The Bad Things (6 page)

‘Careful, don’t hurt yourself.’

‘I won’t,’ she snapped, taking a couple of slices from the now open packet. ‘See? It’s done. But the sodding bread’s mouldy.’

Chris was beside her, taking the bread out of her hands. ‘It’s only a bit of green along the edges. It’ll be fine when I’ve got peanut butter and jam on the top.’

‘Up to you.’ Kate reached up into a cupboard and took down the pack of muesli, shaking some into a bowl, looking crossly at the dried fruit, seeds, and oats. ‘Urgh, why can’t I like this stuff?’

‘Because it’s rabbit food.’

‘That’s lettuce.’

‘Well, some animal that eats oats and fruit and enjoys it.’

‘Good for me though.’ She poured milk out of the bottle onto it.

‘Sometimes it’s good to have things you enjoy.’

Kate looked at him sharply, then caught her breath at the sadness of his expression. She put down her bowl and went over to him, putting her arms around his solid waist. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m just a bit twitchy.’

‘Any particular reason?’

The toast popped up and Chris began to slather it with butter. Kate’s irritation flared up again. ‘You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you’re not careful.’

‘At least I will have enjoyed myself,’ he said mildly.

‘What are you saying?’

‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ Out came the peanut butter and jam. He sighed. ‘I don’t know what’s eating you this morning. I’m beginning to think I did disturb you and your lover.’

All the fight went out of Kate and she sat down. What the fuck was she doing, trying to pick a fight with him? ‘I’m sorry, Chris. It was something I heard on the news today that’s made me feel a bit out of sorts.’ Understatement of the year.

‘Oh?’

‘A woman called Jackie Wood has been released from prison. Her sentence was quashed—’

‘I heard about that on the radio. While I was driving. Put away for – what was it – conspiracy to murder or something? Her and some guy called Martin Jessop had murdered two little kids, is that right? I was abroad at the time so don’t remember it really. But why has that made you so—’

‘Bad-tempered? Irritable?’

He grinned. ‘If you put it like that, yes.’

She sighed. How much to say? She had never told him about finding little Harry, about eventually holding him in her arms after the photographs, the examination of his little body, the forensics that had been carried out, and about the sheer and utter helplessness she had felt. She had never wanted to feel his pity. ‘I was involved in that case.’

‘Oh?’ Chris began to eat his toast.

‘Worked on it. Had to give evidence in court. It was a bit…’ She hesitated. ‘Upsetting.’

‘But it was, what? Sixteen years ago?’

‘Fifteen.’

‘Right. Not your case now.’

‘No. But I feel for the family. They must be pretty upset to see her coming out like that.’

‘I’m sure. But it’s not for you to get involved, is it? I mean, not personally.’

She shrugged. ‘I just keep wondering what they’re feeling, thinking. I wonder if I ought to go and see them.’

‘Because you were on the case all that time ago? You were only a PC then, weren’t you?’

Kate didn’t heed the warning note of exasperation in Chris’s voice. ‘Yes, it was one of my first jobs after months on the beat.’ She spooned some of the muesli into her mouth. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’ She walked over to the sink and dumped her bowl in it with a clatter. ‘I ought to get to the station, I’ve got plenty to do.’

Chris stood and took hold of her hand. ‘Can’t you give it a few more minutes? You’re out all the hours God sends and I’d really like to talk.’

‘We do talk.’

‘Properly, I mean. Without you falling asleep on me.’ He smiled. A serious smile.

‘I can’t help it, you know. It’s tough out there.’ She shook her hand free of Chris’s.

‘Hardly the mean streets of New York though, is it?’

‘You’d be surprised. And New York isn’t like it used to be. If you listened to the news more often you’d know that.’ She cringed inwardly at her own words.

‘Kate—’

‘No. I really do have to go.’

‘Why is it you’re so damned keen to interfere in everyone else’s lives but keep our life together at arm’s-length?’ Chris asked, his tone deceptively mild.

‘Interfering?’ Kate let a note of self-righteous anger into her voice. ‘What? You mean my job? I thought you were proud of me? I thought it was part of why you love me—’

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I am proud of you, of course I am, because you’re you. But I care about us, you and me. Not drugs or prostitutes or murderers. You and me, Kate. You and me. And sometimes—’

Kate stood still. ‘Sometimes what?’ It was like picking a scab.

Chris picked up his toast again. ‘One day, Kate, we’re going to have to talk about this. I mean, really talk.’

Kate went to the door. ‘Chris?’ Suddenly she wanted to tell him about the trip to the doctor’s, the pills, the possibility of counselling, of finding Harry’s body, how it had made her feel.

‘Mmm?’ He appeared to be engrossed in the newspaper that had been lying on the table, and he didn’t look up.

Anger surged through her once more. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said.

7

Alex pulled the front door closed behind her and hunched down into her coat, trying to avoid the worst of the east wind and the rain lashing at her face. She loved Sole Bay with its jumble of terraces, semis, and mansions, and the B. & B.s, and the chi-chi shops that sold everything from designer clothes to plastic windmills, but, God, how she hated the winter weather. The wind and rain whipped off the grey North Sea, across the sand, around the beach huts, straight at anyone who dared get in the way. In the summer, the streets were clogged with visitors – the little train running up and down the pier doing good business; barrels of beer were transported to the pubs by a dray pulled by shire horses, and holidaymakers whiled away the day on the beach. But at this time of year the few tourists spent their money in the steamy tea shops or art galleries rather than brave the outside.

The wind pulled at her as she walked along the coast road, out of the main town, passed scrappy grass with its ‘No Ball Playing’ notices and the pub that still sold ‘Austerity Lunches’. She was heading to her favourite part of Sole Bay – the trashy harbour end, with its caravan park, dodgy prefab houses growing shells and beach paraphernalia in the gardens, and the black rickety sheds advertising fresh fish for sale. Today, the boats were tied up in the harbour, the fishermen not foolhardy enough to brave the North Sea conditions. There would be no boxes of slippery silver fish or snapping crabs until the weather had calmed.

The call from Jonathan Danby had come a few days after she first spoke to him. Days that were spent going to and from Sasha’s, making sure she ate something, even if it was only a bowl of soup. Days of going over and over the whys and the wherefores of Jackie Wood’s release from prison. Alex tried her best to sound soothing and caring, but however much you love someone, however much you care, after a while your patience runs out. She couldn’t risk her sister doing anything else stupid so she just gritted her teeth and carried on caring. Sasha’s house became ever more claustrophobic. The one good thing was that Jez did come up trumps and was spending each evening there, and the occasional night. She managed to avoid him nicely.

So when Danby called, she was ready to do anything, go anywhere.

‘This’ll be a sympathetic look at her life?’

Not this again. She took a deep breath. ‘As I’ve already told you, it’ll be an honest one. That’s how I’ve got my reputation. Whether it’s sympathetic or not is up to her, in a way. I write as I see it.’ She held her breath.

‘Fee?’

‘As we agreed.’

An inhalation and then a sigh. Smoking, Alex reckoned.

‘Look, I’d be lying if I said I was happy about this, I’m not. But Miss Wood seems keen, for some reason. Says she likes your work.’ Sure she does. ‘Will only talk to you. Doesn’t want me there.’ Alex closed her eyes. All above board. Now there was no reason for Liz to get the jitters and say no. This interview could be gold dust.

‘So the answer is yes, but with certain restrictions.’

‘I don’t do restrictions,’ Alex said. Ground rules have to be set from the outset, parameters defined, otherwise you end up dancing to your subject’s tune, and that just doesn’t work. Alex knew she’d done the song and dance thing with Malone, but that was an exception.

She heard the crackle of cellophane; the flick of a lighter, another inhale. ‘Jackie doesn’t want anyone to know where she is.’

‘I understand that.’ The dance continued.

‘You know what this country’s like; there’ll be a lynch mob after her before you can say “not guilty”. The
Mail
will be writing editorials about the death penalty and all the other red tops will be baying for blood.’

‘Right.’ She balled her fist. But she is guilty, Alex wanted to shout at him down the phone. She was found guilty. She was only let off on a technicality, some obscure legal thing; the expert witness making a fuck-up, being discredited. Alex had believed him, they all had. And she didn’t see any reason to change her mind now.

‘You won’t have to travel far,’ said Danby. ‘She wanted to go somewhere she knew. Figured it would be easier for her.’

‘So…?’

‘She’s in your neck of the woods, as it happens. Suffolk.’

Alex closed her eyes. She was so close. ‘Fine,’ was all she said.

Eventually she and Danby managed to thrash it out. She was to tell no one where she was going, who she was interviewing – apart from her editor, she lied – and for that Jackie Wood was going to grant Alex one or two mornings of her time.

Deal done.

It was half-term and Gus was at home. Alex had been trying to get him to do some schoolwork; to help her with shopping; to get him chatting to Malone: anything to keep him away from trouble. Smelling the drink on his breath had unnerved her, as had his run-in with a reporter. She didn’t want him to be sucked into something else he couldn’t deal with. And she had started paying for his skiing trip, crossing her fingers at the same time.

He was in the sitting room on his Playstation, swatting zombies. Malone was due round in a couple of hours.

‘Gus?’

‘Mmm?’

‘I’m just off out.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Malone’ll be here soon.’

‘What to— gotcha!’ She saw a splat of red on the television screen.

‘Not to babysit you, no. He’s come to see me, but I’m just off to interview someone for the magazine.’

‘Anyone good? Yesss.’ His fist punched the air. ‘More points.’

She hesitated a little too long.

Gus took his eyes off the undead. ‘Mum? You’re looking shifty. C’mon, who is it then?’

Should she lie? Tell a half-truth? What? She sat on the arm of the chair. Tried to ruffle his hair. He jerked his head away. ‘Listen, Gus, it’s Jackie Wood.’

He turned away, his eyes now glued to the screen. More splats of red, more zombies’ heads exploded.

‘Why?’ His voice was flat, his knuckles white where he gripped the games console.

‘I think it could be useful, helpful even.’

‘What are you going to ask her?’

She shrugged. ‘You know, the obvious really.’

He stared at the screen. Even the undead were motionless.

At last he turned and looked at her, blinking slowly, coming out of zombie-land again. ‘You’ve got your coat on.’

‘Yes. Walking, saving petrol.’ Bloody hell, she could have bitten her tongue.

He nodded. ‘So she’s nearby. Come back to the scene of the crime, as it were. How can she do that? How can she come and live here, of all places? Surely there should be some sort of law against it or something? I dunno. Anything?’

‘Gus—’

‘I know, I know, you can’t tell me. Confidentiality and all that. But I don’t reckon you’d make much of a detective.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Didn’t take me long to suss out she’s come crawling back to town.’

Alex attempted a laugh, but it sounded hollow. ‘Please don’t say anything, Gus. Part of my contract is that no one knows where she is.’ And she’d made a right fuck-up of that already.

‘What are you going to ask her?’

She was on firmer ground now. ‘I’ll begin by asking about her time inside, you know, just to get her confidence. Nod sympathetically and all that. Ask about her childhood. How she met Martin Jessop. Draw her out, that’s the plan.’

‘Do you get to ask about, you know?’ He swallowed, his eyes darting around the room. Not for the first time she cursed the fact that her boy had grown up defined by the murder of his cousins. But she believed in telling the truth. What was the point in shielding him when he would find out another way? And probably in a badly thought-out muddled way from his mates.

She gave a small smile. ‘I hope so.’

Gus shuddered. ‘I can’t think of anything worse,’ he said, turning back to his game. ‘She doesn’t deserve to be out, free, does she?’

Boom. Thud. Splat. Zombies started hitting the deck again.

‘She won her freedom, sweetheart.’

‘It was what? – quashed – isn’t that what they say? Doesn’t mean she’s innocent.’

‘That’s the way it works.’

He sighed and turned to look at her. ‘Is this gonna make you even worse?’

‘Even worse? What do you mean?’

‘Come on, Mum. You know what I mean. You don’t let me have a life now. And if there’s some murderer roaming the streets—’

‘It’s only because I care and want to keep you safe. Anyway, the courts say she’s not a murderer.’

‘Mum. I’ve said this before. Harry was killed fifteen years ago. Fifteen, you know? And Millie? Who knows what happened to her, but it happened. A long time ago. It wasn’t my fault and it wasn’t yours.’

Alex closed her eyes and let the guilt invade her body.

‘Mum? Mum? Are you listening to me?’

She opened her eyes. ‘Yes, of course I am.’

‘No, you’re not.’ He turned back to the screen, disgust evident on his face. ‘You never do.’

Alex looked at him. Did she have any idea what her own son was thinking or feeling? She saw more than the beginnings of fluff on his chin and wondered who was going to teach him to shave. Maybe he had already done it, guided by his friends. She ached for him inside and, for the first time, wondered at her wisdom in going it alone after she’d got pregnant. Not that she’d any choice, as the one-night-stand father hadn’t wanted to know. But still.