Blue Murder

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DS Shap knocked on Ferdie Gibson’s door more loudly. ‘Come on,’ he said under his breath. He thought he heard sounds inside so he waited. He glanced down the road where two elderly women were in conversation. Bundled up in woolly hats, coats and gloves.

At last the door was pulled back and Ferdie stood there. Hair so short you could see the bumps on his skull and a smudged tattoo, some sort of moth or something on his neck.

Shap showed him his ID. ‘Morning Ferdinand,’ he said.

‘Ferdie,’ the lad replied.

‘Whatever. Can I come in a moment?’

Ferdie looked as though he was about to refuse.

‘Unless you want all the neighbours knowing your business.’ He swung his eyes to the old women.

In the drab living room Shap explained that they had a witness who had seen a man answering Ferdie’s description leaving the allotments where Matthew Tulley had been killed.

‘Well, it weren’t me,’ Ferdie replied. ‘I wasn’t anywhere near there.’

‘Where were you, Ferdie?’

‘In bed, I told them others.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘Yes,’ he said aggressively.

‘Sure enough to prove it.’

‘What d’ya mean?’ His eyes narrowed, emphasising the feral look of his features.

‘We want to hold an identity parade, see if this witness can pick out who he saw.’

‘Well, it weren’t me.’

‘So you’d attend the parade?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Clear your name. There’s a lot of people muttering about how you had a grudge against Matthew Tulley. You’d already gone for him with a knife before, hadn’t you?’

‘Yeah. And you know what he did, give me brain damage, that’s what. I can’t concentrate, I get these attacks. And he’s still teaching.’

‘Not now he isn’t.’

‘And I’ll dance on his grave but I didn’t do him.’

‘Prove it. Or are you scared? Got something to hide?’

Ferdie clenched his fist. Shap could see a muscle in his jaw tighten. ‘What time?’

‘Two o’ clock. South Manchester nick.’

‘Right,’ Ferdie said, his teeth still closed together. ‘Maybe I’ll show.’

‘And we’ll all know what to think if you don’t,’ Shap said.

Shap snatched the tenner from Butchers and murmured ‘You won’t see that again, mate.’ He turned to DC Chen. ‘Fancy a flutter?’ She nodded, keen to be accepted by the more established team members. Before she had chance to put her name down for one of the three runners in Shap’s book, Chief Inspector Lewis began Sunday evening’s meeting.

Janine could sense the team were tired, getting ragged round the edges but she needed to use this chance to galvanise them. ‘We all know we’ve had our magical 24 hours without a result but that doesn’t mean we give up now. It means we work harder, we work bloody hard. Things are starting to open up.’

She referred to the photos on board. ‘Three possible suspects. Lesley Tulley. Motive?’ She was met with shrugs and grimaces. ‘Exactly. Nada, nothing. Tulley claims the marriage was happy. No friends, barely any family. Married nine years. She can’t have children. But there are condoms in Mr Tulley’s desk.’ She paused. ‘Cherchez la femme? Could give us motive. No rumours of another woman but we’re going through his e-mail contacts. Mr Tulley’s diaries, nothing obvious though we’ve some unexplained appointments. Other evidence?’

‘The clothes that were in the washer,’ said Butchers. ‘Disappearing act. Lesley Tulley denies all knowledge.’

‘Mr Vincent,’ Butchers ventured, ‘the lad he saw running, he was wearing sports pants, the sort with stripes down the side.’

Janine considered this. ‘The sort my boys calls go-faster stripes. Inspector?’

‘Possibly…’ Richard answered. ‘I only saw them briefly but they were something like that.’

Janine drew an arrow between the note up there about the clothes and the unknown suspect seen running from the scene by Mr Vincent.

‘I don’t believe in telekinetics,’ Janine said. Butchers looked lost, an edge of panic in with his muddled expression. Janine waved her arms, mimed someone making an object move with brainwaves. ‘They have to be there still. We’re watching the place so they won’t go anywhere.’

‘Bins revealed nothing, nor the initial search,’ Richard told them.

‘Opportunity?’ Janie asked.

Richard indicated the timeline he’d drawn up. ‘Some blanks,’ he pointed to the hour after Lesley had got her parking ticket.

‘Shap will be checking CCTV footage,’ Janine said.

Shap groaned.

‘Ferdie Gibson,’ she turned their attention to the second suspect. ‘Unconfirmed alibi unless you believe his doting mother sat and watched him sleep.’

A chuckle rippled through the room.

‘Motive?’

‘Revenge,’ Shap said. ‘Ferdie never forgave him for the thumping.’

‘Taken his time,’ Janine pointed out. ‘A year since Ferdie last had a go. Evidence?’

‘Eyewitness,’ Butchers said smugly, sitting back, arms crossed over his belly. Meaning Mr Vincent.

Shap rolled his eyes.

‘Saw a lad running away on Saturday morning. The description fits Ferdie.’ Richard summarised.

‘Ferdie’s got his invite for the line-up,’ Shap said.

‘Ferdie’s mate Colin; he was well stressed when questioned.’ Butchers added.

‘Our weakest link. Might want another bite at Colin,’ Janine said. ‘And now a third suspect, Dean Hendrix, missing from home, previous form, same M.O. Last victim survived – just.’ She held up a hand in warning. ‘I don’t want us to assume this is a series, not yet. We need to work away at all three candidates. Tomorrow, Press Conference at eleven plus forensics should be back before that.’

There was a muted cheer.

‘Meanwhile, we keep doing what we do best: gathering evidence, checking statements. I want every house ticked off, every resident accounted for. We go over what we’ve got and we keep looking.’

She paused, looking over the faces of the team. Shap, one leg going, dying for a fag already; Butchers, plumped up like a hen with his lead on Ferdie; Chen, not giving much away but intent, learning fast; Richard, the two of them working well together, mutual respect and a similar approach to the case. ‘I’m sure there’s a bet on already,’ she said. Shap grinned and Butchers squirmed in his seat. ‘I don’t need to know about that. But don’t let it affect your judgement.’ She pointed to the wall. ‘That knife is out there somewhere, the clothes worn by the killer are out there, the person who owns that trainer,’ she tapped the enhanced print with her hand. ‘The one who left dabs on the tap. Matthew Tulley’s murderer is out there. Find them,’ she looked from detective to detective. ‘The first 24 hours were crucial, the next are doubly so. Don’t let me down.’

Emma had taken a key, so the knocking couldn’t be her. The police weren’t coming back, not till tomorrow. Lesley held the newspaper rigid in her fingers, pressed her feet tight to the floor, bit her teeth together. It was him. Coming after her. She remained frozen long after the knocking had stopped and the caller retraced their steps. The only movement an occasional blink and the tiny pulse which flickered fast in her throat.

Butchers and Shap came out of the meeting quarrelling. ‘We see the CCTV stuff now, then we can go back there,’ insisted Shap, ‘get it done sooner.’

‘Look,’ said Butchers, ‘you heard the boss, loud and clear, every resident accounted for. She couldn’t make it plainer, could she? Nothing about me doing the CCTV. And I’ve Mr Simon to see. Split up.’

‘Eh?’

‘We’re not joined at the sodding hip, are we?’ Butchers retorted, though he couldn’t have said why he felt so irritable. Apart from the fact that Shap was a smart-arse, who he’d not have chosen to work with. Who hadn’t even had the grace to acknowledge that Butchers finding a witness had been a substantial break.

‘The store will close in fifteen minutes, will customers please make their way to the checkouts.’

Janine was shattered, she could feel every bone in her feet and she had a dull ache in her lower back. She waited at the checkout with a trolley piled high. The man ahead paid and Janine began to unload her groceries.

Her phone sounded loud and brash, she was beginning to think that even The Birdie Song was better than this regimental tosh.

‘Mr Simon, the guy who was first on the scene, boss. Wears slip-ons, never trainers.’ Butchers told her.

‘OK. When we’ve got the make confirmed, we’ll have a look at Ferdie and friend. And Dean Hendrix when we find him.’

‘Should I check the other gardeners?’

What did he mean? Loading items with one hand, phone in the other. ‘Butchers, they’ll have been covered in house-to-house.’ Surely? Silence. ‘You established no one used Tulley’s tap? No one had set foot on the plot?’ She couldn’t believe she was having to ask this.

‘Not, erm… exactly. We asked if they’d seen owt suspicious you know but not exactly whether they’d used Mr Tulley’s tap…’

‘Oh, bloody brilliant. So the dab and the footprints might be down to some Flowerpot Man filling his watering can. Good of you to share that with me, Butchers. Get back to all the allotment holders, now, and see exactly if anyone took water from Tulley’s tap and when.’

The checkout girl and the customers in the queues either side, stared at her, eyes bright with interest. Janine slid the large milk cartons onto the conveyer belt.

‘Yes, boss. Should I take prints for elimination, boss?’

‘No, Butchers, you shouldn’t. You’ll only need to do that if someone says they used the tap, won’t you. Christ!’ If Butchers had been present she’d have been tempted to deck him. She slammed the ice cream down and began to unload several large pineapples.

‘You favour one of the other gardeners for this, Butchers?’ she said sarcastically. ‘Know something we don’t?’

‘No, boss.’

‘Sure? No one getting a bit carried away with his fish, blood and bone mixture?’

‘No boss.’

‘Fine,’ she hurled the tins of beans down. ‘Because I have got a dead man on my desk, Butchers, and I’d like him off it before the maggots start to hatch!’ She pressed end call.

The checkout girl was gawping at her.

Janine shook her head, leant closer. ‘Just can’t get the staff,’ she said confidentially.

The girl smiled uncertainly.

She asked Pete how Michael had been while the other two climbed into her car.

‘Not seen much of him He went round to his mates after lunch. I told him to be back at yours for eight.’

‘He won’t report it.’

Pete shrugged. ‘Not much point.’

‘Pete!’ They’d always been pretty much in agreement about the kids, the moral lessons to teach them, the rights and wrongs. Was it Tina’s influence? Or just another form of needling that he’d discovered? Something to confuse the fact that he was the guilty one.

He turned and began walking away. ‘You thinking about him, Janine – or how you look at work?’

‘Piss off!’ she flung after him.

It was on the box, they watched it at Colin’s place. Ferdie called it the caravan. Ignored Colin who told him it wasn’t a caravan – it was a static. Should have kept his trap shut. Something else Ferdie could wind him up with.

‘Fame!’ Ferdie shouted after and started clapping. He nodded his head at the whisky Colin had opened.

‘Refill.’

Colin passed him the bottle. He’d had enough of the stuff last night, puked his guts up till there was nothing left. Ferdie – he could drink bleach and he’d not bother.

Colin lit another cigarette. Wondered how long Ferdie planned on staying. Need a cool head for the next day. Remembering, Colin felt his bowels loosen. He wasn’t cut out for all this. Doin’ his head in.

DI Mayne had spoken to Shap about the CCTV tapes that had been collected from the car park. There was only the one camera but it covered the entrance, which was where their interest lay.

Richard told Shap to study the tape between nine and eleven for Lesley Tulley’s car. ‘Fast search if you like but don’t miss a thing, see if she doubled back. ‘Course,’ he went on, ‘she could have got a cab in-between times and leave us none the wiser.’

‘Don’t,’ DCI Lewis had groaned, overhearing.

Shap had been scanning the film for half-an-hour, and his eyes were going. He needed a fag an’ all and it was past knocking off time. Rumour was The Lemon wasn’t granting much overtime to the enquiry and Shap didn’t do the job for the good of his soul. He saw a silver car, right sort of shape and paused the tape but it was the wrong registration, earlier model too.

Time to call it a day.

Janine had just lugged in the last two bags of shopping when Michael made his entrance. Staggering in with a silly grin on his face.

‘Michael?’

The grin dissolved and he looked pale then, clenched his mouth tight. ‘Feel ill.’ His speech was slurred. He giggled.

‘You’re drunk! What have you been drinking?’

‘Vodka – and cider.’

‘Upstairs,’ she pointed.

Tom jumped into the room and rolled across the floor. He peered up at his big brother. Frowned. ‘What’s wrong with Michael?’

‘Now!’ Janine told Michael.

He set off, his footsteps heavy and uneven.

Janine sighed. Praying he wouldn’t throw up all over the carpets, or his duvet. The washing threatened to overwhelm her as it was. What if he’s got alcoholic poisoning, needs his stomach pumping? Her heartbeat increased. Stop it! Bad enough without anticipating worse.

‘I’m starving,’ Eleanor wandered in. ‘Mum, did you get the present?’

Janine held up a box of hair decorations from the supermarket. ‘Thanks, Mum. Have we got any wrapping paper?’

It was never-ending. ‘Dining room drawer.’

When Ellie had gone she rang Richard. ‘Hi. Raincheck time. I’m sorry. We’re only just back and something’s come up with Michael – or is about to.’

She gazed at a row of pineapples on the work surface. Did she buy them? Why on earth did she buy them? Maybe her body was telling her something. Some mineral she needed found only in pineapples. Or maybe her mind was going. Pregnancy could do that -addle the intellect.

Richard told her not to worry and they’d try it some other time.

Half-an-hour later and she was doling out spaghetti and garlic bread.

‘I just want bread,’ Eleanor said.

Janine was tempted to quiz her but she was sick of debating food with her daughter. Food had somehow become an area for argument instead of something nice to share. She wouldn’t get drawn into it anymore. ‘Fine.’ She kept her tone light.

Sarah knocked on the back door.

‘S open.’

‘You not got your glad rags on yet?’

‘Not going?’

‘Why?’

Janine darted her eyes towards the two kids and said. ‘Tell you later.’

Sarah caught on: not in front of the children. ‘Right. See you then.’

‘What’s a beach whale?’ Tom asked. ‘Does it live on a beach?’

Janine felt her hackles rise, suspecting Pete of slagging her off to Tina.

‘Who’s been… Beached whale. It’s one that’s washed ashore and can’t get back in the sea.’

‘It’s on my story tape.’

Ah. God, she was knackered.

Eddie Vincent had had a cup-a-soup for his supper. Not that he was hungry; as he got older and closer to the end he ate less and less, but it made a change from drinking tea. It had been growing dark by the time he’d finished. He struggled to his feet and went to close the curtains. He had turned the telly on. Eddie liked the wildlife programmes best. And science. There’d been a great series on about the universe and the planets. He could have watched that all day long. Whatever was on was just finishing. The credits rolling.

Yesterday’s Evening News was in the kitchen but he hadn’t got the energy to go and fetch it. He sat down, his hands wrapped round his belly for comfort. The pain wasn’t too bad at present.

The titles came on for a documentary about the war, My War, Our War. He shuffled in his chair. Maybe he should turn it off? Save the upset. But he didn’t move. He watched with a growing sense of fascination and unease as men his own age and older talked of their experiences. Of homesickness and conditions at the front, of letters home, and shrapnel and friendship. Two spoke of killing. One, chap, a little wizened man from Wales, could only estimate how many men he’d killed in fierce fighting in North Africa. Another, a blind man with a rough Yorkshire accent, spoke about killing a German, a boy his own age, and of losing his faith. ‘I know it was a just war,’ he said, ‘we were fighting the Nazis, but it was hard to see any justice in that act.’

Eddie had closed his eyes and leant his head back against the chair. He’d never told anyone. No one to tell now. In those days you didn’t speak of it. It was too raw. It wasn’t dignified to spill the beans like that. Those that came home, it was like their secret. Not the stuff you told to sweethearts and kiddies. Not even your parents. He’d never even told Maisie. Best left unsaid. You got asked now and again. Young lads in particular. Did you kill anyone? What’s it like to kill someone? Heads full of heroes and comic books, the pictures at La Scala or the Empire, with Jimmy Stewart and John Mills being noble and decent to stirring theme tunes. You never told them. The youngsters. Shook your head. Never let on.

‘He went out like a light. Absolutely rat-arsed. He’s only fifteen,’ Janine finished telling Sarah as they sat lounging on the settees.

‘He’ll be fine.’

‘I worry – I’m his mother. Young lads and booze.’

‘They all do it. Probably won’t even have a hang over.’

Sarah cut some more cake for them each and settled back, shifting the cushion to get comfy. This dislodged a pile of Janine’s work, which slid off the couch and onto the floor. Gruesome photos of Matthew Tulley’s corpse uppermost.

‘Yeugh!’ Sarah scrabbled away from them.

‘Whoops!’

Eleanor, wrapping her present in the kitchen, heard the scream. ‘What?’ she shouted through the serving hatch, eager with excitement.

‘Nothing!’ Janine and Sarah spoke in unison.

‘Sorry,’ Janine mouthed and cleared up the folder, putting it in her briefcase. ‘Bedtime, Eleanor,’ she called out.

Sarah settled back and started playing with Janine ringtones, trying to find something tolerable. ‘So, the lovely Richard?’

‘Had to put him off.’ Janine shrugged. ‘I’d forgotten what it’s like. Someone enjoying your company.’

‘Ask him over for a drink. It’s not that late.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why not?’

Janine dismissed the idea. ‘How are you anyway?’

‘Not brilliant,’ Sarah gave a rueful smile. ‘It’s my mum’s birthday, today,’ she paused. ‘Was. Fifty-nine.’

Janine nodded. She knew how hard Sarah had found the last couple of years since her mum’s death. There had been countless evenings when Sarah had come round, just needing to be with someone. Janine moved over and gave her a hug.

Sarah sat back. Lifted Janine’s phone again, scrolling through the directory. ‘Ring him.’

‘No,’ Janine protested.

‘Why not?’ Sarah found Richard’s entry and pressed call.

‘I’m not going to ring him!’

Sarah gave a wicked’ Handed the phone to Janine saying, ‘You just have.’

Janine bared her teeth at Sarah but continued to hold the phone.

‘Boss?’ Richard answered.

Janine rolled her eyes and mouthed ‘Boss’ to Sarah. ‘I wondered, if you still fancied… wanted a drink, you could always come round here. Taxi home?’

‘Yeah, I’d like that,’ he said. ‘Bout half-an-hour?’

She ran round like mad trying to sort the house out a bit and make herself presentable. When she heard him ring the doorbell she opened the door with a smile on her face – only to find a uniformed policeman there.

Janine scowled. He held out his ID for her. ‘Mrs Lewis? PC Durham. Michael Lewis your son?’

Janine nodded.

‘Sorry, I tried earlier. Michael was involved in an incident at the Trafford Centre yesterday.’

‘I know.’

The officer was surprised. ‘He told you?’

‘He didn’t want to report it.’ She was puzzled. If he hadn’t reported it why were they here?

‘The other lad did. The victim.’

Ah – a cock-up. She shook her head. ‘Michael was mugged,’ she said clearly. ‘They were trying to get his mobile. Someone’s got their wires crossed.’

‘If I could have a word with Michael.’ As if she was inventing. this. Bloody, cheek.

‘No. It’s late and he’s asleep.’ And the worse for wear. ‘You go back and get your facts straight and then you can talk to him.’

PC Durham gave her an ingratiating smile. ‘Now, Mrs Lewis…’ he began in a patronising tone.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Lewis, actually,’ she said curtly. ‘Good night.’

Ferdie rang the mobile number that he’d been given while Colin watched. ‘Hiya,’ said Ferdie. ‘It’s about tomorrow – the delivery.’

‘Oh, right. Everything still okay?’

‘Cool. What time?’

‘Where are you?’

Ferdie gave him Colin’s address. ‘It’s under the fly over, a caravan.’

Colin glared at him.

‘Second one along once you reach the end of the lane.’

‘Yep. ‘Bout two?’

‘Right.’

‘And we’re still talking two grand?’

‘Yeah,’ said Ferdie. ‘Catch you then.’

‘Yep.’ He closed his phone. He felt edgy. Not surprising with all the grief the cops were giving him. Substantial bloody harassment, that’s what it was. Needed to chill out. Colin didn’t help, the duhbrain, acting like a condemned man all the time.

Richard looked breathless when he arrived. For a moment she was amused, wondered at his eagerness. Then she clocked it – something had happened.

‘What?’

‘Just heard. We’ve got the knife.’

She threw back her head and raised her fists in a gesture of triumph. ‘Yes!’

Richard opened the bottle of wine he’d brought and poured himself a large glass. Janine filled her orange juice up and they went through into the lounge.

‘I’ll see the bloke who found it first thing, rough sleeper on the booze.’ He gave a grimace – might be waste of time. ‘And forensics will get back to us soon as they can confirm whether it’s our weapon and see if we can link it to any of our suspects. If Mr Vincent picks Ferdie Gibson out of the line-up…’ he speculated.

‘Why would Ferdie wait till now?’ She thought hard, turned to Richard. ‘Try this: Lesley Tulley gets someone else to do the deed but the clothes are washed at her house and she gets rid of the weapon.’

‘Motive?’

‘The someone was a lover? In go-faster stripes?’

Richard laughed. ‘Can you see her sleeping with Ferdie Gibson?’

He had a point. Would any woman sleep with Ferdie? ‘She hired him then. A lump sum, he gets his revenge.’ They both considered this for a moment. Janine pulled a face. ‘Would you trust Ferdie with a mission like that? And why? Why would Lesley kill Matthew?’

‘The other woman?’ Richard suggested.

‘We’ll get there. It’s a good enough team.’

‘Butchers is not exactly a bundle of joy.’

‘Not tonight he isn’t,’ she recalled the bollocking she’d given him when she was at the supermarket. ‘And Shap’s all mouth and trousers. Butchers is feeling the pressure, trial separation. You know what it’s like, people outside the job can’t relate.’

‘And people inside are married to it. You and Pete, Wendy and I…’

Janine shrugged. ‘We had a fair run at it – sixteen years.’

‘And now?’

‘The words skin and teeth come to mind. I couldn’t give it up though. Couldn’t pay the mortgage for a start, but I love it. I’m good at it.’ Her mind roamed back over the case. ‘What if Dean Hendrix was the lover boy?’

‘Twenty-two? Bit young for Mrs Tulley?’

‘Doesn’t matter – does it?’

She was suddenly aware of Richard’s eyes on her, a sense of intimacy that she hadn’t been aware of before. She returned his gaze. He had nice eyes, bright, knowing.

Lesley watched as the flames took hold, the smoke blew towards her and made her eyes water. Oh, Matthew. Such a romantic. He had bombarded her with flowers and gifts in the two weeks after their very first meeting. She’d noticed him in the cafe bar, sitting alone, drinking coffee. She with two friends getting ready for a night on the town. He’d looked her way several times and not even bothered to glance away when she looked back.

He went to the bar and spoke to the waiter, handed over a credit card. She thought he was leaving but he returned to his seat. Billie Holliday singing soft, breathy blues in the background. Minutes later a bottle of champagne arrived at her table. A note: love at first sight – Matthew.

Her friends exploded with laughter. She blushed furiously, watched him raise his coffee cup in salutation. They popped the cork. Her friends called him over to join them. He pulled a chair up.

‘Do you do this often?’ Hilary joked.

‘Never,’ he said seriously.

‘Well, Matthew, meet Lesley.’

He shook hands. When he held hers she felt warmth; long, smooth fingers. He wouldn’t take his eyes off her. The drink made her giddy. He invited them all for a meal, his treat and no strings attached he said. Which they all found hilariously funny though Lesley didn’t know why.

‘We were going dancing,’ said Lesley.

‘Not till later,’ said Hilary.

‘That’s agreed then. Have you heard of The Glade?’

They were first year students, new to the city. When they looked blank he said it was the place to eat in Liverpool. The meal was exquisite, the prices outrageous. Matthew encouraged them to talk, kept ordering more wine. He said little about himself but told them something of the town. Lesley thought he was wonderful. Relaxed and attentive. An older man, nothing like the overgrown schoolboys she had lectures with. After coffee the others went to the Ladies; a fairly obvious ploy to leave her alone with him.

‘When can I see you again?’ he said.

‘You could come dancing,’ she replied.

‘Not really my scene. Tomorrow?’

She laughed.

‘Are you busy?’

She shook her head.

‘Tomorrow then. I’ll pick you up.’

She hesitated. Better to meet somewhere in town. Being cautious as a matter of course rather than anything else. ‘I’ll meet you at that bar again.’

He smiled, a beautiful smile, long curving lips, even white teeth. He was lovely. He reached across and took her hand in his. ‘Yes. Seven-thirty.’ He was looking at her mouth. She felt a ripple of excitement, a flutter between her legs and in her stomach, tingling in her breasts. The song had changed, Cry Me A River. Poignant and melodic. For a minute she thought about giving in. Leaving the girls and going with him. Now. Soon. But he might think her easy then.

She squeezed his hand. ‘Seven-thirty.’

He found out where she lived, anyway. Asked Hilary on the quiet so he could surprise her. Flowers arrived the next morning. A huge bouquet. She filled two vases and a wine carafe. A card: my love, Matthew. She felt dizzy and happy and restless. She couldn’t think about anything else. She thought she was falling in love.

‘Lesley! What are you doing?’ Emma, back from her flat, came out into the back garden where Lesley watched the bonfire.

Lesley coughed, the smoke was unpleasant, the burning plastic smelt toxic. She looked at the video cases, the curled and blackened cassettes twisting and melting.

‘Memories, Emma… I can’t bear it…’ Lesley broke down.

‘What are they? I don’t think you should be…’

‘Holidays. We were going again, Singapore, for Easter. And now…’

‘Oh, Lesley,’ Emma embraced her and coaxed her inside.

Jade turned round and the thing was chasing after her but when she tried to run her legs wouldn’t work. It was like they’d lost their bones. She tried harder and harder but she couldn’t move and it was just behind her… just… no!

Jade woke up. He legs were wrapped tightly in the sheet like an Egyptian Mummy. The sheet was wet. She shuddered. They’d gone to see the Mummies at the Manchester Museum for their topic. They were all tiny and looked like brown paper with bones sticking up.

She wriggled free and slid out of bed. She pulled the sheet and cover off and took them to the wash basket. She put some water in the basin then pulled off her night-dress and wiped the flannel over her belly and her legs to get the wee off. She rubbed herself dry. Back in her room she put on a t-shirt and knickers then got a sheet and blanket from the box in Mam’s room.

‘What is it, Jade?’ Mam sounded croaky like a frog.

‘I wet the bed and I had a scary dream, a nightmare.’

Mam groaned.

‘But I can change the bed.’

‘Kay.

She put the sheet on and tucked it in a bit and pulled the blanket over her. She didn’t feel sleepy. She said some Hail Marys, that sometimes made her sleepy but it didn’t work. Then she tried her eight times table.

‘So you’ve not met anyone – since…?’ Richard asked.

‘Give us a chance. Kids and work, work and kids. The job itself isn’t exactly a turn on.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said intently.

Janine wasn’t sure what he meant. He was attractive, no denying it, his mouth, his eyes, the way he made her laugh. But she was six months pregnant. She spoke to mask her bewilderment, blethering on. ‘That reaction you get at parties? Like you’ve just confessed to drowning kittens.’

Richard moved closer. ‘Remember Hendon?’

She giggled.

‘That night. I wish…’

She interrupted. Not wanting him to say anything he’d regret. ‘Richard, I…’

‘Mum?’ Eleanor came in and the two of them sprang apart. She pulled Eleanor onto her knee. ‘This is Richard, from work. You won’t remember him.’

‘What’s that manky smell?’ Eleanor frowned. ‘You’re wearing perfume,’ she accused her mother.

Janine smiled inanely.

Eleanor scrutinised her. ‘And eyeliner.’

‘Let’s get you back to bed.’

Richard got to his feet. ‘I’ll, erm – phone a…’ he nodded.

Five minutes later the taxi horn sounded outside. Janine saw him out. She felt ridiculous, she must have misread the situation. She smiled at him, feeling brittle, nodded goodnight.

Richard stepped away then turned back to her, put one hand on her shoulder, bent a little. A friendly peck on the cheek. His eyes warm and bright, lingered on her face. She smiled. He bowed a little, she tipped her head and he went. Leaving her feeling warm and fuzzy and completely confused.