Lucy?
What the heck was Lucy doing here?
8
‘Where is he? Where’s my dad?’
Lucy and Jaya were walking down the corridor, behind an escorting PC. Lucy was desperately trying to keep her body language non-confrontational, her voice mellow, but she was struggling. She wanted to know where her father was, now.
Jaya looked away. She was chewing the inside of her lip, no doubt regretting her earlier promise.
‘Blackmail works both ways,’ Lucy hissed. ‘If you don’t tell me, I won’t help Ricky.’
Still, Jaya didn’t say anything.
‘Come on,’ Lucy cajoled. ‘It can’t be that difficult. Dad buggered off with that yoga teacher, Tina, and since you say he isn’t in Melbourne…’
Jaya stopped walking. Looked around as though checking that she wasn’t being overheard. When she spoke, it was a whisper. ‘What if I said he never went to Australia?’
Lucy stared.
‘What?’
Jaya just looked at her.
Lucy looked back.
‘All right, ladies?’ The PC had stopped and was waiting for them at the end of the corridor. Both Lucy and Jaya ignored him.
‘Think about it, Lucy.’ Jaya stepped close. So close Lucy could see the tiny clumps of eyeliner at the corners of her eyes. ‘Did you ever get a postcard from him? See photos of him surfing on Bondi Beach? Walking across Sydney Harbour Bridge? Come on, hun. You’re a copper. Work it out for yourself.’
Lucy felt as though she was falling. When he first got to Australia, Dad had written to her. Emailed her with his news. How hot it was, how blue the sky. How much he missed her. She’d read and reread his messages every night before she went to sleep. But he hadn’t emailed for long. Two months, one week and two days, to be precise. The last email she’d received said he was going abroad on business and that although he might be out of touch for a while, she mustn’t worry, and that he loved her very much. She’d cried herself to sleep for weeks after he’d stopped writing but eventually the pain began to lessen, proving a particular idiom true – time is a great healer – but back then it had been brutal, unforgivable.
‘He’s here?’ Lucy suddenly felt breathless. ‘He’s in the UK?’
Jaya blinked, took a step back.
‘I didn’t say that, did I?’
‘Then where?’ Lucy’s mind was spinning, filled with crimson light.
‘The last I heard…’ Jaya was biting her lip so hard Lucy wondered that it didn’t bleed. ‘He was in…’
Lucy held her breath. Her heart was beating fast. Her pulse roaring in her ears.
‘Macclesfield.’
Lucy’s mouth opened and closed.
‘Macclesfield?’
If Jaya had said Vladivostok Lucy couldn’t have been more surprised.
‘Yes. But I don’t know where. Just that he was there.’
‘He’s living there? Working there too?’
‘Ladies?’ The PC stood next to them, arms crossed, getting pissed off from the look of it, but Lucy held up a hand.
‘One minute.’
‘I’m sorry, but I really must ask you–’
‘I said one minute,’ Lucy snapped, hauling out her warrant card and shoving it under his nose. ‘Now, fuck off.’
He turned bright red. ‘I really don’t think there’s call for–’
She gave him her death stare.
He held up both hands. ‘I’ll wait just over here, okay?’
‘Thank you so much.’ She gave him a brilliant smile. One of her best. She could see him thinking psycho. Perfect. She swung back to Jaya.
‘How do you know he’s in Macclesfield? Who told you?’
‘I can’t–’
‘Yes, you can.’ Lucy was almost on top of Jaya, willing her to reply. ‘Come on, a deal’s a deal. I’m going to contact Ricky’s solicitor, remember? Try and help you guys out.’
Jaya nibbled her lip. ‘You could try Reg.’
‘Reg?’ Lucy repeated blankly.
‘At the pub.’
‘Reg the landlord, you mean? As in Mad Reg?’
‘Yeah.’
‘They’re in touch, him and Dad?’
‘Must be, I suppose,’ Jaya mumbled. ‘You won’t tell your mum, will you?’ She wouldn’t meet Lucy’s eye.
‘Not if Reg can put me in touch with Dad. He can take the blame, if you like.’
‘Thanks, love.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘And thanks for coming down and giving us a hand.’
Although it wasn’t the best of circumstances, Lucy felt a wave of affection for Jaya. She could be in-your-face and abrasive, but she had a good heart. She’d been one of the first people in the community who’d hosted a refugee family from Syria while they tried to get their lives back on track. Talk about generous, and in the most practical way.
She’d got on really well with Dad, Lucy remembered. He’d been treasurer for one of the leading anti-racist organisations in the area back in the 90s. Lucy could remember her parents, Jaya, and countless others sitting at the kitchen table plotting various campaigns in the aftermath of the murder of Stephen Lawrence, which involved not just ferocious passion for the subject but lots of laughter over communal suppers. Happy days, Lucy thought, filled with strong friendships and highly motivated causes. Until Dad had got arrested on a protest march, that was. She couldn’t remember either of them getting involved in anything similar after that. It had probably scared the shit out of them.
She said goodbye to Jaya in reception, and with a lift in her heart that Mac was waiting outside, ready to sweep her off to a museum, an art exhibition or something out of the ordinary, she strode outside.
She’d just hit the pavement when a man called out behind her. ‘Lucy!’
She glanced around to see a tall man with an angular face. Clear grey eyes. He had flecks of silver in his hair and was smiling as he approached, expression warm.
Her jaw dropped. ‘Dan? What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I might say the same.’
As he bent to kiss her cheek she reached up and hugged him. ‘How’s my godson?’
‘Teething.’
‘Say no more.’ Lucy wasn’t great with babies, but she’d been so honoured, so thrilled at being asked to be Mischa’s godmother, she’d agreed. She’d been moved to tears in the church when little Mischa was baptised. What had Jenny said to her? You’re smart, loyal and courageous. If Mischa grows
