‘Why would I ask about him?’
‘Who are you talking about then, Edie?’
‘Nathan Bexley.’
‘Who’s Nathan Bexley?’ Tess asked.
Dad carried on smoking, his eyes fixed on the floor. Auntie Becca’s were turned to Uncle Ray, who had a pile of lasagne dangling halfway between his plate and his mouth. He glanced towards Dad, then put his fork down.
‘Who’s Nathan Bexley?’ Tess asked again.
‘Come into the dining room, Edie. I got a couple of new singles at that record fair last week.’
‘Can I come and listen?’ Tess asked.
‘I’ve got you a CD,’ Uncle Ray said. ‘We’ll put it on later in the lounge where we can all listen.’
‘Don’t you want some gateau first?’ Auntie Becca asked.
Tess hovered between the two before opting for the gateau. Edie followed Uncle Ray to the dining room.
‘Why were you asking about that man?’ Uncle Ray asked.
‘What happened to him?’
‘Don’t go upsetting yourself, Edie.’
‘What happened?’
Uncle Ray rubbed the stubble on the side of his face.
‘You know what happened, Edie, he went to jail.’
‘Did he?’
Uncle Ray looked at her.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re a liar, Uncle Ray.’ She said it softly.
He appeared to jump.
‘What’s come over you, Edie?’
‘You’ve always been a liar,’ she said.
‘Edie, come on.’
‘Are you still seeing Valentina? I know about her. I saw you together once.’
Uncle Ray stared at her then went to shut the door.
‘Keep your voice down, will you?’ Ray said.
‘You lied about her.’
‘I didn’t actually lie.’
‘And about Mum and Nathan Bexley.’
He leaned towards her and took her arms.
‘Edie, we all thought he’d go to prison and get a long sentence. We’d told you and Tess that’s what was going to happen. We couldn’t face telling you when he got off virtually scot-free. You were much younger then, you’d been through enough.’
‘Why did he get off?’
‘It’s ridiculous. Gina had had a bit to drink.’
‘Mum hardly ever drank.’
‘And another motorist said she looked as if she …’
‘Yes?’
‘As if it were deliberate. It wasn’t, of course, she was just careless. If that man hadn’t been drunk and speeding, he could have stopped in time.’
‘So they think she killed herself?’
‘No one thinks that. It was a legal trick, to get Bexley off.’
‘And he never went to jail?’
Uncle Ray shook his head.
‘Where’s Nathan Bexley now?’ Edie asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Ray said. ‘I don’t trust myself with knowing.’
‘You’re telling me the truth this time?’
‘Yes, Edie. And that business with Valentina was a mistake. Your aunt knows and she’s forgiven me. You’re not a child any more, you must know these things happen.’
Edie thought of Raquel’s father. She knew these things happened.
‘And what about the baby?’
‘What baby?’
‘Valentina was pregnant when I saw her.’
He pauses.
‘Did you tell Gina about this?’
‘Yes, why?’
He leant back and didn’t say anything.
‘What did happen to the baby, Uncle Ray?’
He didn’t answer for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, his lips moving, talking silently to himself.
Eventually, he said, ‘He died, Edie, and I haven’t seen Valentina for years.’
‘Uncle Ray,’ Tess was calling. ‘Where’s my CD?’
‘I’ll get it for you in a minute.’ Uncle Ray lowered his voice. ‘Have you said anything to Tess?’
‘No.’
‘Well let’s keep it that way. Come back to the kitchen,’ he said.
Edie waited a moment before following. Uncle Ray must be used to telling lies. Why should she believe him now? She didn’t care about Valentina but she did want to know the truth about Mum. She was going to find out exactly what happened. She was going to find Nathan Bexley.
Chapter 45
Tess: July 2018
It’s half ten. I’m alone in Jem’s flat. He didn’t bother to wake me before he left. I check my phone then slump back onto the bed. Clouds of dust puff up from the sheets and catch in my throat, making me cough. I’m desperate for some water.
I’ve not seen Jem’s flat in daylight before. It’s a studio and, even by my standards, a total mess. The kitchen area is a few feet away and I have to clamber over piles of clothes and magazines to reach it, then hunt for a clean glass. I can’t find one and the sink’s too grimy to wash one up. The effort of moving has made my temples throb, so I go to the bed and collapse on the rough sheets.
Why am I here? Who is Jem other than Michaela’s ex? Hardly a recommendation. He’s left me here alone in his grubby flat. I presume he’s gone to work. But I don’t know that or what he does for a living. I don’t even know his last name. Going without saying goodbye doesn’t bother me but he could have left me a clean glass, my throat’s so dry it’s about to crack.
A beer can’s standing on the floor next to the bed. I pick it up and shake it. A small amount of liquid swills back and forth. Anything to relieve my throat, I lift it to my lips. A stale yeastiness wafts up my nostrils. I have to put it down or I’ll throw up. Jem’s such an arse leaving me here in this dump and it irritates me that he’s so sure I’m a nice girl and won’t go rifling through his stuff and take something.
I should teach him a lesson. And if I take something I can’t come back, so it’s a good idea. I rouse myself to leave the bed and search through his drawers to find something. He’s got some unopened letters addressed to Jeremy Robertson. I thought he might be a Jeremiah or something interesting. I consider opening them but they look like bills. A disused mobile lies next to some loose change and a near empty bag of weed. It’s of even less interest than value.
I don’t need to take something to make sure I don’t come back. I’m not interested any more. Maybe it was just the lure of Michaela’s ex, a revenge she’ll never know about, twenty years too late.
My throat’s getting worse. After a quick spray with his deodorant, at least he’s got some, I leave.
At the corner shop I grab a can of Tango. It’s sickly sweet, but I need the sugar and the fizziness wakes me up enough to try to find my bearings. I take my phone out of my pocket. It shows two missed calls. The transport app tells me I’m the wrong side of town and I need to get a bus to the centre and another one out to get home. Post-rush hour, the top deck of the bus is empty, apart from a couple of schoolboys playing hooky and rolling a joint. I ignore their protests when I open the window and it flutters their Rizla paper away.
‘No smoking,’ I say and point to the sign.
‘Bitch.’
The missed calls are from Max. I decide to ignore them.
By the time Dad gets home I’ll feel more awake. Maybe I’ll make dinner, pasta with tuna, even I can make that, and we’ll chat like father and daughter instead of strangers.
*
‘Tess.’
Dad calls to me as soon as I step inside the hall.
I stop.
‘Tess, is that you?’
He comes out of the lounge. He’s supposed to be back at work.
‘Where have you been?’ he asks.
‘Out, with a friend.’
‘I need to talk to you,’ he says.
He walks back into the lounge and lights a cigarette.
Need to talk. I’m sure most daughters have heard their fathers speak these words, in anger or concern, at some point in their life, but Dad has ne
ver said them to me before. His voice sounds strained and flat.
The ashtray is full. It’s emptied every night. Perhaps Dad didn’t go to bed again. The light from the French windows emphasises how grey he’s become. Not just his hair but his skin, as if a fine film of dust has settled across it.
We need to talk. We never talk.
‘I waited up for you last night. Where were you?’
‘I told you, I was with a friend. I didn’t call because I thought I’d wake you. You could have called me.’
‘I suppose so.’
He pulls on the cigarette. Half of it disappears in one drag.
‘There’re things I have to say to you, Tess.’ He shuffles over to his chair by the TV. It’s on mute, showing a football match. ‘Sit down.’
I take the sofa. Dad stays standing but he’s looking at the floor. If there’s something difficult to say, Dad won’t say it. Edie’s death and Mum’s have always been non-subjects. What’s so important that he’s prepared to put himself through this?
‘I loved your mother.’ He pauses. Am I supposed to speak? He sits on the arm of the chair, eyes still glued to the floor. ‘I wanted the best for all of you. Wanted to keep you safe. I failed.’
‘You can’t think it’s your fault,’ I say. ‘What…’
Dad raises his hand. I fall silent.
‘It is. I sat back, when I should have done something.’
‘What could you have done?’
‘You’re all I’ve got left, Tess.’
‘Well I’m not going to die. Not soon, anyhow. Dad, you know I’m always here. London’s less than two hours away.’
He shakes his head.
‘The way you carry on, Tess. Again, I never stopped you. Probably should have. I thought Max would calm you down.’
‘I’m not that bad.’
‘Edie was a teenager when she died. She was wild and I didn’t know how to control her. I thought she’d grow out of it. She never got the chance.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘You want to be her so much.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘I can see it. Trying to live the life she would have had. But that wouldn’t have been her life, she would have grown up, got a job, found a fella and had kids. Not out all hours with God knows who.’
‘I just stayed out with a friend, Dad, it’s not a big deal.’
‘I watch the TV every night, waiting for a knock from the police about you, like I did for Gina and Edie. And then you start this.’
‘Start what?’
‘Ray rang me. You’ve been to see Valentina. You’ve got to stop this, Tess.’
The cow said she wouldn’t say anything.
‘I have the right to know,’ I say.
‘We’re trying to protect you.’
‘From what?’
For a moment Dad looks up and catches my eye. I think about what he said before, that I must know the killer. I hadn’t believed him, but the expression on his face makes me start to. He looks down again.
‘I’m sick of people trying to protect me. You say I need to grow up but you treat me like a child, not even a teenager. We can’t tell Tess this, we mustn’t mention that. I need to know the truth. Edie had to go to the newspaper archives to find out that Mum killed herself.’
Dad takes a sharp intake of breath.
‘And I had to find out from a note Edie wrote. You never told me anything. A man got a criminal conviction for something that wasn’t his fault.’
‘It was his fault he was drunk. There’s no proof Gina killed herself.’
‘We both know she did. And you still can’t say it to me.’
He doesn’t reply.
‘What aren’t you telling me about Edie?’
Dad shakes his head.
‘You don’t understand, Tess.’
‘What don’t I understand? Do you know who it was? Was it Ray? Edie knew stuff about him.’
‘It wasn’t Ray,’ he whispers.
‘Valentina looked terrified when I went to speak to her. Who else would she be scared of?’
‘Tess, please.’
The cigarette is down to the butt. It stays wedged between his fingers as he puts his head in his hands and starts to cry.
‘Please, please stop, Tess. You’re all I’ve got.’
‘But Ray?’
His shoulders are shaking.
‘Honestly, Tess, it wasn’t Ray. I don’t know who it was. But you’re putting yourself in danger.’
‘How?’
‘You just are. I can feel it.’
He’s still crying and even though I’m angry with him and don’t believe he knows as little as he pretends, I say, ‘OK, Dad.’
Not because I’m going to stop, but because I can’t bear to see him like this. And I am a little scared. What if I am in danger, from something, or someone?
Chapter 46
Edie: March 1998
The Lamb and Flag was as dirty and neglected as the old men sitting at the end of its bar, smoking roll-ups. They were clustered round a small television set, watching a boxing match. The pub was sectioned into alcoves made of dark wood and mottled glass. A musty sweetness rose from the carpets and mixed with the stench of tobacco. Was it the smell or her nerves that made her nauseous? Why had Bob chosen this place? She was sure he’d never bring Michaela here. And it was obvious that she was far too young. At any moment the barman would turn from changing the optics and tell her to leave. And Bob would be standing behind her laughing. But no one looked up and before the barman turned, Bob was at her side.
‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ he said.
‘Why not?’ Edie asked.
‘You didn’t seem the sort somehow.’
She had the same feeling she’d had last Sunday when she’d bumped into him, that she was the butt of some private joke.
‘What sort?’ she asked.
‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Let’s find somewhere quiet.’
He linked his arm with hers. His elbow brushed against her breast. She suppressed her impulse to pull away as he led her to an alcove. She sat down and shuffled along the seat.
‘What do you want to drink?’
‘Bacardi and coke,’ Edie said.
She thought it sounded sophisticated.
‘My nana drinks that,’ Bob said. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, I …’
‘How about a Smirnoff Ice?’
‘Is that …’
‘Is that what?’ asked Bob.
She was about to ask him if that’s what he bought for Michaela.
‘That’s fine,’ she said.
While he was at the bar, Edie looked at herself in the mirror on the wall opposite. The pub’s darkness, her eyeliner and blusher couldn’t hide how young she looked. Vonnie’s friendship with the doorman had got her in to The Hub, not Michaela’s make-up. She was still worried that the barman would say something, but perhaps the pub was desperate for any trade. It was fairly empty for a Saturday night.
Bob returned with her drink. She sipped on its sharp, sherbet fizziness.
‘Is it OK?’ Bob asked.
‘Yes,’ Edie said.
Bob drummed his fingers against his glass.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘We’ve met before, haven’t we? Before the record shop. But I can’t place it.’
Edie felt sick again. The schoolgirl polyester skirt and blouse were pushing through the black top and make-up.
‘I’m not sure,’ Edie said.
‘It’ll come to me,’ he said.
And if it did? She tried to change the subject.
‘Is this pub your local?’
‘Nah,’ he said. ‘But we’d never get a minute to ourselves at The Railway.’
Edie supposed that was where he took Michaela and she mustn’t be seen there.
‘And it’s nearer the club,’ Bob added.
‘Club?’
‘You didn’t think we were sta
ying here all night, did you? We’re going to Reckless, remember?’
She worried that the doormen at Reckless might be sharper-eyed than the barman at The Lamb and Flag. Reckless would be only the second club she’d ever been to. She longed to tell Char and Aveline and of course couldn’t. The one person she should be able to tell was Tess, but she seemed to disapprove of everything Edie did these days, and even worse, she might tell Uncle Ray or Auntie Becca.
Seeing Bob behind Michaela’s back didn’t bother her. She knew Michaela had been out with other girls’ boyfriends. Natalie had never forgiven her for stealing away a St Philip’s boy called Zac. To Michaela it was a challenge, one she always won. Bob might not last long, anyway. She’d been telling Edie all about a rugby player from Birmingham University who she might meet for a drink.
‘Where’s Reckless?’
‘Downstairs at Finley’s.’
‘Right,’ Edie said, none the wiser.
‘We won’t stay here long. It’s not up to much.’
Edie looked at the soggy carpet and the old men with their pints of bitter.
‘No,’ she said.
‘Just a couple more,’ he said. ‘Drink up.’
*
‘Any ID, love?’
The doorman was about seven-foot tall. His love wasn’t friendly. Edie opened her mouth to speak. Bob jumped in.
‘She’s with me,’ he said.
‘She still needs ID.’
‘Sure,’ Bob said. ‘It’s here.’
Bob passed him a ten-pound note. The doorman glanced behind him before slipping it in his pocket and stepping back.
‘Enjoy your evening.’
Bob took her hand and led her down the steep, narrow stairs, which vibrated beneath her feet to the opening bars of Jackie Wilson’s ‘Whispers getting Louder’. Edie’s neck tingled.
The Reckless club was as dirty as The Lamb and Flag, but that was all they had in common. Not much larger than Auntie Becca’s living room, the floors and walls were in stripped wood and it was lit by low-glow red lights. Edie stopped at the bottom of the stairs to look round. Bob pulled her towards the bar. A crowd of mixed age and styles leant over it, screaming their orders above the music.
‘Same again?’ Bob shouted into her ear.
Edie nodded. He dived into the crush. She edged towards the dance floor. People not much older than her were dancing with others nearer to Dad’s age. She spotted the owner of Irregular Records crafting some complicated steps, making light of his large belly. It was the sort of place Uncle Ray would come, if he ever went clubbing these days.
Someone You Know Page 23