Trust No One

Chapter 20

The last time she’d seen Jake, it had just been another midweek evening. He’d called her up late in the afternoon and suggested they meet for a few drinks, maybe a pizza afterwards. Perhaps go to one of the bars on the quays, as it had been a half-decent day for the time of year.

She’d had an exhausting day in the shop. Joe had been off delivering some completed work to one of their bigger clients, and she’d been left to deal with Darren by herself.

‘Yeah,’ she’d said to Jake, ‘a few drinks sounds good. A lot of drinks sounds even better.’

They met in an old-fashioned real-ale pub round the back of the Bridgewater Hall. The pub was one of Jake’s favourite haunts, on the nights when they fancied nothing more complicated than a few beers. It was a warren of cluttered rooms linked by narrow corridors, not much to write home about in itself, but with a real buzz to it even on a quiet midweek night. Later in the week, it would be heaving, drinkers squeezed together in a fug of alcohol and noise. Tonight it was relatively peaceful, just a few groups of office workers enjoying a beer at the end of the day and a gaggle of students trying to work out whether they could afford another round.

Jake was edgier than usual, she thought. Things had been more difficult for a few weeks, ever since he’d finally committed himself as an informant. She’d sensed the change almost immediately. She realized that he was trying to protect her, keep her at arm’s length from himself, from Kerridge and his business. If he was grassing on Kerridge, he didn’t want her to end up as collateral damage. If he only knew. But there was no way that she could tell him.

She could sense a growing unease in their relationship. There’d always been a tension – Marie had been conscious of her own caginess in talking about her past, her private life. But now there was a growing gulf. Two people who wanted to share everything, but couldn’t even be honest about who they really were.

She’d been thinking seriously about ending it. She didn’t want to. As time went by, she’d begun to feel that this relationship was more real, more important, than whatever she had with Liam. But it couldn’t work. Whatever happened next – with Jake, with Kerridge, with Boyle – it would blow things apart, one way or another. She wanted to get out before that happened. Before he discovered who she really was. Before he realized the extent of her betrayal.

That night, she’d begun to wonder whether it might be Jake who’d act first. He was tense, withdrawn, almost losing his temper over some trivial half-joke she’d made about the beer. Not the usual laidback Jake at all. She had the sense he was building up to something.

An hour and several drinks later, they’d got a cab back to the quays, and were enjoying a pizza and a bottle of wine in some chain Italian. Jake’s mood had lightened slightly, but he still seemed uncomfortable. Christ, Jake, she thought, whatever you’re going to say, just say it.

‘OK?’ he said instead, gesturing towards her pizza.

‘I’ve had worse.’ She picked up her glass. ‘Wine’s good, though.’

‘Hope you’re not thinking of driving home?’ Her flat wasn’t far away, but far enough not to be walkable.

‘That a proposition, Mr Morton?’

‘Suppose so. If you’re up for it.’

‘More a question of whether you are, I’d have thought. You’d better pace the drinking.’

He smiled, silent for a moment. ‘Been thinking,’ he said.

‘No good’ll come of it. I’d stop now.’ She was aware that her facetiousness masked an anxiety about what he might be about to say. She could think of some men who might invite her to bed as a preamble to dumping her, but she’d never put Jake in that category.

‘About the future,’ he said. ‘About us.’

She looked at him warily. ‘Go on.’

‘It’s just . . . well, I can’t really explain. Not yet. But there are things happening. With Kerridge. With the whole set-up. Don’t know where it’ll leave me exactly. But it might be a way out.’

‘Very cryptic,’ she said. ‘Kerridge about to go bust?’

‘I can’t tell you what’s going on. I want to. But not yet. But it’ll change things.’

‘And what does that mean for us, then? What are you saying?’

‘I don’t know exactly. But it might give us the chance to do something different. Have a new start. Together.’ He paused, swallowed. ‘Get married even.’

Jesus, had he just proposed to her? She sat in silence for a moment, wondering how to respond. He seemed, just in that moment, different from the man who’d been with her for the rest of the evening; he was suddenly childlike, enthusiastic, as if he’d glimpsed a future that really might offer something new.

What could she say? That she couldn’t be part of that future? That she wasn’t the person he thought she was? That she’d been lying to him all along?

That she already had a partner back home?

There was no answer she could give. Finally, when the moment had extended far too long, she said, ‘That’s great, Jake. We’ll talk about it. When things become clearer. That’s really great.’

It wasn’t enough. She could tell from his face that her words had sounded like a rejection. That he knew now that her view of this relationship was different from his. That, one way or another, it was already all over.

She didn’t even know whether that was what she wanted. Part of her wanted just to say yes. Wanted this to go on, for them to build some new future together. Why should that be so impossible?

Tomorrow, she’d thought. I’ll think about it tomorrow. I’ll think about what I want, and whether there’s any way we could make this work. I’ll think about what we can do.

They’d finished the bottle of wine, gone into one of the hotel bars for a last drink. They’d tried to talk, but the conversation suddenly felt stilted, as if both were conscious that the gulf was widening. Finally, too late, a little too drunk, they’d gone back to Jake’s flat, gone to bed. Made love, and it was OK, but it had changed nothing. At last, they’d both slept.

And sometime after midnight, Marie had found herself awake, staring into the darkness.

That was the last time she saw Jake.