I pause then say, ‘Do you think he’s got anything to do with that missing girl? You’ve seen the news. Did you see the picture of the car that the girl got into?’
She types into her phone and holds up the CCTV photograph that’s been on the television.
‘This one?’ She holds the picture closer to her face, then puts it face down on her lap.
‘It’s not Jason’s car, is it? He gave me a lift the other day,’ I say. ‘That’s a different car. But he was with that girl on Saturday. He brought her round here – can you believe that? She’s only seventeen. She told me she was nineteen.’
The colour seems to have run from Denise’s face, making her blue eyeliner look even more ridiculous against her pale skin, pale hair.
‘Have you seen Craig?’ she says. ‘Have the police been round looking for him?’
I shake my head. ‘No.’
She betrayed me, once; I’d be a fool to tell her the truth now.
‘I remember when it was Craig they were looking for,’ she says. ‘You came round to ours while they ransacked this place. Do you remember?’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s like it’s happening all over again.’ She shifts to the end of the chair. ‘They must be together, Erica. This has never happened with Jason… it’s only since…’
‘It’s never happened that you know of,’ I say, almost shouting. ‘From what I saw when he brought the girl around, they were quite familiar with each other. She must have been in that car before. It didn’t look like she was forced into it.’ I sigh. ‘Craig always hung around with Jason… even when those terrible things happened. Did you tell the police about the house on Inkerman Street?’
The colour returns to her face, there are patches of red in the middle of her cheeks.
‘No,’ she says. ‘No, I didn’t.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I know this might be too little too late, but you have to believe me when I say I’m sorry.’
‘You always said Craig was family to you. Why did you do it?’
She looks to the floor.
‘Everyone used to stop talking when I went out… I heard them speaking about Craig, but Jason’s name was mentioned, too. They started to ask, if Craig didn’t kill Jenna, then who did. I wanted to protect my son… to stop the rumours, that’s all. I’m sorry, Erica. I didn’t mean for them to print those things I said about Craig. He twisted my words. The police had been sniffing around Jason… everyone thought my son was the one who killed Jenna, after they couldn’t link it to Craig.’
I don’t know what to say to her. I had certainly heard Jason’s name pop up – the articles in the newspaper about Jenna could never legally mention my son in connection with Jenna. They must’ve realised that that was the truth, started looking elsewhere for the killer.
‘I overheard Jason and Craig the other day,’ I say to her. ‘Jason said, “We’ve all got our little secrets.”’
‘That could mean anything,’ she says. ‘You know what they’re like.’
‘Jason’s hiding something.’
‘What are you getting at?’ she says, angrily. ‘Are you trying to make me think that it was Jason? That it was my son all along who did… those awful things?’
‘I don’t know what to think, Denise. I was only making conversation.’
‘No you weren’t.’
I should throw her out of my house, but she’s going through the same thing that I was. Only her boy hasn’t already been inside for murder. What if it had been Jason? It would make more sense. At twenty, Craig was still so impressionable, gentle – in awe of his best friend, however foolish that was.
‘What’s the matter?’ she says.
‘Nothing,’ I say, rubbing my right side. ‘I’ve got that kidney pain again.’
‘You should make an appointment at the surgery. I remember how bad you were when you were expecting. You phoned me in the middle of the night, do you remember? You thought you were dying. You had a fever and thought you saw your mother at the end of your bed. That was when you were still in your single bedroom. It took you years to move into her old room, didn’t it? But that night, you were almost delirious. You said the strangest of things about your mother. Peritonitis, it was. They left you with antibiotics and not even any painkillers. It’s a wonder you didn’t go into labour sooner than you did. The stress of everything you’d been through.’
‘I can’t believe you remember,’ I say. ‘I had no one else to call.’
Denise looks at me that way again; I’ve had it often from her over the years: pity. Did it make Denise feel better in herself to have a friend less fortunate – did it make her feel like the lucky one?
‘Oh, Erica, love. How has it come to this?’
‘You know how.’
‘Yeah. I do.’ She sighs. ‘I always felt for you. On your own. I know you didn’t get on with your mother, but at least you weren’t alone when she was alive.’
‘She wasn’t that bad. And perhaps I deserve to be on my own after what I did.’
‘What do you mean? Are you talking about Craig’s father… because he was a married man?’
‘No,’ I say, and I can tell Denise doesn’t believe me. I’ve lied about it for so long I don’t even blush. I don’t want to linger on the subject of my son’s father. ‘How’s Caroline getting on?’
‘Good. She’s good. I still can’t believe she’s living so far away. I’ve five grandchildren now. Can you believe that? When did I become old enough to be a granny?’
I was going to say how I wish I could say that, but I don’t want to be that person.
‘You don’t look old enough to be a grandmother,’ I say, instead.
‘Do you want to see some pictures?’
‘Go on then.’
She slips on to her knees and walks on them towards me. I can’t believe she’s so agile. My knees started going in my forties; I might be able to walk on them, but I couldn’t get up without leaning on something and looking twice my age.
She flips open her mobile phone again.
Denise hands it over to me and four children’s smiling faces beam at the camera.
‘They look ever so sweet.’
‘They have their moments, I suppose. That’s Ellie,’ she says, pointing to the youngest – her blonde hair’s in need of a brush, but it’s clean, shiny. ‘She’s just turned two. The eldest is nine. I don’t know how Caroline does it.’
I pass the phone back to her and she clicks the homescreen to black.
‘Won’t Jim be wondering where you’ve got to?’ I say.
‘I don’t think he’ll notice.’ She gets up easily from the floor and sits back on the edge of the chair. ‘It’s like we live separate lives. I don’t think we’ve much in common these days. Don’t know if we ever did.’
‘But you love him, don’t you?’
‘I suppose. Whatever that means.’
She stands and reaches for her handbag and I follow her to the hall cupboard where she retrieves her coat.
‘I guess we’ve all done things we regret,’ she says. ‘And now they’re coming back to haunt us.’
‘What do you mean?’
Her back is to me as she puts on her jacket. She turns to face me.
‘Did you always believe Craig when he said he didn’t do it?’
‘Yes. I did.’
She pulls her jacket close around her without doing it up. She used to do that as a kid, a self-comforting habit.
‘What is it, Denise?’
‘You see… when you say that, it makes me feel terrible.’
‘Why? What would my words change?’
‘I mean as a mother. You’re meant to think the best of your kids, aren’t you? We’re meant to see past everything.’
‘Come on, spit it out. What are you trying to say?’