Stone Cold Red Hot

Chapter eight

The weekend was a blur of domesticity. Saturday afternoon I took the kids to Castlefield. The Museum of Science and Industry were hosting a dinosaur exhibition. Tom was beside himself with excitement. Maddie kept trying to act cool about it, “dinosaurs are for babies, Mum,” but when we entered the Jurrasic environment her face said it all. The place was done out like a swamp complete with soundtrack of blood-curdling roars. The animatronic dinosaurs had both Tom and Maddie enthralled. And when one particularly nasty one actually spit at Tom I thought he’d wet himself with glee. After a trip to the shop we visited our old favourites; the steam hall with its massive engines complete with life-size T. Rex this time and the interactive section upstairs where the kids played with magnets and mirrors and shadows and sounds. By then I was too tired to take them to the Air and Space building, Appollo and the Daleks would have to wait for another day.

I had done a little bit of work that morning. I watched the video – it was blurry at times and the light wasn’t brilliant but it was adequate in terms of seeing what was actually going on. The sound was muffled, I might need to tell people what the youths had been shouting, but even without the words the pictures said it all. Reviewing the behaviour of the gang made me tense with anger again. The cruelty of their taunts and the ugliness of their behaviour revolted me. I tried to work out how they must feel about themselves to be so ready to attack others?

I dispatched a courier with the videotape for Mandy Bellows. I included a note asking her to let me know as soon as possible whether the tape was all they needed. I could then return the camcorder.

I also checked the e-mail for answers from potential Jennifer Pickerings; everyone I’d contacted had replied and none of them was the right person. The woman in Scarborough even referred to the fact that she’d been contacted before, by a member of the family. Roger, I presumed. Of course he’d have checked for her online – it was his field of work but I consoled myself that at least I was being thorough.

On the Saturday night it was dry enough to have a bonfire and burn the debris from the garden along with some scraps of wood from the cellar that Ray had no use for. There was also an old wooden cupboard, riddled with woodworm, that had been rotting in the shed. The kids took great delight in helping to break it up.

There’s an old paved area at the bottom of the garden, in one corner. I’m not sure why it was laid there as it’s no suntrap but it works fine for the children to ride bikes on and it’s ideal for bonfires. I used a couple of rows of broken flagstones to form a small circular fireplace and then I built a pyramid of scrunched up paper, kindling and sticks. I lit the fire. It was smoky at first until it burnt off the moisture then the twigs crackled and hissed and I gradually added larger pieces of wood.

I called Ray and Laura and they brought out the food; baked potatoes with cheese and tomato sauce and sticks of carrot and celery to crunch on. Maddie and Tom drank dandelion and burdock, the rest of us had some bottled beer that Laura had contributed.

“When’s bonfire night?” asked Maddie.

“A while yet,” I said.

“How many weeks?”

“Can we have fireworks,” said Tom, “very, very loud ones?”

“I hate loud ones. We should just have sparklers. Is it next week?”

“No, about six weeks.”

“That’s ages,” she complained.

“Look in the fire,” I said, “what shapes can you see?”

The chunks of wood were burning slowly, revealing their intricate grid design, charring into little squares, echoing the structure of bark. The patterns always reminded me of the fine network of lines on our skin, too.

“A witches face,” said Maddie, and a little house. There,” she pointed.

“I can see a dog being sick,” Tom boasted.

“You’re sick,” said Maddie.

“And a willy,” he found this absolutely hilarious and nearly choked on his dandelion and burdock.

We let the children carefully add wood to the fire, warning them not to throw anything on which could knock it all down and put out the flames.

Laura and Ray sat close and every so often Tom would launch himself onto Ray’s knee and wriggle off after he’d got a bit of attention.

“We used to have huge bonfires at home,” said Laura to Tom, “so big the men had to climb up ladders to put the guy on top.”

“Where was it?” I asked. I knew she’d been raised in the country and she still had a soft burr to her voice not common in Manchester.

“Lincolnshire,” she said, “middle of nowhere.”

“They’re all inbred like mad,” Ray joshed.

She punched him on the arm.

“Did you live on a farm?”

“No, my Dad worked on a farm nearby but we didn’t live there, we had a house in the village.”

“Did you have to go to school?” asked Maddie.

“Yes, and do you know how many children there were in my school?”

“How many?” Maddie’s eyes danced.

“How many?” echoed Tom.

“Twelve.”

“Twelve!” I couldn’t imagine it.

Laura shivered.

“You cold?” Ray asked her.

“A bit.”

Not surprising. We were all togged up in woolly jumpers or fleeces and Laura had a short sleeved top on.

“I’ll get you a coat.”

“I’ll be alright.”

“Don’t be daft,” he stood up, “you’ll freeze.” He came back with a woollen jacket which she wrapped round herself. It dwarfed her. She was only small, slim too. Fine featured with long blonde hair, grey eyes, a brown birthmark the size of a cherry on one cheek. Ray had met her at college, she was an assistant to their administrator.

“Tom,” Ray warned his son who stood poised to chuck a large block of wood into the fire. “That’s too big, find a stick.” I could see the flames reflected in Tom’s dark eyes, slivers of light shining on his glossy curls. He grinned and dropped the wood.

Maddie sidled onto my knee and we sat quietly for a while. Maybe it would be possible for Laura to move in with us, it would be better than Ray and Tom moving out. I’d have to get used to sharing my home with a couple, get used to their intimacy. But would she want to live like this? With Maddie and me as well as Ray and Tom, and Sheila, our lodger, to boot? Was there space? I was assuming that she’d move into Ray’s bedroom but in her shoes I’d want a room of my own; she had a flat to herself after all. Giving that up. We couldn’t ask Sheila to leave, we had an agreement. We’d have to move the kids playroom, maybe put it in the cellar – or bring their beds down, put them in the playroom. But then they’d be sleeping on a different floor, I didn’t like that idea…

“Mummy,” Maddie shouted, “can I have a drink or what!” She’d been repeating it and I was miles away – worrying.

I tried to explain myself to Diane when we met up for a drink the following evening. “I’m uncomfortable with them. Even with Ray, he’s changed. I’m not jealous, you know I’ve never really fancied Ray. It’s more a feeling of being pushed out. Perhaps it’s envy? And then I keep thinking how awful it’ll be if they move out.”

“Why?”

“It’s worked so well, especially looking after the children. Tom and Maddie are close, we’re all close. I’d miss Tom dreadfully. We’re like a family, it’s like a divorce waiting to happen.”

“Have you asked Ray?”

“Asked him what?”

“If they’re making plans?”

“You sound just like his mother,” I scoffed.

“Well, have you?” she persisted.

“Diane, I can hardly talk to him about anything at the moment, he’s gone all vague and absent-minded.”

“It must be lurve,” she joked and rolled her eyes.

“It’s irritating whatever it is.”

“You should ask him. Tell him what your worries are. All you need to say is that you’d like him to let you know if he’s considering any big changes. After all it does affect you and Maddie, like you say.” She rattled the ice cubes in her glass.

“Yes.” Reluctant. Why? Because I didn’t want Ray to see how vulnerable I could be? Because I didn’t want to make a fool of myself? Because he might confirm my fears?

“Is Laura around a lot?”

“Yeah, more than before or he goes to her flat. She’s nice – well, she’s alright, I’ve nothing against the woman.”

Diane chortled.

“What?”

“You should hear yourself. Talk about back-handed compliments.”

“Well, it’s not her, she’s not the problem. It’s the situation. Whoever Ray was seeing it would feel the same, if it was this intense. I can get on with her OK…”

Diane gave me a look.

“I can! OK we’re not big buddies but I never see her without Ray so there’s no chance to get to know her properly.” I drained my glass. I wanted another.

“Do that then, arrange to see just her.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that. She’d think I was weird. And Ray would hate it.”

“Why’s it so weird?”

“Well, it’s their relationship, Laura’s there to be with Ray not get to know the housemates.”

“But if she’s thinking of moving in…”

“OK. Yes, if she was moving in I’d want to get to know her, not just as Ray’s girlfriend – but she may not be.” I finished lamely.

“So, talk to him. I’ve been here before. Deja vu.”

“Get us a drink.”

She was looking all exasperated.

I raised my eyebrows. “Please.”

When she returned I switched topics. Told her about my latest cases. I know she won’t blab about it to anyone. She was suitably appalled at the account I gave her of the attacks on the Ibrahim family.

“How quickly can the council act, then?”

“I don’t know. It’ll be up to their solicitors to decide if the evidence is strong enough. Then they’ll either get injunctions outlining how the behaviour of the parties has to change – not approaching the Ibrahim’s house or family, that sort of thing – or they’ll go for terminating the tenancy and they’ll repossess the properties.”

“That would be best, wouldn’t it? Doesn’t sound as though they’d pay any attention to an injunction.”

“Yes. They might even move the Ibrahims in the meantime. It’s horrendous what they’re having to put up with.” I had a drink, enjoying the taste of the beer. “The other thing I’m on is a missing person. Well, sort of. She left for university in 1976 and hasn’t been seen since.”

“What, not by anybody?”

“No. But nobody’s been looking, either. She was pregnant so it’s possible that she just went off and had her baby and created a new life for herself or had it adopted or had an abortion. Take your pick.”

“How do you find someone after all that time?”

“Slowly,” I smiled. “It’s not easy but I’m hoping the university will have a reference for where she went and failing that I’ll try the General Records Office for births and marriages.”

“So who’s your client?”

“Her brother, he’s a lot younger, there were just the two of them. Father’s dead now and their mother’s dying of cancer. I think he wants to give them a chance to make amends. I suppose also if he doesn’t find her he’s really on his own, no family anymore. But the mother has no interest in finding her daughter. Snapped his head off when he suggested it.”

“Ah.”

“So, if I do find her I think there’s going to have to be a lot of delicate negotiations before there’s any deathbed reunion or anything like that. Do you remember that really hot summer? Seventy-six. The drought. That’s when she left home.”

“Yes, I was in Yorkshire, we had stand-pipes in the street. Doesn’t half make you careful with it – luggin’ it about.”

“My Dad drained the bathwater down a pipe hung out the window to use on his vegetables. Everyone else had given up. The ground was rock hard. Long time ago.” I took a drink. “So, I’m busy, busy enough. And you?”

“More of the same.” Diane was working on a collection of textile pieces for a Bank and continuing to create her own prints as well. Her hands were stained a light blue and there were traces of crimson under a couple of her nails. Inky hands were always a good sign with Diane. Proof of production. She was most ratty when she hadn’t had chance to muck about with paint as she put it.

“And how is the darling Desmond?” Her new man. Success in the lonely hearts columns.

“Fine,” she said. “He’s really nice. Very sweet.”

“I hear a but, in there somewhere.”

She looked despondent, tugged at her hair, a rather nasty silver blonde this month with a single extension that came dangerously close to dipping in her drink.

“But…” I prompted.

“It’s not him. It’s…”

“What?” Silence. Oh, hell, must be something awful. “You’re not pregnant?” Diane’s worst nightmare.

“No, it’s not that. You know how careful I am. Promise you won’t preach…”

“Preach?” What on earth was she on about it. She wasn’t usually this coy. “Just tell me.”

“I had a phone call. From Ben.”

“Oh, no,” I groaned.

“Sal,” she said crossly.

“Well, it’s just that he made you so unhappy.” I fiddled with my beer glass.

“Not on purpose,” she retorted.

“Why did he ring?”

“Talk,” she said in a small voice. “He’s engaged.”

“Oh, great. So he wanted to tell you all about it, did he?”

“Sal, don’t.”

“Sorry.” I bit my tongue.

“He’s met someone through work, she’s based in Brussels. He said…he’s been thinking about me a lot.”

I resisted the temptation to raise my eyes to heaven and groan.

“He wanted to meet up, see me again.”

What was wrong with the guy? Cold feet?

“What did you say?”

She sighed. “I said I could do tomorrow.”

“You’re going to see him?” I was aghast. Ben and Diane had been happy briefly before their relationship got bogged down by different expectations. Ben wanted commitment, more specifically he wanted children. Diane didn’t, never had and wasn’t going to change her mind. For Ben that sounded the death knell to the liaison. After the break-up Diane was very upset, she missed him terribly, she pined. Time had helped, other men had come and gone. She mentioned him less and less. I assumed she was over him. Wrong.

“Why?” I asked her.

“Because, I still feel…” she hesitated, “…I still love him,” she said simply, “just hearing his voice was…I know it’s pathetic but no one else has ever made me feel like he does.”

“He made you feel bloody awful for months on end.”

“I know,” she glared at me.

“Why does he want to see you? Did he say?”

“Not really. He’s on the brink of a big step, I think he wants to make sure he’s made the right decision.”

It sounded awful to me, checking over an ex-girlfriend just to make sure that your fiancee is a better bet. But I kept mum. There was an awkward pause in the conversation. I searched for something constructive to say.

“Is he coming up to Manchester?”

“No,” she said, “I told him I’d rather meet on neutral ground. He’s booked a hotel in London. I might get a chance to see some of the galleries. Haven’t been to the Tate for years.”

“Does his fiancee know?”

“Single rooms, Sal. What do you think I am?”

A chump, seeing as you’re asking. And you didn’t answer my question. After a night on the town, a nice meal, fine wine, some heartfelt talk, I couldn’t see separate rooms being an obstacle. Diane had just told me how much she still cared for the man. Of course she’d want to sleep with him.

“I knew you’d do this,” she said.

“What?”

“Go all moral on me.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt again, that’s all.”

“I’m a big girl,” she said.

I began to smile. “So I can see.” I nodded at Diane’s statuesque figure.

She laughed. A truce. I didn’t dare ask whether Desmond knew about Ben or the coming reunion. I knew I’d hear all about it in good time.