‘Alright?’ he said.
She looked up at him through wet strands of hair. It was Bob, Michaela’s boyfriend. On Friday lunchtime Michaela had been boasting about their weekend away together. They were going to London and seeing some bands. Had Michaela been lying?
Bob was standing in front of a hairdressers. The Upper Cut’s windows were covered in faded photographs of women with haircuts she’d only seen in 1970s’ TV series. It looked out of place amongst the bars, bookies and boarded-up shops.
‘Don’t I know you?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Edie said and hoped he didn’t link her to Michaela.
‘Weren’t you at The Green Leaf?’
‘The what?’
‘The café on the ring road.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
She guessed he expected her to thank him for getting rid of those boys. She didn’t say anything.
‘What were you doing there?’ he asked.
‘I was going to Irregular Records.’
She waited for him to mention that his girlfriend went there.
‘I go there myself sometimes. What do you buy?’
Edie thought she should say Stax, that’s what Michaela liked, but she still didn’t know enough about it.
‘Northern soul.’
He raised his eyebrow and nodded.
‘More into the classic Motown and Stax myself.’
All the stuff Uncle Ray looked down on.
‘Sounds good,’ she said.
‘Do you ever go to Reckless?’
Edie shook her head.
‘Where do you go?’
‘Nowhere really.’
Edie started walking. She shouldn’t be standing in this area, talking to a strange man. If she hadn’t recognised him she would have crossed the street. He started walking, too. His easy lope kept alongside her, despite the fast pace she’d set.
‘So you weren’t out last night?’ he asked.
‘No.’
The rapid clack of her shoes on the pavement filled the silence. She felt too young and awkward. She didn’t want to look him in the face, sure that he was sneering.
‘Were you out last night?’ she said at last.
‘Yeah, just playing with some mates.’ He lifted the guitar an inch. ‘Had a few drinks, nothing special.’
He spoke in a strong local accent. It suited him. Rough but friendly. It reminded her of being on Limewoods, where no one cared how you spoke or what your dad did for a job, or even if your dad had a job. Tess often pointed out how much she’d changed to fit in at JAGS. How much effort she put into her vowels, how she skimmed over what Dad did for a living. Edie knew just from his voice that none of this would matter to Bob.
‘Are you in a band?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, I play bass.’
Edie didn’t know how that was different from a guitar and couldn’t think of anything else to say. Did he recognise her from the school gates? She doubted it; she was just another girl in uniform.
‘Are you going to work? Is that why you’re up early?’
‘No, not today,’ Edie said.
‘What do you do?’
She thought of the faded 1970s’ beauties in the window of Upper Cut.
‘I’m a hairdresser.’
‘And what do you think of my cut?’
‘Very nice,’ she said without looking at him.
He laughed and stopped walking. Without thinking, Edie stopped, too.
‘I can’t work out if you’re shy or just stuck up.’
Edie’s face felt hot.
‘Neither.’
‘Prove it.’
‘Prove what?’
‘That you’re not stuck up.’
‘I haven’t got anything to prove,’ she said and started walking again.
‘Come to Reckless with me next Saturday then.’
Edie carried on walking. Did she really like him or was she only interested because Michaela talked about him so much? Next Saturday and another endless evening with Dad and Tess would stretch before her, or she’d be with Aveline and Char comparing Joseph Amberley boys to the St Philip’s ones.
‘Alright,’ Edie heard herself say.
She turned to look back. He hadn’t moved from where they’d last stopped. His head was to one side, smiling.
‘We’ll meet at The Lamb and Flag along the canal side at eight,’ he said.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Got plans?’
‘No.’
‘See you there then.’
Edie nodded and turned to carry on walking into town.
‘Hey,’ he called. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Edie.’
‘Aren’t you gonna ask me mine?’
She’d forgotten she shouldn’t know it. She turned again.
‘What is it?’
‘Bob,’ he said.
‘Bob.’ Edie nodded.
He turned down a different street. Edie walked the rest of the way into town without registering where she was going.
Chapter 43
Tess: July 2018
Valentina’s upset me. I thought of her as our friend, when she only used us to ingratiate herself with Ray. Now she’s frightened of me. I sift through what she’s told me to try to understand what’s changed so much.
I’ve missed something. I didn’t ask the right questions. Not that Valentina gave me much chance. The moment she saw me she was on edge. Of course I wanted to know about her and Ray. How it had come about, when and why. Were they still lovers, were they still in love? Yet none of this is relevant. Images flit through my mind that I can’t form into questions.
I have enough time to walk to the station along the towpath and so cut away from the road. It doesn’t bother me that it was on a path like this that Edie was killed. In fact, it makes me feel closer to her. Green slime floats on the water and the odour of decaying vegetation hangs in the air. I imagine her walking along the path, lost in thought. Happy. I like to think of her as happy before she died.
The other pedestrians are travelling in the opposite direction to me, away from the town centre. A pub garden backs onto the canal. It’s filling up as workers flee their desks to exploit the heatwave, women in sunglasses and sandals, men looking uncomfortable in shorts that usually only see an outing twice a year. I’m nearly beyond the pub garden when I hear a shout.
‘Hey.’
I ignore it.
‘Hey, Tess.’
I turn around. A man is at one of the pub tables opposite a woman with her back to me. He’s wearing beige shorts and a red baseball cap. I raise my hand to my eyes to block out the sun and see him better. He swings his leg over the bench and jogs towards me. It’s Jem. He takes his hat off and scrunches it in his hands. Perhaps he realises it makes him look like a teenager.
‘This is a nice surprise,’ he says and kisses me on the cheek like a favourite auntie. ‘How are you? I saw the funeral on the news. I would have called but you didn’t return my texts. Are you upset with me?’
‘No, it was just bad timing.’
His companion looks over. She’s older than I thought from behind, older than Jem.
‘I don’t want to interrupt anything,’ I say.
‘You’re not. April’s an old friend. We’re just catching up.’
I glance at her. She’s trying to smile but it’s not reaching her eyes. Catching up means more to her than it does to him.
‘I was walking to the station. Go back to your friend. See you another time, yeah?’
‘No, wait, tell me what’s happening.’
‘Stay and enjoy your drink,’ I say.
He looks over at April.
‘We’ll go somewhere else. Carry on, I’ll catch you up.’
I keep walking and don’t look back. I feel vaguely guilty about April. I catch the words ‘old friend’ being whispered. Jem seems to have a lot of those. I wait for him further along the canal. When he arrives, I’m not sure what to say.
‘Michaela never contacted me. I thought she might come to the funeral,’ I say eventually.
‘You weren’t seriously expecting her to turn up, were you?’
‘She must have heard about the funeral and they were best friends.’
Jem opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.
Maybe Edie was best friends with Michaela the same way that Charlotte claimed to be with Edie.
We take a few more steps in silence until Jem says, ‘I wouldn’t try to see Michaela, if I were you. She isn’t the girl you knew from school. She’s become bitter and spiteful.’ She sounds exactly like the girl I knew from school. ‘If she tells you anything it will be a lie, just to hurt you.’
We stop at café-bar Chez Marie. Decked out in primary colours, it resembles a fast-food restaurant more than the Parisian chic its name suggests. Still, they have alcohol and table service, so it’s not all bad. We order a bottle of Picpoul and some hummus and pitta chips.
‘What were you doing in town today?’ Jem says.
‘I had to see someone. Nothing interesting, a family matter.’
The wine arrives. Jem’s agreed to share a bottle, though I’m sure he’d prefer lager. The waiter offers it to him for tasting.
‘Just pour, mate,’ he says then smiles at me. ‘What can I say, I’m common.’
‘Wine’s wine,’ I say.
‘Finally, someone of my opinion.’
‘Met anyone who isn’t?’
‘I had to go to a family thing with Arabella at the Gossingtons’. Lots of Lucinda and Simon clones banging on about the grape and the vintage. I just drank what I was given. Most of them thought the gardener had turned up on the wrong day and was taking advantage.’
I smile. Jem’s company is what I need right now. I can’t face any more pained expressions and pity. I gulp at the wine and top it up immediately.
‘Is it like that in your family?’ Jem asks.
‘No, I told you, we’re fake posh,’ I say. ‘Besides, there aren’t enough of us left to be snobby.’
‘What was your thing today? Was it to do with Edie?’
‘Yes. No. It’s complicated.’
‘Have the police got anywhere?’
‘No. They won’t track down the boyfriend. They’re half accusing Max.’
‘The boy who used to follow her around?’
‘You knew about him?’
‘I think Michaela mentioned it once. Do you know him well?’
‘Fairly.’
Jem looks surprised but doesn’t press me on it. I don’t want to tell him Max and I were together and have him thinking what Raquel thinks, that I’m just as much a stalking victim as Edie. I don’t want to be a victim. Max may have engineered our meeting but I had a say in it. I chose him. I need to tell myself that.
‘There was an article in the newspaper suggesting Jevan Hardcastle was responsible,’ Jem says. ‘Do you remember him? He’s been in jail for years but he killed three women in the nineties.’
‘The police looked into his activities. What happened to Edie doesn’t fit. The women he killed were prostitutes. All his crimes were further to the north; he didn’t know this area. And he buried all of them within a small area of woodland.’
Jem pours us both more wine.
‘I don’t think it was a stranger,’ I continue. ‘That suggests a motive other than some sick fantasy. He knew her.’
‘But who would want to hurt her?’
‘I’ve gone over it in my head so many times. And every time it comes back to the boyfriend. Our friend Raquel never met him, but she thought he was older, maybe married. He wouldn’t want to come forward, Edie was underage and he’d be worried his wife would find out, or he could have been someone with a reputation to protect, like an MP.’
‘An MP?’ Jem says, raising his eyebrows.
‘I know it sounds unlikely, but everyone really liked Edie. I can’t think of anyone else who would want to hurt her.’
‘Someone must have disliked her.’
‘I did think of Valentina Vickers. She didn’t dislike Edie, but she might have wanted to shut her up.’
‘Who’s Valentina Vickers?’
I’ve drunk quite a bit now and find it easy to tell him how I was trying to find out why Mum might want to kill herself. About Raquel telling me that Edie came to see her with a newspaper article and my chat with Martin Vickers, which led me to Valentina. I tell him how she made pets of me and Edie and that we investigated her ‘murder’ after she disappeared. Only to find out, twenty years later, that she’d left him for my uncle Ray and they have a child.
‘He’s called Thomas.’
‘Do you want to see him?’ Jem asks.
‘I don’t know, it frightens me. What sort of home is it? Is he ill? Disturbed? Is it hereditary?’
‘Whoa, you’re getting a bit paranoid here.’
‘She acted like I was insane or dangerous. She was terrified I might try and see Thomas. What does she think I’m going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jem says. ‘But you think she could be the killer?’
‘Not really, no. However much of a two-faced cow she’s been and however much it would be convenient for her to have Edie out of the way, I can’t see her killing anyone. She might break a nail.’
Jem laughs and shakes his head.
‘You’re mental,’ he says. ‘Do you think it’s your uncle she’s really scared of? He can’t have wanted your aunt to find out.’
‘That makes sense but you don’t know Ray, no, he’s a softy, he worshipped Edie and Martin Vickers thought Becca already knew.’
‘But they’re still both married to other people. Sounds weird to me.’
‘I did say it was complicated.’
‘You’re not wrong.’
Jem refills our glasses.
‘I’m missing something,’ I say. ‘You know, like when you’re talking about a film to someone but you can’t remember the actor’s name. And just as you’re falling asleep, you sit up and go John Hurt.’
For some reason Jem finds this amusing. He’s getting through his wine as quickly as me.
‘I’m thinking all this stuff with your uncle and this Valentina woman, this was all going on around the same time your mum died?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘So they could be connected.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know. Were they close, your mum and Ray?’
‘He was her brother-in-law. We all spent loads of time together. What are you saying?’
Jem leans back in his chair.
‘Nothing, I was just asking. You did say she was really upset when this Valentina left her husband for Ray.’
‘She didn’t know that at the time.’
‘Stuff like that gets around fast. Everyone loves a scandal. It’s hard to believe rumours never got back to her.’
‘Mr Vickers assumed I knew and said that Edie did. We had a whole scrapbook dedicated to finding Valentina and that’s where Edie chose to put the newspaper article. To hide the newspaper article. It wasn’t a mistake; she hid it in that scrapbook deliberately.’
‘If you replace the rumours about this Vickers bloke for your uncle…’ Jem says.
‘No,’ I say. ‘That’s not possible.’
‘Why?’
‘It just isn’t.’
‘OK,’ he says.
He picks up the wine and drains the remnants into our glasses.
‘Is there anyone else you can ask?’ he says. ‘What about Rachel or whatever her name was?’
‘Raquel?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m pretty sure she told me everything she knows. Her mum might know more, but she’s got dementia.’
‘My nana had that. Didn’t know what happened in the last five minutes but could go on forever about something that happened fifty years ago. You should go and ask her.’
‘Yeah. Maybe. I’ll think about it.’
I finish my glass in a coupl
e of gulps. The bar’s filling up with suits.
‘It’s rubbish here,’ Jem says. ‘I know a place ten minutes that way. They play live music later on.’
‘I’ve got to get back,’ I say.
I stand up. My head is spinning. I put my hand on the table to steady myself.
Jem comes round to my side of the table.
‘You don’t have to go home,’ he says.
Jem pays the waiter and asks him to call a cab. He puts his arms around me and kisses me. And for a second the pain’s gone, there’s only the evening air and his lips on mine.
I’ve been the grieving twin for twenty years. Don’t I deserve some escape, deserve to live, be something more than poor little Tess? I can be like Ray, taking what he wants from life and not caring about the consequences. Could Jem be right about Mum, was she just collateral damage in Ray’s appetite for life?
Chapter 44
Edie: March 1998
It was unusual for Auntie Becca and Uncle Ray to come to their house. Normally, they all piled round to whichever place Auntie Becca had just decorated, where she would make trayfuls of food for everyone and only nibble from a small plate herself. Here, she observed her usual habit of not eating in their house, despite the lasagne, salad and cream gateau she had brought with her. Instead, she told them about her plans for their new kitchen.
‘We’re going to knock through to the dining room then open it up onto the garden at the back with sliding doors. Though I’m not sure about the man opposite. He’s got too many cars on that drive and they’re always changing, always coming and going. I was woken up by an engine revving at four o’clock this morning.’
Dad wasn’t eating either; he preferred to smoke and was standing at the kitchen door, his cigarette held behind him.
Edie looked at her full plate of food. She wasn’t hungry. She watched Tess munch through the salad and Uncle Ray piling lasagne into his mouth, slopping cheese sauce and tomato down his chin. At that moment she hated all of them.
‘What happened to him?’ she asked.
Auntie Becca stopped talking and looked over to Edie.
‘You mean Mr Ahmed?’
‘Who’s that?’ Edie asked.
‘The man I was just talking about, who lives opposite.’
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