by Alison Bruce
‘Not playing then?’ he asked her.
‘Not funny.’ She raised her plaster cast a couple of inches. ‘Mind you, once this thing’s off, you’d better watch out.’ She nodded towards Bryn and Goodhew’s grandmother. ‘How come Mel invited them?’
‘She met my Gran at some gigs, and they just hit it off. And Bryn’s just being nosy, said he wanted to meet Mel before she left Cambridge.’
Gully rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. ‘I suppose he’s into redheads today?’
Goodhew screwed up his nose. ‘Every day, I expect, but I think Mel’s safe.’ They fell into an easy silence, just as they had on the several occasions when Goodhew had visited Gully in hospital. Now he used the moment to reflect how quickly their friendship had grown during that time, and how easy it was to chat to her openly about everything – from the crash on the level crossing to his letting go of his feelings towards Mel.
Sue gave him a quick jab in the side. ‘Pack it in.’
‘What?’
‘You’re doing that reflective thing again.’
‘I was not.’
‘Bloody were, I can see it in your face. I never thought I’d be telling a bloke to lose touch with his feminine side.’
‘You’re a pain in the arse, Sue Gully.’
‘Just go over and talk to her.’
Goodhew shook his head. ‘I already did and it’s all fine.’
‘What did she say?’
He gave a small smile and shrugged. ‘Trust me, it’s all fine.’
Gully smiled too. ‘She knocked it on the head with boyfriend Toby and Kincaide, right?’
He didn’t plan on being drawn further. ‘Whatever you say.’
‘D’you happen to know why we were all invited here?’
Goodhew shook his head. ‘I never asked.’
‘Mel told me how she used to wait in for Toby to return home, and quite often he’d come back drunk, angry and skint after a night out. Apparently this was his favourite drinking hole, but he started a fight in here a couple of weeks back and he’s been barred. Mel likes being able to come here when he can’t.’ Gully paused to sip her drink. ‘As for Kincaide, she told him she’s looking forward to concentrating on her music degree without the distraction of a relationship. His response was to ask her if she was a lesbian.’
‘That figures.’
‘So was it the same sort of conversation she had with you?’
‘Yes and no, you tell it with a bit more drama, and she’s definitely very excited about going to uni.’
He hoped leaving Cambridge would put enough miles between Mel and Toby to help keep their split permanent. He glanced at his watch, decided it was time he went, and began looking towards the exit.
‘She’s coming over now.’ For no apparent reason, Gully blushed. ‘You always treated her with respect and she appreciates that.’
Mel wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. ‘You’re off then?’
‘I seem to be easy to read today.’
‘No, Bryn told me you had to go. I hope you weren’t leaving without a proper goodbye.’
He squeezed her tighter for a moment. ‘’Course not.’
They let go at the same instant. She studied his face for a few seconds, then grinned. ‘I’m glad we got through whatever never happened without any bad feeling.’
‘Me, too. Let me know how it goes.’
She nodded. ‘You, too.’ She gestured to the furthest pool table, where Bryn and Goodhew’s grandmother were now playing singles. ‘You’d better not leave without saying goodnight to them either but, be warned, your grandmother took loads of photos of classic cars when she was out in Cuba. That’s all they’re talking about now. I mean, what the hell is an Edsel?’
He checked his watch again, decided there was time to spare. He didn’t know a Fairlaine from a Bel-Air either, but he picked up a cue and joined the pair of them at their table.
Leaving Mickey Flynn’s reminded Goodhew of being a kid and leaving the cinema after a teatime film. With no windows and no noise penetrating from outside, it was easy to lose track of the passage of time. The day had moved from the end of a hot afternoon to the approach of nightfall. The streets were still full but everyone seemed to have shifted down a gear. He turned into Gwydir Street and headed along to the Cambridge Blue. The pub was busy but he queued for two glasses of Coke, and was served almost immediately. He carried on through, to find Kimberly waiting for him in the beer garden.
She took her glass and placed it straight on to the table. ‘Come with me,’ she said, and he followed her to the rear of the garden and over the wall into Mill Road Cemetery. She picked her way through the long grass until she reached the path, then proceeded up the neck of the guitar until they were approximately halfway between her house and what was left of Rachel’s. She chose a large toppled headstone and sat at one end of it, facing her own back wall. A light glowed in the bedroom window.
He sat down next to her.
‘How’s Anita?’
‘We’re much the same, bruised and battered but glad to be alive.’ The words seemed to come a little too easily, and Kimberly looked away, as if giving them some more thought. ‘Her facial scars will be very noticeable, I think.’ Her voice was quiet, and sounded less guarded now. ‘She’ll need to have cosmetic surgery. She’s renting out Viva Cottage for now, and moving in with me. We’re sticking very close, at least for the time being.’ She tipped her head in the direction of her house. ‘She’s upstairs there now, keeping an eye out for me, probably.’
‘And Riley?’
‘He’s great, but he witnessed Anita being attacked and he’s now having some help from a psychotherapist who specialises in dealing with child trauma.’
‘And you’re OK with that?’
‘God, I’ve learnt so much these last few weeks, and if Riley needs something, I’m not going to let my stupid hang-ups stand in the way. Well, not all of them, anyway. I’m not prepared for him to have contact with the Lewton clan.’
‘See how you feel after the trial?’
‘Maybe. Nick’s mum maybe, but Tamsin . . .’
Goodhew couldn’t help but agree. ‘Oh.’ He suddenly remembered the piece of paper in his back pocket. ‘I have something here for Mikey.’ He unfolded it slowly. ‘Mikey’s been looking for his brother . . .’
‘You found him?’
‘Not exactly, but he was cautioned by the police a couple of months ago,’ he handed her the notepaper, ‘and that’s his last known address. It’s a hostel in London, and it’s OK to leave a message for him there, just in case he comes back.’
‘Thanks.’ Kimberly refolded the page into a neat rectangle, then turned it over a couple of times. ‘Life’s full of unknowns, Gary, and you and I . . . you’re dependable, careful and . . . more . . . everything I thought I’d never admire in someone.’ She reached towards his face and pressed the flat of her palm against his cheek.
Sure, looks weren’t everything, but he now swore he was gazing at the most stunning woman he’d ever encountered. He drew a breath, wanting to tell her how nothing could happen for them but equally not believing for a moment that she had any interest.
But she spoke first. ‘It wouldn’t work between us, would it?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘I love Jay – always will – and I need him, not the other way around. Well, maybe he does need me, but it’s him that keeps me steady. I guess I will have other relationships, but it would have to be something special, and even then I will never give up on him. Never.’
‘That’s good.’
‘That’s the only thing I know about the future. I never look too far forward, because it scares me.’ She gazed at him hard. ‘You don’t live just for today, do you?’
Goodhew heard himself start to disagree.
‘Gary, you never want to make mistakes, so you hold back. Do you even have a girlfriend?’
‘Not right now, no.’
‘Is
there anyone that interests you?’
He hesitated.
‘Shouldn’t I ask that?’
‘No, actually, it’s fine.’ Goodhew stared into his hands for a minute or two, then back at Kimberly. ‘I had a girlfriend, called Claire . . . we split up after uni and I didn’t think I’d see her again. But now she’s here in Cambridge, working at an architect’s office.’
‘Have you talked to her?’
‘No, but I followed her once and I’ve driven past her office window a couple of times. I don’t now if it’s wrong to try to go back.’ As he spoke, he realized the poignancy of his words.
‘Personally, I’d love the chance.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Look, I’m no advert for making good decisions, but being too much like you is no better than being too much like me. You drove straight into the path of a train, for God’s sake, so how hard can it be to ask her out, if that’s what you really want to do?’
He didn’t have an answer for that one.
‘OK,’ she said finally, ‘but I have something for you. Follow me.’ She led him towards the back wall of her garden.
‘So why were you asking me all that personal stuff?’
She kept moving but spun round, so she was now walking backwards. Her eyes were dancing with mischief. ‘Because I want you to kiss me, Gary Goodhew. Just once, and just for the hell of it.’
He returned her smile and shook his head.
There was something lying on the flat roof at the rear of the house. She scrambled up on to the garden wall, then jumped across the narrow gap onto the roof to pick it up. It was a rectangular package which measured about three feet by four, and was wrapped in brown paper.
‘It’s that picture,’ she explained.
‘The girl on the punt?’
‘Yep, just a print, though. I’d have given you the original, but Mule sold it. Sorry.’
Whether he ever saw her again or not, Goodhew realized this would always be the moment he’d remember most clearly: beautiful Kimberly, brave but vulnerable, proud but wild, talented and loyal and giving.
He made the leap across to the flat roof, landing almost next to her. Her lips were soft against his. They wrapped their arms around each other, and clung together until the rest of Cambridge dissolved into the fading light.
Marks had been working late into the evening and was still seated at his desk as he spotted Goodhew crossing Parker’s Piece. Observing Goodhew had become a little bit of an obsession lately, and now he was seeing him from more or less the same height and angle as when he’d watched him swimming.
But, since then, his perspective had changed and he’d learnt a great deal more about his youngest detective. For one thing, to be more careful about what he did with his filing-cabinet key . . .
Marks slid a couple of newly typed sheets of A4 into the file marked goodhew, and returned it to his desk drawer. Just like Goodhew himself, those pages held a whole lot more than anyone might have expected.
Marks watched Goodhew climb the steps to the front door, and could not help wondering where it was all going to end.
Goodhew walked home alone, with the picture tucked under one arm. After their embrace was over, he and Kimberly hadn’t spoken another word. She’d disappeared through her bedroom window and he’d slipped back over the garden wall, both knowing that their moment on the roof had been the start and the end of it.
Once home, he switched on the jukebox and let it randomly choose what to play. The Girl on the Punt had caught his attention from the very first moment he’d noticed it.
Pre-Bryn, pre-Kimberly, pre-Mel even.
He slid the package under the settee, without unwrapping it, then sat on the floor with his back against the speaker grille, and gazed up at the print’s original hanging on the opposite wall.
THE SOUNDTRACK FOR
THE SIREN
When I write a book I find there are songs that ‘keep me company’ at various points. By the time I finish I have a playlist that belongs to that book alone. Maybe the concept of a book having a soundtrack seems a little odd, but that’s how it works for me.
Hey Girl – Hot Boogie Chillun
I Drove All Night – Roy Orbison
Ice Cold – Restless
In the Still of the Night – The Five Satins
Nobody But You, Babe – Hot Boogie Chillun
Rampage – The Planet Rockers
Send Me Away – Jacen Bruce
The Sun Refuses to Shine – Richard Hawley
The Thrill of Your Touch – Elvis
The Whole of the Moon – The Waterboys
Tonight the Streets Are Ours – Richard Hawley
Valentine – Richard Hawley
About the Author
ALISON BRUCE is the author of two non-fiction crime books. She is also the author of five Gary Goodhew novels, all forthcoming from Witness Impulse. Alison lives in Cambridgeshire with her husband, Jacen, and their two children.
www.alisonbruce.com
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Also by Alison Bruce
Fiction
Cambridge Blue
The Calling
The Silence
The Backs
Non-Fiction
Cambridgeshire Murders
Billington: Victorian Executioner
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First published in the UK by Constable, an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2010
First US edition published by SohoConstable, an imprint of Soho Press Inc., 2010
THE SIREN. Copyright © 2010 by Alison Bruce. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition DECEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780062314178
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