pet, I told you to let
The older woman turned to Gary, more aggressive now. ‘Who are you? We’re not talking to reporters. The police’ll be back in a minute.’
‘I’m not a reporter. I’m a friend of Julie’s.’
The woman stared at him. She had very small eyes, fierce.
‘Julie’s not up to seeing anyone.’
He was about to give up, almost relieved. He could leave a message. That way at least Julie would know he was thinking about her. Then there was a voice, hardly recognizable. ‘Mam. Let him in. I want to see him.’
The woman paused for a moment then stepped aside. Once he’d walked past her into the house, she shut the door loudly on the prying neighbours.
He went through into the living room, noticed in passing how untidy it was, wondered if it was always like that. Considered briefly if he’d be able to live in such mess. It was certainly nothing like Fox Mill, which had always been his ideal home. The windows were covered by thin white blinds which kept out the worst of the sun and the prying eyes. They made the room shadowy. It was hard to make out detail. Then he saw Julie, curled on the sofa. He sat beside her, took her hand. The woman stood in the doorway, anxious and protective.
‘I was just getting dinner,’ she said. She was almost growling, the words coming from the back of her throat.
‘It’s all right, Mam. He’s a friend.’
‘I’ll be in the kitchen.’ That was directed to Gary. A warning and a threat. She glowered at him and left the room.
‘Sorry about Mam,’ Julie said.
‘Don’t worry. I’d be just the same if I was here looking after you.’
She gave a brief smile. He stroked the back of her hand.
‘I’m so pathetic,’ she said. ‘I can’t do anything. I just sit here all day.’
‘You couldn’t be pathetic. Never.’
‘I should be strong for Laura.’
He thought he could hear the echo of her mother’s words in the phrase. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure what he thought of Laura, skinny and long legged. There was something about her which reminded him of Emily and he found that disconcerting. Behind the blinds the window was open. The bairns in the street were playing a skipping game, chanting. He hadn’t heard anything like it recently. It was years since he’d seen girls skip. Perhaps one of the guardian mothers had taught it to them, dredging the rhyme out of her memory. It took him back to Seaton primary school, running round the playground with Julie Richardson, playing kiss chase on the green when nobody was looking. Perhaps she was having the same thoughts, because she joined in with the words.
She stopped suddenly. Outside, the rhyme continued without her.
‘I feel so stupid,’ he said. ‘Just sitting here. Nothing to say. Helpless.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re helping. Honestly.’
‘I wasn’t sure whether I should come.’
Then she did something unexpected. She pulled him down to her and kissed him. A real deep kiss, pushing her tongue into his mouth, against his teeth, down his throat. He held her tight against him, felt her breasts soft against his chest, the beginnings of desire. Despite himself. Knowing that nothing could happen. Not with her daughter and mother in the house. Not while she was so screwed up. But singing inside, because in the end it would work out. All those dreams he’d had about her since meeting up with her again. Luke wouldn’t get in the way of that.
He pushed her gently away from him, stroked her cheek, bent and kissed her hair at the parting, where he could see the darker roots. She was crying.
‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’
He knew he shouldn’t feel like this. He should be sad because she was sad. ‘Nothing to be sorry about.’ He kept his voice serious, low. Low voices were sexy, weren’t they? ‘Do you want to talk about Luke? I mean, I never met him, but if you want someone to talk to…’ Behind her back he twisted his wrist so he could see his watch. He had to be back at the Sage for eight-thirty.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve done nothing but talk about Luke for days. To the police, Mam, my mates. I wanted to forget about him. Just for a minute. I wanted to see if I could.’
‘Could you?’
‘Not really.’ She smiled. Not quite the old Julie smile. ‘But I enjoyed trying.’
There was a noise at the door. He was expecting her mother again but it was Laura. She stood just inside the room, staring at them. Gary moved along the sofa so there was some distance between them.
‘Laura went to school today,’ Julie said, in a horrible, bright voice. ‘I thought that was dead brave. How was it, pet?’
‘All right. The teachers were nice. There was an assembly about it. About Luke and that. They said I didn’t have to go.’
‘Did you?’
‘Nah. But I waited outside and I could hear what they were saying. It was all crap. I mean, it wasn’t like they were talking about Luke at all. You wouldn’t have known it was him they were talking about.’
‘Nice, though, for them to remember him, to pay their respects.’
Laura looked as if she was about to say something rude and dismissive, but she kept her mouth shut.
‘This is Gary,’ Julie said. ‘He’s an old friend. We were in the primary together.’
It was as if Laura hadn’t heard. ‘Nan says tea’s nearly ready.’
Gary stood up. ‘I should get off.’
‘Why don’t you stay?’ Julie said. ‘Have something to eat with us?’
But he could tell she was back in coma mode. She was just going through the motions.
‘I’m working tonight,’ he said. ‘A gig at the Sage.’
He started towards the door. He wondered if she’d rouse herself from the couch to see him out, but she seemed lost in thought again. It was Laura who opened the door to let him out. The kids stopped their game to stare and the women on the steps looked up from their magazines. He expected the girl to be intimidated by the attention. He found it difficult to handle himself. He wanted to shout at them:
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tuesday morning. Vera had called the team together for an early meeting. Charlie looked as if he’d slept at his desk; certainly he hadn’t shaved. Joe had Ready Brek down the front of his shirt. Only Holly seemed awake and alive. Looking at her, so fit and bonny, Vera felt a horrible, destructive envy. Even when she was young, she’d never looked like that. When she arrived they were all sitting round a table. Joe was talking about Clive Stringer.
‘What about him?’ she said, coming in at the tail end of the conversation.
‘If we’re looking for a nutter, he’s pretty weird.’
Is he? Vera thought. She’d grown up with several odd young men like that. Loners, obsessives. Acolytes of her father.
‘I mean, he spends all day with his hand up a dead bird’s bum, no friends apart from the group at Fox Mill, no girlfriend.’
Vera wondered if Joe would describe her as a nutter. She didn’t have many friends either.
‘What’s his motive?’ she asked.
