‘One reason. But I’d like you to tell me the whole truth.’
‘Why? So you can repeat it in court?’
‘Lisa, that’s not where this is going, and you know it.’
‘Yeah... well. OK, so I went and told Mr Lomax that I’d overheard Beth and Kayleigh talking in the bogs about how they’d set up Mr Miller because of what he did to Kyle, and how easy it was to fool everybody.’
‘But you hadn’t heard anything of the kind, had you?’
Lisa looked away, sideways at the wall, the one with the Doors poster. Winsome followed her gaze. That young Door was certainly mesmerising, she thought. ‘No,’ said Lisa. ‘I made it up about overhearing them.’
Winsome didn’t ask why; she had no reason to. Clearly Lisa had thought she could somehow mitigate her guilt at getting Miller involved in the Kyle McClusky business in the first place, and consequently losing him his job, by speaking up in Gavin Miller’s favour, even if it meant lying. But it had been too little, too late, and by then she had gone off the rails and had gained a reputation for unreliability in all things. ‘What made you think they’d invented the story in the first place?’ Winsome asked. ‘Couldn’t Gavin Miller have actually been guilty of sexual misconduct?’
‘No. I couldn’t believe that. I knew Mr Miller, and I didn’t think he’d do something like that. I know all men are bastards, but Mr Miller was... he was different, even then, when he was still teaching. Haunted. Deep. Sad. But not in a pathetic way.’
‘Were you in love with him?’
‘God, no! I mean, not in that way. Not at all. It never even entered my mind. I admired him, liked him, enjoyed his company, and I felt guilty for getting him into trouble. But love? No. He was just a sort of mentor, I suppose. He encouraged me to think for myself.’
‘OK,’ said Winsome, holding up her hands. ‘Just checking. Affairs of the heart aren’t my speciality.’
Lisa tilted her head and gave a small smile. ‘So I gather.’
‘What happened in April? What set you on the road to clarity?’
‘What almost sent me over the edge, you mean. Surely you know that, too?’
‘I have some thoughts, but I can only hope I’m wrong.’
Lisa rolled another cigarette. Her hands were shaking slightly. ‘Well, you’re not.’ She looked Winsome in the eye. ‘You’re probably thinking AIDS or pregnancy, right?’
‘Something along those lines, yes.’
‘Well, I found out I was pregnant.’
Only the hissing and crackling of the fire broke the silence of the next few seconds, which seemed to stretch out into even deeper unexplored terrain. Winsome didn’t quite know how to respond. In a way, it was none of her business, not relevant to the case. But in another way, she had insinuated herself into Lisa’s life beyond the mere facts, the truth and the lies, and she felt put on the spot. She could respond like a cop or respond like a friend, an older sister, whatever. Or she could not respond at all. Her choice.
Lisa broke the silence and the discomfort by asking Winsome if she wanted another cup of tea. She said yes gratefully and gazed back at the poster of the beautiful half-naked man while Lisa put the kettle on.
‘Mr Miller gave that poster to me. Beautiful, isn’t he?’
Winsome hadn’t noticed Lisa come back. She nodded. ‘Who is it?’
Lisa’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve never heard of Jim Morrison?’
‘That’s Jim Morrison?’
‘Lead singer from the Doors.’ Lisa put another log on the fire. ‘He died on the third of July, 1971.’
‘I know the name,’ said Winsome, ‘but I didn’t know what he looked like. I’m afraid I don’t pay much attention to those sorts of things. He died young, didn’t he?’
‘He was twenty-seven years old.’
‘Drugs?’
‘Heart failure.’
‘Caused by drugs?’
‘Probably. He was a notorious user and boozer. He’s buried in Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris. I’ve been there. To his grave. Most of us who were there weren’t even born when he died.’
‘You like his music?’
‘I like his words. His poetry. He was a tortured soul. A true poet.’
Neither spoke for a moment. Lisa just stared at the Doors poster in some sort of reverence, or so Winsome thought. She guessed that Jim Morrison was probably a bad boy, and not at all the kind of person her parents would have wanted her to meet. But sometimes... there was something in her that longed for such an adventure, throwing away all the maps and all the stop signs. Caution to the wind. The moment passed.
‘I had an abortion, of course,’ Lisa said. ‘I don’t suppose you approve of that, do you?’
‘I believe that a woman has the right to choose, but I think it should be a considered choice.’
‘Oh, it was. Remember what shape I was in at the time? I wouldn’t have made a good mother at all. Certainly not with my own mother as an example.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Winsome said. ‘You can’t.’
‘Maybe not,’ Lisa said slowly. ‘Call it a pretty good intuition, like the one about Beth and Kayleigh. But I wasn’t thinking about becoming a mother at the time. I just wanted rid of it. That’s what it was, an “it”, a cancerous growth inside me. I wanted it cut out.’
‘And after that?’
‘After that, it was the end of term, end of the year, end of my academic career. I failed, naturally. I left England, took all my savings and got the Eurostar to Paris. That’s when I visited Père Lachaise. After that, I wandered around Europe doing odd jobs, menial jobs, working as a waitress or an office cleaner. Drinking myself to sleep at night from cheap bottles of wine I’d sneaked into my cheap hostel beds. There were boys, friendships, even, but still no sex. I still couldn’t... I suppose it was a sort of healing process. I was just like, frozen, as far as all that went. At a certain point, I’d just seize up and that was it. There were times when life started to seem worthwhile again. Looking at great works of art in the Louvre, the Rijksmuseum or the Prado, or in tiny out-of-the-way churches in sleepy Italian villages. It didn’t convert me to religion or anything, but it did bolster my spirits. I felt sort of like the Frankenstein monster must have done when the electric current travelled through its being, as if all my different bits and pieces were someone else’s and were suddenly melding together into one, coming to life, becoming me. It was a slow process. A rebirth. I was away for more than two years. Drifting. Mostly in France and Spain. There was a boy, towards the end. Things went all right, for a while. And now.’ She held out her arms. ‘Tra-la! I’m back.’
‘Have you ever thought of getting a proper job?’
Lisa pulled a face. ‘Don’t push it.’
‘Why not? You’re clearly an intelligent woman. There must be lots of things you can do. You could even go back to college or uni and finish your degree.’
‘I might not have a lot of money, or a career path to follow, but I’m happy doing what I’m doing for the moment, being who I am. Believe me, it’s a rare experience in my life, so don’t knock it.’
‘I didn’t mean to. Am I preaching at you again?’
‘No, not really.’ She held her thumb and forefinger a short distance apart. ‘Well, maybe just a little bit. You just expect everyone to follow the same sort of tried-and-tested path you followed. I don’t mean to be insulting, but it’s not very exciting, is it?’
‘Being a detective? I don’t know. It has its moments.’
‘Yes. The Bull. That drop kick.’
‘It wasn’t a drop kick!’
‘OK. OK. Whatever.’ She blew on the top of her tea. ‘But you know what I mean.’
‘My options were limited, too,’ said Winsome. ‘But maybe not for the same reasons as yours. Dad was a cop, back in a little hill town above Montego Bay. He’s retired now. He was my hero. Lucky he lived that long. I don’t suppose I was very imaginative in my choice of a career, but I like it.’