Too Close For Comfort (25 page)

*

I don’t believe in using booze to take the edge off, but in that particular moment I needed a drink. Besides, there had to be some advantage to living in a pub and it
certainly wasn’t my palatial quarters. I’d tried Patrick twice, without success. Gin was the only solution left to me.

It was nearly eight by now, and the bar was humming and busy, diners and drinkers mixed up together, jostling for space. April was right at the front of the crush for drinks, smiling fruitlessly
at Rita. I skulked at the back of the crowd, but her keen eyes quickly met mine and it was hard to say no to her offer to include me in the round. It was still quite a wait: Rita had hordes of
locals to serve before she’d so much as acknowledge her.

‘Here you go!’ April said eventually, putting a tall, slippery glass into my hand. She chinked hers against it. ‘Cheers. I don’t know about you, but this drink
couldn’t come too soon!’

‘I know what you mean,’ I admitted.

We were still standing in the midst of the crush.

‘Come and join me,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a table.’

‘Thanks, but I’m just going to have this and then go and get on with some work.’

‘Have you eaten?’ she asked, already heading for the table.

‘No, but . . .’

That was how we ended up with two plates of steak and chips and a bottle of red, all squashed together on a tiny table that was worryingly close to the men’s loos. April’s make-up
was pristine, her red mouth leaving a lipstick kiss on her brimming wine glass. I took the reapplication as a warning: these were still her working hours. To be fair, you wouldn’t have known
it from the stream of girlie chat that was pouring forth now we were a glass and a half down.

‘He works all the time, Mia. I mean, like, all the time!’ We’d established that her boyfriend was a camera man, prone to shooting in war zones. ‘And it’s not like
I’m sitting around painting my nails. It’s hard. What does your boyfriend do?’

‘He’s a lawyer.’

‘What kind of lawyer?’ she asked. April never seemed to waste time on breathing in.

‘He works with the police.’

I was keeping my sentences clipped, trying to ensure that gin plus wine didn’t equal a loose tongue.

‘The exciting kind! Is that how you met? Are criminal cases your thing?’

‘No, not at all,’ I said. ‘Mainly I just ask stressed-out bankers what they dreamt last night.’

If anyone else had trivialised the work I do the way I just had, I’d have slapped them. I just didn’t want to start swapping confidences.

‘So all of this,’ her hands flapped around like frantic birds, ‘is a real departure for you. You’re helping officially, right?’

‘Yes, I am. I’ve got a little bit of experience with . . . with a criminal case.’ I didn’t want her researching me, if she hadn’t already. I prodded my steak.
‘It sounds like you need to carve out some proper time to spend with Michael. If you don’t, it’ll be hard to know, won’t it? If it’s a lack of it, or that you’re
not right together.’

Proper time. Me and Patrick needed to book ourselves some proper time to spend together as soon as I got back. I glanced down at my phone: the screen was still blank. The distance between us
felt way more gaping than a mere sixty miles.

‘Yeah, you’re right.’

‘Mia?’ said a familiar voice from above me. There was Joshua.

‘Hi,’ I said, getting to my feet. Part of me wanted to physically reach out, to make a gesture that would express something about what we’d all seen today, but I knew how
inappropriate it would be. He was wearing a fleece, his hair more dishevelled than usual – he was a little bit cracked. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m doing OK,’ he said. I hadn’t really intended it as a question, more an expression of sympathy. April’s round face was rolled upwards like an inquisitive moon.
I willed him to move away, wondering if I should introduce them to make the danger clear, but too embarrassed to do so. ‘Thank you for this morning. I’d say Max is your number one
fan.’

There was no animation in his voice, it was like grey concrete.

‘I’m his!’ I said. Understandably he hadn’t made his promised phone call. ‘Let’s catch up on it tomorrow.’

‘Absolutely. Anyway . . .’ he said, discreetly pointing towards the door of the Gents.

As I sat down, I saw Lisa on the other side of the pub, ensconced in the same booth that Jim and I had commandeered earlier. She gave me a brisk wave.

‘That’s his ex-wife, isn’t it?’ hissed April, still staring. Kyle, Lisa’s husband, was returning from the bar, three drinks mashed together between his large hands,
a wide grin on his face. He was stocky and bald, a checked shirt tight across his barrel chest. I unconsciously looked between him and the door of the Gents – he seemed so utterly different
from controlled, precise Joshua. Did the difference make complete sense or no sense at all? I tore my gaze away, put a stop to my drunken amateur analysis.

‘It is,’ I said.

‘Isn’t it a bit weird, to be out on the piss the night that footage is all over the TV? Your dead wife with her killer?’

She even talked in tabloid headlines. What more proof did I need that I shouldn’t be here?

‘He probably just needs some support,’ I said, draining my glass. There was half the bottle left, but I wasn’t going to let hopelessly English politeness keep me here a second
longer. ‘Asking for help when you need it is one of the bravest things you can do.’

‘Mmm,’ said April doubtfully. ‘I wouldn’t like it much if it was my hubby.’

Joshua emerged from the toilets at just that moment.

‘You’re at Lysette and Ged’s, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘I could always try and find you after work tomorrow?’

Why hadn’t I used his absence to make a judicious exit?

‘I’m – I’m actually not staying there now. I’m here – mad woman in the attic!’

‘Oh, OK. I’ll just give you a call.’ He gave an awkward sort of salute, and set off across the bar.

‘That’s your friend, right – Lysette?’ said the relentless April. ‘She’s one of the mums? Why aren’t you staying with her? That room at the top’s
like a shoebox! I told Rita to piss right off when she showed it to me.’

I stood up. Why wasn’t I staying with her? I missed Lysette so much in that moment – all I could see was April’s red, sticky mouth moving at warp speed.

‘Long story,’ I said. ‘I’ll put half of this on my room.’

April barely heard me: she was too busy looking back across the pub.

‘I shouldn’t tell you this, but the news editor says there’s loads more about to come out. Apparently he had loads of affairs with different women. I think they’ve found
another phone with loads of – you know – filthy texts and stuff. He’s guilty as sin.’

She was totally consumed by it, which I supposed must make her brilliant at her job.

‘Maybe,’ I said, knowing full well I should let her words evaporate without acknowledgement.

‘Why do you keep saying that?’ she demanded. ‘Do you know something?’ The relentless chutzpah was impressive.

‘I just don’t like making assumptions. One thing my work has taught me is that people are endlessly surprising.’

April cocked her head.

‘What, do you think he was different from how people are making out? They just want him to take the rap now he’s dead?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

April paused. ‘Did you meet him?’

‘No. I saw him – at the funeral – but I didn’t meet him.’

‘Was he like – hysterical? That’s what I heard.’

‘It was a funeral of a young woman. Everyone was upset.’

‘You’d have sensed stuff, though, wouldn’t you?’ said April, cogs visibly turning. ‘Cos it’s your job to read people. Don’t go! Finish the bottle. Give
me more of your words of wisdom.’

‘I can’t,’ I said, the words grittier than I intended. I stood up. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

*

‘Darling, just call her. Or I’ll call her.’

Patrick sounded tired. No, exasperated. He wasn’t the only one – other than the five missed calls, I’d texted him twice to tell him how much I’d wanted to speak to him.
It had taken him until 10 p.m. to deign to call me back.

‘No one’s calling her. She threw me out!’

‘Look, I get that you’re upset, but you said yourself it’s been difficult. It wasn’t like you were loving the lilo either. Maybe she’s trying to look out for your
friendship.’

This phone call had been bad from the off.

‘Can’t you just – for once – be on my side?’

‘Of course I’m on your side,’ he said, voice rising. ‘And what do you mean, for once? We’re getting married!’

‘I know it sounds like I’m exaggerating, but she’s like a replica version of Lysette. I’m really worried about this whole drug thing.’

‘But that could just be gossip. Who did it even come from?’

I paused, wishing I’d told him from the outset that I’d re-encountered Jim. The fact that I was only pretending to myself that I wished it – that I knew full well I never would
– told me how dangerous it was. When you’re lying to yourself, there’s no one left to keep score.

‘I just heard it.’

The fact it had come from Jim meant I also couldn’t tell him about the playdate – it was no great surprise he thought I was being melodramatic. Jim had texted me mid-afternoon:

I’d sent him back an exclamation mark, no kiss, but it had taken a worrying amount of willpower not to call him when I’d escaped Kimberley’s clutches.

‘What, from one of the other mums?’ asked Patrick.

I made a non-committal kind of sound.

‘So you need to work out why she’d say it. Was it that bitchy one you hate? Madame Farthing? She sounds like she just likes to stir.’

‘Doesn’t she just,’ I said. My skin was hot and prickly. Strictly speaking I hadn’t lied, but the deliberate omission of truth might have been worse. More sly.

‘Listen, darling, sleep on it. Call her tomorrow when you’re calm. You two are proper besties. You’re both stressed. You’ll get through it.’

‘There’s other things as well . . .’ I said quietly, but Patrick ran on, a phone trilling in the background. He was still at the police station, despite the late hour.
He’d taken a few audible bites from the congealing Thai takeaway on his desk as we’d been talking.

‘The truth is, this investigation is going to wrap up soon,’ he said. ‘I did a bit of digging, and I bet they’ll say they’re not looking for anyone else in
connection to Sarah’s death within a couple of weeks. They’ll have the inquest in a few months, and it’ll all be done.’

‘That’s what everyone’s saying here.’

‘So you just do your last few days, come home and let it blow over with Lysette.’ We both paused. ‘You don’t have to make everything such a battle.’

‘I’m not doing that!’

‘It sounds like you are to me.’

‘Patrick, if there’s even the slightest chance that the wrong person is about to be condemned for a murder, don’t you think I’ve got a responsibility to try and share
anything I find out?’

‘But who else could’ve done it?’

‘I don’t know. I’m probably wrong. But – I said it to you in the pub – even if it was Peter, I’m convinced the reasons it happened are way more complicated
than the Cluedo version everyone’s hung up on.’

Patrick exhaled, his frustration audible.

‘That’s not what you’re there for.’

‘I know. But I came to help Lysette . . . to help that little boy.’ The words caught in my throat. ‘And if they’re left living a lie . . . you never heal if the wound
can’t close.’

‘You can’t fix everyone and everything in the world,’ hissed Patrick. ‘You’re not . . . you’re not God.’

‘You’re the one who’s big on God, not me,’ I snapped back. ‘And you’re also the one in the police station way past his bedtime trying to make sure that good
wins over evil.’

‘And that
is
my job,’ said Patrick, his anger fizzing and spitting down the phone line.

This was about more than this conversation, I could feel it. I knew I should step away, but I was too tired and frustrated to be the one to act like a grown-up. The truth was, my frustration was
with myself as much as it was with him. That’s the worst kind: the kind that turns a person into an unexploded bomb.

‘What, so you only like me doing my job if it involves handing over a Kleenex and saying
there, there
?’ I hissed. ‘Oh – apart from when it was
useful to your criminal investigation.’

‘No! I just think you’re letting this take you over. You’re over-thinking it. You’re not coming home next week at this rate, I guarantee it. You won’t be able to
tear yourself away.’

The sly suggestion that my engagement was for my own benefit sent me into orbit.

‘If you want some little wife who’s going to sit at home darning your socks and counting her rosary beads, you’ve picked the wrong girl.’

Patrick’s voice quivered with rage.

‘I’m well aware of that fact. If you had any respect whatsoever for my religion, we might have actually booked our wedding by now.’

‘That’s so unfair – I’ve agreed to get married in a Catholic church, even though I think it’s a . . .’ I stopped myself. ‘They don’t even have
women priests.’

Suddenly all the ways we were different felt so much bigger than all the ways we were similar. Even worse, the differences felt catastrophic – none of that fascination you feel when
you’re falling in love and the other person feels like an exotic animal that you’re thrilled to contemplate. Now we were nothing but a couple of unwanted rescue mutts snarling at each
other.

‘Yeah, and then you’ve hardly bothered to come. I know you think it’s funny to call him names . . .’

I lay down on the bed, exhaustion settling over me like a thick blanket.

‘I’m sorry, OK? I
will
be home next week and I’ll come to church on Sunday.’

Patrick paused, exhaled.

‘Just be careful, OK?’ he said. ‘Talk to your boss, talk to old snake-hips Krall. Don’t be digging about yourself.’ He paused. ‘If there is something bigger
going on, they’ll be people with a vested interest in keeping it quiet. People with a lot to lose.’