Bitter Blue

by Cath Staincliffe

  I was shaking my head.

  ‘You can’t keep blaming yourself. Look at you.’

  I pushed away from the table, began to rise, aware of the stares from other diners.

  ‘And it’s bloody self-indulgent.’

  I gawped at her, felt heat flare in my cheeks. The nerve! Shoving the chair back I went off to the toilets. She followed me, shutting the door from the stairs behind her.

  ‘You didn’t hold the hammer. You didn’t kill him. Wallowing in it won’t help anyone.’

  Furious I rounded on her. ‘For Christ sake, this isn’t some little upset. The man is dead.’

  ‘Yes,’ her eyes flashed. ‘But it’s not your fault. Lucy Barker killed him and she’s in Broadmoor. Locked away so she can’t do it again. He’s dead but you’re not. You’ve got a life. Get on with it.’

  I glared at her, wanting to thump her and felt even angrier because I knew there was truth in what she said.

  She held up her palms. ‘Lecture over. Are you going to have a sweet? I think I deserve one after that little lot.’

  I tried to smile. ‘You go down.’

  My face in the mirror was miserable, my eyes had a brittle, wounded look. Ghastly. Diane was right logically but there was a gulf between that and the emotions overwhelming me. Even if I held onto the thought that Lucy Barker may have killed without my involvement there was another sentiment eating away at me. He was dead and I wasn’t. My escape made me feel very, very lucky and sick with guilt.

  Ray had been very busy since my return. I began to think it had all blown over until one afternoon when he came in with a bag over his shoulder. He bent to fuss Digger. I was at the kitchen table staring at a cookery book trying to find something new to make that wouldn’t take a week to prepare and involve ingredients I’d have to go to use my investigative skills to hunt down.

  Ray looked at me, his eyes friendly. ‘The bruising has almost gone.’

  I nodded. On the outside.

  He straightened up. Slid his bag onto a chair.

  ‘Laura and me,’ he said.

  My neck prickled, my heart squeezed tight, I braced myself. Marriage? A baby? Moving?

  ‘We’ve finished.’

  I gawped at him. ‘But why?’

  He regarded me steadily. His eyes brown and clear.

  I looked away.

  ‘Sal.’

  ‘No. I can’t do this.’

  He put his hand out and covered mine, the skin on his fingers slightly rough against my knuckles. ‘Tell me you don’t feel it, too,’ he whispered. I could see the tracery of lines beside his eyes, dark eyes smouldering. I felt my pulse accelerate, a physical craving betray me.

  ‘No,’ I whispered back, my lips felt swollen, my breath stuttered.

  ‘Liar,’ he said and his lips touched mine, soft and dry, fringed by the springy hair of his moustache. I closed my eyes. Dizzy, I wanted to give in, to dissolve. A tremor rippled through me. He kissed me. In my head voices: no don’t, stop, oh, don’t stop, yes, oh yes.

  The shrill of the doorbell jerked us apart. I stood quickly feeling shameful and confused and giddy.

  ‘Sal,’ he blurted out urgently. He wanted an answer but it was too big for me to handle. All too much.

  I shook my head, covered my mouth with my hand.

  I looked at him. His face pale with emotion, his eyes glittering.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. And walked away to answer the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  First thing the next day I forced myself round to the office to collect the mail and messages. It was warm outside, hard now to take in how recently frost had scoured the land.

  I let myself in and picked up the pile of letters and flyers for me on the hallstand. I made my way downstairs, unlocked the door and went in. A fine layer of dust covered everything. My cactus looked okay – that’s why I’d bought it. The mail included payment from a former client and a handwritten note.

  Thank you so much for all your help. Nick is in Rehab and we hope he’ll stick with it though it’s early days. Without you we would never have got this far. Best wishes, Charlie and Monica.

  I was moved. The family had been to hell and back with their son and his drug addiction.

  But I couldn’t face it any more. Too many sad stories. I’d had enough of the tragedies and deceit and suspicion.

  And I had failed.

  I had started seeing a counsellor; someone I could pore over the memories with and pick at the shame and the blame. She was a good listener. Like Diane, she thought I was being too hard on myself. She reminded me of how I had tried to save Benjamin Vernay, she pointed out that I had not held the hammer. I heard what she was saying but it didn’t help the feelings. It would be a long time before I made my peace.

  The file with the details of Lucy’s case was on my desk. I let it lie there. I didn’t know what else to do. Ray had always hated the jeopardy my work could throw at me. He’d be relieved to see me in a safer occupation. But this wasn’t about him. I didn’t want to think about him. Another part of my future undecided. So much in flux. I heard the bell ring, climbed the steps to answer it.

  Minty was on the doorstep.

  ‘I called at the house. Ray said you were here. Are you okay? If it’s not a good time ... I just wanted to thank you.’

  I nodded. ‘I’m fine.’ Invited her in, made a drink.

  She looked much better, the bruises had faded, she’d had her hair trimmed and the clothes she wore looked new.

  I deflected her questions about work. ‘Heavy stuff, I’m still dealing with it. What about you?’

  ‘Fine.’ It sounded brittle and we both heard it. ‘Well,’ she amended, ‘one day at a time.’ She clasped her cup, head dipped she looked up at me. ‘I still love her. Can you believe that. It’s stupid. I think about her all the time – about it being different ...’

  She saw I was about to speak.

  ‘I know it can’t be,’ she hurried on, ‘I won’t go back. I’m moving actually. Milton Keynes,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘With the cows.’

  I smiled.

  ‘I know a couple of people there. Don’t know whether I’m running away.’

  ‘No. It’s a brave move, braver than staying.’

  ‘The devil you know and all that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So I wanted to thank you.’

  ‘I didn’t …’

  ‘If you hadn’t stopped, if I hadn’t met you,’ she shook her head. ‘When you gave me your card,’ she laughed, ‘a private eye. Just seemed like it was fate. Someone telling me something. A way out. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Like you were meant to find me and once you had there was someone I could turn to.’

  ‘It was Diane that put you up,’ I shrugged.

  ‘She was great. And the food – she should open a restaurant.’

  She didn’t stay much longer and we made small talk for the rest of her visit. Seeing her out I wished her luck.

  ‘And you. Thanks again,’ her voice trembled and I sensed her emotion. She gave me a clumsy hug and hurried off. My eyes filled with tears, everything seemed to set me off. Like a valve had gone.

  I re-recorded the message on my answer phone. You’ve reached Sal Kilkenny investigations. This office is not currently taking on any new clients.

  It would give me breathing space until I finally made up my mind.

  When I checked it back it sounded very muffled. I disconnected the machine and ejected the tape, blew the fluff out of the inside.

  While I was doing that the phone rang. Sounded like a young man. He spoke in a very stilted way, his voice shook and I realised that he was reading his lines out loud. He’d written down what he wanted to say.

  ‘I got your name from the Yellow Pages. I wonder if you can help me. I was adopted in Manchester in nineteen seventy-five and I want to try and find my birth mother.’

  ‘I’m sorry, ‘ I began.
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br />   ‘Don’t you do that?’ He blurted out. ‘Only it said in the book …’

  There was a pause.

  ‘You do find people, don’t you?’

  I hesitated.

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘It’s not something I’m doing on the spur of the moment. It’s not been easy. I just … I’ve thought about it such a lot, you don’t know … Please, if you—’

  ‘I don’t—’I faltered.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  That simple question, his concern for me even though he was wracked with nerves. That did it.

  ‘Yes.’

  I sat down, took a breath and picked up a pen.