The Dangerous Kind

by Deborah O'Connor

  ‘I’m looking for Luca.’ She peered over the girl’s shoulder. ‘Is he home?’ In the living room she could hear the zap and crash of a kid’s cartoon.

  ‘Luca,’ shouted the girl, without taking her eyes off Jessamine. ‘There’s someone here wants to talk to you.’

  Footsteps on the stairs and Luca appeared, hair wet. He had golden, biscuit-coloured skin, and his dressing-gown was loosely tied around his waist, the two sides falling apart to expose a red and orange Roma tattoo on his right pec.

  ‘Go check on Matteo,’ he said to the girl, as soon as he saw Jessamine.

  ‘Mr Scolari?’ She held out her hand. ‘My name is Jessamine Gooch. I tried calling. It’s about your wife.’

  He looked at her proffered hand and sneered. ‘I know who you are.’

  Despite the cold he moved forward onto the step as if to guard against Jessamine making a sudden bolt for his living room. ‘I already told the police everything.’

  Luca’s voice bore only the trace of an Italian accent. He uttered every vowel separately, as if the e and the a in ‘already’ were distant cousins rather than enmeshed partners in crime.

  A face appeared around Luca’s hip. Matteo. Jessamine recognised him from the newspaper articles. ‘Dad?’ His brown eyes were still crusted with sleep, his hair askew.

  ‘Go eat your breakfast.’

  Matteo stole one last look at Jessamine, then did as he was told.

  ‘Ten minutes of your time. It might help . . .’

  ‘Not going to happen.’

  He took a step back, ready to close the door, but Jessamine wasn’t going to let him get away that easily. She wedged her foot next to the frame, and just before the corner of the door hit the side of her toes she asked the one thing she thought might give him pause. ‘Who’s the girl?’

  The door stopped centimetres from her foot, and he reopened it halfway. The question seemed to rattle him but then the right side of his face lifted into a smirk. It was as though he’d suddenly remembered something, some talisman that meant he no longer needed to feel worried by Jessamine and her questions.

  ‘After you called the first time I looked you up. You were fired for going off on one on the radio.’

  ‘Suspended.’

  ‘My wife has disappeared. I don’t want to talk to any journalists, and even if I did, do you really think I’m going to talk to you?’

  ‘Mr Scolari, if I could just explain—’

  ‘If you don’t stop harassing me I’ll call back one of the reporters that have pushed their number through my door, the ones that still have a job, and when I do I’ll tell them about you and how you keep bothering me.’

  His eyes glittered at the prospect and she knew he wasn’t bluffing. She hated to retreat but she couldn’t take the risk. If Luca were to make a fuss, it could become a story, and if it did, it would undermine her chances of being reinstated.

  ‘I’ll go,’ she said, cowed. ‘But if you change your mind . . .’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘. . . you have my number.’

  ‘I got your number all right.’

  He looked down to where her foot remained wedged in the corner of the doorway. A prompt. She pulled it back, just in time for Luca to slam the door, and tried not to flinch as the frame rattled and shook inches from her face.

  *

  Ruffled by her encounter with Luca, Jessamine spent the rest of the morning at home. It was one thing to have him refuse an interview, quite another to have him threaten her reputation. What little was left of it. Still, she wasn’t easily deterred. Luca was a bully and, from now on, when it came to any dealings with the man, she’d need to tread that bit more carefully, but that didn’t mean she would give up. If anything, she was even more determined to find out what had happened to Cassie and if he was somehow responsible.

  She decided to return to Loughton, this time to Matteo’s primary school.

  Marnie had said that her son, Jayden, and Matteo attended an after-school club. That meant neither she nor Luca would be there at picking-up time. It would allow Jessamine to talk unsupervised to the other parents and see if she could glean anything useful about the weeks building up to Cassie’s disappearance.

  A quick Google of Matteo’s school told her that it finished at ten past three. She made sure to get there five minutes early and headed for the playground. Essex, like the rest of the south, was still in a battle with the persistent freeze and the tarmac was covered with salt. The grit was abrasive, and as she strode towards the parents and childminders clustered by the climbing frame, she felt the scratch of the granules underfoot.

  The school was a single-storey, flat-roofed design. Every doorway was adorned with brightly coloured lengths of twisted plastic that twirled on the air, the brick walls decorated with mosaics of children holding hands and smiling, WE SHARE and WE LISTEN TO EACH OTHER printed above them. She tried to imagine Cassie there with Matteo on that last morning. Had she left her son behind on purpose? Or was she hiding somewhere, even now, missing him terribly and trying to work out how to steal him to safety and a new life far from here?

  Her phone beeped. Another text from Dougie: Hello???

  Jessamine bristled. She’d received his first message only that morning and he was already chasing her for a response. She had planned to decline his offer of a second date with a now-isn’t-a-great-time-for-me type text but now, irritated at being hassled, she decided to ignore him altogether.

  She approached two women and a man in the playground. Chatting in the low, jokey voices she remembered from when she used to collect Sarah from school, they had the easy body language that comes from being around each other day in day out. One of the women was trying to deter a snow-suited toddler from scaling the climbing frame while the man stood guard over a double buggy containing twin baby girls. From time to time one of the babies would toss something onto the ground and, without missing a beat, the man would stoop to pick it up.

  ‘I wonder if you can help.’ They stopped talking and turned to her with polite smiles. Smiles that meant although they had yet to recognise her as part of the usual pick-up crowd, they were willing to give her the benefit of the doubt in case she was a nanny collecting for the first time or a family member not used to the drill.

  ‘I’m investigating the disappearance of Cassie Scolari, Matteo Scolari’s mum.’

  At this, their faces changed. The woman wrestling with the renegade toddler lifted him to the ground and took a step forward. ‘Are you police?’

  ‘I’m a journalist.’

  The toddler screamed in protest but the woman ignored him and hoisted him under her arm, like a rugby ball, where he continued to wriggle and squirm. ‘We can’t talk to you.’ She was about to continue when the bell rang out across the playground. The two women scrambled into action and moved towards the building. But the man with the buggy was slow off the mark. ‘Don’t mind them,’ he said, retrieving a ragged rabbit from the ground. ‘They’re just doing as they’re told. The head has asked everyone to stay away from the press.’ He stuffed the rabbit underneath the buggy and headed towards one of the classroom doors.

  Jessamine looked down. A Sophie Giraffe teether lay on the ground. She picked it up and ran after him. ‘You forgot this.’

  He accepted it gratefully. ‘Why are you here now? It’s been weeks,’ he said, giving it a cursory wipe. ‘Is it because of the fees?’ He handed the giraffe to the baby on the right and there was an immediate squeak as she started to gnaw at one of its rubber feet.

  A teacher appeared at the classroom door and began searching out relevant parents, then shouting the corresponding child’s name into the cloakroom behind her. Seconds later identical twin girls ran to the man, clutching wilting paintings, scarves, hats and gloves. The man bent down to embrace them and pulled two bananas out of his coat pocket.

  Jessamine looked from the grown twins to the babies.

  ‘IVF,’ he said, offering the fruit to the old
er pair. ‘Then we fell pregnant naturally with these two.’ He patted the babies’ heads. ‘Go figure.’

  With a flick of his foot he released the buggy brake and joined the crowd shuffling towards the exit.

  ‘What fees?’ asked Jessamine again, falling into step beside him. This was a state school.

  ‘Matteo’s after-school-club fees.’ His older daughters had run on ahead. ‘Rumour is they hadn’t paid them in months. They’re something like five hundred quid in arrears.’

  He navigated the buggy expertly through the crowd, taking care not to ram anyone’s shins while keeping one eye on the whereabouts of his two other children.

  ‘Do you know Cassie?’

  ‘I’d see her at drop-off on a morning and at the odd kid’s party but that was about it. Oh, and a little while ago she came as a volunteer on a school trip.’

  They reached the gates that led out onto the road and he steered the buggy right, onto the pavement that led up the hill.

  ‘What was she like on the trip?’

  ‘She’d never volunteered before, probably because she works full time. She seemed normal at first, made an effort to talk to everyone, was nice to the kids. But halfway through the tour things got a bit weird.’

  ‘Tour?’

  ‘The BBC. The kids get to do a pretend weather report, then they show you where they do the news, the studios, that kind of thing.’

  Jessamine resisted telling him her connection to the place.

  ‘When we crossed into the other part of the building she started behaving oddly. Distracted.’

  ‘You went into Broadcasting House?’

  ‘The radio bit. A few of the kids in Cassie’s care wandered off into one of the studios without her noticing. Then they did it again. In the end the teacher had to have a word, told her to keep a better eye on them. She broke down in tears, said she wasn’t feeling well and left.’

  ‘When was this trip?’

  ‘Just before the October half-term.’ He stopped at a black SUV. ‘This is me.’ He opened the doors and the older twins scrambled inside. He removed the first baby from the buggy and started strapping her into the car seat.

  ‘Do you know Cassie’s friend Marnie, one of the other mums?’

  He smiled knowingly. ‘She’s the one that dresses like her, right?’

  Jessamine stalled, surprised.

  ‘It happened after the first term, when the kids were in Reception. She started wearing her hair the same, same clothes. My wife would talk about it with the other mums. It was a bit like . . . What was that film?’

  ‘Single White Female?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  Both babies now strapped in, he collapsed the buggy and stored it in the boot. He got into the driver’s seat and started the car.

  ‘Thank you for talking to me.’

  He didn’t return her smile. ‘My advice? Don’t come back. Not without permission from the head.’

  She watched him pull away, and for the second time that day, she found herself marooned on a pavement.

  2003

  Rowena

  We are at the flat by the river, my first party in months, and everything feels strange. Tonight before I left the care home I went into the office to say goodbye to Raf. I don’t sneak out any more. I don’t need to. He barely looked up from the computer. It’s been like this ever since he came to collect me from the clinic. He used to try to talk to me about what was going on. He said he’d heard that what happened to me had happened to other girls, and that if I ever wanted to go back to the police he’d come with me. But now he seems to have given up. Tonight he said that if I don’t want to help myself there’s nothing he can do.

  I didn’t know whether to feel sad or relieved.

  I go into the living room to find Queenie and Erin already here. As usual, they’re sitting together on the sofa. I expect them to be happy to see me, to get up, maybe, for a welcome-back hug. But after a glance in my direction they look away.

  The place seems smaller than the last time we were here. So does Leo. Maybe it’s because I’ve grown or, these days, I’m walking that bit taller.

  He called yesterday. It was the first I’d heard from him since my termination.

  My first thought was that he’d found out about my meet-ups with Millie. But no. He was calling to say that, although he was still angry at my mistake, if I promised to be more careful with my contraception, he was willing to move on.

  I go and stand in front of Queenie and Erin. Queenie is wearing a red spaghetti-strap dress. She looks tired and thin. Erin’s acne is worse than ever.

  ‘Miss me?’

  They share a look.

  ‘How are you both?’I say. ‘How are things?’

  Again, they look at each other. A secret seems to pass between them.

  ‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch. I didn’t have any credit on my phone.’

  That is a lie. I have credit but I want to save it all for my chats with Millie. Since that first outing to the cinema we’ve been meeting up at least twice a week. I like her. More than that, I like the person she thinks I am.

  Finally, Queenie shuffles to one side, creating a space for me to sit down. Once I’m settled she peers at the jumper tied around my shoulders. Erin fingers the plait in my hair. ‘You seem different,’ she says.

  My hand goes to where the knotted sleeves rest on my collarbone. I’ve been trying out a new look. Millie says it’s pretty, that I look like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday.

  ‘Why are you like this?’ I ask, on the defensive. ‘Are you in a sulk because I’ve not been around? Because if you are . . .’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘Then what? Tell me.’

  Again, they look at each other. A beat, and Queenie nods at Erin. Permission to speak.

  ‘While you were away things got a bit weird,’ says Erin, carefully.

  ‘Weird how? Weirder than this?’ I point at the men and children in the room.

  She grabs my hand and brings it back down to my knee. It’s as though she wants to draw as little attention to us, to our conversation, as possible.

  ‘Remember that celebrity?’ She says it so quietly that, to hear her, I have to lean in close. ‘The one with the brother.’

  I say his name and they both hush me while checking to make sure the men in the kitchen haven’t heard. All at once I realise something. Queenie and Erin aren’t behaving oddly because they’re annoyed but because they’re scared.

  ‘At the last party the brother went with Queenie.’ Erin checks back on the men in the kitchen. ‘Everything was fine and then halfway through he tried to put a pillow over her face.’

  ‘When you can do what you like, you do what you like,’ says Queenie. She tries to sound like she’s not that bothered but her voice breaks a little. I look at her, trying to understand her meaning. She chooses not to go on. Instead, she reaches for the jumper around my shoulders, unties the sleeves and places it gently in my lap. Then she pulls the bobble from my hair and runs her fingers through the plait until it sits loose around my shoulders.

  ‘That’s better,’ she says, looking me up and down. ‘It’s good to have you back, Rowena.’

  Thursday 5 January

  Present day

  Jitesh

  Jitesh tapped his finger against the microphone and watched the screen for a reaction. The needle in the corner lifted and fell. ‘You’re g-g-g-good to go.’

  He handed Jessamine the headphones and gestured for her to take his place at the kitchen table.

  ‘Testing, one two, one two.’ She watched the needle flicker in response and smiled. ‘It works.’

  Thursday, early evening, and Jitesh was at Jessamine’s flat in Limehouse prepping her laptop for her first podcast. The plan was for her to record the script at her leisure, then send the long version to him. He would edit out any gaps or pauses and upload it onto iTunes. He’d also offered to set up a dedicated email address people could use to
get in touch with information they might have about Cassie’s case.

  He’d fretted all day about coming here. On the one hand he was excited and honoured at having been asked to work on a project with a serious (albeit disgraced) presenter, like Jessamine Gooch, but on the other he didn’t know what to expect. A quick mooch around her email in the hours beforehand had produced little of use and she wasn’t on social media.

  He needn’t have worried. As soon as he’d arrived she’d put him at ease with scones and tea and explained the story behind the podcast. Before long any nervousness he’d felt was gone, replaced with intrigue about Cassie Scolari and what might have happened to her. Jitesh had read Richard Feynman’s biography countless times. The physicist’s investigative approach into the Challenger disaster was well documented. With his meticulous detective work, he had figured out what had gone wrong with the space shuttle. Now, sitting at Jessamine’s kitchen table, Jitesh daydreamed: maybe with this podcast he’d get to be like his hero, finding answers where others had found none.

  He felt something brush past the bottom of his legs and jumped.

  Jessamine laughed, reached under the table and reappeared with a large ginger cat. ‘Don’t mind Munchie,’ she said, nuzzling the creature’s neck. ‘She’s just saying hello.’

  ‘Munchie?’ he said, not sure he’d heard the name right.

  ‘I wanted to call her Valentine,’ she pointed to a patch of heart-shaped white fur on the creature’s hind leg, ‘but Sarah overruled me.’

  ‘What is it I’ve done now?’ A girl emerged into the living room and went straight to the fridge. Wearing tartan pyjama bottoms and a hoody, she had long brown hair, tied in a bun on top of her head.

  ‘Sarah, this is Jitesh,’ said Jessamine. ‘He’s helping with my podcast.’

  Sarah emerged from the fridge with a bottle of water, grabbed a croissant from an open packet on the side, then disappeared back the way she had come.

  ‘I’ll l-l-leave you to it,’ he said, putting on his coat.

  ‘Thanks again for all your help.’