Taheera. She’ll try not to forget it again. Taheera. It sounds good, smooth and pretty like a stone on the beach. Emma heads back into the building and Chloe follows. It’s too hot to walk, so they take the bus. A low single-decker carries them through streets of semi-detached houses and out on to a straighter road, before it dumps them opposite a dirty concrete building, with a Job Centre wedged in one corner.
When she heard she was coming to York on release, Chloe wasn’t bothered either way. All she wanted was to go where nobody knew her. People told her it was a beautiful city, the sort of place you’d go on holiday, but that didn’t help. The only holiday she remembers was a trip with her mum to Skegness, sitting on a donkey with a melted ice cream dripping down her arm, not daring to lick it in case letting go of the reins made the donkey gallop away.
‘There’s the Job Centre, Chloe,’ Taheera’s voice interrupts her thoughts. ‘You’ve got your appointment tomorrow, so you’ll know the way now, won’t you?’
Chloe’s not sure she’ll remember anything. She took no note of street names or how many corners they turned. She just watched the people, the colours and shapes of them, the sheer variety of people. It shouldn’t have been so sudden, her release, but her jail was closing and although the parole board asked the same questions they’d asked every year, this time she got them right. Now she’s out, with a room in a bail hostel and Taheera as her link worker. It could be worse, she thinks, and lets herself smile.
‘Good,’ Taheera nods briskly. ‘You’ll be fine. Right, let’s go sightseeing.’
As they wait to cross the road by the bus stop, Chloe watches a group of tourists, cameras slung round their necks, hunting for something to capture, but there’s not much to see on this street. Minicabs and buses go past, looking like minicabs and buses. To Chloe the world looks the same as it always has done, as if ten years were a day, or an hour. A woman lifts her camera and Chloe turns her face away.
‘Come on!’ Emma takes hold of her arm.
They cross the road and pass the Job Centre. Immediately the streets become narrower and prettier. She dodges a school party, pressing its way along the pavement, and steps into the road. There are fewer cars now and the buildings begin to push in on them. Taheera rushes ahead, cutting between the clumps of people. Chloe and Emma nearly lose her.
‘There!’
Taheera has rounded the end of a high wall. In front of them is an enormous old building. Chloe can’t take it in. She steps back to get a better view.
‘York Minster,’ Taheera says. ‘If you fancy it, we could go up the tower. You can see for miles.’
Chloe looks up. There’s a figure, standing on the very top of the tower, like a statue on the battlements. He raises an arm and waves. She blinks hard and he’s gone.
‘Are there people up there?’ Chloe says.
‘I should think so,’ Taheera says. ‘There’s a tour every half hour. Shall we?’
‘I’ll give it a go,’ Emma shrugs, laughing, as if she’s not sure she’ll make it. ‘I’ll try anything once.’
Chloe shakes her head, rooted to the spot, trying to understand what she’s seen.
‘You coming?’ Emma says.
The other two women are walking across the open space that surrounds the building. Taheera looks back, inviting, shaking out her straight black hair. Chloe looks up and sees someone falling from the tower, long hair streaming out behind. It can’t be. She looks again and there’s nothing. Taheera and Emma are walking away from her. She can’t stay here alone, so she forces herself to step forward, longing for the claustrophobia of the shopping street.
As they get closer to the building, Chloe thinks she might be sick, but she doesn’t tell them that. They climb a wide flight of steps.
‘I’ll sit here, by the wall of the church,’ she says, pressing her back into the warm stone and sliding down until she’s cross-legged.
‘They call it a minster, actually,’ Emma says. ‘Are you not coming in?’
Taheera glances at her watch and looks out across the open space as if she’s expecting someone. A young man is working his way round a tour group towards them. He’s taller and slimmer than the man who was shouting outside Meredith House last night.
He stops a few feet away and flicks a glance to Emma and Chloe, as if he’s waiting for an introduction.
‘Hey! You made it,’ Taheera tucks a long strand of hair behind her ear. It makes her look instantly younger.
‘Yes, I made it,’ the young man says.
‘Hiya! I’m Emma, pleased to meet you.’
Emma holds out her hand to shake his and Chloe thinks she sounds a bit forward, a bit desperate. Taheera doesn’t introduce him, just suggests they go inside. That suits Chloe, the fewer people she has to talk to the better.
‘I’ll stay here,’ she says, ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache.’
‘Are you sure?’ Taheera looks concerned.
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You’ll stay right here, on the steps?’ Taheera says. ‘I don’t want you wandering around getting lost.’
‘I won’t budge. Promise.’
Chloe watches them go in, Emma leading the way. As the young man passes, Chloe catches a glimpse below the hem of his jeans. He’s wearing an electronic tag round his ankle. His hand reaches for Taheera’s and together they disappear inside the Minster.
CHAPTER THREE
Doncaster
After a run of night shifts, Sean slept until mid-afternoon. He’d got two nights off and was hoping to get into town before the estate agents’ shop closed. He pulled the little square of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. Fabulous studio apartment to let in sought-after square, a few minutes’ walk from Doncaster centre. He dialled the number. Getting a place of his own had been on his mind for a while, but it had to be the right place, at the right time. When he had everything sorted, he would tell his nan. A woman answered the phone and invited him to come in right now, if he was in the area. She’d be happy to take his details and set up some viewings, including the flat he’d got his eye on, and there were others that might appeal. He thanked her and said he’d be there shortly.
The afternoon was beginning to cool as he rode his moped up the hill through the Chasebridge estate. He usually tried to avoid this route, but today he stopped near the top of the slope, beside the playground. It looked as if someone had lit a bonfire at the foot of the slide. A patch of asphalt had sunk into a hollow, its edges curled up, like burnt bacon. There was something about the girl in Maureen’s newspaper that was pulling him back to where he’d sat on the swing, a witness to something he didn’t understand at the time. He never told his dad what he’d seen that day. Jack Denton’s moods had taught Sean to be wary of starting conversations for fear of them spiralling into arguments. Not long afterwards, one final row has driven him out of his father’s home for good, down the hill to the quieter streets of The Groves and his nan’s house. Gradually the story of the murder had faded from his consciousness.
He switched the engine into neutral and rested his foot on the kerb, trying to recall what he’d seen. While he was staring into the middle distance, he spotted an old man, shuffling along the pavement towards the entrance to Eagle Mount One, a white plastic bag dangling from one hand. It knocked against the side of the man’s leg as he limped slowly along the pavement. Sean put the moped into gear and followed the road around the top of the playground. He watched the man put the bag down and fumble in his pocket for something, his free hand clenched awkwardly as he steadied his balance. Sean gripped the brake and came to a standstill.
‘All right, Dad.’
Sean was struck by the fact that his father had shrunk since he last saw him. Folds of dry, bristled skin met round his mouth and his skin had a yellow tinge. A slow smile revealed more gaps than teeth. Jack Denton wasn’t even sixty, and Sean had mistaken him for an old pensioner.