'Trude around?'
'She's out. Some bloke she's just met.'
'Who's that, then?'
'Fuck knows. You think she'd tell me?' She took a tiny step backwards, then collapsed onto the sofa. She was wearing a creased pair of white trousers, tight across the arse, and a see-through top in mauve that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. To get to forty and not need a bra, thought Winter, was truly remarkable.
'Next door.' She was waving vaguely towards the kitchen. 'Usual place.'
Winter helped himself to Scotch, topping the glass with ice cubes from the fridge. The big freezer compartment, he noted, was practically empty.
'Where next then, Mist?' He settled companionably beside her on the sofa. She smelled, unaccountably, of cigars.
'Dunno.' She shrugged. 'Victoria Park? The beach? What would he care?' She peered towards the window and her precious view. 'You ever seen that big house of his? Bloke I know says he and Marie have dinner parties, black tie, the works. Invite half fucking Craneswater and spend the evening talking about Waitrose and their kids' bloody education. Who'd ever have thought it, eh? Bazza getting it on with knobbers like that?'
'Gossip, Mist. Pay no attention.'
'I never did, until this. Now look at us. Out on the fucking street.'
'Yeah?'
She caught the tiny rise in his voice, the inflection that told her he didn't believe a word. She gazed at him, outraged.
'Haven't got a clue, have you? Blokes are all the same. It's the women that keep it together, women who sort everything out. Men? When it suits them, they help themselves. Loved it once, didn't he?
Couldn't keep him off me. 'Forget the fucking bedroom. Right here, Mist. Right here on the sofa, right here across the back of the chair.
Who's got time to bother with the bedroom?' Fuck and forget. Gotta go now. Bang. Away. Gone.'
Winter swallowed a mouthful of the Scotch, surveying the chaos around him. Beside another cardboard box, a litter of unironed clothes and an enormous pile of CDs. Coldplay. White Stripes. Blur.
'What about Trude, then? Is that the two of you kip ping on the beach?'
Trude'll cope. Trude always fucking copes.'
'I hear she's back with you.'
'Yeah. For all the good it'll do her.'
'What about Valentine, then?'
'What about him?'
'Never worked out? Him and Trude?'
'Haven't a clue.' She ducked her head, more cautious now, her brain beginning to catch up with the lazy drumbeat of Winter's questions.
'Why don't you ask her?'
'Maybe I have.'
'Yeah?' Misty's head came up. 'How's that, then?'
'She got beaten up. I think I mentioned it. We get to ask questions about incidents like that, Mist. It's part of the job description.'
'And?'
'She was on the rebound. From Valentine. Because Valentine wouldn't fuck her. Strange, eh? Good-looking girl like Trude? Wouldn't make sense, would it? Unless Valentine was otherwise engaged?'
Misty shook her head, said nothing. When Winter got up to fetch the bottle of Bacardi, she first covered the empty glass with her hand, then shrugged, letting Winter pour. Her whole body had gone slack.
Whatever trench she'd dug, whatever position she was defending, had just been overrun. At length, she fumbled for a cigarette.
'What else did she tell you?'
'Not much. She's a strong kid.'
'Fucking right. Catch her in the right mood, she can be nice, too.'
'I'll drink to that.' Winter touched glasses and then sat back, making himself comfortable. 'So who's her dad, then?'
The question, this sudden bend in the road, caught Misty by surprise.
Even now, half a bottle of Bacardi down, there were places she didn't want to go.
'What makes you think I know?' she managed at last. 'And even if I did, what makes you think I'd tell you?'
It was a reasonable point. Winter tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling.
'Bazza thinks she's his,' he murmured at last. 'Doesn't he?'
Misty nodded, said nothing.
'Did he think that from the start? Way back?'
'Might have done.'
'And was he right?'
Winter became aware of Misty gazing at him. Some of the fog seemed to have cleared. She looked almost sober.
'You've got to understand one thing about Bazza,' she said quietly.
'What's that?'
'He can be fucking crazy. A madman.'
'You mean go fucking crazy?'
'Yeah. You might never have seen it but it's true. Press the wrong button and he goes ape shit truly fucking bonkers. A mate of his once told me it was his strength, made him what he was, gave him everything the business, the cars, Marie, all this…' She gestured round. 'I don't know whether that's true or not but the bonkers bit is spot on.
When Bazza flips, you don't want to be around. Believe me. I've been there. I know.'
'So does that make him Trude's dad?'
Misty looked away. When Winter asked the question again, she gave a tiny shrug.
'You're telling me you don't know?'
'I didn't. Not for years I didn't.'
'But now?'
'Now I do know.'
'And Trude?'
'Yeah.' She nodded, wistful. 'She knows too. We did one of them DNA tests. Hundred and fifty quid. You do a couple of swabs, the inside of your mouth, and send them off. Couple of days later…' She smiled to herself. 'Bingo!'
'You said a couple of swabs.'
'That's right.'
'Trude and who else?'
'Listen, you've got to promise me something.' Misty's nails began to trace a pattern on the back of Winter's hand. 'You're right about Bazza. He's always thought Trudy was his from day one. He's never said so, not to Trude, only to me, but I know that's what he thinks.
That's why we stuck together for so long. That's how come we got this place. OK, part of it was so me and Baz could still keep getting it on but there was Trudy as well. She's part of his life. He loves her like a daughter. I know he does.'
'Sure.' Winter held eye contact. 'So Bazza needs a bit of protection?
A bit of TLC? Is that what you're saying?'
'Protection from what?'
'The truth. About young Trude.'
'Fucking right.' Misty nodded. 'And not just Bazza, either. If it ever crossed his mind…' She shook her head, then shuddered.
