by Kerena Swan
I’m admiring the array of outfits on the other side of the car park when someone bashes into me, knocking me sideways. My hands clutch at empty air. I can’t stop myself from falling – straight into the path of an approaching car. Shit! I hear it brake but it’s much too close and, I brace myself for the impact. The car skids. Nisha hauls on my arm and pulls me back and instead of hitting me full-on, the taxi connects only with my thigh. It’s still a thump, though, and it sends me spinning around then falling to the ground. I lie there looking at the sky, dazed and disorientated. My leg feels deadened but not for long. The pain hits me and I groan.
Nisha’s worried face hovers over mine and blocks out the sky. ‘Jenna. Are you okay?’
The taxi has stopped and the driver jumps out and runs around the car, wide eyed and mouth open. ‘I couldn’t avoid you,’ he says.
I sit up, wincing, in too much pain to answer him.
‘Do you need an ambulance?’ Nisha asks.
I take a deep breath. ‘I’ll be okay,’ I say, thinking of the colourful bruise I’ll have tomorrow.
‘Can you stand?’
I get unsteadily to my feet and lean heavily on Nisha’s arm, noticing for the first time the crowd of people who are watching me. I’ve broken some shells during my fall and the pieces crunch under my trainers. I walk a few cautious steps and the crowd around me claps and cheers, bolstering my resolve to carry on.
‘Want a fireman’s lift?’ one man asks.
‘Yeah, we’ll carry you around the course,’ another offers kindly.
I limp forward. ‘I think I’ll manage,’ I say, determined to complete the course myself even at a walking pace. I turn back to the taxi man. ‘Thanks for stopping but I’ll be all right. It wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.’
‘The runner in the giant pink rabbit suit should be disqualified for shoving you like that.’
’Shoving me? Surely it was just—’
‘Put out his arms and pushed you out of his way, he did. Or she did. Hard to tell in that furry suit. Wanted to get to the front, I suppose, but it wasn’t sporting. Downright irresponsible, if you ask me.’
I glance around. No pink rabbit in sight. ‘Luckily, I’m fine,’ I assure the taxi man, and, with a nod, he gets back in the cab.
I think about the fall. I’d been shoved hard. No doubt about that. In normal circumstances I’d assume the taxi man was blaming the rabbit as a way of deflecting blame from himself for driving too fast and too close for the conditions. But I remember the orange carrier bag spooking Merlin that day in the woods. I could have been seriously hurt then and I could have been seriously hurt today. Coincidence? Or something more…
Chapter 37
The Previous March | DI Paton
‘It’s okay. Take your time.’ The Facial Imaging Officer was calm and patient as he built the E-Fit image of Robert Nash’s possible killer.
The waitress sighed and puffed out her cheeks, frowning at the screen. She’d identified the age, gender and hair colour of the woman who met Robert Nash but now she was struggling to get the shape of the face right.
‘She was slimmer than that and she had a sharper chin. That one!’ She pointed to an image.
Paton watched with interest as features were selected and at a click of the mouse the full face was displayed. It took several attempts to get the eyes right and many minor adjustments overall but finally the waitress agreed it was a reasonable likeness. Paton thanked her for giving up her time and drove her back to the café then looked up and down the street, trying to put himself in the shoes of his quarry. Where would she go? Which shops would she use?
Clutching the laminated computer-generated portrait like a talisman, he entered the dry cleaners and showed it to the attendant. She shook her head. Next he tried the newsagents.
‘She came in a few times for a Homes and Gardens magazine. Buying a daydream, probably. I haven’t seen her lately though.’
‘Do you know her name and where she lives?’
‘No idea. Sorry.’ The man turned away to serve another customer.
Paton tried several more shops in adjoining roads without success then spotted a minimarket on the corner of another street. Perfect.
‘That looks like Trina.’ A woman with short curly hair and a red polo shirt stretched tight across her ample chest poked the photograph with a plump forefinger.
Paton held his breath. Was this it? The breakthrough he’d been longing for? He had visions of being praised by the chief inspector in front of a room full of people and of Tommy proudly telling his friends his dad had caught the baddie.
‘Haven’t seen her for weeks,’ the woman continued and Paton’s dreams disintegrated like meringue in a fruit salad.
‘Do you know where she lives?’ he asked, hardly daring to hope.
‘A bedsit on Peterson Road, number six I think. She has the attic room. I went there once to drop off her purse when she left it in the staff room – a proper shithole.’
‘How well do you know Trina? Are you friends?’
‘She worked here, that’s all. Buggered off and I had to cover double shifts.’
Paton left the woman moaning about working long hours and checked Google Maps on his phone. It was a ten-minute walk and he was puffing by the time he climbed the steps to a large Victorian house with a bay window and peeling paint. A plant pot on the doorstep contained shrivelled brown leaves and the unmistakeable aroma of cat poo. Nice. He examined the panel of buttons with hand-written labels tucked inside cheap plastic pouches. He pressed three bells before he got a response.
‘Who is it?’ A gruff voice spoke through the intercom.
‘I’ve come to see Trina in the attic room but she’s not answering.’
There was a long pause then the voice drifted out of the box again. ‘Wait there.’
Paton moved away from the fetid plant pot and glanced at his watch. It was getting late and he hadn’t checked into his hotel yet. He hoped they hadn’t given his room to someone else.
The front door was yanked open by a podgy man with tattoos on his forearms and black hair scraped over his balding head. The inside of his open shirt collar had lines of black dirt mixed with sweat and his trousers were shiny with age. The unpleasant man straightened to his full height which wasn’t much and glared at Paton. ‘You tell Trina she owes me two weeks’ rent and her stuff is in the skip around the cor—.’
The man stepped backwards as Paton flashed his ID card. ‘What was Trina’s full name and when did you last see her?’
‘I dunno. Richards or Reynolds or something? I don’t ask too much so I don’t get lied to. She hasn’t been here for at least two weeks.’ He stood behind the door and closed it slowly as he spoke.
Paton toyed with the idea of putting his foot into the gap but changed his mind. He’d got his best shoes on and he didn’t want to spoil them. Instead, he placed the flat of his hand against the flaky paint and pushed the door.
‘Don’t you have a letting contract?’
The man leaned his weight onto the door and it shut firmly, hurting Paton’s wrist.
‘I don’t know where she is,’ the voice shouted through the wood. ‘The room’s taken by someone else now. I can’t help you no more.’
Paton sighed. He could pursue the landlord for not conducting his business properly but he hadn’t got time. He’d tell the Inland Revenue to check him out instead. He had a skip to find.
Chapter 38
March | Sarah
It doesn’t take me long to find the XpressoNet café in the Xscape building in Milton Keynes. I want to search for Jenna Winterbourne in relative privacy and I might not get that at the library because Mark knows I work there on Tuesdays and Thursdays and there’s a good chance he’ll turn up, hoping to see me. He can’t phone me on my mobile for the simple reason I don’t have one. Mark considers that to be odd but who would I contact apart from him?
I also need to think about how much to tell him of my situation. He’s
keen to know whether I’m related to John Butcher and I don’t mind telling him the DNA test showed no connection but I’m not sure I want him knowing the rest – that Rosemary Butcher is probably not my mother and I suspect I was swapped as a baby with Jenna Winterbourne. Mark may be useful to me and I don’t want to put him off by making him wonder if I’m some sort of flaky fantasist. Neither do I want him telling anyone else about my suspicions. No, I need to know what I’m dealing with before I decide what information I want to share. If any.
I order a frothy hot chocolate from the chatty café owner and sip it as I log in to a computer. I get ten minutes free for buying a drink which is handy, although I think my searches will take longer than that. I think of a random name then quickly set up a new e-mail account. As soon as I have the e-mail address I join Facebook under the fictitious name of Sandra Baker because, from what I remember, I’ll be able to see more of people’s profiles if I sign in.
There are two Jenna Winterbournes. One is from Portsmouth and the other is from… My God. Near Milton Keynes. I hadn’t expected her to be so close, but why not? She was born here. I click on the local profile with mounting excitement. Am I about to see photos of the girl who has taken the life which is rightfully mine?
The disappointment is crushing. Who has a profile picture of a sodding horse? I quickly scroll through the rest of the photos and see they are mostly of animals or petitions for rainforest rescue and the RSPCA, pushing government to recognise animals as sentient beings. I’m not sure what that means but it seems Jenna is a passionate animal lover. I bet she lives on bloody lentils and tofu.
I scroll further then pause as I find one of a group of young people. This is more like it. Some are wearing Santa hats and others are in sequinned dresses. It’s labelled as Be At One’s Christmas Party. I do another search and discover it’s a cocktail bar not far from here. I peer at the people in the photograph and wonder which one is Jenna but it’s hard to see much detail and I don’t know what I’m looking for.
Frustration builds as I click on her friends to discover there are no photos that identify her. I consider the idea of sending a friend request to her but there’s so little public information about Jenna that I suspect she’s a private person who would decline a request from a stranger. So would most people, I guess.
I decide to read a few of the comments under the photos and suck my breath in as I read one from someone called Lucy Lou. Bloody hell, whoever Lucy is she’s very critical of Jenna. “Wouldn’t it be better to clear your debts before you go travelling?” she remarks, under a post about helping at an elephant sanctuary, and, “Are Vegans just people with an eating disorder? Discuss.” under a rave review about a meal Jenna had enjoyed without meat or dairy.
I sit back and assess what I’ve learned so far. At least I’ve found a local Jenna Winterbourne and the co-incidence of being born in Milton Keynes hospital with that name is surely too great for it to be anyone else. I know she loves animals, especially horses, lives nearby and is a vegan. I’ve discovered she has someone in her life called Lucy who doesn’t seem to like her very much and I wonder why she hasn’t unfriended her. I also know she has some connection with Be At One. Was it a group of customers out for the night in the photo or the people who work there? There’s only one way to find out. I copy and paste the Christmas photo into a Word document then pay to print it. I look up the exact location of the bar and decide to go there after my session at the library.
I’m preparing to leave the library two hours later when Mark appears. I was beginning to think he wasn’t coming and I feel an unexpected dart of pleasure at seeing him. Maybe there’s hope for me yet and I will be able to feel affection for someone again. I need a second chance. I try not to think about Robert too often but he’s like a cavity in my tooth where a filling has fallen out that I can’t stop poking with my tongue to see if it hurts. I test it now and it feels surprisingly painless. I don’t miss him and I still have no guilt for what I did. He gave me a glimpse of a different way of life and filled me with false hope. His promises were as empty as a gambler’s wallet. I can forget about Robert now and move on – as long as the police don’t track me down.
Mark must see the warmth in my smile because he smiles back. His step quickens and he holds my gaze then glances around and places a light kiss on my cheek.
‘I would have been here earlier but my last appointment ran over time,’ he says. ‘I’ve got you a present.’ He grins like a child on Mother’s Day and reaches into a Tesco carrier bag. ‘I hope you don’t mind. You can refuse it if you want to.’ He pulls out a small box and places it in my hand.
‘A phone?’
‘Only a cheap pay-as-you-go but I’ve put ten pounds on it for you. At least we can contact each other now.’ His smile falters as though he’s expecting me to thrust the phone back at him. Maybe he’s not the control freak I first took him for.
‘Wow, thanks.’ I lift it out of its box. It’s a smart phone so can’t have been the cheapest model. I wonder if I’ll be able to get the internet on it.
‘I’ve charged it up and programmed my number in.’ He gives me the bag containing a leaflet on how to buy more credit and I put the phone back in its box. I won’t need to use Derek’s computer if I can access the internet on this. On impulse I stand on tiptoe and kiss Mark’s cheek. He grins and takes my hand as we make our way down the stairs together and through the exit doors.
‘Shall we go for a drink?’ I ask him. ‘I fancy a cocktail.’
‘Really?’ He looks at his watch and sees it’s only five.
I release his hand and squeeze his arm. ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘I’ve heard Be At One is good and it’s not far to walk. Besides, it might be happy hour.’
‘Two for the price of one. Good choice, Sarah.’ Mark beams at me.
We perch on high stools at the bar and Mark orders a Peachy Blinder for me and a Jamaican Me Crazy for himself. The place is already thrumming with people finishing work for the day and I take in my surroundings with interest. Despite being ultra-modern the bar is intimate and welcoming with wood panelled walls and shelves of colourful bottles behind the counter.
‘Have you had the DNA results back yet? I’ve been dying to ask you.’ Mark’s gaze is intense, trying to read my emotions.
I’ll need to make sure I don’t give too much away. ‘It seems John Butcher is not my father so that’s a cause for celebration.’
‘Too right. Who wants to be related to a murderer?’
I wince inside, thinking of what happened in Scotland. But Robert brought it on himself. Of course, if I’d had the loving life I was meant to have with the Winterbournes, I’d never have met Robert and never been so hurt by him that I needed to hit out.
‘It’s great news,’ Mark adds, and I drag my thoughts back to the here and now.
‘Yes, it is.’ I try to inject bright cheer into my voice. ‘I now know why he was such a bastard to me.’
‘Has your Mum said any more about your real father?’
I don’t want to talk about this anymore and my face must make this obvious because Mark leans back and puts his hands up defensively. ‘Sorry, I realise it’s none of my business.’
‘It’s still raw,’ I say. ‘I need to come to terms with it all.’
Mark nods and changes the subject by surveying the bar and the lively people surrounding us. ‘I like it here. Maybe we should make this a regular after-work activity.’
‘Maybe.’ I sip my drink and savour the taste of clementine blended with vanilla and remind myself that I’ve come here for a purpose. But how can I find out more about the photograph without Mark overhearing?
Thirty minutes and a second drink later Mark excuses himself and goes to the men’s toilet. As soon as he’s gone I pull out the photograph and show it to the young guy behind the bar.
‘I’m trying to trace an old school friend for a surprise birthday party for my boyfriend.’ I nod in the direction Mark took, hoping the barman will know th
at what I’m saying needs to be kept secret. ‘I wonder if you know the people in this photo.’ I hand him the picture and he studies it carefully, grinning.
‘That was a great staff party. Shame I can only remember half of it.’
‘Her name’s Jenna Winterbourne. Does she work here? Is she in this photo?’
‘She does work here.’ He pauses and studies the faces again. ‘But she’s not in the photo. She must have been the one taking the picture.’
I feel a fizz of excitement. ‘Is she here now? If not, when’s her next shift?’ I can’t help scanning the room again, this time looking for a girl my age serving drinks or clearing tables. What will I say to her? What if Mark appears? How will I explain why I’m looking for her?
‘Matt, is Jenna in tonight?’ the barman calls to another young guy at the other end of the bar.
‘Didn’t you hear?’ Matt shouts back over the excited chatter of a group of young women. ‘She’s not coming in for a while. Got family issues or something.’
Family issues? I want to know more. They’re my family now. I look anxiously over my shoulder to see if Mark is returning then focus on the barman again. ‘Can you tell me her address?’
‘Sorry. I can’t give out confidential information.’
Bloody data protection laws. I think quickly before saying, ‘It would be such a shame for her to miss the party. A shame for my boyfriend too. What if you just give me the estate she lives on?’
‘Jenna doesn’t live on an estate. She’s in Bow Brickhill but don’t ask me for the exact address.’ He must see the disappointment cloud my face because he leans forward and whispers, ‘The Old Hay Barn or Hayloft, I think, or maybe Old Beams. It’s a converted barn and there can’t be too many of those in the village.’
