Road Kill

“Away,” I said shortly.

Isobel looked smug at this news, as though she’d won a victory. She got to her feet and smiled, somewhat cloyingly I thought, at Clare.

“Right, I’ll leave you to it,” she said, bracing, as though Clare was just about to nip out and do a little shopping.

“Don’t forget to sign those papers,” Jacob said. He reached for Clare’s hand, lying limply on the folded-back sheet, and gave it a squeeze. “We want to get this sorted as soon as we can.”

“Of course.” Isobel’s smile became even sicklier. “Well, now I’ve found that certificate I can get on with it,” she said, her eyes locked on their entwined fingers. “You’ll be very happy together, I’m sure.”

The way she managed to inject just the faintest whiff of doubt into such otherwise hearty tones was a masterclass, all by itself.

After Isobel had gone I peeled off my leather jacket and took the chair she’d vacated. It was unbearably hot near the window and the two oscillating electric fans the staff had set up did little more than stir the warm air about a bit.

Clare looked tired and overheated, her normally lustrous long blonde hair hanging lank around her face.

“Are you OK?” I asked. Stupid question to ask anyone lying in a hospital bed, I know, but there are degrees of OK.

“Are you OK?” She smiled faintly. “Jacob said you’d come off the RGV.”

I glanced at him sharply. Had he avoided telling her about the van that had played a considerable part because it was too close to the bone?

He gave me the slightest nod, little more than a slow blink. Yes.

“I’m fine,” I said cheerfully, reaching up to push my hair out of my eyes. “The bike’s looking a bit worse for wear but it’s a good excuse to get that wacky paint job I’ve always wanted, I suppose.”

She frowned, her face anxious. “Are you sure you’re all right? You’ve got a hell of a bruise on your arm.”

I followed her gaze and discovered a mottled deep aubergine-coloured blotch across the outside of my left forearm, fading to yellow at the edges like my skin was sucking the colours out of it one at a time. The bruise ran in a narrow diagonal line across my arm and it hadn’t come from any accidental source. I dropped my arm quickly.

“That was Isobel’s little playmate, yesterday afternoon,” I said. “I don’t suppose she happened to mention that part of it, did she?”

Jacob frowned. “She said she was looking for a copy of our marriage certificate,” he said. “I’ve been nagging her to get the paperwork for the divorce sorted at her end for the last couple of months. She’d told me it was all in hand and reckons she was too embarrassed to admit that she had lost her copy.”

“So why was she ransacking the study when I arrived?”

He gave a half-smile. “Depends on your definition of ransacking,” he said. “I remember, if she was looking for something in a kitchen drawer she’d be likely to pull the whole drawer out of the dresser and tip it upside down onto the floor. Isobel’s just like that.”

“So if I’m exaggerating, why did she bring that tame psycho with her and set him onto me like a bloody attack dog?”

“According to her, Sean broke his nose.”

I sighed in frustration. “Yes, but that was after Eamonn had already started in on me and threatened to break both my ankles,” I said, my voice low with anger. “He went after me with an asp, for heaven’s sake. You don’t carry one of those for any other reason than to hit people, Jacob. It’s a tool of the trade.”

Jacob didn’t reply to that and I realised that I was probably reaping the rewards of having been so accusative with him this morning. Sean and I had gone in hard and lost his trust. Now it was payback time. I swallowed, trying to clear the bitter taste in my mouth.

“So what was Isobel doing here?” I asked, as calmly as I could.

“She came to see Clare,” Jacob said. I glanced at Clare and the look on her face told me what she thought about that. Came to gloat, more like. “And,” he went on, “she wanted to talk about Jamie.”

Because I was already watching Clare’s face I saw the flash of fear cross it at the mention of Jamie’s name. She disentangled her hand from Jacob’s to push herself a little more upright in the bed. The whole of the framework attached to her legs creaked as it readjusted.

“What about him?” I said.

“She doesn’t want him to go on this Devil’s Bridge Club outing either,” Jacob said. “She thinks that these lads he’s fallen in with will get him into trouble.”

“I’ve already told Charlie about this,” Clare said quickly, as though trying to hurry him off the subject.

“If you’re all so worried about him, why don’t you just tell him not to go?” I said, looking at Jacob again.

He grunted. “You’ve never had kids have you, Charlie?” he said and I thought I saw Clare flinch. “When they get beyond about four years old you can’t just tell them to do anything. You can suggest and persuade and that’s about it.”

“And you’ve tried suggesting and persuading him?”

“Mm. Waste of breath. Like trying to get him to eat spinach when he was a little boy,” he said and he smiled a little sadly. “Didn’t matter how many Popeye stories we told him. Wouldn’t touch the stuff.”