The Edge of Sanity (7 page)

Peering around the door, Jo tried not to notice the strewn-about clothes inside Kayla’s room. Fancy some food?’ she asked, as Kayla came back.

‘Nah.’ Kayla slipped out, pulling the door closed behind her. ‘I’ll grab a veggie-burger from Maccies after the pictures.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Jo tried to entice her. ‘You’ve got time for a quick bite, surely? It’s vegetable stew, homemade, and not a dead cow in sight.’

Kayla shrugged indifferently. ‘Can’t. Promised Hannah I’d help her with her English Lit.’

As if Kayla knew Romeo from Juliet. ‘Look, Kayla …’ Jo hesitated. ‘Your father is coming over in half an hour and he … That is, we—’

‘What do you mean,
coming over
?’ Kayla interjected, forcefully. ‘Last I heard, he lived here.’ Her expression was belligerent but the hurt was painfully obvious in her eyes.

‘Kayla, I …’ Jo trailed off, torn between wanting to hug her daughter and tell her off for her childishness. She’s fifteen, Jo, she reminded herself. She is a child, even if outward appearances deceive.

She tried again. ‘I’d like you to be here, Kayla,’ she said, gently. ‘Please? Give Hannah a ring, will you?’

Kayla folded her arms defensively, and glared at Jo from under her eyelashes.

Which were caked in mascara, Jo noticed, but decided to let it go. She turned for the stairs, her shoulders heavy. ‘Dinner’s on the table,’ she offered. ‘Be nice if you could join me.’

****

‘Thanks.’ Jo smiled at Kayla five minutes later, the phone call to Hannah having been dutifully made, albeit reluctantly. Jo would be the villain in all of this, she supposed. So be it. Someone had to be.

She wouldn’t run Daniel down to his daughter. She couldn’t, in all honesty. What had he done, after all, apart from hang a no-admittance sign on his emotions?

Kayla dragged the chair back and plonked herself down. Face set in a sulk, she eyed the pot of stew disdainfully. ‘When’s he comin’?’ she asked, her eyes now fixed on her nails.

‘Soon,’ Jo replied, dishing up. Talking to Kayla, she realised, was going to be about as easy as wading through custard. How was she supposed to talk to the top of the girl’s obstinate head? ‘Stew’s okay, isn’t it?’ she asked hopefully, watching Kayla slosh the contents of her bowl around with her spoon.

‘S’got mushrooms in.’ Kayla screwed up her nose and pushed her bowl away. ‘Tastes like snails.’

Jo placed her head in her hands, as Kayla scraped her chair back and headed back to the stairs. How could she have forgotten? It wasn’t that hard to remember, was it, that Kayla didn’t like mushrooms?

****

Daniel hesitated at the front door. A cold shiver shook through him, despite the oppressive warmth of the evening. He turned to take a last look across the boatyard. Boats jostling on sun-dappled water greeted him, open fields as a backdrop. It was idyllic, this view, as if everything it encompassed shouldn’t have a care in the world.

It was going to hurt, giving up all they’d worked for. It had been damned hard work too, but he had loved it, every backbreaking minute of it.

Giving up Jo, though … That was going to hurt a hell of a lot more.

He couldn’t have done it without her; they built up the business from scratch. Jo’s gentle, but persistent bullying had persuaded him to go for it. If his was the initial outlay, thanks to an inheritance from a relative he had had no clue even existed, Jo’s was the enthusiasm to get the thing off the ground. They’d taken a hell of a gamble, giving up their jobs to buy the yard with its dilapidated fleet of hire boats. Jo had supported him all the way, despite his old man’s insistence that he stay in his office job. More concerned for his own future than his son’s, Daniel was well aware of that.

He thought Daniel owed him, as he was forced into early retirement because of Daniel’s
supposedly
unprovoked attack. He dragged a hand across his neck, recalling the one, and only time, he had lost his temper. Lost it completely, although
unprovoked
was a joke. Provocation born of years of fear was behind what had happened that day, what had forced Daniel to turn on the person who should have kept him safe as a child, to fight back.

To fight back hard.

And the drunken old bastard knew it.

Daniel figured he had paid his dues up front and some. As far as he was concerned, his father should have been grateful he had had pity enough to call the ambulance. He hadn’t been proud of what he’d done. Not then. Not now. He’d sworn on his mother’s grave, he would never, ever, give in to destructive emotion again.

Sworn also, once his father was out of the hospital and coping, he would wash his hands of him. The old man had his pension. It was enough to live on. And that’s what he’d have to do, Daniel had told him, before walking out of his life and into a new, wholesome life with a woman he’d only ever dared hope could love him.

Daniel glanced across the yard to the spot where Jo had leapt excitedly into his arms when they had first viewed it. She had wrapped arms and legs about him, and almost sent them both sprawling into the water.

She had left her job, rolled up her sleeves, and worked right alongside him to make their dream a reality. They’d sweated blood turning the business around, worked until they’d dropped into bed exhausted, bed being a berth on one of the boats, while the house was rewired and re-roofed. They’d almost been too tired to make love sometimes. Almost.

Life had been good then. Better than he had ever imagined it could be. Side-by-side, brick-by-brick, boat-by-boat, they’d created something to be proud of. And they’d been blessed with two beautiful daughters.

Then God saw fit to remind him how fragile life was.

And he had tried. Tried so hard to hold on, hoping—all the while dying inside, crying inside—that they’d come through it. Not intact. They could never be whole again; a part of them was missing. But together, he had hoped …

He’d been blind. Selfish and stupid and blind. What did a successful business amount to, measured against the life of his child? Jo had wanted to sell up straight away. He couldn’t bring himself to. It had happened less than a mile away, and he had stubbornly refused to let go, no regard for the pain he was putting Jo through.

Dammit
. He deserved all he got.

Daniel hit the doorbell.

Jo smiled as she opened the door. ‘On time,’ she said, ‘as expected.’

Daniel offered her a tight smile back. His obsession with punctuality was one of the things Jo had brought up during the one counselling session he had managed to go to. Something about him being there physically, but not emotionally.

‘Hi,’ he said hesitantly and then, not sure what else to say, asked, ‘How are you?’

‘Fine,’ Jo lied, obviously, and held the door wide. ‘Are you coming in?’

Daniel took a deep breath and stepped inside, then turned to hover in the hallway while Jo closed the door. He felt like a stranger in his own home. Should he go on through? He glanced at Jo, uncertain, raked his hand through his hair, and stayed where he was.

Jo looked him over. ‘You look terrible,’ she said, a worried little v in her brow. God, how Daniel wished he could take her in his arms, hold her, and make her worries go away.

He forced a smile. ‘I’m okay. Just tired.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Jo shook her head as she headed for the kitchen.

Daniel realised he had said the wrong thing.

Again.

****

Kayla had watched her dad walk dejectedly up the long gravel drive and then glance around the boatyard. He looked like death. God, couldn’t those two just bloody well grow up?

She sat on the windowsill, blowing circles of smoke through the open window. So what did she do now? Go down and ask them outright what was going on? Get it over with. Or wait until her presence was requested?

She stubbed her cigarette out on the brick wall below the window, slid off the sill and gave the room a liberal spray of
Chloé
. Her mum’s
Chloé
, she thought a bit guiltily. But then,
she had
bought it, hadn’t she, for Jo’s birthday. Waste of money that was, too. She didn’t even open it. Yeah, okay. It was only two weeks after … But she could have said thanks.

Kayla checked her face in the mirror. She had limited the make-up to as much as she thought was acceptable under scrutiny. She didn’t want to hang around any longer than necessary though. Once she had heard what they’d got to say, she was out of there, off to the nightclub with Hannah, hopefully to see Charlie. Those two could sift through the rubble on their own. They didn’t need her around.

****

Slipping his arms into his shirt, Charlie tugged up the collar and checked himself out in the mirror. Yeah, that’d do. Looked the business in his club gear, Charlie did. Always dressed to impress—and the birds always were. That’s most likely what got DI Short’s goat up earlier, those two girls obviously giving him the eye. Miserable old git probably hadn’t had his leg over in decades, if ever.

Far from annoyed at the copper’s feeble attempts at intimidation though, Charlie had been quite relieved. Short said it was a Stop and Search, picking on him, as per. Charlie had been a bit nervous, he had to admit. He thought Rachel might have been pissed off enough after the accident to go telling tales. The last thing Charlie needed was getting dragged into the station when he needed to be making some dosh, while Short tried every trick in the book to keep him there.

He shouldn’t worry, though. Rachel was stuck on him, after all, wasn’t she? Probably hoping he would go around to her mum’s with a bunch of flowers, the silly bint.

Good job he hadn’t been carrying anything other than a regular pack of fags, though. Wouldn’t put it past DI Short to drag him in if he got so much as a sniff of a spliff. As it was, the copper’s car door had been more dented than Charlie’s pride. Serve him right. Charlie didn’t take kindly to police intimidation.

Giving himself an approving wink, he ran some wax through his hair, then smoothed his shirt over his torso and admired himself from both sides. He’d rather have worn the FCUK shirt, but there was no way he was getting that out of the bin after the tart had been in it. Still, this one was good. Slim cut, black with a fine white stripe, it showed off his physique.

Charlie flexed his pecs. Disciplined, that’s what he had told Steve he was. Fifty sit-ups every morning, gym five nights a week, that’s what gets you muscles, like these, mate.

That was a bit of a lie, but still … he was
toned
. He’d have ‘em gagging for it at the nightclub. So long as it was a skinny one gagging for it. Charlie couldn’t abide fat and flabby. Made him puke. Which reminded him, the tart had spewed in the kitchen. Must have been feeling a bit dodgy, poor cow. But then, they had to learn who was boss, as far as Charlie was concerned. There’d be no bloody men
left
in fifty years’ time if they didn’t reassert themselves. Wiping some aftershave under his armpits, Charlie headed for the door, feeling pleased with himself.

He was hot to trot tonight, no doubt about it. The heroin had hit the spot.

****

Kayla wriggled into her leggings and pulled her trackie top over her snake-print cami, which wasn’t quite appropriate attire for such a sombre occasion. The rose tattoo on her left boob they wouldn’t be overjoyed about either.

She dropped her smokes and mobile into her backpack and had a quick check she had everything she needed: make-up bag, earrings, platform shoes, spare knickers … She scanned the room. Ah, yes, and
Chloé
. She popped that in for good measure, then inched her door open to have a listen.

What were they doing down there? Talk about prolonging the agony. She peered along the landing. All quiet on the Western front. Was that a good sign? Or had they killed each other already?

Kayla headed for the stairs, creeping down the first four steps—expertly avoiding the squeaky one, and deposited herself on the fifth.

****

‘It’s just the washer, I think,’ Daniel said, drying his hands as he came into the kitchen from the utility after checking the tap. ‘I could drop by tomorrow and have a go at it, if you like?’

Jo glanced at him, then quickly away. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I would do it myself but the plumbing in this house has always been a mystery to me. I’d fix the tap and end up drowning us all. Um, I mean, Kayla and …’

She trailed off awkwardly, turning away to reach for the kettle. ‘Tea or caffeine?’

Daniel’s mouth twitched into a smile. Old habits, he supposed. They’d needed many a fix when they’d been working late into the night together.

‘Caffeine would be good. Thanks.’ He seated himself at the table, and glanced around the kitchen at the ancient wood-burner he had balked on fixing, but which Jo had insisted on relieving of rust, at the natural pine cupboards they’d found under layers of gloss paint.

It was a good kitchen; a warm, homey sort of kitchen. Daniel suddenly felt acutely homesick, just like he had felt years ago—scared and lonely, and too scared to show it. Wondering where his mother had gone, why they’d moved out of the house … His mind drifted so far back, he flinched when Jo plonked the coffee in front of him.

Jo picked up her own drink—a cold drink, Daniel noticed, red in colour, which didn’t bode well—and then slipped into the chair across the table from Daniel. ‘Terrible was an understatement,’ she said. ‘You look dreadful.’

‘Cheers.’ Daniel laughed, taking a sip of his coffee.

‘So where are you staying?’ Jo started conversationally.

‘The New Inn, just off the motorway.’

Jo screwed up her face.

‘It’s clean.’ Daniel shrugged. ‘Not exactly home, but …’ He glanced at Jo, who glanced away. ‘It’s only for a while.’

‘Oh?’ Jo’s eyes slid back to his. ‘You’ve found somewhere else, then?’

‘Sort of.’ Daniel paused. How would it look to Jo? Like a hasty getaway? It wasn’t. He’d rather rent somewhere locally, preferably with a bird’s eye view of the house, so he could nobble any bastard that came sniffing around. Sometimes he wondered if Jo actually knew how attractive she was. But then, there was nowhere locally. Not another property in sight. And the house was sold, wasn’t it? Jo would be moving, and his being out of the way was probably for the best—for Jo.