She waited for him to come behind her and touch her, but he sat, quite still, watching. She felt breathless, light-headed. Let’s stay here, she was tempted to say. Let’s not bother to go out. I’m making all this effort for you. But the same shyness prevented her and anyway she thought she would enjoy the anticipation, being in the same room as him surrounded by people, aware of his eyes on her, knowing that soon they would come back here.
She caught his eye in the mirror and smiled.
“Well?” she asked. “Will I do?”
“You’re fishing for compliments.” Now he did stand behind her. He reached out and stroked her neck. She caught her breath, but didn’t give herself away.
“No, really. I’ve never been sure I’m doing it right and I’m out of practice.”
“You look lovely,” he said. “Really.”
“It’s warpaint, of course. I’m quite nervous about facing people. I need something to hide behind.”
“Hide behind me,” he said. She caught his eye again and they laughed together at the soppiness. She felt herself relax.
By the time they arrived at the Anchor all the regulars were there. James opened the door to let Emma in first. She paused when inside to see if there was anyone she recognized. A group of kids had gathered around the pool table. She thought she’d seen them waiting for the school bus. Certainly they didn’t seem old enough to be drinking, but in these country towns what else was there for kids to do? Of course she’d never had the option of the pub. She remembered long, boring evenings at Springhead. Until she’d gone away to college her only entertainment had been the church youth club under the watchful eye of her father.
Their entrance had been noticed. Some of the life boatmen were playing darts and they stopped for a moment to nod towards James. Veronica behind the bar smiled at Emma, trying to hide her surprise. Veronica was familiar to them both. She came to church, not as a regular worshipper but on special occasions, Easter Sunday, midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. She always donated a couple of bottles for the summer fay re Her son had been to school with Christopher. They’d been in the same class. Emma struggled now to remember his name.
“How’s Ray?” It had come to her suddenly.
“He’s fine.”
“What’s he doing these days?” Emma wondered how she was performing. She wasn’t used to this sort of conversation any more.
“He’s joined the fire brigade. Leeds. Of course he was never as clever as your Christopher, but we’re very proud of him.” She paused. “I’m so sorry about what happened, love. We all are.”
“I know,” Emma said. “I know.”
“Have the police got anyone for it yet?” Barry had appeared suddenly from the back. He stood with his hands flat on the bar and he stared at Emma. The question shot out, without politeness or preamble.
“They haven’t said.”
“It’s a disgrace,” Barry said and Emma couldn’t tell whether he considered the murder a disgrace, or the police’s inability to find a suspect, or the lack of communication.
One of the darts players who’d come to the bar for another round muttered his agreement.
“Have these on me,” James said. “In memory, you know, of Chris.”
Half an hour later and there was as much noise as Emma could have wished. The kids had put something on the jukebox and in the other bar they were watching football on the wide screen and occasionally the cheers and groans were loud enough to swamp the music.
She sat by the window chatting to one of the life boatmen girlfriends. Someone else who’d been to school with her. She heard the woman talking about a new bloke, a whirlwind romance, a proposal, but all the time she was aware of James, standing at the bar, looking at her. What does he want from me? she thought. What does he want to say?
Then the door opened and Michael Long walked in. He let the door swing to behind him, but there was so much noise that no one took much notice. He walked with a swagger to the bar. Emma couldn’t hear the conversation, but guessed James was offering to buy the man a drink. She thought he had already been drinking. He looked dishevelled and unsteady.
“You’ve got a nerve.”
She could just make out the words and sensed the hostility; it was palpable, like a smell. She watched, horrified. The chatter beside her continued. James obviously hadn’t heard and must have asked Michael to repeat himself.
Michael opened his mouth wide and roared, so everyone could hear him, even above the racket. “I said, you’ve got a bloody nerve.”
The conversation faded. On the jukebox the record came to an end and no one replaced it. From the other bar there was a round of sarcastic applause as a penalty was missed. Michael seemed pleased to be the centre of attention. He turned to them all with a theatrical gesture. “You wouldn’t be drinking with him if you knew what I know.”
Veronica leaned across the bar. “You’re not well, love. Maybe you should get yourself home.”
Michael appeared not to hear her. “Do you know who you’re drinking with? Do you? You all think you know him, don’t you? Family man, pilot, churchgoer Well his whole life’s a lie. Even the name’s made up.” Michael began to speak more quietly, almost as if he and James were alone together in a small room, but Emma could hear him. The bar was silent. Everyone was watching and listening. He didn’t need to shout. “It shouldn’t have happened like this. I was going to get more evidence then go to that inspector. But I couldn’t stand it, seeing you in here, laughing and talking. Everyone feeling sorry for you.”
“The inspector already knows,” James said. “I told her.”
For a moment Michael couldn’t take that in. He stared, open-mouthed, a fleck of saliva on his lower lip, trying to convince himself that James was lying.
“Why hasn’t she arrested you, then?”
“I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s not illegal to change your name.”
“But you were a friend of Mantel’s. I’ve seen photos. The two of you smiling together.”
“My father was Mantel’s friend,” James said. “He was nothing to do with me.”
Michael shook his head as if it would take violence to clear his thoughts. “You killed the girl and got my Jeanie locked up.” His voice was desperate. “You must be involved. Why would you live a lie like this if you didn’t have anything to hide?”
“I’ve reason enough to hate Keith Mantel,” James said, ‘but I didn’t kill his daughter.”
Veronica had come out from the bar and now she came up to Michael and put her arm around his shoulder. “You’re not yourself, love. Not surprising all the things you’ve been through. Come into the back with me. I’ll make you a hot drink and we’ll get the doctor to have a look at you.”
Michael allowed himself to be led away. Behind the bar, Barry’s eyes were darting from one person to another, glittering with pleasure.
Emma was frozen. Her reactions had slowed, shut down. She watched James approach her but she couldn’t move.
“Come home,” he said quietly. “We can’t talk here.”
This is what happens, she thought, when you let down your guard. How can I make a happy ending out of this?
“Come home,” he said again. She felt the staring faces and prying eyes. She stood up and followed him out. But once they’d crossed the road she stopped on the pavement and faced up to him. Branches from the tree beside their house blew across the street light and threw moving shadows onto her upturned face.
“Was any of that true?”
“Some of it. I changed my name when I was twenty-one. Legally. There were reasons. I can tell you, if you want to know.”