‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ She nodded at the envelope on the table.
‘It’s not addressed to me.’ He was trying to calculate how long he had before DNA tests came back. A jawbone meant teeth, which meant they could check dental records.
‘Yeah it is. Look – Mr E. Sheeny, 26 Spencer Avenue…’ Sinead was like a wasp buzzing around him. ‘Someone needs reading glasses.’ She was smirking at him.
Miles suddenly realised what he’d said.
Reaching out for the envelope with the Thames Water logo, he flipped it around and saw the red letters: URGENT. He ripped the envelope apart and pulled out the letter. Elliot owed a total of £356.20 for the year’s rates and two instalments were now overdue. Miles had seen Elliot’s bank statement and knew that he paid council tax, electricity, gas and broadband by regular direct debits so those bills had not been an immediate cause for concern. But somehow he’d managed to overlook the bloody water.
‘I must have forgotten to send a cheque,’ Miles said as he continued reading.
‘A cheque? What is this, 1995?’ Sinead was enjoying herself. ‘Just set up a direct debit. You can do it on your phone.’
‘Look don’t worry, I’ll pay it.’
‘I’m not worried.’
Sinead was in a weird mood. She wouldn’t stop talking. ‘You know it might be a good idea getting a water meter. We had one at the house and at first we thought it wasn’t worth it, but you do end up saving money–’
‘I said I’d pay it, didn’t I?’
‘All right.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, whatever. Just making conversation.’
Miles sighed. He needed to shut her up – he couldn’t hear himself think. ‘We’ve been cooped up in here too long.’ He shut down his laptop and closed its lid. ‘Right, come on. Let’s go to the park and get some fresh air.’
***
They had been sitting on the park bench in silence for a while, watching the birds and feeling the sun on their faces. It was a particularly pleasant May morning, but Miles was unable to appreciate it. If the jawbone belonged to Vincent the student, there was probably no chance the police could link his disappearance to Miles. He had picked him up on a dark, rainy night on a country road with no CCTV cameras. There had been no witnesses, and besides no one even suspected that the boy had been murdered; he was just a missing person. But if a piece of Elliot had been found and identified, then it wouldn’t be long before they caught up with Miles. Even if he left the bungalow immediately, the police would still be calling on Sinead. And she might say things she shouldn’t. What was to be done with her?
‘A penny for them.’
Miles snapped back to the present: Sinead was speaking to him. ‘Pardon?’ he said.
‘A penny for your thoughts. Mum used to say it to me when I was daydreaming. She’d give me a 1p coin. I kept them in an old jam jar. I used to go to the corner shop and buy sweets…’
What the hell was she wittering on about? Sweets and jam jars; what did that have to do with anything? Her head was stuck in the past and there were real problems to deal with, here and now. He looked at her askance. Sinead was twirling the silver pendant that always hung around her neck. Miles leant forward and looked out across the park to the trees on the horizon.
‘I was just thinking about the future. It could be time for a change.’
Sinead shifted round to face him. ‘You’re not chucking me out, are you? I know I’m not working at the moment, but I’ve paid in advance and you can take next month’s rent from the deposit–’
‘No, it’s not that. I’m not concerned about the rent.’
‘Oh.’ Sinead breathed out. ‘Cool. Sorry. So what did you mean then – about the future?’
‘Call it a gut feeling. Like it’s time to move on. I can’t explain what I mean.’ He thought he should get off the subject, but it seemed to strike a chord with Sinead.
‘I know what you mean. Ever since the accident I keep on asking myself: what do I really want out of life? Everything’s so fucking hard in London, you know? Just trying to make ends meet all the time. You come here looking for adventure and it just kills you. It’s exhausting.’
Miles turned to face her; she looked sincere. This was good – maybe she would come with him after all. ‘We could move. Somewhere more affordable. Oxford, perhaps. I hear Norwich is nice. Somewhere with safer roads.’ He tapped his finger on her plaster cast.
She grinned at him. ‘Yeah, how about Holland? All those cycle lanes. I might manage to stay on my bike for a change.’
‘Amsterdam, perhaps. It could work. We’ll have to see what happens with Brexit.’
Sinead laughed. ‘No, it’s good to dream but… running away from your problems. I think it’s fair to say that never worked for me.’
‘What’s to stop you, though – from running away?’
‘You mean apart from the obvious?’ She slapped the top of her cast.
Miles ignored her joke; he got the idea she wasn’t taking the discussion seriously. A teenage couple walked past the bench, arm in arm. The girl had an ice cream in her free hand.
‘I don’t know. Just be the same wherever I went,’ she said. ‘I’m my own worst enemy.’ She was watching the girl, who held her ice cream up to the boy’s mouth for him to try. ‘Can I ask your advice about something?’
‘Of course. What is it?’
‘Should I ask Dylan out?’
‘Dylan? You can’t be serious.’
‘Why not? He actually asked me out, but my head wasn’t in the right place. You met him though – he’s a nice guy, don’t you think?’
‘No, I don’t see it.’ Miles slowly shook his head. ‘Not at all.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘You asked for my advice.’
‘Yeah but…’
‘That’s my honest opinion. He doesn’t deserve you.’
‘Yeah, and I’m a real catch, aren’t I? Check out this babe with the big fat plaster cast and the spots and greasy hair. Form an orderly queue, boys.’
The conversation dried up. Miles checked the time on his BlackBerry; it was coming up to half twelve. Sinead was staring at the couple again.
‘I would love one of those right now.’ She turned and looked over Miles’s shoulder. ‘I’d go myself, but…’ Sinead pointed down at her broken leg. ‘Perfect excuse, right?’
Miles cupped a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun and finally saw an ice cream van in the distance. When he turned back round, Sinead was grinning at him and holding out a five-pound note.
‘Get two. My treat,’ she said.
Miles trudged up towards the van, trying to analyse the conversation. Sinead was acting strangely and he wasn’t at all happy about it. Time was running out, and it was possible he had seriously misjudged her potential. She’d made light of his suggestion that they move cities, and then started swooning over that lanky streak of piss, Dylan. Where was the raw and angry Sinead? Coming to the park with all its natural beauty and fresh air had clearly been a mistake; it was distracting her, weakening her resolve. But then again, she’d actually asked for his advice. That was undoubtedly a good sign, as was treating him to ice cream; she evidently thought of him as her friend now. And if it weren’t for Dylan, he’d be her only friend.
About fifty yards from where the van was parked on the pathway, Miles saw a person he recognised; a woman with two small children. He gave her a second look. Damn it. Yes, it was her: book-group Gwen. He halted abruptly, knelt down and pretended to tie his shoelace.
She had just bought a pair of ice cream cones and was handing them over to her twin sons. He hadn’t seen the woman in nearly two years. Thinking back, he recalled attending a meeting once at her house; she lived on the other side of the park, the nice part of town. She was in the process of getting divorced from her banker husband at the time. She’d always been a bit too opinionated and condescending for Miles’s taste; perhaps the husband had similar feelings.