‘So Michaela never sees her?’
‘She used to try. Came over to her parents shouting, causing a scene. They got a court order in the end.’
‘Against a mother seeing her daughter?’
‘You don’t know the state she was in. They don’t even mention her in front of Arabella, it upsets her too much.’
‘Why doesn’t she live with you?’
‘My place isn’t big enough. But I pick her up from school every day; she’s at Joseph Amberley,’ he laughs. ‘You’d think they’d have learnt their lesson.’
‘Michaela’s parents pay?’
‘Yeah.’ He frowns. ‘Sometimes I think I must embarrass Arabella. I’m not like the other dads.’
‘Is it still like that? I remember dying every time Dad came to school.’
‘Really? I thought you were posh.’
‘Not really. Not at all. After Mum died my uncle Ray gave Dad a job at his company. Charity really. He doesn’t do anything useful. But it gave us the money to move and Ray paid the school fees. Before that we lived on Limewoods.’
Jem nearly spits his drink out.
‘You’re joking.’
‘No.’
‘Edie never said.’
‘She wouldn’t.’
I think of Raquel, still living on the Limewoods Estate, and how we promised to go and see her and never did.
‘You still haven’t said why you want to see Michaela,’ Jem says.
I hesitate.
‘Tell you what. I’ll fetch another drink and you can think about it,’ he says.
I down the last of my wine. Evasive answers aren’t going to get me anywhere with Jem.
He returns with another large glass of white. I notice his phone’s in his other pocket and wonder if he’s made a call. He puts the drinks down and wipes his hands on the back of his jeans.
‘So, what is it with you and Michaela?’ he asks.
‘It’s about Edie. They were friends. There’s stuff I need to know.’
Jem frowns.
‘Aren’t the police dealing with that?’
‘They’re not getting anywhere. The post-mortem didn’t provide any more clues, except she was definitely attacked by the canal.’
‘The canal, just by the school, so close?’
He looks more upset than before and I remember Joseph Amberley is also Arabella’s school.
‘But that hasn’t got them any nearer to finding the killer. They’ve asked us to take part in an appeal, but Dad doesn’t want to. I don’t either, really, but if it’s the only way of finding new leads I don’t know what else to do. The detective’s talking of “directing resources elsewhere” if there’s no progress soon. A twenty-year-old murder is not a priority.’
‘So what are you going to find out that the police can’t?’
‘I think if anyone knows who this guy she was seeing was it will be Michaela. The police don’t seem to think he exists.’ I could tell Jem about the newspaper clipping I found and about Mum but decide against it, he’s a stranger. He could go straight to the press. ‘I need to talk to Michaela.’
‘Seriously, I’d stay away if I were you. Ask the police to go,’ Jem says.
‘I think they’ve gone. The detective mentioned old friends being uncooperative.’
‘Sounds like Cala,’ he says.
‘You couldn’t ask her, could you?’
‘You’re kidding. She’d probably get her fella to knife me.’
‘You’ve no idea who he was, do you?’
‘Who?’
‘This guy she was supposed to be seeing.’
He shakes his head.
‘I don’t remember her having a boyfriend. It was a long time ago. There was that kid who used to follow her about.’
‘Max?’
‘Was that his name? I doubt it was him. A bit of a wimp.’
To avoid his eyes, I look down into my glass. It’s nearly empty.
‘I have to find out, it’s killing Dad and it’s my fault. I’d argued with Edie, we weren’t speaking. If we’d walked home together maybe…’
‘Maybe you’d both be missing,’ he says.
He raises his glass and tips it to and fro to demonstrate its emptiness. ‘Another one? You look like you need it.’
He’s right.
‘My round,’ I say.
‘Nah, let me.’
He wanders off before I can reply.
I should leave now, while I’m half sober, but the claustrophobia of home, another night of silence in front of the TV with Dad, keeps me where I am and there’s something soothing about Jem. His sympathy is not expressed by cooing and fussing, he’s calm and a good listener.
The beer garden is full now and Jem has to snake his way through the drinkers to reach me. Another couple have come and stood at our table. Jem manoeuvres himself so that they have to stand back. He takes up the gap they leave and we’ve a little more space. He’s carrying a bottle of wine this time.
‘Saves keep going to the bar,’ he says.
He’s smiling. I wonder if I’m amusing him or if something’s happened in the pub. He’s a little drunk, too, I think.
He leans in and says in my ear, ‘You’re not really from Limewoods, are you?’
‘Yes. We went to St Luke’s Primary School.’
‘I can’t believe Edie never told us.’
He shakes his head and curls his hands round his beer glass. He has thick fingers with callouses on each tip.
‘Did you know her well?’ I ask.
‘Not that well. She used to come out with me and Cala sometimes. I think she liked to hang about with someone older. When I was out of the room she giggled a lot. She was just a kid really.’
‘So was Michaela.’
He frowns.
‘Not that young,’ he says.
I calculate how old Michaela was when she had Arabella. She was in the year above us and Arabella is about seventeen, so Michaela can’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen at the time. She’d left school but I was surprised I’d not heard she’d had a child. Maybe her parents packed her off to some old aunt by the seaside in true nineteen-sixties style.
Jem relaxes as quickly as he ruffled.
‘Sorry. I guess I’m touchy. Her parents act like I snatched her from the nursery. Her dad would have been after me with a shotgun if he’d had one. As if Cala had nothing to do with it, like she was some innocent. I wasn’t that old myself. My mum was nineteen when she had me and she’s still with Dad.’
‘Did you never try to be a couple, you and Michaela?’
‘We tried but we never stood a chance with her parents breathing down our necks, criticising me all the time. They’d wanted Cala to have an abortion, then they wanted Arabella adopted. Something they choose to forget now they’re playing the perfect grandparents. We moved into mine for a couple of months, the same place I’m in now, but it’s too small. And Cala wouldn’t stop whining, she was worse than the baby. I told her to go back home and I went abroad for a bit.’
‘Where?’
‘Spain. Worked as a holiday rep. You’re out every night, it makes it easy to forget.’
I can relate to that.
‘I hope Arabella never finds out. First her grandparents want to get rid of her. Then I left and then Michaela. When I got back, Arabella was with Simon and Lucinda, and Cala was with some other guy.’
‘A drug dealer?’
‘I wish he was, at least he’d have some money. No, he was just a user.’
‘Michaela, too?’
He nods.
‘She’s had a few different men since then. All the same. Simon and Lucinda were a bit nicer to me after the first, realised I wasn’t the worst boyfriend she could end up with. And a child needs at least one parent. I started seeing Arabella again. Now, I can’t believe I didn’t want her to be part of my life.’
The sun is fading now. He’s leaning on the table, his head right next to mine. I should ask him if he�
�s found anyone since Michaela. But never ask a question you don’t want to answer yourself.
‘And there’s no contact with Michaela?’
‘Not from me. I think Simon and Lucinda help her out. Well, Simon mostly. He tried to get her to leave and sort herself out but she won’t.’
It’s hard to think of Michaela leading a squalid, drug-dependent life. She had such poise, the girl everyone wanted to be. But that wasn’t the cause of my jealousy. It was her hold over Edie. Michaela replaced me as her best friend and confidante. At the time I was angry with Edie for her betrayal, now I’m angry at her judgement. I imagine Michaela now, stick thin, sores round her mouth and bruises up her arm, limp on the shoulder of some snarling, tattooed thug. Is this who you wanted to emulate, Edie?
My head’s getting fuzzy.
‘I should go,’ I say.
‘It’s early,’ Jem says.
‘No, really.’
‘I’ll come and get a cab for you.’
He places his hand on my lower back and I shiver. I won’t look at him. It’s nearly dark. The gas heaters are on and people’s faces are illuminated in an orange glow. Just before we enter the back of the pub, Jem steps in front of me, his hand still resting on my back. His face is nearly touching mine.
‘Are you sure you want to go?’
I shiver again and bend my head to his shoulder. It would be so easy to go back with him. I don’t owe Max anything, he’s already moved on, got someone else. No doubt the move-home-buy-a-house-have-babies plan has transferred to her. Still, guilt nudges at my conscience.
‘I can’t,’ I say.
I look up. He’s smiling. He’s not expecting anything.
‘Thanks for the drink.’
‘Come on, I’ll call you a cab,’ he says.
While we wait outside, Jem takes my phone from me and punches in his number.
‘In case you’re in the area,’ he says.
A cab stops. I’m about to climb in. He’s half turned to go back into the pub.
‘Do you live far?’ I say.
He smiles and gets in the cab next to me.
‘Park Road please, mate,’ he says.
Chapter 24
Edie: December 1993
Only one of Rudolph’s antlers was lit up on the local high street Christmas lights. It fought a losing battle against the gloom of the dark December evening. Edie thought of the lights Tess must have seen in London, brilliant and beautiful, illuminating the sky, not this sorry display.
She knew Tess wasn’t to blame for Valentina and Uncle Ray, but that shopping trip and Stevenson Park seemed like a single event. One that would never have happened if Tess had refused to go to London.
Today was the third day they’d not spoken, when normally their fights only lasted minutes. It was lonely, very lonely, but every time she saw Tess, she saw Uncle Ray and Valentina, too. Edie had been avoiding her and had spent the day with her friend Mel, staying out as late as she could without Mum worrying.
Edie turned off onto a side road. The lights on people’s houses were more impressive than those on the high street, and Santas, stars and angels lit her way back to the house. Their decorations weren’t up yet. She would remind Mum. It was only a week until Christmas.
Uncle Ray’s car was outside the house. Edie didn’t want to see him. She’d been glad when Dad told her that they were cancelling lunch at Auntie Becca’s the previous Sunday, because Mum was feeling unwell. Edie wasn’t sure how to act around him.
She pushed the front door open.
Dad was sitting in his armchair smoking. The only thing in the room she recognised. Everything else seemed to have changed. Tess was curled up in his lap, her arms round his neck, sobbing. In the corner, Auntie Becca stood with Uncle Ray, his head on her shoulder. He sobbed harder than Tess. Edie tried to make sense of what she was seeing, when a policewoman rose from the sofa. She was large, her black uniform frightening. Edie looked up at her.
‘Where’s Mum?’ she asked.
‘It’s Edie, isn’t it?’
She looked to Dad. His face was blank. Ash dropped from his cigarette to the floor. Uncle Ray and Auntie Becca were still huddled in the corner.
‘Where’s Mum?’ she repeated.
‘Sit down, Edie,’ the woman said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve some bad news for you.’
Chapter 25
Tess: June 2018
I agree to meet Cassie in a café just off the canal at the back of the National Indoor Arena. One of those chains that pretend to be Italian but their food’s mostly American. Not the sort of vegan place Cassie prefers, nor a pub, which would be my choice, but at least they serve alcohol. I get there first and order a glass of white. Cassie’s a few minutes late. She’s dressed in Zara, making it look like Chanel. Several guys look up as she saunters past them and sits down.
‘How have you been? You look terrible,’ she says.
‘Enough of the compliments.’
‘Seriously, Tess, you look ill. You need to take care of yourself. I know that look, too much drink, not enough food.’
‘So pretty normal then.’
‘Stop it, Tess. You’ve just found out Edie’s dead. You can’t go around pretending it’s not happening. Drinking, cracking jokes.’
‘If I throw myself on the floor and wail will it make things better?’
‘Tess, please.’
‘Look, Cassie, I’m as OK as I can be at the moment.’
She raises her hands in surrender before calling the waiter over. I order another wine and a bowl of spaghetti alla puttanesca. Cass goes for the superfood salad and a green juice.
‘How’s Uncle Vince?’ she asks.
‘Not good. I don’t know how to help him.’
‘I wish I could stay. What about you? Did you meet up with Edie’s friend?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘What do you mean?’ She tilts her head. ‘Tess?’
I tell her about Jem. I expect her to be shocked but she just looks sad.
‘Tess, there are better coping strategies than getting drunk and having one-night stands with a complete stranger.’
‘He’s not a stranger, at least he didn’t feel like one, he remembered Edie. It felt like I knew him.’
‘But you don’t know him, he could be anyone. You need to be around people who are going to take care of you. Short-lived pleasure is just that, short-lived. And you’ll end up feeling worse.’
Cassie’s never suffered real loss. If she had, she’d understand the need for oblivion, in losing yourself in a moment, forgetting where or who you are and leaving the pain behind, even if it’s for a single second.
‘Max wants to see you,’ she says.
‘You coincidentally bring up Max after telling me off about Jem?’
‘He’s in a bad way, too.’
‘He can’t be that broken-hearted. The night before I got the call about Edie, he reeked of another woman’s perfume.’
‘That’s not proof and even if he is seeing someone else, I’m sure he’d drop her in a heartbeat if he thought he had a chance of getting back with you. This whole thing has made him rethink. He’s freaking out, says you won’t answer his calls. He phones me instead, talks about Edie, talks about you. I don’t know what to say to him.’
‘Block his number if he’s bothering you,’ I say.
‘I can’t. He needs to talk to someone; it should be you. He still cares, you know. And from what I can tell, he’s as devastated about Edie as any of us. I didn’t know he knew her so well.’
‘He didn’t.’
The waiter brings our order and I pour the last few drops of my first glass into the second. I don’t fancy the spaghetti any more and just pick out the olives.
Cassie looks puzzled.
‘They weren’t friends?’
I think about telling her what Vilas told me, that Max had a crush on Edie. But it’s not something I want to think about myself.
‘They hardly knew each other,’ I say.
‘It’s just because of you then, that he’s so upset. He can’t watch you in so much pain. Oh, Tess, can’t you get back together. I’m sure you could work it out.’
I think of a child on a swing, she looks like a young Edie, her head’s flying backwards, laughing with delight as it takes her higher and higher. Then the swing is empty, its motion jolting as its chains loosen on the vacant seat. My child would not be allowed to go to the park and sit on a swing. Max and I will not be working it out.
‘It’s not going to happen, Cass,’ I say.
Cassie’s parents, my aunt Lola and uncle Jake, have been married for thirty years. When I go over, they’re curled up on the sofa together like a couple of newlyweds. It’s easy for Cassie to think men and marriage are a simple option. I drink more wine. I’m not in the mood for arguing about relationships with an idealist and change the subject.
‘Can I ask you something without you saying anything to anyone? Especially not Aunt Lola.’
‘Sure.’
‘I found a clipping from a newspaper article about Mum’s death. At the trial, the lorry driver claimed that Mum threw herself in front of him deliberately. The jury didn’t believe him, but I think Edie did. I’m not sure why.’
‘Right,’ Cassie says.
She picks up her fork and concentrates on pushing green shoots around her plate.
‘You knew?’
I put my glass down and wine sloshes onto the table.
‘Is everything alright, miss?’
The waiter comes over and starts mopping it up.
‘Everything’s fine,’ Cassie says.
She smiles at him. He returns the smile and glances at me.
‘Really, we’re fine.’
He nods and moves away.
‘You knew and you didn’t tell me?’
‘Tess,’ she says.
‘How long have you known?’
‘I don’t know anything for sure. You know Mum, she never drinks except at Christmas, so after two glasses of wine she’s babbling away about everything and nothing, then she got really maudlin, started talking about Auntie Gina, what a great sister she was, how much she missed her and she’d always wonder if it was deliberate. I asked her what she meant and she said about the accident, if what that man—’
Someone You Know Page 13