“What are you two whispering about?” asked Christine, approaching them.
“I was just telling Julian to make sure he gets his head down to some hard work today,” Robert lied with a smoothness that drew a surprised glance from Julian.
“He will. I’ll make sure of that.”
Robert bent to kiss his wife. He kissed her twice — once on the lips and once, with an almost fearful tenderness, on the paralysed side of her face. “See you later, darling. And don’t overdo it in the garden today.” With a last half-warning, half-pleading look at Julian, he left the house. Julian watched him get into his car and accelerate out the driveway.
“Jules,” his mum said, glancing meaningfully in the direction of his bedroom.
Taking the hint, Julian headed for his room. He sat on his bed, lecture notes spread over the duvet in case his mum or Wanda checked up on him. He stared out the window at the forest, wondering if his dad was right about the way Joanne Butcher had died, or if there was something more sinister to it. The only thing he felt sure about was that she’d died without anyone she loved around her. He thought about her mum, the teddy-bear clutched to her chest, her eyes glazed and pleading. She’d know by now that her daughter was dead. Mia Bradshaw might know, too. And there’d be others — grandparents, aunties, uncles, cousins. All of them united in grief, anger and incomprehension. He heaved a sigh for the waste and pain of it.
The phone rang in the hallway. A moment later his mum knocked and said, “Jules, Mike Hill’s on the phone for you.”
Julian’s heart accelerated a few beats. Mike Hill was the editor of the local newspaper. Surely there could only be one reason for him phoning. He hurried to the door, hoping Mike hadn’t let the cat out of the bag. From the way his mum looked askance at him as he took the phone from her, he guessed he hadn’t. He went out into the garden, away from prying ears. “Hi, Mr Hill.”
“Hi, Julian. I heard what happened.”
“How?”
“Ah, c’mon now, Julian, you know what this town’s like. It’s too small for something as big as this to be kept under wraps for long. How are you? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, thanks. A bit shook up.”
“That’s only to be expected. It must’ve been awful. ” Mike paused. Here it comes, thought Julian. “I was wondering if you’d mind coming over to the house this morning for a proper chat.”
“I don’t know, I’m pretty tired.”
“It won’t take long.” Like a salesman sweetening a deal, Mike added, “And Eleanor would love to see you.”
Eleanor was Mike’s daughter. Julian had gone with her for a while in sixth-form. She was a year younger than him. He’d finished their relationship when he went away to university, citing the usual reasons — he wanted to be free to experience university life to the full, he didn’t want to have to lie to her about what he was getting up to. She’d cried, but said she understood. Said she wanted them to still be friends. He’d often wondered since then whether he’d made a mistake. None of the girls he’d met at university had come close to her. They all seemed to be trying on modified personas. He’d never known Eleanor try to be anything but what she was naturally — just a kind, sweet girl.
“Okay, Mr Hill, I’ll come now.” Julian hung up and went back inside.
“What did Mike want?” asked Christine.
“I’ll tell you later. I’ve got to go out.”
“What about your studies?”
“I won’t be long.”
The Hill’s lived on a street of houses more modest in size than Julian’s parents’, though still large. Julian had always liked their house. It was old and comfortable, with warm, cluttered rooms. Its lattice windows gave light and privacy. There were plenty of corners and nooks to hide in. Mike Hill greeted him at the door. He looked the same as ever — pale, smiling eyes with a keen glint in them, bald pate surrounded by long thinning hair, cigarette planted in the side of his mouth. He gave Julian an appraising look. “Well, I can see someone’s been burning the candle at both ends and the middle,” he said, speaking through his cigarette.
“I didn’t get much sleep.”
“I’ll bet.” Mike ushered Julian inside. “And I bet you haven’t got much sleep in the last few months, either.”
Julian gave him a quick sidelong glance. “Why do you say that?”
“I went to university once, too, you know. Seeing you takes me right back to those days. A bit of advice, I know you think you’re invincible, but no one is. You’ve got to learn to pace yourself.”
Eleanor came down the stairs a little hesitantly. Something in Julian’s chest squeezed at the sight of her. He hadn’t seen her for five months. Just five short months, but she was changed. Her hair was shorter, darker, more styled. She was slimmer, too, more angular, less cute. Yet, as she drew nearer, and he saw the expression in her eyes, her smile, he realised with relief that the change was only surface. Like his mum, like everything real and good, she was unchanged through change. “Hi, Jules,” she said.
“Hi,” he said back.
“C’mon,” said Mike. “You two can catch up once I’m done.”
Julian followed him into a study, its shelves overloaded with books and newspapers. Mike seated himself at a desk. “So tell me all about it,” he said, pen and notepad at the ready.
Julian told him. He described how Joanne Butcher’s corpse looked, how it smelt. Mike’s eyebrows drew together. He swallowed hard. “Jesus.”
“Will you put that in your paper?”
“People don’t need to read that. And I’d appreciate it if you don’t go repeating it to Eleanor, either.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. Any word on how Joanne Butcher died?”
“No. It’ll be a few days before the coroner’s report comes in.”
“I heard some…things about her.”
“You mean, like she was prostituting herself.”
“So it’s true.”
“I can’t say for certain, but I think so.”
Julian puffed his cheeks, shaking his head. “What would make someone do that?”
“Heroin.”
“Seriously, you think she was an addict.”
“I don’t know. Again, I’m just making an informed guess. You probably don’t realise this, Julian, but there are buildings in this town where every room’s littered with used needles and scorched foil.”
“I’m finding out a lot about this town I didn’t know.”
A knock came at the door. “Are you two nearly finished?” enquired Eleanor.
“Be out in a minute, honey,” said Mike. Stubbing out his cigarette with just a touch more force than was necessary, he added to Julian, “Go on. She’s waiting for you.”
Julian was glad to leave the study. Mike Hill understood why he’d split up with Eleanor. In his opinion, it was the best thing that could’ve happened. Julian knew this because Eleanor had repeated it to him when he’d phoned one time in a drunken haze of guilt to apologise for the way he’d treated her. He also knew, or rather sensed, that Mike Hill wouldn’t be anywhere near as understanding if Julian hurt his daughter a second time.
When Julian saw Eleanor, he felt that squeezing again. “Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked.
“Sure.”
They walked slowly along the street, standing close, but not touching. Julian resisted an urge to reach for Eleanor’s hand. It was a warm day. She wore a vest top. Her arms were pale and smooth, unblemished. He suddenly found himself thinking about Mia Bradshaw — about the cuts on her arm. He shoved the image away to a darker place in his mind. “Dad told me what happened,” Eleanor said. “That poor girl.”
Julian made no reply. He didn’t want to talk about that with Eleanor. He wanted to keep her as far away from it as possible. “It makes me feel like crying to think of her dying there like that,” she went on.
Maybe she didn’t die there, thought Julian. “So how’s college?” he asked.
A hint of a frown drew Eleanor’s her eyebrows together. “You know, Jules, sometimes you really remind me of my dad.”
