‘I’ve told them to use our mobiles for now.’
They paused and listened. The phone sang out for another five rings, then stopped. ‘I’ll take it off the hook,’ he said.
‘I’ve tried that – it does that horrible siren noise after a bit.’
He looked at her, then went into the hall. He unplugged the base station and the telephone jack. ‘Sorted,’ he called out. ‘I’ve disconnected it.’
She didn’t answer. His neck prickled. He walked back through to the conservatory. She was sitting down on one of the rattan chairs, head in her hands, her shoulders moving as she wept.
‘Oh, Val.’ Tears started at the back of his eyes. He moved to her, moved to hold her, her crying raw and guttural and accompanied by a rocking motion. He held her and tried to soothe her, whispering in her hair. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, love. Oh, darling, I’m so sorry.’ Knowing that he couldn’t make it right, couldn’t kiss it better. That all he could do was be there and walk beside her. Even if they were making the journey in different ways, disagreeing about the direction, they must walk on because there was no other choice.
They clung to each other like that until she quietened and his feet had gone numb and his shoulder and top were damp with her tears.
He didn’t know what to say, how to move them back to the business of living, of dealing with the dead. In the end, he resorted to the basest practicalities. ‘Tea, something to eat?’
She shivered, looked at him. Grey eyes lucid and naked, red-rimmed. ‘There’s a shepherd’s pie, it’ll microwave.’
He squeezed her shoulders and clambered upright, the burn and bite of pins and needles sizzling in his legs.
She’d rallied by the time he’d got the food on the table, though he noticed she ate little as she updated him on the progress she’d made for the other arrangements. How she’d asked Jason’s friends to choose some music, but told them it would be nice to include the Bobby McFerrin song ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’. ‘Remember?’
‘Lovely,’ he said, but there was a lance in his heart.
That holiday. Driving down to Cornwall with a compilation tape that Andrew had made playing loud. All of them singing that song, rewinding it time and again for Jason, who was seven. In the wake of Val’s parents’ deaths, a horrible year, the mantra seemed tailor-made for them all. Jason had made a video on the camcorder to go with the music. Stop-motion Plasticine cat and mouse, meant to be dancing, swaying their heads to the laid-back beat, but getting the movements right had proved too difficult. The end result was hilarious, had Jason breathless and Andrew and Val in stitches.
Jason had got car-sick on the drive home. Andrew thought that navigating with the road atlas would entertain him, but before they’d reached the M5, Jason was pasty-faced and they had to stop. Val had blamed Andrew. ‘Everyone knows reading causes car sickness; what were you thinking?’ Then Jason had been sick in the car, once they were on the motorway. The reek of it was horrible and Jason was crying, and they had to wait to get to the services to try and clean him up a bit.
‘Andrew?’
‘Sorry?’ Had she said something? What had she said? He saw a flicker of displeasure.
‘The stuff for Colin’s there. I’ve emailed the text, but he wants the actual picture to scan for the cover.’
‘Right.’ Colin was doing the programme for the service. He ran a print and design company and had everything to hand. ‘I’ll take it over now.’
With nightfall and clear skies, the frost had come. Andrew scraped the ice off the car windscreen, shaving delicate white curls on to the ground.
His neighbour Robert came out of his house and paused when he saw Andrew; he half raised an arm in greeting, a muddled look on his face, then let his arm fall, nodded and strode off. Not knowing how to deal with me, Andrew realized. Embarrassed, uncomfortable.
He was almost at Colin’s when he heard his phone. He checked it once he’d parked. Missed call from LOUISE. He felt a tilt of surprise. She’d left voicemail. He pressed to retrieve the message, wondering if something had happened to Luke.
‘Hi, Andrew, it’s Louise Murray here. There was something I wanted to tell you. Ring me when you can. Bye.’
Andrew hesitated. He could ring now, but then he’d still have to go in and give Colin the file. If it was more bad news, then it might be better to call afterwards.
Colin insistedhe sit and have a coffee with him and Izzie. Their kids came through and each hugged Andrew, a simple act of fondness that threatened to unseat him.
‘How’s Val?’ Izzie asked.
Andrew shrugged and gave a rueful smile. ‘Keeping busy. I suppose after the funeral, that’s when it will really hit home.’
‘And the photofits?’ asked Colin. ‘Have they any leads?’
‘We’ve not heard. But someone must know who they are. The simple fact that there’s three of them going round together. People must know.’ But he was aware that there were cases where no one came forward. Where the wrongdoers were sheltered, protected, helped to get away with it. Could he have done that? If Jason had done something wrong, would Andrew have covered for him, told lies and hidden the truth? He couldn’t imagine it, not for something serious. Would he have seen Jason locked away?
He changed the subject, told Colin and Izzie which of the wider family were coming on the day.
Colin cleared his throat, messed with his coffee mug.
Now what? Andrew thought.
‘Mum and Dad, they’d like to do more,’ he said.
Andrew frowned.
‘They feel helpless. They’re devastated.’
‘Join the club,’ Andrew said.
Izzie blinked, taken aback.
‘Sorry,’ Andrew said. ‘It’s just… there isn’t… I can’t…’ Inarticulate, he rubbed at his head.
‘They were glad to have you there, they were worried about you leaving so soon. Mum feels like Val takes everything on herself. Perhaps too much,’ Colin said.
‘It’s just her way,’ he answered. ‘She needs to do this.’
‘But if there’s anything Mum-’ Colin persisted.
‘We’ll say, we’ll ask!’ He got up, indignant but trying not to let it show. Astonished that they were chiding Val and, by extension, him. Tired of family etiquette in the midst of their tragedy. ‘I really need to get back.’
Colin stood up too, and followed him out. Patted him on the back and made reassuring sounds. Big brother. Andrew’s annoyance melted. For a moment he wanted to be small again, to stay with Colin and be teased and bossed about and allowed a go on the Scalextric. Free of all that awaited him.
Colin watched from the doorway, so Andrew drove away and parked up a couple of hundred yards down the road to make the call. The wheelie bins were ranged along the pavement, ready for collection. The general refuse ones and the blue paper recycling bins. Cardboard boxes were piled high beside them outside the nearest house. Packaging from Christmas presents: Hot Wheels Garage and Table Top Football.
Andrew rang Louise Murray.
‘Have you heard from the police today?’ she asked him. She had a warm voice, slightly husky – that would be with the smoking. A strong local accent.
‘No.’
‘We’ve got a name – the oldest lad.’
‘What!’ He felt a shiver run through him, and his heart leap against his ribs.
‘Luke’s friend recognized him.’
He needed to see her, to hear it properly, find out more. ‘Where are you? Are you at the hospital?’
‘Just leaving to go home.’
‘Where’s that?’
She didn’t reply immediately, and he thought he’d freaked her out. ‘Sorry, if we could meet…’
‘There’s a student pub, just south of the junction of Mosley Road and Wilbraham.’
‘Yes, I’ll see you there. Won’t take me long.’
The pub had several rooms off a central bar. The floor was sticky underfoot, and garish banners for high-strength drinks caught the eye. The decor was a mix of Soviet retro-chic and Victorian gin palace.