Schofield was trim and athletic in his uniform tracksuit, not tall, no more than an inch more than Lynn herself, smooth-shaven with neat, short hair. Were he a soccer player, she thought-something else in which Resnick had partially schooled her-he would be a midfield playmaker, not afraid to put his foot on the ball, look up, then play a probing pass upfield.
'Is there somewhere we could go and talk?' Lynn asked.
'There's the juice bar, though that tends to be busy this time of the day. Or we could go outside.'
It was only a short walk back on to London Road and the entrance to the canal.
As they went down the steps towards the water, a narrow boat puttered past, brightly painted, a brown and white dog stretched out on deck, a man with heavily tattooed arms seated at the helm, contentedly reading a book. All it needed was for the sun to break through the matte-grey coating of cloud or for the refuse that cluttered the far bank to disappear, and it could be a perfect scene, a perfect moment in the day.
'What happened to Christine,' Lynn said, 'I'm really sorry.'
'Thank you.'
'It must have been a terrible shock.'
'Yes, it was.'
'You'd known her how long?'
'We'd been living together five months, give or take. If that's what you're asking. But I'd known her longer than that. A good year and a half.'
'And you met her where?'
'Here, at the club. She used to come for classes. Just the one at first, but more often after that.'
' Your classes?'
'Some. Not all. But mainly, yes, I suppose they were.'
'And that's when you got to know one another?'
'Yes, like I said. We used to talk after the session sometimes, just, you know, chat. Nothing special.'
They stopped and sat on a bench back from the edge of the canal path.
'She was lonely, Christine. At least, that was how she seemed. I mean, okay, she had a busy life, with her little girl and everything, part-time job, home, but just the same you sensed that she needed something else. Someone to talk to.'
'Aside from her husband.'
Schofield half-smiled. 'You've met him? Foley?'
'Just the once.'
'Then maybe you'll know, you don't talk to Tony. He talks to you. You listen.'
The more she listened to Schofield, the more she could hear the vestiges of a Geordie accent filtering through. They were silent for a moment as a couple of swans ghosted past.
'Your friendship with Christine, then,' Lynn said, 'it had started quite a long time before she broke up with her husband?'
'Yes, I suppose so. Not that that had any bearing on what happened. That was all down to Foley, wasn't it? Screwing some bimbo from work. Christine, she was gutted. Said she could never look at him in the same way again.'
'But you helped, I daresay.'
'How d'you mean?'
'Oh, you know. Someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on.'
'You could put it that way if you like.'
'And you weren't sorry.'
'How'd you mean?'
'When they broke up.'
'I was sorry for her.'
'It meant the field was clear.'
'That makes it sound-I don't know-wrong, somehow.'
'Your friendship could move on. That's all I'm saying.'
'We were already close. When Foley left, we became closer. No crime in that.'
'And there was never any thought she might go back to him?'
'Foley? Not in a million years. Why would she?'
'I don't know. Because of the little girl, perhaps. Susie. She must have been really upset her dad was gone.'
'A little, maybe.' He shook his head. 'I'm not sure how much time they ever really spent together.'
'And you got on with her okay?'
'Susie? Yes, fine.'
Lynn smiled. 'A ready-made family.'
'You could look at it that way.'
'Lucky, some would say.'
' I would,' Schofield said emphatically. 'I would, and no mistake. Those few months-' He looked away. 'What you were saying, about Susie, about us being like a family. I'd never… never really thought of having kids, you know? Being a dad. I was happy the way I was. Friends. Girlfriends. Working where I do, no shortage of those. Women coming on to you. Well… like I say, I'd not figured on settling down, but then the more time I spent with Christine, the more it was what I wanted to do. What we both wanted to do.'
'And it was working out? Living together?'
'Yes. Yes, of course it was.'
'No problems?'
'Not really, no. It was great. It was fine.'
Lynn smiled. 'When something like that happens, it's only the good times you remember.'
'That's all there were.'
'You must have had arguments. The odd one or two, at least. It's only natural.'
Schofield was shaking his head. 'I don't think so.'
'Not one?'
'Not one.'
'What about the time you came home and found Foley in the house, talking to Christine?'
The expression on his face changed; his voice tightened. 'That was different.'
'How so?'
'He was the one I was angry with, not her.'
'You're sure?'
'Of course I'm sure!'
'You didn't have a bit of a shouting match out front, after he'd gone?'
'Out front? Out front of the house?'
'Yes.'
'No. Not at all.'
'You didn't threaten her?'
He laughed, incredulous. 'Christine? Absolutely not.'
'You didn't say if you couldn't have her, nobody else would?'
'No.'
''If I can't fucking have you, no other bastard will.''
Schofield made a sharp sound of disbelief, half snort, half laugh. 'Look, this is ridiculous. I don't know who you've been talking to, but whoever it was, whatever they've said, it's a lie. Okay? A lie.' He rose quickly to his feet and backed one step, two steps away. 'Now, if it's all right with you, I've got to get back to work. I've got another session.'
'Of course,' Lynn said. 'Thanks for your time.'
He hesitated a moment longer before walking crisply back along the canal path, Lynn continuing to sit there, thoughtful, watching him go.
