Knife Edge

by Fergus McNeill

Mendel was there, rinsing out his cup, while Stuart Gregg was propped up against the far wall, leafing through a handful of papers and shaking his head slowly.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Harland asked.

  Mendel gave him a wry smile.

  ‘Slowly,’ he said. ‘You done for the night?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Harland sighed. ‘Fancy a quick drink in the White Lion?’

  Gregg glanced up hopefully, but Mendel looked at his watch.

  ‘We’ve just got one more thing to wrap up here – maybe see you there in half an hour?’

  ‘See you there,’ Harland nodded.

  He made his way downstairs, raising a hand to acknowledge Firth’s wave from through the glass-partitioned front office, then walked outside into the cool evening air. As the door swung shut behind him, he paused to reach into his pocket, fumbling for his cigarettes. Jamming one into his mouth, he clicked the lighter and took a long first drag, then walked out towards the street.

  ‘Hey!’

  Harland turned quickly, his eyes settling on a slender figure walking tentatively down the pavement towards him.

  ‘I trusted you.’

  Oh no.

  His shoulders sagged as he recognised Kim, one small hand pointing at him in accusation, the other steadying herself on a parked car for a moment then tightening to a tiny fist as she came closer.

  ‘Kim?’ He moved towards her as she came to a halt and stared at him with eyes red from crying.

  ‘I trusted you,’ she hissed again. ‘I made a statement, just like you said, so you could get Rob.’

  ‘Kim, it’s not—’ he began, but she interrupted him.

  ‘Today someone phones me up and says he’s spoken to Rob, but there’s insufficient … I don’t know what.’

  ‘Look, I know it’s not what—’

  ‘Just tell me if they’re going to arrest him. Just tell me!’

  Harland looked down and shook his head.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Kim stared at him. Her hands, hanging at her sides, began to tremble.

  ‘But now he knows. He knows I went to the police about him.’

  Harland looked at her wretchedly. He could smell the alcohol on her breath now.

  ‘I can’t go home,’ she wailed. ‘Had to quit my job. What the fuck am I going to do?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry? Is that all you’ve got?’ She jabbed an accusing finger. ‘You told me it would be all right. Why did you put me through this if you didn’t believe me?’

  Harland moved closer to her, putting his hand on her arm.

  ‘I do believe you, Kim.’

  She stared at him in despair.

  ‘And the rest of them don’t?’

  He wanted to say something positive, something that would encourage her, but there was no way to dress this up.

  ‘Something like that.’ She trembled and sagged against a car. He moved to try and steady her, but she flailed at his arm, pushing him away.

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  She pushed herself upright and began to walk off, rummaging in her handbag for something. Harland heard the jingle then saw the glint as she drew out her keys.

  Car keys.

  ‘Kim?’ He started after her. ‘How much have you had to drink?’

  ‘I said, leave me alone!’

  ‘I can’t let you drive if you’re drunk.’

  She spun round to face him.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she sobbed. ‘You want to arrest me now?’

  ‘I just want to help you.’

  ‘Help me?’ She gave a bleak little laugh. ‘You can’t help me. You couldn’t help anyone.’

  And that was the worst of it – the hated truth – that he laboured in vain, that all his efforts came to nothing. When it came down to it, when it really mattered, what difference did he make?

  ‘Where are you staying?’ he asked.

  ‘Taunton,’ she murmured, moving towards her car.

  ‘Kim, that’s almost an hour away. Isn’t there anyone who can come and pick you up?’

  Her shoulders tensed and she whirled round to face him.

  ‘Like my sister?’ she snapped, then shook her head bitterly. ‘Don’t you get it? I’ve put my family in danger already thanks to you.’

  She turned back towards her car. Harland walked after her, pushing a hand through his hair in exasperation.

  ‘Look, I can’t let you drive …’

  He stepped in front of her, placing his body between her and the car. He’d done nothing wrong but responsibility weighed heavily on him.

  ‘Why don’t you find a hotel, come back for your car in the morning? Please.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘What does it matter?’ she said wearily. ‘Just go.’

  ‘No.’ Mendel and Gregg would have to wait. He couldn’t abandon her now. ‘Look, I’ll drive you, OK?’

  ‘Where? I don’t know anywhere.’

  ‘We’ll find you somewhere.’

  She glared at him for a moment, then shook her head and shrugged in defeat.

  Gently he led her back down the slope, around the station building to where his car was parked. She seemed quieter now, as though he’d broken her will and the last of her fight had drained away.

  Even doing the right thing made him feel bad.

  He unlocked his car and held the door open for her, watching her as she got in. She didn’t look at him, just sat staring straight ahead as he shut her door and went round to the driver’s side. Sliding into his seat, he looked across at her.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  She said nothing, just turned to look at him. He put the key in the ignition, then paused. Where should he take her?

  ‘There’s not much round here, but I know a few places in Bristol. It’s on my way, and you can easily get a bus back in the morning to collect your car.’

  She nodded slightly, just once, then turned away from him, touching her mouth with the back of her hand as she stared out of the passenger window.

  Harland sighed.

  ‘All right …’ He started the engine and gripped the wheel. ‘Bristol it is.’

  It was only a twenty-minute journey at this time of the evening but her silence made it seem longer. As they drove out of Portishead he tried to engage her with a couple of questions about herself but she ignored him, winding down the passenger window and turning her face towards the rush of cold air that swirled into the car. By the time they crossed the M5 he’d given up on any conversation, but as they descended into the outskirts of the city, she finally spoke.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’

  He glanced across at her, startled to hear her voice, thrown by the nature of her question.

  ‘It wouldn’t have been safe for you to drive,’ he replied, waiting for her to say something else. But the silence returned, awkward seconds dragging out until he felt compelled to fill them. ‘I didn’t want anything to happen to you.’

  She kept staring straight ahead for a moment, and then, on the periphery of his vision, he sensed her turn towards him.

  ‘What do you care?’ she asked.

  What sort of a question was that?

  Ahead of them, traffic lights changed from green to amber, but he put his foot down and accelerated over the crossroads.

  ‘Look, I care, all right?’ He could hear the frustration building in his voice and strained to master it. ‘I care. It’s just … I can’t always make things work out the way I want.’

  He didn’t look at her, just watched the road, but he could feel her eyes boring into the side of his head. He sighed and indicated left. In the distance, the Clifton bridge twinkled on the skyline, but it was quickly lost from view as they swept down under the dual carriageway and emerged onto the built-up streets of the suburbs.

  ‘So what will happen to him?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘If they won’t arrest Rob, what will happen?’ There was nothing slug
gish about her speech now.

  He stared out across the steering wheel for a long moment as they approached the river.

  ‘It’s not up to me—’ he began, then broke off.

  No. None of that official-vocabulary bullshit.

  He wasn’t going to mislead her again. Better to be straight with her.

  ‘I think that unless something changes – like if they get some new information …’ He tailed off.

  Was she crying?

  He heard the first timid sobs and glanced across to see her bent forward, head in her hands. Her small body shook as she wept.

  ‘Kim …’

  He tried to do the right thing – maintain his professional detachment, concentrate on the road – but it was no use. Her distress touched something deep inside, cutting through months of loneliness and reminding him of the person he’d been before Alice died.

  He could sense the crisis coming – for him as well as her. Checking the rear-view mirror, he took a deep breath and pulled over beside the trees that followed the line of the river along Coronation Road.

  She was sobbing now, indistinct words and anguished sounds muffled behind the hands that cupped her face.

  ‘Kim?’

  ‘Everything’s wrong.’ She gulped a sudden breath. ‘Everything!’

  He placed an awkward hand on her back, uncertain how he should console her.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said softly. ‘It’ll be OK.’

  ‘No.’ She straightened a little, head still downcast, staring at the floor. ‘He’s going to find me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. And nobody will even believe me until it happens.’

  Harland put a cautious arm around her, gently drawing her closer until she allowed her head to rest on his shoulder.

  ‘I believe you,’ he said.

  She turned her head to look up at him, her face suddenly very close. Her large eyes stared into his, long lashes dark with tears that ran down her cheeks. He felt he ought to pull away, but instead he hesitated as she moved closer, her lips parting slightly.

  And then instinct took over and he met her kiss with his mouth, closing his eyes to shut out all the doubts and all the confusion for one brief, soft moment.

  Her hand was on his shoulder as she broke off, and he opened his eyes to see her draw back just a little, gazing up at him with an anxious expression.

  ‘Sorry … You’re not married or anything?’

  Harland shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said simply.

  She looked up at him, her face glistening, then pulled him down and kissed him again. He felt more tears falling, trickling on his hand as she pressed her mouth to his, but she gradually became more insistent, giving herself to the kiss. This one lasted a long time, and Harland’s pulse was racing when she finally drew away and he could breathe once more.

  ‘Where can we go?’ she asked him.

  Was she saying what he thought she was saying?

  He stared at her. A clamour of thoughts rose in his mind but he dismissed them all.

  ‘I live just a few streets from here …’ He left it open.

  ‘OK.’ She leaned her head against his shoulder again and put her hand on his thigh – her touch rippling out through his body, leaving him in no doubt. He gunned the engine and pulled away.

  They didn’t speak, but she held his hand as they walked down the pavement and up to the front door. Neither of them wanted to break the spell now – lots of contact, lots of touching, but no words. He turned the key in the lock, and let her inside.

  As the door closed behind them, she kissed him again. There was no time to think, no time to question anything as they climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom. Another kiss, and then they were undressing each other, her small hands working quickly, her breath warm on his chest as she undid the buttons of his shirt.

  Their lips met and they stumbled over to the bed – Harland guiding her down onto the duvet, breathing quickly, finding freedom in the inevitability of it all. She was so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful. Kim arched her back so he could slip her underwear down and then pulled him on top of her.

  As he pushed himself up the bed and she wrapped her legs around him, he stared down at a face that momentarily seemed to mirror his own sadness, his own sense of loss. And then he moved, and her eyes closed as she gasped and bit her lip – the vision was gone and his thoughts dissolved into sensation.

  44

  Thursday, 28 August

  She woke gradually, drifting gently up to the surface of consciousness, comfortable and calm. Her mind slowly began to register things – the pillow against her cheek was different, the duvet felt wrong. She opened her eyes, struggling to make out the unfamiliar blur of the room around her.

  And the unfamiliar heat of the body next to her.

  She slumped back down into the pillow for a moment as flashes of the previous evening coalesced in her mind, but the movement brought a dull aching in her head. Her mouth was dry and she could feel the edges of a hangover.

  She was glad he hadn’t let her drive.

  After a couple of minutes, she sat up gently, quietly. Sprawled beside her, face down, Graham murmured something and shifted slightly. She gazed down at his shoulders, exposed above the line of the duvet, the short hair tapering down at the nape of his neck, watching as his lean body rose and fell steadily, peacefully.

  This wasn’t like her. It was such a long time since she’d woken up in a stranger’s bed, and yet somehow it didn’t feel like that. There was no regret, no doubts, just a quiet calm after the release of so much tension – clearing skies after a long-awaited storm.

  She needed the bathroom.

  Easing her legs out from under the warmth of the duvet, she lowered her feet to the soft carpet and carefully rolled herself into a sitting position at the edge of the bed.

  Graham didn’t stir.

  Rising to her feet, she tiptoed over to where her clothes lay scattered on the floor – evidence of last night’s abandonment – and wriggled into her pants, then picked up her blouse. The house wasn’t cold, but she felt more comfortable, less exposed. Slipping her arm into the sleeve, her eyes began taking in details of the room – a glass bowl filled with smooth stones in the empty fireplace, a selection of coloured candles on the hearth, the slender white vase on the shelf beside the window, a pale ribbon wound around the frame of the dressing-table mirror. So many delicate touches.

  She frowned.

  At one side of the dressing table there was an ornate jewellery box – pale polished wood with inlaid Japanese carvings. Propped neatly beside it, a tan leather make-up bag, with a little gold dolphin charm hanging from the zip.

  Her eyes swept the rest of the room and settled on a small handmade picture frame on the shelf. She moved closer, peering at the photograph inside – Graham and a blonde woman, obviously a couple, comfortable and happy in each other’s presence.

  Kim felt a brief flutter of panic.

  Had he lied to her? Was he married?

  She turned to glance back at the bed, wondering if she should just gather her things and go, then looked again at the items on the dressing table.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Jewellery box, make-up bag … but where was the rest? As she looked around the room, she could see his things everywhere – pressed shirts hanging on the outside of the wardrobe door, deodorant and aftershave on the dressing table, an untidy pile of books by his side of the bed – but little belonging to her. Just those few things, the photograph … mementos.

  She bit her lip and padded quietly out into the hallway. The bathroom was at the far end of the landing and she closed the door behind her. A quick glance in the cabinet above the sink saw the pattern continue. Razor, shaving foam and a single toothbrush. Everything was his. As she closed the cabinet door, her own reflection gazed back at her thoughtfully. He definitely lived alone, but who was the woman in the picture?

  Downstairs, she found a tidy kitchen with a wi
ndow that looked out on an unkempt garden, and made her way over to the sink. She took a tall glass from the draining board and filled it from the tap, swallowing the cold water quickly to counter the dehydration and lessen her headache. Then, returning the glass to its place, she filled the kettle and switched it on. The cupboards were largely bare of food, but there was half a jar of coffee and an unopened box of tea bags in one of them. She guessed coffee and made two cups before returning upstairs.

  He was still asleep when she entered the bedroom – a profoundly tranquil expression on his face – but stirred as she set the cup down on his bedside table.

  ‘Morning,’ she said awkwardly.

  He sat up quickly, blinking at her in surprise for a moment before his features relaxed in recognition and he sank back against the headboard and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, gazing up at her for a long moment. Then, remembering the cup, he reached out a bare arm to take it and shot her an uneasy smile. ‘Thanks for this.’

  He leaned forward, inhaling the steam.

  ‘I wasn’t sure how you took it so I left it black,’ she said.

  ‘Black is fine,’ he nodded.

  The silence grew louder as she stood there, suddenly self-conscious, holding the front of her blouse shut, aware of his nakedness under the duvet. She turned away for a moment, then moved slowly towards the small picture frame, looking at it once again, waiting.

  ‘That was my wife. Alice.’

  Was?

  Behind her, his voice suddenly seemed far away.

  ‘She died two years ago.’

  Kim turned towards him, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were downcast, his face transformed into a stoic mask of sorrow.

  ‘Car crash,’ he said simply, then shrugged to himself.

  ‘Oh.’ She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her was relieved, pleased he hadn’t lied; part of her was disappointed in herself for thinking that way. After a moment, she moved back towards the bed. Her hand stopped clasping the front of her blouse as she reached out to steady herself against the wall and kiss him on top of his bowed head.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly.

  He glanced up, suddenly back in the present. Looking at her, he smiled, then sighed.

  ‘No. I’m sorry,’ he said after a moment. ‘About last night, I mean …’