by Kit Eyre
‘And if she is? Do we just turn around?’
‘That’s the plan. Harriet’s already expecting it and she’ll rip her into shreds given half the chance.’
I turned my hand over and squeezed her fingers. ‘What about you?’
‘I’ve never needed the excuse. I’ll keep the claws in for now,’ she added before I could speak, ‘but she’d better not mess us around. That’s all I’m saying.’
Even with the coffee gurgling around my stomach, I drifted to sleep not long after we left the services. It was a combination of exhaustion coupled with the mundane details of the Hawker Hurricane engines, but when I woke up the car was empty and the road ahead deserted.
I twisted around, catching sight of cigarette smoke whisking across a nearby hedge, and grabbed my stick. I found Harriet alone staring towards two figures having an animated row halfway across the field. After pinching the sleep from my eyes. I hobbled to join her.
‘Where are we?’
She threw me a glance and drew on her cigarette. ‘Middle of Scotland on a wild bloody goose chase for my money.’
‘What did I miss?’
‘We crossed the border about an hour ago. I tried to get the postcode from her ladyship, but she was having none of it. Said we should carry on and she’d direct us when we got closer. Gemma told me to pull over and dragged her out of the car.’
‘Dragged her?’ I repeated.
Harriet smirked. ‘Oh, yeah.’
I let the image sink in before questioning, ‘How the hell did I sleep through that?’
‘Well, you were knackered, weren’t you?’ she replied, grinding her cigarette into the dirt with her heel. ‘Reckon you haven’t been sleeping these last few weeks.’
‘Harriet –’
‘Forget it. We both ballsed up. Let’s call it quits.’
My eyes caught on Gemma and Jude again. Whatever they were arguing about, it probably wasn’t the postcode anymore. Gemma was bouncing on the balls of her feet, compensating for the height difference, while Jude towered over her, imperious as she’d been with Caroline back in the old days. I’d never looked at them side by side before. In fact, to my knowledge this was the first time they’d met. Both of them radiated animosity; even from here I could see the disdain etched over Jude’s face. I hadn’t looked at her in a year and I quickly shifted my attention to Gemma’s stiff frame.
‘What’s Jude playing at?’ I asked Harriet. ‘Why not just give us the address?’
She scratched her neck. ‘If you want my opinion, she wants you to ask for it.’
I growled, jabbing my stick against the hedge. ‘Great.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not having you do that.’
‘What other choice have we got?’ I retorted. ‘But I can’t walk down there. My leg’s killing me.’
Harriet scuffed her shoe through the soil then set her shoulders and started walking. ‘You wait here. I’ll get her.’
It was colder up here than it had been in Yorkshire. As Harriet stalked across the field, I shivered with only my t-shirt and jeans on. My jacket was in the car, but I wouldn’t give Jude the satisfaction of turning away to get it, so I toughed it out until the three of them began trudging back across the grass.
By the time they reached me, the breeze had numbed my arms. Gemma’s cheeks were flushed, but Jude’s were pallid. Harriet stood between them like a referee, even if neither of them seemed to need any protection from the other.
Without looking at Jude, I said, ‘Right, if you’re screwing us around then bully for you. Well done and all that, but it’s done with. We’re either carrying on with a name and a postcode or we’re going home. We’re going home,’ I repeated, ‘and we’re not taking you with us.’
‘Danni –’
‘No,’ I interrupted. The shock of hearing my name from her lips zinged through my body, settling as white heat in my fingertips. ‘You said you had something so stop messing us around.’
‘All I want is –’
‘The address,’ I cut in.
She let out a familiar sigh. ‘Lenora Bathely, 28 Harpin Crescent, just out of Stirling.’
‘Good,’ I muttered, twisting back towards the car. ‘Give the postcode to Harriet so we can get the hell out of here.’
The outside of Lenora’s house was no different to the rest of the street.
It was a pricey area, full of detached houses with double garages. All of them had something showy tacked to the outside, whether it was a BMW parked up in the driveway or a conservatory glistening around the corner. Lenora’s embellishment was an ornate fountain in the front garden, the only one I could see on the street. What had likely started out as a majestic cascade of water from the mouths of four dragons had been reduced to a muffled trickle that reminded me of a broken toilet.
On the path, all of us hesitated. I glanced at Harriet flicking her lighter on and off then at Gemma with her arms coiled behind her back. My feet seemed glued to the crazing paving, refusing to mount the step, so, in the end, it was Jude who darted up to press the bell twice before falling back into line.
We were all straining to hear movement inside, but nothing happened. I leaned against my stick, looking around the fancy houses and wondering how unusual it was for four strangers to turn up like this. Gemma and Jude looked all right, but Harriet had never shaken her redundancy image of not giving a toss and I was only comfortable in the Primark clothes Gemma had bought in bulk when I’d left the hospital. We’d be lucky if one of the nosy parkers didn’t call the police.
‘Could be out,’ Gemma suggested.
Jude shook her head and this time banged on the door. The ferocity startled Gemma and Harriet, but I’d seen her in action when she wanted something and the memory was more violent than the meek acquiescence from the field.
After a prolonged pause, the door was pulled open by a woman with grey hair straggling around her wrinkles. She blinked into the daylight and scowled.
‘Who is it? If it’s Avon, your catalogue’s on the step and I’ve told you not to bother leaving it. I’ll let the cat piss on it next time.’
Her accent made me shiver. It was the spit of Conrad’s. I’d never been able to pin it down before, not even when pressed by the police. The most I’d been able to say was that it was some sort of Yorkshire accent with an edge to it. A Yorkshire accent was nothing to go on in Yorkshire, the DI had complained, but, then, he was a Southerner. The local detectives had been more sceptical that I’d been unable to narrow it down, but something had thrown me. It was distance from Yorkshire, I realised while looking at Lenora’s pinched face.
‘We’re not Avon,’ Jude said.
Harriet shoved past her. ‘It’s Lenora, isn’t it?’
‘Mrs Bathely to you.’ Her eyes flicked between us. ‘How do you know my name anyway? Have you been talking to the neighbours?’
‘No, nothing like that. We’ve got a history in common, that’s all.’
‘I doubt that very much, pet,’ Lenora retorted then her attention caught on my leg and her cheeks drained of the little colour they had. Without warning, she slammed the door in our faces and called, ‘I don’t know who you are, but piss off. I mean it – get off my property.’
Jude growled and kicked the step. ‘You spooked her.’
‘I didn’t see you helping out,’ Harriet snapped.
‘Maybe if you’d given me half a chance or used your brain.’
I nudged Gemma and motioned her back towards the car. Harriet and Jude were still bickering behind us, so it gave me a chance to lean my weight against her shoulder.
‘Lenora knows something, doesn’t she?’ I asked.
Gemma’s arm wrapped around my waist. ‘Looks like Jude was right. And don’t you dare tell her I said that.’
Chapter 16
February 2010
By the time Jude and I made it up the two flights of stairs, Michael was nowhere to be seen.
Harriet and Caroline were hovering on the upstairs l
anding with the air of a row hanging between them. Relieved to feel Jude on my heels, I walked straight past them and slotted the headset on. Somehow, my hands weren’t trembling now. The phone call felt trivial compared to what had just gone on in the cellar.
‘Conrad, you’re early.’
‘Yeah, I was bored. How did you get on?’
Jude had settled behind my chair, an arm looped around my neck. I didn’t care how it looked to Harriet or Caroline as long as she didn’t let go. I closed my eyes to concentrate on Conrad’s voice.
‘We didn’t find anything relevant from the Yorkshire and Humber region,’ I told him.
‘Forget about that. I’m not talking about that.’
I rested back into Jude’s warmth. ‘What then?’
‘We had that argument, remember?’ he questioned.
‘It wasn’t an argument.’
‘You wouldn’t do what I told you to. Sounds like an argument to me. You don’t like being called a liar, am I right? When you’re screwing someone else’s wife, it’s a bit rich, isn’t it?’
Ice fluttered through my stomach. I opened my eyes, pushing Jude’s arm away and scooting closer to the wall. The desk blurred in front of me, though it took me a second to recognise the tears burning my eyelids. I cupped a hand across my face and hunched over the desk.
‘Why did you tell him?’ I asked.
Behind me, Jude melted away.
‘Because you were being all high and mighty,’ Conrad replied. ‘You needed bringing down a peg or two.’
‘There was no need to –’
‘What, tell the poor idiot the truth? He’s off racing around the country earning a living and she’s jumping into bed with you. Not nice, is it?’
The door through to the meeting room and Michael’s office creaked open then closed again. Jude had gone, leaving me with Conrad on the end of the phone and Caroline ready to pounce on the slightest thing. I tucked my little finger under my tongue and bit down hard.
‘Is it?’ Conrad pressed.
I swallowed a sliver of blood. ‘No.’
‘Good. At least you’ve learned something. I’ll call back in two hours.’
He hung up without warning again. I blinked at the phone then slid the headset towards the desk. It slipped and danced over the edge before the wire checked its progress.
Harriet swept it back onto the desk. ‘What did he say?’
I pushed the chair away, groping for the far wall with the aim of making it to the staircase. Caroline leapt out of my path and skidded towards Harriet.
‘What did he say?’ Harriet repeated. ‘Tell me what happened please.’
‘Nothing. He’ll call back in two hours.’
The cellar was the only place I could think of to go.
Jude was with Michael, in his office probably. After what had been said down here, it hadn’t crossed my mind she’d go off with him. All that time I hadn’t let her speak then, when I had, she’d gone after her husband. My throat stung with the realisation that words mattered less than I thought they did when it came to me and Jude. Maybe that was why we never spoke, why things were always going to end up like this.
However long I sat alone in the cellar, it wasn’t long enough. The door clattered and footsteps echoed down the stairs. I squinted into the gloom, hoping it might be Jude but petrified of it being Michael. Instead, Matt ducked his head under the beam and threw a bottle of water onto the sofa beside me.
‘Bloody cold down here, isn’t it?’
I grappled for the water, hands shaking as I unscrewed the lid. Matt watched me take a few long gulps then stepped over mounds of paper to plant himself on the sofa. When I struggled to get the lid back on, he slid it out of my hands and twisted it tight.
‘You know, Caroline’s running around up there bleating about something she doesn’t understand. You know what she’s like, always playing the gossip. She thinks she knows something, but she doesn’t.’
‘She might,’ I muttered.
‘No, she’s not that switched-on.’
With effort, I glanced sideways. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that Caroline would have trouble seeing anything that’s not dead . . . straight ahead, if you get my drift. From the way Michael was before, she reckons Jude’s been having an affair, yeah, but she just thinks you knew about it, that’s all.’
‘How did you –’
‘I’m not the twit round here,’ he interrupted, passing the bottle back and forth between his hands. ‘Something spilled out at Christmas, with the party and all that. You were drunk, blathering on about this woman you couldn’t have and then you had that row with her just before last orders. I paid attention after that. So, Michael, find out, did he?’
I nodded.
‘Did you tell him?’
I shook my head.
We sat for a couple of minutes listening to the water drizzling through the pipes. Matt pushed the bottle towards me and waited until I was drinking before breaking the silence.
‘Look, I’d be gutted if Tanya ever did this to me. I’d probably kick the crap out of the guy. I bet it’s pissing Michael off he can’t do that.’
I wiped my mouth. ‘Point, Matt.’
‘Right, yeah. What I’m trying to say is you got the raw end of this. She’s the one who’s married and she’s not one to be pushed around. If she didn’t want this, it wouldn’t be happening. In charge, that’s our Jude. How long you been seeing each other – back end of last year, after summer?’
‘Yeah . . . Why?’
‘You brought something out in her, that’s all. Maybe she felt more herself, I don’t know how all that stuff works. Truth is, I’ve hated querying anything with Bobby or Tracy the last few months. She’s been on me like a mother bear.’
The phrase rippled through me and settled like a stone in the pit of my stomach.
‘She’s pregnant, Matt,’ I murmured.
He blew out his breath. ‘Oh.’
That single word summed it up really. All the anger, betrayal and confusion flattened out to be replaced with a dull ache I finally recognised.
I looked over to him. ‘I’m hungry.’
Matt patted my knee. ‘Revolting soup coming up.’
Chapter 17
July 2011
On Harriet’s suggestion, we pitched up at a B&B on the outskirts of Stirling.
The air between her and Jude was still brittle. Gemma grabbed our bags and we took off first, though my leg held me back. By the time we reached the desk, Jude was right behind us and my stomach was twisting at the thought of booking in with her absorbing every word. When the receptionist looked up expectantly, I made a split-second decision.
‘Three rooms please, if you’ve got them,’ I said.
‘Three?’ Jude echoed from behind us.
Gemma slipped her arm through mine. ‘Three. At least one double please. Unless you’ve got a problem with that.’
The receptionist let out a bark of laughter. ‘Darling, I’d book the devil a room if he had cash. Paying for them separately?’
We went through the formalities for our room, Jude and Harriet hovering at opposite ends of the foyer. I kept my eyes fixed on Gemma’s head bowed over the register. Beyond that conversation at my flat, we hadn’t mentioned anything to do with her feelings. She’d slipped back into her white knight role, keeping Jude at bay for me, though now there was an undercurrent creeping in. We’d shared a bed before in the last few months, but it’d felt more like friends having a sleepover than anything else. Now there was something else festering, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
The room was the size of two disabled toilet cubicles tacked together, only less roomy. I dropped my bag on the bed and looked around.
‘Bit cosy, isn’t it?’ Gemma said.
With two steps, I was back at the door. ‘I’m going out for a bit.’
‘Where? I’ll come with you.’
‘Just for a walk.’
She grabbed her co
at. ‘Okay, we’ll –’
‘No, Gem. I want to be on my own for a bit.’
Her face crumpled as she let her coat fall. ‘Is it the room thing? I thought –’
‘It’s not, I just . . .’ I trailed off and pulled the door open. ‘Sorry.’
I went into the third pub I found.
It was like walking into a time warp, the kind of traditional pub you got in pockets of Yorkshire that refused to move with the times. The snug, upholstered booths and the spluttering fire in the corner would’ve turned me right off a few years ago, but now it took me way out of everything in my life. It wasn’t anything like my clubbing days with Gem or the few fancy bars I’d been in with Jude, strictly as mates having a glass of wine, of course. I ordered a beer and a bowl of chips before taking root in one of the stately armchairs by the fire.
Nobody gave a toss I’d limped in here like a wounded dog. I’d been in a few bars since Christmas and, generally, people gawped. Most of them probably didn’t know who the hell I was, but some of them did and that was enough to put me off going out. In here, though, I felt anonymous. Once the chips arrived, I doused them in vinegar and relaxed into the chair.
‘Can I join you a minute, lovey?’
I flinched. One of the old men I’d seen sitting at the bar was arched over my table. Though he was wearing a camouflage jacket and pitted jeans, the most striking part of him was the purple bobble hat.
‘Keeps my ears warm,’ he said, patting two vague lumps on the side of his head. ‘Get cold easy, these days. Can I sit down? Need the fire in my knees for a while.’
It was easier to shrug and let him. I tilted my body away and crunched on my chips until a gnarled hand swiped two clean out of the bowl. I glanced up as they disappeared into his mouth and watched him chew like a cow for well over a minute.
‘Bad digestion,’ he explained after swallowing. ‘I’m Simon.’
‘Good for you.’
He cackled and rubbed his knee. ‘You’re a surly one, aren’t you?’
If it’d been anyone but a benign old man in a bobble hat, I would’ve got out of there. Either that or bitten his head off and got myself chucked out. Something about the cheeky chappie routine charmed me though. I nudged the bowl into the centre of the table and he immediately nabbed a few more chips.