When she revealed how Glen had manipulated her into beinghis ball date and explained how deep down she had wanted to go with Kentinstead, she could see that she had caught his attention.
Since that conversation she had noticed a distinct change inthe way he was around her. Before he had clearly found her attentionsirritating towards her, but his attitude had now softened considerably. Sheknew this wasn’t in an amorous or lustful way: he had made that quite clear.What he had done was go out of his way to be friendly towards her, asking herhow she was getting on and offering her advice on her troubles.
Perhaps he felt sorry for her and was trying to make up forher disappointment in the past. Whatever the reason, something had definitelychanged between them, and it was a welcome change. Apart from him and Anna, shecouldn’t think of a single other person she could even begin to class as afriend. She had plenty of other acquaintances in the pub, but they weren’t realfriends, just fellow drinkers down on their luck normalising each other’sbehaviour as they drowned their sorrows together.
During her boring day lugging packages out of the stockroomat work, she had been given plenty of time to work out a plan for her next tripback into time. Ever since that conversation with Kent in the pub, her thoughtshad frequently drifted back to that ball and how things might have turned outdifferently.
That night with Glen had been the point when the seeds ofher problem had been sown. She had lost her virginity to him that very night,underneath the slide in one of the kids’ playgrounds on the new estate. It hadall been very undignified and unsatisfactory. She had accepted it at the timeas most girls said the first time wasn’t anything to write home about, but withGlen, things didn’t improve with practice.
She didn’t know much better at the time, having no one elseto compare him to, but she suspected things were not quite right. Sex with himcertainly wasn’t the mind-blowing experience that the articles in her More! magazinessuggested it should be.
How different might that first time have been if it had beenKent who had taken her home that night? Well, she was going to do her utmost tofind out. But before she did, she wanted the chance to talk to his present selfagain about the events of that day. In particular, she wanted to ensure that hewould have gone with her given the opportunity. From what he had said before,she was pretty sure he would have.
She cleaned herself up as best she could with no hot wateravailable, put on some lipstick and tried to make her hair semi-presentable. Itwasn’t perfect but it would have to do. Ignoring the rumblings in her stomach,she rushed through the chip shop, managing to avoid being spotted by McVie whowas busy counting the money in the till. Then she was out through the door,heading for The Red Lion on another chilly December night.
Chapter Seven
December 2018
It was busy when she got to The Red Lion, but not so much asthe previous night when the dance floor area at the top had been so rammed thatshe had struggled to fight her way through to the toilets.
Down at the front of the pub, where the older regularsgathered, she could see the usual suspects at the bar. Kent was there, deep indiscussion with a couple of others. Further up the pub, on the right-hand side,she could see a bunch of teenagers who were often in the pub playing pool. Tothe left of them, the dance floor area was pretty quiet but it was only halfpast seven. The disco wouldn’t be starting for over an hour yet.
Sidling up to the bar, she picked up the gist of theconversation that was going on. Andy, one of the pub’s regular alcoholics wastalking about the news story that had been on everyone’s lips the past few days– the double murders in Oxford and Kidlington.
“Where’s Inspector Morse when you need him, eh?” remarkedAndy, before lifting his freshly poured pint to his mouth to take a swig oflager. He didn’t quite hit the target, which was surprising because it wasn’tas if he hadn’t had enough practice. As a consequence, a few drips dribbleddown his chin and onto the ancient denim jacket that he always wore. Kaywondered how many he had had today. She knew he started at lunchtimes most daysand had clearly been on a mission judging by the wet patches all the way downboth the jacket and his matching jeans.
“I’m sure the police are on the case,” replied Kent.
Kay knew all about the murders. There was a radio in theback of the warehouse at work. It was tuned into the local radio station andshe had heard updates on the hourly news bulletins, in between the bland,predictable playlist and amateurish adverts for local businesses.
The first murder had taken place six days ago in theSummertown area of Oxford, followed four days later by a second in Kidlington.It hadn’t taken a genius to work out the murders were connected. Both the victimswere young, Eastern European women, and both had been raped and then knifed todeath. The whole grisly affair had shocked the community, and the press hadbeen all over it. It hadn’t taken them long to come up with a nickname for thesuspect once the connection between the two murders had been revealed – thesomewhat unimaginative “Christmas Killer”.
“You were the police until not long ago,” said Andy to Kent.“What would you have done?”
“Well, we would have made door-to-door enquiries, takenforensic evidence from the scene…” began Kent, before Andy interrupted, notreally interested in the content of Kent’s answer, only in dismissing it.
“So bugger all, then,” said Andy. “Well, I just hope theOxford police do a better job of it than you would have. Good job these murdersweren’t in this town – the residents would be scared shitless if you were stillin charge.”
Ever since
