‘It takes all sorts, Jessica. It’s a funny old world.’
I ignored the cod philosophy. ‘Anyway, what do you mean, “fights”? Surely Mickey was attacked?’
‘Well, that’s certainly what we’d been assuming-that whoever snatched Louis also attacked Mickey. Only what this guy at The Mason’s Arms says throws a slightly different complexion on matters.’
‘What is he saying?’
‘That Mickey came into the pub on the evening that Louis disappeared, around seven p.m. He was highly agitated.’
Silver flicked the blinds again. I bit my tongue.
‘Well, he would be, wouldn’t he?’ This was going nowhere fast.
‘Yes, well, you would think so. Anyway, he kept asking to use the phone, but the payphone in the public bar wasn’t working apparently. When he realised that, Mr Finnegan started to slam the receiver against the wall over and over again, until some bloke at the bar told him to stop.’ Silver picked up his paperweight and began to lob it from hand to hand. ‘The landlord was round the other side in the snug, but came round to see what was going on. By the time he got there, the first punch had been thrown—apparently by Mr Finnegan.’ He waited for this to sink in.
‘But—I don’t understand. I guess,’ I was thinking frantically, ‘I guess that Mickey was just so stressed that he—he must have lost it a bit. Didn’t know what he was doing. I mean, come on, that’d be natural, right?’
Silver shrugged. I chewed my lip. I’d chew right through it soon.
‘Maybe. But, by all accounts, Mickey was pretty tanked-up.’
‘You mean drunk?’
‘I mean drunk, yes. Not that he’d been drinking in that pub as far as anyone knows. He just came in saying something about his son and using a phone, losing his mobile or something. After the punches started, the landlord threw both men out, but the fight definitely continued outside. Mr Finnegan—well, he took quite a beating.’
I winced. ‘Obviously,’ I said quietly.
‘Yes, well. But then he disappeared, the other guy scarpered, and the landlord forgot all about it. Till now.’ Carefully he replaced the paperweight on the desk. ‘I’m trying to understand why your husband would pick a fight.’
It didn’t make any sense. Why the hell would Mickey have been fighting when Louis was missing? Why was he drunk? I didn’t believe it.
‘It sounds like bollocks to me,’ I said loyally. ‘It sounds like this landlord bloke’s got something to hide and he’s trying to, I don’t know—deflect attention. Perhaps he beat Mickey up himself?’
‘Look, don’t worry about that. Obviously we’re checking him out, and the pub. There’ll be other witnesses if what the landlord says is true. First and foremost we’ve got to find the guy who had the fight with Mr Finnegan. But I just wanted to know if you thought it was at all likely.’
I shook my head vehemently. ‘No, I don’t. Mickey’s just not the violent type. Okay, he’s got a temper, but to be honest,’ I hesitated, ‘to be honest, Mickey would think that fighting was below him.’
Silver raised an eyebrow. ‘Right. So other than being overwrought about Louis, we’ve got to find a reason, a very good reason, for Mickey to pick a fight.’
‘Being overwrought about your missing baby is a pretty good reason, I’d say. If that man’s telling the truth,’ I muttered.
‘If that man’s telling the truth,’ he agreed.
I looked at the photo again. Definitely just three kids, no wife. Three happy, smiling faces. ‘And what happened about Maxine’s new bloke?’ I asked.
Silver had the good grace to flush gently beneath his waning tan. ‘Not Moldovan. Turkish. Bit dodgy possibly, definitely a bit flash, but no obvious links to any sort of gang.’
‘Obvious links? That doesn’t sound very reassuring.’ I finished the last of my tea.
‘Don’t worry,’ he stood up and stretched. ‘It’s all under control.’ His pristine shirt came slightly untucked, exposing a strip of tanned skin. I stared down at my cup in discomfort, suddenly fascinated by the way my teeth left grooves around the rim when I bit it gently.
‘We’re bringing him in for questioning,’ he went on. ‘Maxine says that it’s all over anyway; they had a big row apparently. She’s a bit of a flirt, isn’t she? Friendly little minx, that one.’ He tucked his shirt back in meticulously, adjusted his snazzy tie in the mirror. ‘Got a lift home?’ he asked over his shoulder.
I was dismissed. I chucked the cup at the bin, but it fell short. ‘Look at that,’ I said, super-polite. ‘I’m as bad at throwing as you are at reading character.’ I opened the door. ‘A “little minx”, eh?’ Then I closed the door behind me, a little harder than I might have.
Deb was waiting in the corridor, chatting to Leigh about some reality show that had started last night. I wandered off down the corridor. Then I stopped short. Deb caught up with me; Leigh was probably hovering for a look at Silver.
‘Deb,’ I muttered, ‘I think I might need to talk to someone again.’
‘DI Silver?’ she said, wrinkling her brow.
‘No. Definitely not him.’
She didn’t understand, cocking her curly mop enquiringly. I lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘You know, that nice lady at the hospital. The German one.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Deb was enthusiastic. ‘The therapist. Yes, I think that’s a very good idea.’
‘Do you?’ I hoped no one else had heard. I said as casually as I could without screaming, ‘I think I—I threw her card away. Would you be able to help me find her number?’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was Maxine’s arse that I saw first. Storm clouds had gathered outside and the afternoon was dim, dark even, so when I opened the living-room door and saw those shining buttocks thrusting up and down, it took me a minute to focus. I couldn’t understand quite what I was looking at; I struggled to adjust my eyes.
Maxine was riding her supposed ex-boyfriend Gorek like he was a rodeo horse—the boyfriend she’d just told Silver she didn’t even like—on my expensive sofa. Agnes’s £2,000 sofa. They were fucking soundlessly beneath the picture of Louis that I had begun to worship since he went. I was so angry that I couldn’t speak, and then I sort of yelped and Leigh, who was bringing shopping in for me, dropped a bag. Something smashed as my sister came up behind me.
‘What the hell?’ she said, as Maxine slid inelegantly off the bloke, who was still prostrate, scrabbling with his trousers, swearing in what I assumed was Turkish. Leigh began to laugh. My prudish sister actually thought it was funny Unfortunately, I didn’t.
‘This is the final straw, Maxine. Get the hell off my sofa and get your bloody clothes on,’ I demanded, stepping over her scarlet g-string to get up very close. ‘And then get the hell out of my house. If you want to fuck him, do it somewhere else, okay? Not in my living room.’ I was practically spitting with rage, nose to nose with her, except she of course was taller. God, I was sick of being short.
‘Mais—pourquoi?’ she asked rather arrogantly, with a shrug of her bare, sloping shoulders. She reminded me of a gaudy butterfly that had shed its wings, leaving just its naked body behind. My skin crawled. Then she pulled her tiny little skirt on. ‘I was doing nothing wrong. I have no duties right at this moment, non?’
For a moment I was stupefied. I could have punched her right then, right on her button nose. ‘I don’t care. I want you to go, now, please,’ I said when I could speak again. Deb was beside me now, holding my arm gently.
‘Calm down, Jess,’ she said. ‘Let’s talk about this.’
‘Could you pass me my underwear please, Jessica,’ Maxine said to me, and then she smirked. So I did it. I slapped her right across her smug face: I don’t know who was more surprised, me or her. She held her cheek, staring at me for a moment like some realisation was dawning. I thought uncomfortably about the first week she was here, and I turned away quickly.
Of course my brother chose this very moment to slink out from the kitchen.
&n
bsp; ‘Blimey,’ he murmured, clocking the still bare-breasted Maxine. ‘What a pair!’ And it was true. They were phenomenal—huge, pink-snouted and proud.
‘Oh piss off, Robbie,’ I said tiredly. He could always be relied on to appreciate the baser things in life. ‘How did you get in this time?’
It was Leigh’s turn to screech. ‘What the flaming hell are you doing here?’ She jabbed him in the chest. ‘Did you invite him in?’ She looked accusingly at me. Naturally he was still staring at Maxine’s boobs, and Maxine was loving it, taking as long as she possibly could to put her lacy bra back on. Gorek scowled at Robbie’s lingering gaze. Deb pushed us all back into the hall and shut the living-room door on the thwarted lovers.
‘Why don’t you go in the kitchen and put the kettle on? I’ll sort these two out.’
‘Yes, well,’ I huffed, ‘I don’t want that bloke here, Deb. I’m sick of this. Please, will you ask him to go?’
In the kitchen I filled the kettle. My hands were trembling. There was a golden glass of very good whisky on the counter, a grease-stained copy of yesterday’s Sun spread open on the racing news, bits of cheese and mayonnaise dripping from a half-eaten sandwich. It looked like it had been made from the last contents of my fridge.
‘That’s Mickey’s.’ I pointed dully at the scotch.
‘Yeah, well, he wasn’t here to ask, was he?’ grinned Robbie. At least he’d had his front tooth fixed, I noticed.
Leigh rounded on him. ‘Christ, and you wonder why I’ve got a problem with you, Robert.’
‘Yeah, I do actually, Leigh. Blood’s thicker than water and all that crap, eh?’
I flinched as he echoed my mum’s words from the other day. Leigh began to unload the shopping, slamming food into all the wrong cupboards. I could tell she didn’t trust herself to speak.
‘So how’s it going?’ Robbie looked at me. ‘Any news?’
I took a deep breath. ‘Mickey’s had a relapse. No one’s seen my son.’
‘Still, no news is good news, yeah?’ he said brightly.
Leigh kicked the cupboard door shut with her stilettoed foot as if it was Robbie’s head. ‘Can you really not come up with anything better than total bollocks?’ she snapped.
Down the hall, the front door slammed shut.
‘I’m trying to be helpful.’ He shrugged indifferently.
‘You’re trying to help yourself, you mean.’
‘Oh yeah? How’s that then? How the hell can I help myself here?’
Leigh snorted with contempt, indicated the unfinished snack. ‘Well, let’s just think, shall we? I’ve been trying to work out why you’ve crawled back, but it ain’t that hard really, is it, mate? You’re nothing but a fucking ligger, Robert, nothing better than that.’ Leigh never swore. ‘You make me sick. Tell him to go, Jess.’
‘Shut up, you silly cow,’ he snarled at her. He knocked back the whisky in one go. ‘I’ll go when I’m ready-or when Jess wants me to.’
I stood helplessly between my siblings while their hatred crackled through the air, catching me the way static lifted your hair. I was shocked by Leigh’s venom, shocked by Robbie’s indifference. I had always been in between these two. Not much had changed, it seemed.
‘What did you want, Robbie?’ I asked quietly.
There was a pause. Leigh’s fingernails drummed a mad rhythm on the worktop as we awaited an answer.
‘Why do I need to want something to be here?’ he asked plaintively. ‘I just thought I’d make sure you were all right. I—I was worried.’
‘I think you should go. For now, at least.’
A flash of lightning cut the sky in half. Guilt rose; I shoved it down. I was getting quite good at that now. No one spoke. Eventually Robbie sighed, pulling his heavy jacket over his torn T-shirt. His eyes were dull, lifeless even. The skin beneath them tired and spent, paper-like.
‘Right. I will then.’
Thunder bellowed overhead. He paused, waiting to see how heartless his sisters really were. Would we let him step into the storm outside? Apparently we would. He grabbed the Sun, holding it aloft his greasy head, and ducked out the back door. Slammed it shut so hard I thought the glass would shatter in its panes.
‘Thank Christ,’ said Leigh. ‘I bloody-well hope that’s the last we see of him for a while.’
But as I crossed the kitchen, a shadow fell through the window. Robbie was there again. He mock-knocked, flung open the door and, scooping up the sandwich remains, jammed them in his pocket. I clocked the tattoo on his hand again, only this time I read ‘Jimmy’. Something colourful and plastic dangled down for a split-second, before he shoved it back in along with the bits of bread.
‘Needs must, eh, girls?’ he said, with a cheerful grin. ‘I had an idea, you know, Jess. An idea of how to help. But if you don’t want to know, well, that’s up to you.’
And then he disappeared, along with the scotch. And it wasn’t till an hour later that I twigged with horror what that plastic thing had been dangling from his pocket. It was a baby’s dummy, bright and plastic, hanging from a ribbon.
Robbie’s mobile was switched off when I tried to ring it. I paced the house with the phone clamped in my hand. This was the time I should finally shop Robbie to the police, I knew—but I wanted to speak to him first, give him one last chance to explain. Then Deb came in, making me jump: but she wanted to talk about Maxine, not Robbie. I thought the girl should go for good now—after all, I didn’t need her any more, did I? I’d been keeping her there since Louis’s disappearance as some kind of link to my son, I realised. If she’d left—well, it would have been like admitting defeat. But now even I’d had enough. Deb convinced me it was best that everyone stayed put while Louis was still missing; she persuaded me that Maxine and I needed to talk.
‘Get some fresh air,’ she suggested kindly, and so we walked over to the pub opposite the pond, and I bought us both a vodka. The rain had finally stopped and at last the air was cooler; the smell of the cut grass so lush and sweet it made me feel quite heady. Or perhaps that was the booze. Maxine was sulky, though she eventually apologised. I sensed that I’d done something to offend her.
‘Why do you tell the police that my boyfriend is so bad?’ she finally ventured when I pushed her for the third time.
‘Oh, I see.’ I clinked the ice around my glass. ‘Is that why you shagged him on the sofa? To punish me?’
She wrinkled her nose at me. ‘Punish?’
‘You know—to get back at me.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, but I could tell that she was lying. ‘It was just—how do you say? The lust. We couldn’t help ourselves.’
I would have laughed, but I’d lost my sense of humour.
‘Oh, right.’
It dawned on me that Maxine genuinely didn’t understand why I was so upset about the open sex, and I didn’t have the energy to stay angry any more. Perhaps I was just jealous of ‘the lust’.
‘I didn’t say that he was bad, Maxine.’
‘If you didn’t say he was bad, why was he arrested?’ Surly, she wouldn’t look at me, picking instead at a scab above her knee. Her skirt was so short I saw her knickers for the second time today. I felt exhausted.
‘Because the police need to question everyone who comes to the house, Maxine. Surely you get that? And at the moment I can’t cope with having strangers around, okay? Not who let themselves into my house, with my keys, and use my things, and especially not having sex publicly, on my sofa. It’s not acceptable, it’s just not.’
‘Okay,’ she shrugged.
‘Until Louis is back I need some—some peace at home. Can you understand? I wasn’t blaming what’s-his-name—’
‘Gorek.’
‘Gorek. I just told DI Silver that he was around, and DI Silver made the decision to take him in, not me.’ I remembered something Silver had said. ‘Anyway, I thought you said you weren’t that keen on him?’
She shrugged again; she really was so Gallic.
‘I am d
rawn to him. Also, he has a very good job, non, at Harrods. He has money.’ Always a prerequisite where Maxine’s men were concerned. I knew that her own family were horribly poor; she had five sisters who were always turning up in London looking for a place to stay. Occasionally they’d arrive at our house, dragging cheap suitcases and plastic handbags up our stairs, short-skirted and bare-legged come rain or shine. I knew they’d grown up in two small rooms in the Calais suburbs where their father worked all hours down on the docks and their mother cleaned office blocks at night. It had always seemed quite obvious that Maxine was on the lookout for the main chance.
‘And he wears the uniform on the door. He is—how you say—je ne sais pas. He turns me on.’
I blushed. God, when did I become such a prude?
‘I can’t help myself, though he can be un peu—’
‘What?’
‘Like the weather, you know.’
‘Unpredictable?’
‘Oui. Dangerous, perhaps.’ She drained her drink, still worrying at the scab on her knee. This time I did smile. I remembered the stack of French Mills & Boon by Maxine’s little bed, the battered Angelique novels too, and I understood that she celebrated what she would call grand passion.
‘But you must not hit me again.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. I lost my temper.’
‘It is not the first time, non?’
‘I’ve never hit you before. I’ve never hit anyone before,’ I objected fiercely. I was feeling a bit drunk. The baby at the next table started to cry; I wanted to give it a cuddle. Maxine stared at me, then pulled the head right off that scab. A nasty feeling crawled up my spine. ‘You’re not talking about the time when Louis fell, are you?’
When Maxine had first arrived in London, I was in the midst of my worst time as a new mother. Struggling to adapt to Louis and my terror of messing up, the last thing I’d wanted was a stranger in my house, in Mickey’s house, judging me—but he’d insisted I’d needed help. A Norland Nanny maybe, at a real push; a sex-mad French teenager with endless legs and attitude certainly wasn’t what I had in mind. And then, in Maxine’s first week, the day Freddie and Pauline came to visit, I fell asleep with Louis in my arms, and the baby rolled from the sofa onto the floor, and bruised his arm. Side-swiped by the broken nights, sluggish with the constant lack of sleep, firing on no cylinders at all, I was irrational and emotional about the slightest thing. Louis falling was the final straw; the guilt so immense; the fear something much worse could have happened rocked my already unsteady world. In the end it was a kind of paradox—it turned out to be a good thing, forced me finally, irrevocably to accept the sheer scale of my love for him, to realise the breathtaking ends I’d go to now to protect him. I had to pull myself together before it was too late—and I had really begun to. But still, afterwards, although she had never actually spoken it out loud, I sensed Maxine’s suspicion. Freddie too had eyed me anxiously that day, rushing into the room to find me howling above the sobbing baby—the baby who stopped crying far more quickly than I’d done, who was soon beaming happily at his new admirers while I apologised, shame-faced, to everyone.
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