I think Jack’s got the money.’
‘To pay off the dealers?’
She nodded and drained her coffee.
‘How much are we talking?’
‘A lot.’
‘About fifty quid? A hundred?’ asked Jo.
‘Thousands,’ said Martha.
‘Thousands.’ I repeated. I leaned back in my chair and laced my fingers behind my head. ‘So, problem’s over. Jack can pay off the debt, Brownie’s off the hook.’ I tried to keep my voice casual. ‘Where did Jack get that much money from?’
‘No idea. The point is Jack’s got the money, but he’s disappeared. Instead of paying them off, he’s taken off.’ She took a sip of her coffee.
‘You think he’s decided to start a new life somewhere else?’ asked Jo. ‘With twenty-four grand he could—’
Her head whipped round. ‘How do you know that?’ she asked.
‘Pants told us,’ I said, before Jo could say anything else. ‘The dealers told him, at the same time as they broke his arm.’ I tried to slow down my words. ‘He said they owe twenty-four thousand—’
‘They broke his arm?’
‘Last night,’ said Jo. ‘He’s seriously scared. Leaving Leeds.’
‘Where did you get the photo of Jack?’ I asked. ‘If you’re not his mother?’
‘They’ve definitely not been paid?’ Martha spoke directly to Jo.
I didn’t point out that it was highly unlikely that drug dealers would be going round Leeds breaking people’s arms if they’d been paid. She was a woman clutching at straws and she knew it. Jo shook her head.
‘They’re going to kill Brownie,’ she said, her voice breaking.
‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know. He disappeared last week – for a wh
ole week. I was going out of my mind. Then, suddenly, he turns up and—’
‘Did he say where he’d been?’
‘To see a friend in Newcastle. I tried to talk to him, but he’s totally paranoid. I don’t know where he’s sleeping, what he’s doing, whether he’s safe.’
It occurred to me as I sat there watching her that she was the addict. Her hands shook, her fingernails were bitten, she had black bags under her eyes and her hair needed a wash. Another junkie needing a fix.
‘How do you know Jack’s got the money?’ I said. ‘Maybe he’s done a runner because he hasn’t got the money and he’s as scared as Brownie. Or maybe they’ve done a runner together. Maybe Brownie knows where Jack is. You said he disappeared for a week, maybe he went to wherever Jack is now.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘He doesn’t know. He came round on Wednesday, he’s desperate to find Jack. They’re so close. Brownie’s lost without him.’
‘How do you know Jack’s got the cash?’
She glanced to her left. ‘He’s got the money.’
‘How do you know?’
She hesitated. ‘I went to see him. When Brownie disappeared. He told me he’d got the money and he was going to sort it all out.’
Jo raised her eyebrows at me. Another lie. Jack couldn’t have told her he had the money because Jack didn’t know he had the money. Jack didn’t have the cash. We had the cash. Should we tell Martha? Jo and I stared at each other, mulling over the same question, silently discussing it as Martha continued talking. She glanced around the refectory again.
‘I think they’re following me. They’re hoping I’ll lead them to Brownie.’
I sat watching her chewing her fingernails. She was never still, always twitching, her eyes darting around the room. Every time anyone walked into the refectory, she knew about it. We fell silent, each with our own thoughts. It was our moment to tell her that the cash was at our office, that we could stop what was happening, pay off the bad guys, make the world better for Brownie, and perhaps for Martha too. That was our moment and we didn’t take it. I shook my head at Jo, a barely noticeable shake. I still don’t fully understand why, but a voice inside me, clear as anything, warned me not to trust her.