Gone

44

At eight o’clock Janice put Emily to bed in the new pyjamas she’d bought at Marks & Spencer. Her hair was still slightly damp from the bath and smelt of strawberry shampoo. She was clutching Jasper.

‘Where’s Dad?’

‘He’s working, poppet. He won’t be long.’

‘He’s always working.’

‘Hey, not that again. Come on, hop up here.’ Emily got into the double bed and Janice tucked her in, bent over to kiss her. ‘You’re such a good girl. I love you so, so, much. I’ll be back later, give you another hug.’

Emily curled up, Jasper tucked under her chin, thumb in her mouth, and closed her eyes. Janice stroked her hair gently, a halfsmile on her face. Her head was light with bubbles and she felt a little drunk. Now that the jacker had a name and a face, she was less scared of him. As if his name, Richard Moon, had diminished him.

When Emily’s breathing had changed to the regular, soft rhythm of sleep, Janice got up and tiptoed out, closing the door carefully. She found Prody standing in the hallway in the halflight, his arms folded.

‘In Mum’s bed? What’s the single one for?’

‘Her dad.’

‘Well, call me out of order, but I’d say he deserves it.’ He was standing with his back to the wall. He’d taken his jacket off and she noticed for the first time how tall he was. Much taller than she was. And broad. Not fat, just wide in the places a man should be. He looked as if he worked out. Suddenly she put a hand to her mouth as if she might hiccup or giggle. ‘I’ve got a confession to make. I’m a bit drunk.’

‘Me too. A bit.’

‘No!’ She smiled. ‘That’s terrible! So irresponsible! How on earth are you going to get home?’

‘Who knows? I used to be a traffic cop so I know the danger spots – could get home if I really wanted to. But I expect I’ll do the right thing – sleep it off in the car. It won’t be the first time.’

‘That sofa in the living room is a pull-out and I got some bed linen this morning in John Lewis.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Beg your pardon?’

‘In the living room. Nothing incriminating about that, is there?’

‘Can’t say I’m mad about the back seat of the Peugeot.’

‘Well, then?’

He was about to answer when the doorbell rang. She sprang away from him as if they’d been kissing and went into the bathroom. She looked out of the window. ‘Cory.’

Prody straightened his tie. ‘I’ll let him in.’ He went down the stairs, plucking his jacket from the hook and pulling it on. Janice slung the empty prosecco bottle into the bin, put the glasses into the sink and cantered down the stairs after him. Prody took one last second to straighten his jacket, then put the chain on and opened the door.

Cory was standing on the step, his coat buttoned up and a scarf round his neck. When he saw Prody he stepped back and peered at the number above the door. ‘I’ve got the right place, haven’t I? They all look the same.’

‘Cory.’ Janice stood on tiptoe and spoke over Prody’s shoulder. ‘This is Paul. He’s with MCIU. Come in. Mum, Emily and I’ve eaten but I’ve kept some salmon for you.’

He came into the little hallway and began to take off his coat. He smelt of rain and cold and car exhaust. When he’d hung up the clothes, he turned, held out his hand to Prody. ‘Cory Costello.’

‘Good to meet you.’ They shook. ‘DC Prody, but you can call me Paul.’

Cory’s smile faded. His hand was still in Prody’s but he stopped moving it. His body got a little tighter across the shoulders. ‘Prody? That’s an unusual name.’

‘Is it? I don’t know. I’ve never done a family search.’

Cory regarded him coldly, his face an odd, ashen colour. ‘Are you married, Paul?’

‘Married?’

‘That’s what I said. Are you married?’

‘No. Not really. I mean . . .’ he glanced at Janice ‘. . . I was married. But that was then. I’m separated, almost divorced now. You know how it is.’

Cory turned stiffly to his wife. ‘Where’s Emily?’

‘Asleep. In the bedroom.’

‘Your mum?’

‘In her room. Reading, I think.’

‘I’d like a word, please.’

‘OK,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Come upstairs.’

Cory pushed roughly past them and went up the stairs. Janice gave Prody a look – I’m sorry. I don’t know what this is about but, please, don’t go – then hurried after her husband. In the flat he was walking down the corridor, pushing at doors, looking into rooms. He stopped when he found the kitchen with the two glasses in the sink and the plate of salmon covered with clingfilm.

‘What, Cory? What is it?’

‘How long has he been here?’ he hissed. ‘Did you let him in?’

‘Of course I did. He’s been here, I don’t know, a couple of hours maybe.’

‘Do you know who he is?’ Cory slammed his laptop bag on to the worktop. ‘Well? Do you?’

‘No.’

‘That’s Clare’s husband.’

Janice’s mouth fell open. For a moment she wanted to laugh. At the sheer ridiculousness of the whole thing. ‘What?’ she said, her voice a little shrill. ‘Clare? From the group? The one you’re fucking, you mean?’

‘Don’t be stupid. Keep your mouth clean.’

‘Well, Cory, how else would you know he’s her husband? What? Has she shown you a picture? That’s cosy.’

‘The name, Janice.’ He sounded pitying. As if he felt sorry for her, having such a low mind. ‘Not many Paul Prodys around. Clare’s husband’s a cop too.’ He jabbed a finger at the hallway. ‘That’s him. And he’s a bastard, Janice. A full-blown, cardcarrying blot on the face of humanity. The things he did to his kids – to his wife!’

‘Oh, Christ, Cory – you believe her? Why? Don’t you know what women are like?’

‘What? What are women like?’

‘They’re liars, Cory. Women lie. We lie and we cheat and we flirt, and we play hurt and wounded and betrayed and wronged. We are good actresses. We are brilliant at it. And this year’s Oscar goes to the whole of womanhood.’

‘You include yourself in that?’

‘Yes! I mean, no – I mean . . . sometimes. Sometimes I lie. We all do.’

‘That explains it, then.’

‘Explains what?’

‘Explains what you were really saying when you said you’d love me more than anything. That forsaking all others you’d love me. You were lying.’

‘I’m not the one who cheated.’

‘You never went out and shagged anyone but you might as well have done.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘About the way the whole world stops when it comes to her. Doesn’t it, Janice? When it comes to her I might as well not exist.’

Janice stared at him, incredulous. ‘Are you talking about Emily? Are you actually talking about your daughter like that?’

‘Who else? Ever since she came along I’ve been second best. Deny it, Janice. Deny it.’

She shook her head. ‘Do you know what, Cory? The only thing I feel for you right now is sorry. I feel sorry for you that, gone forty – and looking every day of it, by the way – you’re still condemned to live in such a narrow, sad little place. It must be hell.’

‘I don’t want him here.’

‘Well, I do.’

Cory looked at the two glasses in the sink. ‘You’ve been drinking with him. What else have you done? Fucked him?’

‘Oh, shut up.’

‘He’s not staying the night.’

‘I’ve got news for you, Cory. He is staying the night. He’s going to sleep on the pull-out bed in the living room. The carjacker is still out there somewhere and – newsflash, Cory – I don’t feel safe with you. In fact, if I’m honest, I’d just as soon you pissed off to Clare’s, or wherever it is you go, and left us to it.’