CAUSE & EFFECT

by THOMPSON, DEREK

  “At last! I thought you’d got lost after York and ended up in Ripton. What are you both doing tonight then?”

  Ajit insisted on picking them up at the hotel, so Thomas booked an early meal for two beforehand. Dinner was fractious; the staccato conversation managed to say nothing at all. He felt himself withdrawing; he’d expected Yorkshire to be a challenge, with everything else going on, but not like this. He figured she’d tell him eventually — she always did.

  Ajit was punctual to the minute; he had the look of a condemned man about him.

  “You’ve cleaned the car!” Thomas squeezed into the passenger seat behind him.

  “He’s a cheeky bugger.” Ajit beamed at Miranda beside him. “So how was it wi’ the Bladens?”

  No reply. On the drive over, Ajit chronicled Geena’s two false alarms, her mania for tuna and inflatable ankles.

  “Bloody ’ell, Thomas, I’m going to be a dad soon.” Ajit sounded like he still couldn’t believe it.

  Thomas went in first. Geena looked immense. “Are you sure it’s just the one kid?”

  “‘Ullo love,” Geena adjusted the cushion behind her. “Put kettle on, will you?” She slapped a nearby chair. “Well, come in, Miranda.”

  He left them to it and joined Ajit in the kitchen. They jostled together among the cups, seventeen-year-olds again.

  “How’s your job, Thomas? Don’t worry, I am covered by the Official Secrets Act.”

  * * *

  Time among friends twisted the minutes and folded the present in with the past. Ajit had been the first to know when he and Miranda had decided to go to London and had lent him the money for the tickets. Now, as he relaxed in their company, he felt maturity creeping up on him. Soon Ajit and Geena’s lives would change forever and revolve around sleeplessness and feeding times. He listened to them talking about baby names and stole a glance at Miranda. Were they next? Wasn’t that what couples did?

  “And then . . .” Geena tapped Miranda’s knee, shaking the chair as she rocked with laughter, “Ajit’s mum suggested I have a ‘traditional’ home birth with all the women of the family in attendance! I said, ‘Bugger that — I want a hospital with a dishy doctor on standby.’”

  “We’re having it in the Malton,” Ajit explained.

  “Oh aye,” Geena erupted into laughter again, “we.”

  “You’re gonna be there in the delivery room?” Thomas looked at Ajit incredulously — Ajit, who got rattled at the sight of a needle.

  “He better be!” Geena answered for him.

  Miranda had left the room without leaving her seat. He knew that look in her eyes — a storm was approaching. “Right.” He put down his mug. “Time we left you good people to your bed. Do you want help getting Geena out of her chair?”

  He rang for a cab and waited at the door with Ajit wedged beside him.

  “Listen, sorry about Miranda; I don’t know what her problem is today.”

  “How d’ya mean?”

  “Never mind, it’s been a long day. We’re seeing my folks tomorrow, but ring me if anything’s happening.”

  The taxi journey was a crypt on wheels. He kept his mouth shut until they were back in their hotel room.

  “Couldn’t you have made an effort? I know you didn’t want to come, but it’s not their fault.”

  “No.” She stomped around the room, searching for a hairbrush. “It’s yours. I told you I’d rather not be here, but you insisted I come along to play happy families.”

  “What is your problem? Have I done something to piss you off?”

  “Just leave it. I’m tired; I’m going to bed.”

  He didn’t need surveillance skills to work out it wasn’t an invitation.

  Chapter 17

  He was out next morning, camera in hand, and returned with pictures of two chaffinches and the back end of a squirrel. Miranda was in the shower. When he pressed his ear against the door so he could hear her trying to sing, he thought he heard her crying. She emerged from the steam wrapped in towels, her face a little blotchy. Somehow she could still make pissed off and unhappy look good.

  After breakfast they went walkabout in Pickering, a busy Saturday in a typical market town with endless opportunities for not talking to one another. They got to the café early. The place could have doubled as a lace museum. There were only four chairs at the reserved table. Apparently Pat, Gordon and the kids were out for the day. Knowing Gordon it could well have been a trip to the garden centre.

  Hostilities had abated by the time his parents arrived. Miranda broke new ground by calling them Helen and James. He watched the three of them struggling and went on the offensive.

  “What’s the latest with Pat and Gordon?”

  His father faltered. “Well, she doesn’t say a lot. I think they’re managing . . .”

  “And what about you two?” Mum returned fire.

  He was all out of ideas after the previous night. When make-up sex was off the table, he knew they were in bad shape.

  Helen advanced further into enemy territory. “You’ve had years to sort yourselves out. If you’d stayed in Leeds — or come back to Pickering — things might be very different now.”

  “Excuse me, I need the loo.” Miranda stood up and glared at him.

  He made the most of her absence by defining a few boundaries. They were all enjoying a nice cup of tea when his mobile came to the rescue.

  “Alright, Thomas?” Ajit’s voice echoed in the earpiece — a classic corridor conversation. “Geena’s been taken into hospital, on account of her blood pressure — a precautionary measure.”

  “So it’s not the big push, then?”

  “No, but I think she’d be glad of that now. Complete bed rest until the baby comes. She came in first thing this morning and she’s already bored out of her skull. Do you feel like popping in to cheer her up?”

  “In hospital you say?” He mouthed ‘Ajit’ for the benefit of everyone at the table. “And where are you again?”

  “The Malton, like I told you yesterday.”

  “The Malton?” He repeated it for effect. “That’s miles away.”

  It had the desired result. The journey over was punctuated by Thomas’s efforts to include Miranda in the conversation and a fat lot of good it did him. They were dropped outside and he walked off to the front desk, threading his way to Ajit, with Miranda trailing behind him.

  Ajit looked elated to see a new face. “It could be up to a week they reckon — she’s nowhere near ready,” he muttered outside the room.

  “I bloody well am,” Geena called out. “Are you coming in or what?”

  The room smelled of some aromatherapy spray — the scent he had noticed at their house. A stuffed piglet, Geena’s from childhood, was propped up on a pillow.

  “Does Percy know he’s getting a sibling?” Thomas flicked its ragged ear.

  A medic put her head around the door and asked them to leave while she did a quick examination. Miranda was first out and the three of them decamped to the corridor. Ajit tried small talk about her business and Thomas listened in. Miranda was so self-contained. She didn’t need looking after and that scared the hell out of him.

  The medic emerged and passed on a message for Miranda to go in alone. She went pale at the news, glancing behind her up the corridor. Ajit caught Thomas’s eye and nodded towards the drinks machine.

  “Girls’ talk!” Ajit nudged him without turning back. “Is she alright?”

  “Dunno.” Thomas was relieved to have Ajit on his wavelength. “She’s been in a funny mood since we left London.” He dug into his pocket for a handful of change.

  “P’raps she’s broody.” Ajit stroked his chin. “I’ve ’eard that some women get that way when one of them has a bairn. Maybe you want to think about that, Mr Intelligence.”

  He concentrated on carrying the coffees back while his mind turned somersaults. They’d never discussed having kids — apart from joking about what terrible parents they’d make. And now his job alwa
ys seemed to get in the way.

  Ajit knocked on the door before they went in. Geena was in tears. Thomas meekly handed Miranda her coffee; she’d have given Medusa a run for her money. Ajit moved around the bed to Geena’s side and Thomas looked on.

  He felt the walls closing in, as if a haze had filled the room and only he could see it. He heard each shallow breath, felt his heart pounding and knew he had to get out of there. Without saying a word he closed the door behind him. A few paces on he dropped his cup into a bin, inhaling the sickly aroma of machine coffee and creamer as it hit the plastic liner and burst. Jesus. He felt the sweat in his hands as he switched on his mobile.

  “Hey Karl, it’s Thomas — any news?”

  “You could say that. I got a look at the police report — ballistics confirms what we already knew. I’ll tell you more when I see you.” Karl’s phone paranoia kicked in.

  He took a Judas breath. “I’ll come back today.”

  “Well, that’d be useful but I can hold the fort here until you’re ready.”

  “No, it’s settled. I’ll ring you from the train.” As he slumped with relief against the wall, he felt his rucksack digging into his back. Inside were his camera, his passport and his keys — all the things that mattered.

  He dragged himself back along the corridor and tried to lose himself in justifications. Jack Langton was depending on him and so was Karl. Besides, Miranda might be grateful for an excuse to leave. He cleared his throat and went inside, a few steps from the door.

  “I’ve just spoken to Karl. Sorry, I’m needed in London.”

  “No.” She spoke quietly and didn’t say anything else.

  He couldn’t tell whether she was objecting or if she didn’t believe him, so he waited. She was quiet for a time, taking it all in. And just when he thought she was okay with everything she flipped. A complete meltdown; screaming, flailing at him, resurrecting every injustice he’d ever inflicted on her — and there were many. Telling him how he put his fucking job before her every time, and now he’d treated his only friends the same way.

  “The truth is you need your job — you’re lost without it. You run back to London. I’m staying on at the hotel.”

  Ajit stared at the floor. Geena grabbed his hand, pulling him close, crying and crying without saying a word, until finally Miranda told Thomas to get out.

  He shut the door and kept on walking, telling himself it wasn’t cowardice but self-preservation. Either way, the rush of air past the automatic doors was the purest oxygen he’d ever known. When he reached York he rang his sister. He wanted to get in his side of the story first, and he passed on Miranda’s mobile number so Pat could keep an eye on her.

  “Oh, Tommy.” Pat’s voice sank. “Whatever’s wrong with you?”

  “I don’t know, Sis.” He told her the signal was breaking up and cut the call.

  At York, he collected a couple of Southern Comfort miniatures to anaesthetise him for the rest of the journey. Not being a big drinker had its advantages. He woke as the train arrived in London, a sweet taste on his lips and a bitter one on his conscience. The therapist, who he’d stopped seeing, had once asked him if he saw a way back to the person he used to be. Before he’d been dragged into the Surveillance Support Unit quicksand like all the others. “No,” he whispered on the train, “there’s no way back now.”

  Chapter 18

  Karl met him at Euston Station. “Jaysus, Tommo — you look like shit. Is everything okay?”

  Thomas threw him a sardonic smile and followed him to the car. Karl rattled off a relentless briefing while he drove.

  “. . . I acquired a photo of a cartridge the police recovered from the scene, found in a drainage channel. Ken must have missed it — sloppy. It matches the ones from our test firing. You realise what this means?”

  “Yeah, I’m definitely an accessory to murder.” When Thomas closed his eyes he saw the bullet holes that had penetrated wood and metal in the scrap yard. He opened the window to escape the faded scent of spilt orange juice from the back seat.

  “Stop the car – I’m going to be sick.” He was true to his word.

  Karl sluiced off the kerbstone with drinking water while Thomas sat there, head in his hands.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  He shook his head slowly. “I wouldn’t know where to start.” He held out his hands and rubbed some water across his face before taking a swig.

  “That’s all right, Tommo — you keep it. Listen, if you don’t feel like going home, do you fancy a drink?”

  It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go. “Sure. Where does the police report leave you with Ken?”

  “Treading carefully. He’s clearly implicated although I’m still waiting for his version. But I think what you’re really asking is whether I’d turn him in?” Karl looked him right between the eyes. “Not a chance. I hope I haven’t offended your moral compass.”

  He didn’t bother responding.

  * * *

  It didn’t take a detective to predict the choice of watering hole. He wondered if Karl was secretly hoping to run into Ken again. He doubted it — life was rarely that tidy. As they entered the regimental bar the manager called Karl over. Thomas fell in step.

  “Mr McNeill!” He stiffened a little, as if passing sentence. “This was left for you — hand delivered. Please don’t make a habit of it.”

  Karl reached for the envelope and ordered two shandies. Over at the table, he checked it for signs of tampering and then slit the top with his car key. He extracted a single page from the ragged edge and folded it flat on the table so they could both read it: SORRY TO DRAG YOU INTO THIS. NO ONE ELSE I COULD TRUST — KEN.

  Half an hour and one game of darts later, Thomas felt brave enough to put his mobile back on. Ajit’s text read: How could you? There was no word from Miranda, which was about what he figured he deserved. He was still reliving the scene in the hospital when Karl returned from the gents.

  “No good news, I take it?”

  He snapped back into work mode. “We need to get the buggy back to Janey. You can explain the science again to me on the way.”

  “Not much to tell. The paint colour is obsolete according to some database, and the chemical analysis of the flakes on the buggy confirms the paint was manufactured before 2000.”

  “So how does that sit with Jack Langton’s theory that it was a premeditated attack?”

  “It’s an anomaly, I grant you. And we still don’t know it was about Jack. Greg owed money to Charlie Stokes — he as good as said so. Something to discuss next time you see Jack in prison?”

  Heading across London, he turned down Deep Purple and reached for his phone again. No voice messages but one new text: I need to see you tonight — Diane. That was unexpected — a summons from Miranda’s mum.

  “Listen, could you drop me off at my place first and deal with the buggy on your own? I just received an invitation I can’t turn down.”

  * * *

  When he went inside for his car keys he spotted the answering machine flashing. He hit the button and stood in the shadows, waiting. Pat didn’t pull any punches this time — Miranda deserved better, he was totally selfish, and the topper: she was ashamed of him. Join the queue.

  It stood to reason that Diane Wright had heard from Miranda. They were close. Not like her to get involved though. She usually stayed well clear of their chaos. He was either in line for the mother of all bollockings or something else was going on. He got in the car and put his foot down.

  Chapter 19

  His palms tingled as the sweat met the dank air outside, each step from the car talking him further from safety. Diane was quick to answer the door, solemn faced and drawn.

  “Come in, Thomas.”

  He followed her to an empty living room. Diane noticed he was looking around.

  “John’s in his office. We agreed this was better coming from me. Sit down. Coffee all right?” Her voice trailed behind her.

  He leapt up
after her; he thought he might as well get it over with.

  “Look, Diane, I’m really sorry about leaving Miranda in Yorkshire. There was stuff I needed to do for Jack Langton and it couldn’t wait.”

  She faced him down, saying nothing, and pulled out a couple of chairs. The kitchen it would be then. She seemed lost in thought, or maybe she was waiting for the right moment. Either way, it was killing him.

  “I know I fucked up.” He felt his voice go brittle.

  She yielded a long sigh, put down her coffee, and cupped one hand over the other as though she were shielding something fragile.

  “Miranda’s been under a lot of strain lately.” She raised a finger when he lifted his head to speak. “It’s been hard keeping you in the dark, but Miranda talked with Geena and then she rang me.”

  A wave of dread hit him. “Is Miranda ill?” His breath caught in his throat.

  “No . . .” She stalled. “Not ill.” The way she said it hinted at bad news. It wasn’t long in coming. “You remember when she went to Bermuda?”

  How could he forget? They’d parted company — again — and she’d been seeing some up-and-coming footballer, apparently. What was it with her and footballers? And then, almost out of the blue, that was all over and she announced — in a phone call, mind — that she was off to Bermuda on a modelling job.

  “Yeah.” He felt his shoulders locking. “I remember.”

  “Well . . .” Diane swallowed hard and pressed her hand flat over the coffee mug. “Around that time she found out she was pregnant.”

  His brain went into slip gear. “Why didn’t she say something? I didn’t know . . .” He started conjuring with the implications.

  “No, she wanted to think about it and make her own decisions. As it turned out,” her knuckle whitened, “events ran their own course and she had a miscarriage. Early stages, that can happen.”

  His mouth dried. “I’m so sorry.” The pieces fell horribly into place. How volatile she’d been about Ajit and Geena, and then, God help him, he’d insisted she go with him to Pickering. He pressed a hand to his mouth. They’d made her a godparent and he’d left her there with them, about to go into the delivery room. And she’d never said a word. “Christ, I’ve been such an idiot.”