Road Closed (20 page)

‘Can I take you out for tea?’ Craig asked when they returned to the car. ‘I know a nice little tea shop only a few miles further on.’ He seemed to know a lot of places to eat.

‘Depends,’ she replied. ‘What do you fancy doing this evening?’ She was still feeling quite full up from lunch. If they were going to eat out again in the evening, she thought she might pass on tea. ‘We could go out for tea and have an evening in, or maybe see a film?’

Craig frowned. ‘Sorry, didn’t I mention? I have to go out.’

‘Out?’

‘Yes, I’m sorry. I thought I told you. I agreed to see my sister again before she goes back. She’s leaving soon. Maybe tomorrow.’ He sounded vague.

‘Oh.’ Geraldine attempted a nonchalant shrug. ‘Perhaps you should just drop me home?’

In the end they went out for tea. Craig was right, the tea shop was lovely. Geraldine admired the tiny porcelain tea sets on display, and praised the home made cakes, but the joy had gone out of the afternoon for her.

‘Call me,’ she said, when Craig dropped her home. But she had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She knew so little about him.

She phoned Hannah when she arrived home and left a message. ‘Han, I need to talk. Call me when you get this.’ She had a shower, pulled on her pyjamas, and settled down to watch the news. She expected to hear back from Hannah
but the news ended and the phone still hadn’t rung. Even her friend was too busy to return her call.

Only Celia had left a message. ‘Geraldine, please, call me.’

‘I’ll call you when I’m ready,’ Geraldine thought. She didn’t touch the phone. Before she contacted Celia she wanted to study the contents of the battered box. It lay on the top shelf of her wardrobe, concealed behind a stack of folded towels. But she wasn’t ready to face her unknown past. Not while her future remained so uncertain.

35

Attack

Of course Brenda couldn’t keep her stupid trap shut.

‘What do you mean by bringing the filth here?’ Callum roared.

‘It was nothing,’ Ray stammered. ‘Just some silly girl recognised me. They’ve got nothing.’ He jerked away, too slow to avoid a slap on the ear.

Ray didn’t mean to admit what had happened but Cal had a way of making people talk. ‘Show me where this bitch lives,’ he growled.

Brenda opened her eyes. ‘What do you want another girl for, Cal? You don’t need another girl.’

‘Shut it.’ Cal slapped her. He was wound up with rage. Dangerous.

‘Think about it,’ Ray spoke up. ‘If anything happens to her, they’re going to suspect me.’

‘You’ll just have to make sure they think it’s an accident then.’

‘Me? I’m not touching her.’

A slow smile spread across Cal’s face. ‘We’ll see about that,’ he said.

It was Cal’s idea to go for a drink. Relief flooded through Ray but, although Cal had recovered his temper, Ray was wary of his good humour. You never knew when Cal might explode in a rage.

‘No point in falling out over nothing,’ Cal said cheerfully. Ray wisely kept his mouth shut. ‘Come on, then. You coming or what?’

‘Yes, Cal.’

Brenda stirred and opened puffy eyes, red rimmed in her bloodless face. ‘Where are you going, Cal?’ Her hands fluttered nervously in her lap.

‘We’re going down the pub.’

‘Can I come?’

‘No, you can’t. We’re going for a pint and we’re leaving now. Look at yourself.’ Ray was still sitting down flicking through channels on the television. ‘Come on then!’ Cal kicked Ray sharply on the shin. Ray jumped to his feet.

‘Why can’t I come?’ Brenda whined.

‘We’re only going to the corner for a pint. You’re not even dressed. You look like shit.’

‘You’re taking him,’ Brenda called anxiously after them. ‘It’s always him. Why is it always him?’ Cal ignored her. Ray turned round and pulled a horrible face.

The interior of the pub was barely brighter than the street outside, but warmer. Cracked and grimy ornaments gathered dust on high narrow shelves: chipped mugs interspersed with a motley assortment of china plates.

Cal made his way over to a table and waited, while Ray went up to the bar.

‘The usual?’ the landlord asked, throwing a glance in Cal’s direction. He pulled out a couple of pint glasses with a flourish, like a conjurer. The pub was nearly empty. In one corner two young women were nattering in low voices, their heads bobbing up and down as they spoke. An elderly man sat muttering to himself in another corner, his gnarled fingers clasped round a pint.

‘Evening Bert,’ Ray called out as he carried the drinks over to Cal who sat drumming his stubby fingers on the table. The old man didn’t look up. ‘Fancy a game of darts?’ Ray asked without taking a seat. Cal shook his head. Ray set the glasses carefully on the table.

‘I’ll give you a game,’ the old man wheezed.

Ray hovered, uncertainly. ‘You’re all right, mate,’ he said and sat down opposite Cal, his back to the old man.

Cal slapped his knee and laughed. The old man scowled, mumbling into his pint. ‘You?’ Cal spluttered. He pointed at the old man, put his pint down and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘You? Not bloody likely.’ The old man sat motionless.

‘Why don’t you give it a rest?’ Ray burst out.

‘What’s eating you?’

‘It’s just there’s no need to be rude to everyone all the time.’

Cal raised his voice suddenly, and thumped on the table. ‘Don’t talk so bloody daft. Give that old git a dart, he’d have your eye out. He’s half blind. Four-eyed old git. Look at him. Those aren’t hands. They’re claws. Why don’t you cut your nails, you filthy bastard? Use
them
as darts!’ He laughed loudly. ‘What’s it to you anyway? He’s nothing but a useless bag of shit.’ Ray glared at him, one hand clasping his pint. On the table, Cal’s fists clenched. The buzz of conversation from the two women continued uninterrupted.

After a second, Ray dropped his gaze. Cal’s hands relaxed. ‘I just think you should give it a rest, that’s all,’ Ray muttered. Cal looked at him through half closed eyes. ‘That’s what I thought, anyway,’ Ray added lamely. He sat perfectly still, staring at the table.

‘Don’t try to think,’ Cal retorted. They drank in bad tempered silence for a while.

‘I’ve had enough.’ Cal stood up suddenly. Ray didn’t move. ‘You coming then, or what?’

Ray shrugged. ‘In a while. I can’t see the rush. No point wasting good beer. You go on home. Don’t mind me. I can please myself.’ He wished he had the guts to tell Cal exactly what he thought of him, but Cal was a vicious bastard. Ray was relieved when the door closed behind him. He despised
himself for being scared, but he had seen Cal’s temper. He drank slowly, hoping Cal wouldn’t take it out on Brenda. Not that Ray would give the spaced out cow the time of day, but Cal was brutal. One of these days he was going to kill Brenda.

‘Sadist,’ Ray grumbled into his pint.

‘What’s that you say, mate?’ the old man in the far corner called out.

‘Nothing. You’re all right,’ Ray answered. The old man sat back, still mumbling to himself.

Ray looked up and caught the landlord watching him curiously. He felt uncomfortable. He drained his glass and decided against staying for another one. It was dull sitting by himself. He could go home and drink in comfort in front of the telly. He wasn’t going to stay just to prove a point.

Outside, he turned his collar up and thrust his hands into his pockets. He strode along the pavement, breathing heavily in the freezing air.

36

Passerby

‘Always knew you’d do well for yourself,’ John told his old friend, Nigel. John wouldn’t fancy living in New York himself, but he couldn’t help feeling envious of his friend’s glamorous life style, flying business class, and staying in a hotel, all expenses paid. They took the bus into the centre of Harchester but there was nothing much to do there.

‘I remember the town centre being so exciting when we were teenagers,’ Nigel said. He spoke with a faint American accent. ‘It’s not New York, that’s for sure,’ he added with a laugh. They wandered into a pub they used to frequent when they were younger. It looked the same from outside, but the décor was completely different, with loud music blaring out and the bar bustling with teenagers. They sat in a corner over a pint complaining about how times had changed.

‘How can they call this racket music?’ John asked. Nigel shook his head. They left after one pint and went for a curry.

‘I’ve missed the food,’ Nigel admitted.

‘You must be able to get a decent curry in New York,’ John said as he ordered another pint of lager.

‘Yes, you can get anything in New York. It’s not the same, though.’

At the end of the evening John insisted on paying for dinner. They phoned for a cab to take Nigel to the station and arranged to drop John off on the way.

‘It’s all on expenses,’ John’s friend said, waving away John’s offered cash.

‘This’ll do,’ John said as they approached his turning. ‘I could do with a breath of air.’ He was beginning to feel a bit sick. He had lost count of the number of pints he had drunk that night. Climbing out of the cab he slipped on the uneven pavement and fell against a gatepost, scraping his knuckles and grazing his cheek. Swearing softly, he turned to wave but the cab had already disappeared down the road. Cheerfully drunk and comfortably full, John rounded the corner and almost tripped over a figure lying prone on the pavement.

‘Stupid bloody place to sleep,’ he cried out, startled. A car drove past. In the sudden glare of headlights, John saw it was a man, his head lying at a peculiar angle. He crouched down unsteadily to take a closer look. There was something odd about the figure on the ground. ‘You’re going to freeze to death if you stay there all night,’ John told him. The man didn’t move. John leaned forward, wobbled on his heels, and put his hand out to stop himself falling. The pavement felt sticky. ‘Did you hear me? I said you’ll freeze your bollocks off lying there.’ The man didn’t respond. ‘Damned if I care.’ John clambered to his feet and lit a cigarette, cupping his hand round the flickering match. His head was fuddled, but he recognised blood on his fingers.

‘Jesus,’ he whispered. He lowered the match and studied the prone figure. The man’s face was concealed beneath a mop of untidy hair. He was a big bloke, broad shouldered, with large hands and feet, wearing a dark anorak and dirty trainers. Even in his confused state John was frightened. The man could be dying. He could be dead. John fumbled in his pocket with shaking fingers and dialled. ‘Ambulance,’ he gabbled.

It felt like an eternity before the emergency services arrived. John waited at the kerbside and waved at an approaching police car. A few seconds later an ambulance drew up, light flashing and siren wailing.

‘He’s over here,’ John called. Paramedics leapt from the ambulance. ‘Is he dead?’ John asked, but he no longer cared. He just wanted to go home and lie down. He was freezing cold and shaking with shock.

‘He’s still breathing,’ a voice replied. ‘Who is he?’

John shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I just found him like that. I was going home.’

A policeman came up and started questioning him. ‘Are you the gentleman who reported the incident?’ It sounded like an accusation. John nodded. ‘Who is he?’

‘I told you, I don’t know. I was on my way home and I almost fell over him.’

‘Have you ever seen the injured man before?’

‘Never.’

The policeman stared at John. ‘That’s a nasty bruise you’ve got on your cheek, sir,’ he said slowly. ‘How did you come by it? It’s quite recent, by the look of it, I’d say. Still bleeding.’

John put his hand to his cheek, suddenly aware of a sharp stinging. ‘I fell over,’ he said.

‘I see, sir.’ The policeman raised an eyebrow.

John realised the policeman didn’t believe him. He took an involuntary step back. ‘I fell over,’ he said. ‘I scratched my face when I fell over.’

‘And where was that, sir?’ The policeman glanced down at the pavement. John wondered if forensic officers would find his own blood on the ground, mingled with the blood of the stranger he had stumbled across.

‘Ask Nigel,’ John blurted out, afraid and at the same time angry at the implication. ‘I was with my friend when I fell over. He’ll tell you…’

‘You were with Nigel and you think he saw you fall over. I see, sir.’ John wished the policeman would stop saying that. ‘And where can we find Nigel?’

John frowned and stammered out his old friend’s name.

The policeman stood, pen poised, waiting. ‘And the address, sir?’ he prompted John after a pause.

‘I’ve only got his email address. He lives in the States.’

‘Nigel lives in America? I see, sir. Have you been drinking, sir?’

John tried to explain about meeting his friend, going to the pub, the curry and finally the cab home. Suddenly it all seemed very complicated.

The policeman took his name and address. ‘Just in case, sir.’ In case what, John wondered, but before he could ask, the policeman directed him to go home. John turned and staggered away, relieved it was all over. So much for being a good citizen, he thought angrily.

37

Briefing

Geraldine’s night was troubled. She had stayed up late on Sunday rereading reports. Focusing on work kept her mind occupied, but when she finally went to bed, she slept uneasily…

Craig was standing on a bridge laughing. He was watching Celia struggle in the river far below. Geraldine knew her sister was being swept away on the current towards treacherous rapids but could only watch, horrified. She wanted to scream out to Craig to save Celia, but she couldn’t utter a sound.

…Geraldine woke, sweating. It was five o’clock on Monday morning.

‘You look rough, ma’am.’ The desk sergeant’s face twisted in a sympathetic grimace.

‘You’re no picture yourself,’ she replied. The sergeant laughed.

The Incident Room was buzzing when she walked in. A sense of isolation flooded through her. Relief at returning to the distraction of work slipped away. She glanced around the Incident Room feeling as though the truth hadn’t only cut her off from Celia. She was alienated from everyone she had ever known. Every officer there had grown up in a family, of sorts. They all knew where they came from. Every one of them had childhood memories, even if they were miserable ones. They knew where they came from. None of them knew that Geraldine had been abruptly excluded from that basic
human right to her own history. It felt strange to watch them carrying on with their daily tasks, as though nothing had changed. She wondered if she looked different, but even Ian Peterson didn’t register surprise as she entered. Geraldine felt reassured. Perhaps life could continue as before. In work she could find her normality.