The Grave Tattoo (8 page)

Harry spoke through a mouthful of lasagne. ‘Can’t believe Missy Elliott swallowed your tale, Jane. From what Dan’s said about her, I thought she was tough as old boots.’

‘She is,’ Dan said. ‘But she’s smart enough to want to be on board if Jane turns out to be on the money. So, Jane, what’s our plan of action?’

‘Start at the beginning,’ she said. ‘You’re teaching tomorrow and I’m going back to the Lakes to talk to Anthony Catto at the Wordsworth Trust to see if any other uncatalogued material has turned up lately. Meanwhile you can have a damn good look at the Wordsworth family tree and check out John’s descendants. The last thing we know about whatever it was that Mary found among William’s papers is that she sent it to John. For all I know, somebody in the family could have been sitting on it for the last hundred and fifty years.’

‘As if,’ Harry muttered.

‘Harry, this is a family that managed to keep William’s French lover and their illegitimate daughter secret for a hundred and twenty years,’ Jane pointed out. ‘There is no other poet in English literary history who made such a fetish out of the creation of his own image, and his family went along with that one hundred per cent. Nothing was ever said or done to contradict William’s picture of himself, even when that meant turning a blind eye to the most glaring omissions.
The Prelude
is an astonishing poetic achievement, but it’s also an early example of outrageous spin doctoring. It was Dorian Grey in reverse–the more time stripped William of his youth and powers, the more glossy
The Prelude
became.’

‘She’s right, you know,’ Dan said, filling up their glasses with Guido’s strong red wine that came to table without a label. ‘Wordsworth’s compulsive remaking of his life is one of the reasons why I think Jane might really be on to something. Of all the writers I can think of, Wordsworth is probably the only one capable of writing a major work only to decide nobody gets to see it because the circumstances of its composition reflect badly on him.’

‘Even so, you’d think somebody down the years would have been tempted to cash in on it, if it exists.’ Harry pushed his plate away, defeated by the final slab of pasta and meat.

‘Not this family,’ Jane said. ‘Reputation, reputation, reputation. It should be carved on their coat of arms.’

‘And you’re the woman to break the silence, Jane,’ Dan said confidently. ‘Now, where are we going to celebrate your mission?’

‘I was going to go home and pack.’

Dan made a dismissive noise. ‘Jane, Jane, what are we going to do with you?’

‘You’re getting middle-aged,’ Harry confirmed. ‘Dan’s right, we should go out on the razz.’

Jane groaned. ‘Oh, all right. But I’m not dancing till dawn like the last time. I’m going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight, and that is a promise.’

Three hours later, they were leaving a Soho pub, en route to a nearby club, tipsy but in control. The same could not be said of Geno Marley, whose senses quickened to alert when he heard the front door of the Marshpool Farm flat whisper open.

Tenille’s luck had just run out.

8

The banging, Jane slowly realised, was coming from outside her head. She growled in her throat as she tried to force her eyelids open. ‘Slapper,’ she berated herself, realising she’d fallen into bed without bothering to take off her make-up. She rubbed her lashes free of mascara and groaned. She pushed herself into a sitting position, wishing immediately that she hadn’t done so. Her stomach roiled and an acid burp joined the staleness in her mouth in an evil brew. There was a pain in her sinuses and, inexplicably, her legs ached when she tried to move them.

Somehow, she dragged herself out of bed and lurched for the door, snatching at her dressing gown as she passed. She wrestled with the arms, calling, ‘OK, OK, I’m coming,’ to whoever was trying to break her door down. The sound of her own raised voice made her wince. Jane unfastened the locks and chain securing the door and yanked it open. ‘What the hell…’ she began, but found herself addressing empty air as Tenille pushed past her and dived into the front room. Jane rubbed a hand over her face. It didn’t make anything clearer. With a sigh, she closed the door and followed Tenille.

Jane leaned in the doorway for support and took in the picture of frightened misery curled in the bean bag. ‘Before you open your mouth, Tenille, I need to tell you that I have the hangover from hell. So this better be good.’

Tenille shivered and pushed a knuckle into her mouth. Jane could see her teeth biting down hard on it. It took her a moment to figure it out in her messed-up state, but eventually she realised the child was fighting tears with every ounce of strength she possessed. That was shock enough to restore Jane to something approximating a normal state of awareness. In all the time she’d known Tenille, she’d seen her angry, frustrated, smarting under injustice, defiant and outraged. She’d never seen her anywhere near the verge of tears. She’d also never seen her look so young. Her eyes were wide, but the rest of her face seemed to have shrunk round the bones. The prettiness that threatened future beauty was in abeyance, replaced with a taut fragility.

Jane crossed the room and squatted down next to Tenille. She put a cautious arm round her shoulder. Physical contact wasn’t something they did usually, but she’d worried needlessly. Tenille slumped against her, body rigid. Jane said nothing, just let her free hand rhythmically stroke the girl’s arm. Then suddenly the barriers broke. Tenille burrowed into her side like a lamb butting up against its mother and the crying began. It started as a quiet weeping, then rose to a desperate, gulping sobbing that shook them both under its force.

Jane felt completely at a loss. She couldn’t remember any adolescent trauma that had reduced her to this state. She’d shed her share of tears, but never in this abandoned, helpless way. She found herself mouthing the traditional platitudes–‘there, there,’ and ‘it’s OK, Tenille, you’re OK with me.’ But they seemed helpless against this tide of anguish.

At last, the terrible sobs subsided and Tenille pulled away, wiping her eyes and nose with the back of her hand. Her eyelids were swollen and she was breathing hard through her mouth. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said thickly.

‘It’s OK. That’s what friends are for,’ Jane said, despising herself for finding nothing but cliché. ‘You want to tell me what all that was about?’

Tenille looked away. ‘You was out last night,’ she said accusingly. ‘I came round, but you was out.’

‘I went clubbing with some friends,’ Jane said.

‘So I went back down the flat. I didn’t want to, because I knew he’d be there, but you was out so I didn’t have no choice.’

‘Who was there?’ Jane wondered if the drink had induced short-term memory loss. She seemed to be missing crucial logical steps in the conversation.

‘Geno.’ Tenille spat the word as if trying to rid her mouth of a bad taste.

‘Sharon’s boyfriend?’ The cold hand of apprehension took hold of Jane’s chest.

‘Sharon’s fucking bastard boyfriend.’

Oh shit, oh no, oh shit. ‘Wasn’t Sharon there?’

‘Sharon’s on nights. She says he has to stay over to make sure nothing bad happens to me.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘She’s too fucking stupid to see he’s the bad thing waiting to happen.’

Jane rubbed her back. ‘Has he been…bothering you?’

‘He looks at me. You know?’

Jane knew. ‘What else?’ She dreaded the answer.

‘He’s said things, when Sharon’s out the room. How he likes sweet young flesh, that sort of shit talk. Man, I
knew
he was just waiting his time till she was on nights.’

‘What happened, Tenille?’

She began picking compulsively at the zip on her jacket. ‘First couple of nights, he was pissed and passed out on the sofa. But last night he was waiting. Soon as I came through the door, there he was, standing in the doorway, undoing his trousers.’ She shuddered. ‘Told me it was time I tasted some real loving.’ Her lip curled in contempt. ‘Bastard. I tried to get back out the door, but he was too fast. He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the living room and threw me down on the sofa.’ She shook her head, as if to shake off the memory. ‘Then he got his cock out. Man, I never been so scared my whole life. I thought for sure he was going to rape me. Then I realise he wants me to blow him. Just the fucking idea made me want to throw up. So I grabbed the lamp off the table and I smashed him over the head with it.’

Jane felt her heart contract in fear and pity. ‘You did the right thing, Tenille.’

‘I didn’t hit him hard enough. I should have fucking killed him. But he was just stunned, like. So I jumped up and ran for my room. I pulled the drawers and the bed across the door so’s he couldn’t get in. I was shaking, man, fucking shaking. The next thing is he’s hammering on the door and screaming like a fucking animal. Jane, I didn’t know what to do. He was like a crazy man. The door was shaking, I thought he was going to break it down.’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘Then I got salvation.’

‘What happened?’

‘You know that asshole lives next door to us? Big fat greasy biker geezer?’

Jane nodded. ‘I’ve seen him. Ugly bastard, right?’

‘Ugly and mean. Next thing I know, he’s at the front door, telling Geno to keep the noise down or else he’ll break the fucking door down and rip Geno’s liver out. And suddenly it all goes quiet. Last thing I hear is Geno standing outside my door, saying, “You can’t stay in there forever, bitch.” I nearly pissed myself. I tell you, I never closed my eyes all night. I waited till I heard Sharon come home, then I was out the door and down here. Man, I was praying you were home.’

‘You did the right thing, Tenille.’ Jane gathered her woolly thoughts around her. She was going to have to do something about this. Tenille couldn’t be left at the mercy of Sharon’s sick bastard boyfriend. ‘You can stay here for now,’ she said. ‘I’m supposed to be going away today for a couple of weeks, but I’ll get this sorted before I go.’

Tenille looked incredulous. ‘You? Whatchu gonna do? Geno’s not going to listen to you. And there’s no point telling Sharon, she’ll just twist it round so it’s my fault, like usual.’

Jane got to her feet. Tenille might be the streetwise one of the pair of them, but Jane knew something the girl didn’t. It might just be estate gossip, but she had a feeling it was more than that. And if she was right, it would give her a weapon that would make Geno head for the hills faster than a speeding bullock. Jane straightened her shoulders, trying to look like someone who could take care of business. ‘Trust me, Tenille. I’m going to fix this.’

Jake slipped off his sandals and let the cool marble work its magic. He felt overheated, which was crazy, given the pitch of the air conditioning inside Chania airport. He suspected the dark blue, grey and white décor was meant to be soothing, but it wasn’t helping him feel any less out of sorts. Funny to think that only the day before he’d been indulging himself with dreams of home. But now that he was in the departure lounge with a ticket for London in his pocket, he felt a curious mixture of apprehension coupled with determination to prove to Caroline that he could cut the mustard.

It had all happened so fast. Within minutes of their initial conversation, Caroline had been online, searching the bucket shops for a plane ticket for him. When he’d tried to ask her what she had in mind, she’d shushed him with an impatient, ‘We’ll talk, Jake. Now let me sort this out.’

Long minutes had passed before she exclaimed, ‘Perfect.’ She clicked the wireless mouse a couple of times then sat back, a smile of satisfaction neatly in place. ‘There you go, Jake,’ she said, turning the screen to face him. Apparently, he was now booked on a flight from Chania to Athens, with an onward connection to Heathrow. The following day.

‘You’re not coming too?’

Caroline gave him a puzzled look. ‘This is your show, Jake. I’d only cramp your style. You surely don’t think Jane is going to be thrilled to see you if I’m hanging on your arm?’

‘I don’t understand what you want me to do, Caroline.’ He tried to sound casual, but it came out petulant.

‘It’s very simple. You’ve just opened up the possibility of a fascinating and valuable find. I want you to track it down. And if you can’t manage that yourself, I want you to be glued to the side of the person who does.’

He pushed his hair back from his face in a gesture of exasperation. ‘But, Caroline, we’ve no evidence that the bloody thing exists.’

‘According to you, Jane seems to think so,’ she said, sweet reason in a sundress.

‘It’s just a crazy theory.’

‘Believe me, I’ve made some great finds chasing wilder geese. Look at it this way. Jane is in a unique position. She’s a Wordsworth scholar. And she comes from Fellhead. Now, in my experience, serious scholars don’t get worked up about things like this unless there is some spectacularly good reason. Bear in mind, Jane may not have told you everything she knows.’

Doubt chased surprise across Jake’s handsome face. ‘Why would she hold back? Are you saying she didn’t trust me?’

Caroline chuckled. ‘When academics have something they think might give them an edge, they trust no one. Sweetie, no matter how much Jane loved you, you can bet your bottom dollar that if she had knowledge that might be parlayed into professional stardom she’d have hugged it to her bosom. And this body in the bog could be the catalyst that gets things moving in a more urgent way.’

‘This is insane,’ Jake said.

‘No, Jake, this is business. If you seriously want to make a career of this, you’re going to have to be prepared to exploit your contacts and find ways to make sure that when something good turns up, you’re standing at the shoulder of whoever has their sticky hands on it.’

‘I get that,’ he said, feeling patronised and belittled but unable to find a way through to asserting himself. ‘What I don’t get is what you expect me to do. In practical terms.’

Caroline exhaled a thin stream of smoke. ‘Go and see Jane. Mend as many of your fences as you need to get alongside her. Be contrite. Tell her you read the story in the paper and it made you realise you were wrong not to take her theories seriously. Persuade her that she is the one and only person who can track down this bloody manuscript, and make her do it. That’s what I want you to do.’ She turned her head to look out across the bay, as close to irritation as he’d ever seen her.

‘I don’t think she’ll be very pleased to see me,’ he muttered.

‘Of course she won’t. You walked out on her. But you’ll do what it takes to get back in her good books, Jake.’

‘What do you mean, “what it takes”?’

‘Do I have to spell it out? Tell her you want to find this manuscript to spite me, if that’s what works.’ She smiled serenely. ‘I’ll leave it up to you.’

‘It won’t be easy.’

‘Use your charm, Jake. There’s not much point in having it otherwise, is there?’

As he remembered her words, fresh determination surged through Jake. He’d show Caroline he could be much more than a toyboy. He would make her take him seriously, whatever it took.