He stops at his own car door.
‘Open up then,’ says Amanda. ‘What are you waiting for?’ She follows Luke’s gaze. ‘What’s he doing, staring like that?’
Luke narrows his eyes. It seems the man hasn’t seen them watching him.
‘Maybe he’s a rubbernecker.’
‘That’s all we are at the moment,’ she says. ‘There’s no story here.’
‘We’ve got a burned-out car.’
‘I thought you never lied in your articles.’
‘It’s not lying. It’s true.’
‘Yeah, but you’re stretching it a bit. We don’t know for sure if it’s the same car and it overheated – it wasn’t burnt out.’
Luke presses the fob on his keyring; Amanda opens the passenger door.
‘I might go and ask him if he’s seen anything,’ he says.
The man is about fifty metres away. Luke pretends to look around, at the houses, at the boats over the water in the yard – anywhere but into the man’s eyes. He wants him to think he’s not approaching him; he doesn’t want to startle him. He’s only ten metres away now, and Luke chances a glance at him. Definitely too old to be Craig.
Shit. The man saw him looking. He jumps back into his car.
‘Hey, wait!’ shouts Luke. ‘Can I just have a quick word?’
The car starts; Luke bangs on the window. He feels the adrenaline running through him, making him braver than he thought he could be.
‘I’m not police … I only want to ask if you know—’
The man presses on the accelerator, and the car screeches off.
Luke runs back to his car.
‘What the hell, Luke?’ Amanda says as he gets behind the wheel. ‘You’re not bloody Ross Kemp. What if that guy had a knife or something?’
‘I didn’t really think about it,’ he says, trying to catch his breath from the short run.
He feels his heart pumping, endorphins making him feel alive.
‘Bloody hell though, Mandy. That was amazing.’
‘Come on, then, T.J. Hooker.’
They fasten their seat belts. Luke starts the ignition and executes a perfect three-point turn.
‘Let’s see if we can find him,’ he says, turning right at the end of the road.
‘OK. But, Luke …’
‘What?’
‘Don’t ever call me Mandy again.’
‘Come on, Luke,’ says Amanda. ‘We’ve circled the docks twice.’
‘Hang on. Look over there.’
Luke pulls into the car park and stops the car near the Mexican restaurant.
‘What?’ says Amanda.
‘There’s his car.’ Luke squints into the distance. ‘He’s sitting on a bench near the water.’
‘How the hell did you see him there?’
Luke gets out and starts jogging towards him. The man on the bench has his head in his hands.
Luke stops running as he approaches.
‘Excuse me,’ says Luke.
He looks up and stands.
‘Wait. I’m not police. I’m a friend of Craig’s.’
The man sits back down.
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ Luke sits down next to him. ‘I haven’t seen him for days and he owes me a pint. I’m worried – the police are looking for him.’
‘I know.’
‘My name’s Luke.’
‘I’m Alan. Alan Lucas. You’ve probably heard of me if you’re a friend of Craig’s.’
‘Of course.’
Luke senses he’s said something amiss; the man is looking at him intensely, taking in every feature of Luke’s face.
Shit. He doesn’t even know who this man is. He could be dangerous, violent. The reason he might seem familiar to Luke is probably because he’s seen a mugshot of him.
‘They’re looking for the wrong person,’ says Alan. ‘Craig didn’t take that kid.’
‘What?’ Luke jerks his head back, feels a fluttering in his stomach at the thought of an inside story. ‘How do you know that?’
‘He’s been staying with me.’
‘But … doesn’t he have a curfew? He has to stay at his mum’s.’
‘At Erica’s? Nah. The police have been there already. Craig won’t stay there, not for long.’
‘If Craig doesn’t have Leanne, then why doesn’t he go to the police? It’ll be obvious that he doesn’t have her if he’s at the station.’
‘The station? Who are you?’
‘I said. A friend. I’m looking out for him, that’s all.’
‘Well then, you’ll know that if a body turns up, Craig will already be where they want him. In the station.’
‘Have you known Craig for a while?’ says Luke.
‘Not as long as I’d have liked. Life was complicated thirty-eight years ago.’
‘Have you known him that long?’
‘No. I’ve a lot of regrets.’
‘Actually,’ says Luke, trying to read the mind of the man in front of him, ’if I’m honest, Craig has never mentioned an Alan Lucas.’
‘No, well he wouldn’t have done. I thought you were taking the piss earlier. Pretending to be his friend when you weren’t. I’ve only just got in touch with Craig. Saw him on the news. I didn’t see it the first time round. Too much going on. Wasn’t even in this country.’
‘Are you a relative?’
‘Yes,’ says Alan. He looks across the water, narrowing his eyes. ‘I’m his father.’
25
Erica
‘Come on, Erica,’ says Denise. ‘I don’t want to be shouting in the street. You know what they’re like around here.’
‘Shouting in the street’s not as bad as running to the local paper to yell about it.’
‘Your neighbour opposite’s looking out of his window,’ she says. She must be leaning close to the glass because she’s not shouting any more. ‘Come on, love. Let me in. We can talk properly.’ There’s a gentle thud on the window, like she’s leaning against it. ‘I miss you.’
I slowly stand and turn to face her.
She’s looking as old as I am, but she probably dyes her hair as it’s still blonde and I can’t see any grey from here. The shade’s too harsh for her, now; it makes her face look too pale.
She still wears blue eyeliner, even though I told her it stopped being fashionable when the eighties ended. She still tilts her head to the side when she’s sorry; her lips still purse together when she knows she’s wrong and wants me to forgive her. We were friends for over thirty years before she did what she did.
I walk to the front door, my legs like jelly.
I open the door. She seems smaller, somehow. She was always such a presence – a firecracker, my mother called her; she really liked Denise, even though they never spent much time together.
‘Come in, then,’ I say.
I stand aside and close the door behind her.
‘Go through to the living room.’
I follow her, and she stands in the middle of it, looking around.
‘It hasn’t changed a bit,’ she says. ‘Except you’ve more Mills & Boons than I’ve ever seen!’
‘I … well … it’s escapism.’
‘I’ll bet.’
‘Do you want me to take your coat, or aren’t you stopping?’
Whatever I might think of her, it’s comforting to have a familiar face in my house when all I’ve had is strangers these past few days. She takes it off, walks out of the room and hooks it on the back of the under-stairs door.
‘Did you get my letters?’ she says when she comes back in. ‘The cards?’
Does she regret doing what made us spend all these years apart? I look at her and I want to take her in my arms – it’s like no time at all has passed. I feel an ache in my chest for all those moments we never shared over the years. She could have made my life so much better than it was, had she not done what she did.
I perch on the edge of the settee. ‘I did.’
She s
its on the chair and places her handbag on the floor next to her feet.
‘Why are you here now?’ I ask.
She looks up from the floor and into my eyes. Hers are swollen – the blue eyeliner disguises the redness underneath.
‘I haven’t seen Jason for days. His wife hasn’t seen him either.’
‘He’s married?’
She shrugs gently. ‘It was a few years ago. They went to the registry office, just the pair of them … Drunk probably, but what can you do? He’s a grown-up. Even though he hardly behaves like one.’
‘Have you tried his mobile?’
She looks at me and raises her eyebrows. Of course she’s tried his mobile.
‘Thing is,’ she says, ‘I put this tracker thing on his phone … I know that’s wrong of me, but he lost his old phone the other day … my contract was running out, so I got a new one … gave him my old one, but before I did, I put that location thing on – Find My Friends, or whatever.’
She gets her phone out of her pocket.
‘I like to know where he is … After the last time he was in prison, I wanted to be sure he wasn’t up to anything. But now … ’
‘What is it? Where is he?’
‘I don’t know where he is now, but before his phone was switched off, he was at that old house … the one on Inkerman Street. Do you remember we found Craig there, when he was having a hard time at school?’
‘Yes … I was just thinking about that place the other day,’ I say. ‘Did you go round there to check?’
‘There was nothing there – empty. I darted around the back, but the place was boarded up with steel shutters. I couldn’t budge them.’
I pause then say, ‘Do you think he’s got anything to do with that missing girl? You’ve seen the news. Did you see the picture of the car that the girl got into?’
She types into her phone and holds up the CCTV photograph that’s been on the television.
‘This one?’ She holds the picture closer to her face, then puts it face down on her lap.
‘It’s not Jason’s car, is it? He gave me a lift the other day,’ I say. ‘That’s a different car. But he was with that girl on Saturday. He brought her round here – can you believe that? She’s only seventeen. She told me she was nineteen.’
The colour seems to have run from Denise’s face, making her blue eyeliner look even more ridiculous against her pale skin, pale hair.
‘Have you seen Craig?’ she says. ‘Have the police been round looking for him?’
I shake my head. ‘No.’
She betrayed me, once; I’d be a fool to tell her the truth now.
‘I remember when it was Craig they were looking for,’ she says. ‘You came round to ours while they ransacked this place. Do you remember?’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s like it’s happening all over again.’ She shifts to the end of the chair. ‘They must be together, Erica. This has never happened with Jason … it’s only since …’
‘It’s never happened that you know of,’ I say, almost shouting. ‘From what I saw when he brought the girl around, they were quite familiar with each other. She must have been in that car before. It didn’t look like she was forced into it.’ I sigh. ‘Craig always hung around with Jason … even when those terrible things happened. Did you tell the police about the house on Inkerman Street?’
The colour returns to her face, there are patches of red in the middle of her cheeks.
‘No,’ she says. ‘No, I didn’t.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I know this might be too little too late, but you have to believe me when I say I’m sorry.’
‘You always said Craig was family to you. Why did you do it?’
She looks to the floor.
‘Everyone used to stop talking when I went out … I heard them speaking about Craig, but Jason’s name was mentioned, too. They started to ask, if Craig didn’t kill Jenna, then who did. I wanted to protect my son … to stop the rumours, that’s all. I’m sorry, Erica. I didn’t mean for them to print those things I said about Craig. He twisted my words. The police had been sniffing around Jason … everyone thought my son was the one who killed Jenna, after they couldn’t link it to Craig.’
I don’t know what to say to her. I had certainly heard Jason’s name pop up – the articles in the newspaper about Jenna could never legally mention my son in connection with Jenna. They must’ve realised that that was the truth, started looking elsewhere for the killer.
‘I overheard Jason and Craig the other day,’ I say to her. ‘Jason said, “We’ve all got our little secrets.”’
‘That could mean anything,’ she says. ‘You know what they’re like.’
‘Jason’s hiding something.’
‘What are you getting at?’ she says, angrily. ‘Are you trying to make me think that it was Jason? That it was my son all along who did … those awful things?’
‘I don’t know what to think, Denise. I was only making conversation.’
‘No you weren’t.’
I should throw her out of my house, but she’s going through the same thing that I was. Only her boy hasn’t already been inside for murder. What if it had been Jason? It would make more sense. At twenty, Craig was still so impressionable, gentle – in awe of his best friend, however foolish that was.
‘What’s the matter?’ she says.
‘Nothing,’ I say, rubbing my right side. ‘I’ve got that kidney pain again.’
‘You should make an appointment at the surgery. I remember how bad you were when you were expecting. You phoned me in the middle of the night, do you remember? You thought you were dying. You had a fever and thought you saw your mother at the end of your bed. That was when you were still in your single bedroom. It took you years to move into her old room, didn’t it? But that night, you were almost delirious. You said the strangest of things about your mother. Peritonitis, it was. They left you with antibiotics and not even any painkillers. It’s a wonder you didn’t go into labour sooner than you did. The stress of everything you’d been through.’
‘I can’t believe you remember,’ I say. ‘I had no one else to call.’
Denise looks at me that way again; I’ve had it often from her over the years: pity. Did it make Denise feel better in herself to have a friend less fortunate – did it make her feel like the lucky one?
‘Oh, Erica, love. How has it come to this?’
‘You know how.’
‘Yeah. I do.’ She sighs. ‘I always felt for you. On your own. I know you didn’t get on with your mother, but at least you weren’t alone when she was alive.’
‘She wasn’t that bad. And perhaps I deserve to be on my own after what I did.’
‘What do you mean? Are you talking about Craig’s father … because he was a married man?’
‘No,’ I say, and I can tell Denise doesn’t believe me. I’ve lied about it for so long I don’t even blush. I don’t want to linger on the subject of my son’s father. ‘How’s Caroline getting on?’
‘Good. She’s good. I still can’t believe she’s living so far away. I’ve five grandchildren now. Can you believe that? When did I become old enough to be a granny?’
I was going to say how I wish I could say that, but I don’t want to be that person.
‘You don’t look old enough to be a grandmother,’ I say, instead.
‘Do you want to see some pictures?’
‘Go on then.’
She slips on to her knees and walks on them towards me. I can’t believe she’s so agile. My knees started going in my forties; I might be able to walk on them, but I couldn’t get up without leaning on something and looking twice my age.
She flips open her mobile phone again.
Denise hands it over to me and four children’s smiling faces beam at the camera.
‘They look ever so sweet.’
‘They have their moments, I suppose. That’s Ellie,’ she says, pointing to the youngest – her blonde hair�
��s in need of a brush, but it’s clean, shiny. ‘She’s just turned two. The eldest is nine. I don’t know how Caroline does it.’
I pass the phone back to her and she clicks the homescreen to black.
‘Won’t Jim be wondering where you’ve got to?’ I say.
‘I don’t think he’ll notice.’ She gets up easily from the floor and sits back on the edge of the chair. ‘It’s like we live separate lives. I don’t think we’ve much in common these days. Don’t know if we ever did.’
‘But you love him, don’t you?’
‘I suppose. Whatever that means.’
She stands and reaches for her handbag and I follow her to the hall cupboard where she retrieves her coat.
‘I guess we’ve all done things we regret,’ she says. ‘And now they’re coming back to haunt us.’
‘What do you mean?’
Her back is to me as she puts on her jacket. She turns to face me.
‘Did you always believe Craig when he said he didn’t do it?’
‘Yes. I did.’
She pulls her jacket close around her without doing it up. She used to do that as a kid, a self-comforting habit.
‘What is it, Denise?’
‘You see … when you say that, it makes me feel terrible.’
‘Why? What would my words change?’
‘I mean as a mother. You’re meant to think the best of your kids, aren’t you? We’re meant to see past everything.’
‘Come on, spit it out. What are you trying to say?’
‘You said you can’t picture Craig doing those things, but I can imagine my Jason hurting someone. I’ve seen him with Rebecca, his wife … such contempt.’
My knees almost give way; I grab hold of the phone table.
Blue eyeliner mixed with tears runs down either side of Denise’s face.
‘But the police didn’t think he killed Jenna,’ I say. ‘Did they? They wouldn’t have dropped it for no good reason.’
‘Oh, God. You’ll never forgive me … I shouldn’t have come here, but I thought … I don’t know what I thought, or why I’ve picked now, after all these years … It’s that new girl … that one from the telly.’
‘Leanne,’ I say. ‘Her name’s Leanne.’
‘It can’t happen again,’ she says, her voice trembling. ‘Not after last time.’
‘Denise, for heaven’s sake. What?’
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