by David Belbin
‘I asked Nazia to marry me,’ Nick confessed, when Joe didn’t answer. ‘She said yes. We knew her family wouldn’t have it, not in the mid-eighties, but Mum and Dad were both alive then and I was going to take her to meet them. She bottled out at the last minute. Then she dumped me for a dentist.’
‘Any idea what happened to her?’
‘Married the dentist, at a guess. He was from the same caste as her.’
Nick wondered again if his brother was screwing Nas at the office. Did Caroline suspect, hence her jibe about Asian women? She knew Joe hadn’t been entirely faithful before they were married and she’d still walked down the aisle with him. It was none of Nick’s business.
‘What about now?’ Caroline asked, pushing round the peas on her still full plate. ‘Are you seeing anybody?’
She had carefully moved the conversation to this point, Nick realized. A week ago, he might have mentioned Polly, but not now.
‘Not seriously,’ was all he said.
‘What about Sarah?’ Joe asked. His voice took on a schoolboy snigger. ‘Still interested?’
‘The last thing an MP needs is to be seen chumming up with an ex-con,’ Nick said. ‘If she loses next Thursday, I’ll see her.’
‘How gallant,’ Caroline said, putting down her knife and fork to signal that she had given up on the meal.
Soon Caroline went upstairs for a sleep while the two men dozed through the afternoon match on Sky. After the game, Nick borrowed Joe’s bike to get home. Joe had bought the bike to ‘keep fit’ but never used it. Nick’s Canning Circus flat was only a two-mile ride, but he chose a round-about route, one that took him past Polly’s. He cycled slowly, still full from dinner. He’d had a couple of glasses of wine and the memory of his last visit to Polly’s made him horny. But the other night was a one-off. They were over. He was going to see Polly out of friendship, to warn her about Ed, suggest she start using a different taxi firm.
Now that there was a chance of Nick getting back with Sarah, he couldn’t resume the sexual relationship with Polly. He wasn’t like Joe: he couldn’t be with Polly one day and Sarah the next. Whatever happened, he must not sleep with Polly this afternoon. The kids wouldn’t be in bed yet, so he should be spared the temptation.
It was a mild, spring evening, not yet dusk. By the time he got to Polly’s, he had worked up a mild sweat. The oldest girl answered the door. Kayleigh was one of Polly’s nieces. Behind her, the house was a chaos of younger kids shouting, playing, running around.
‘Is she in?’ he asked.
‘I thought you only came when it was dark?’ Kayleigh said, looking him up and down. The girl was only eleven but already had discernable breasts. Her knowing look made him uncomfortable.
‘Isn’t this night?’ he tried to be funny, pointing at the strong evening sun that beamed through the window. ‘It’s awfully dark outside.’
‘You’re weird,’ Kayleigh said. ‘Polly’s with her boyfriend. Upstairs.’
Now she was winding him up. Nick laughed and went up the stairs. He tapped on her bedroom door. ‘It’s me. Nick.’
‘Hold on.’ It was a long minute before Polly pulled the door half open. The girl wasn’t lying. She did have someone in there.
‘This isn’t a good time,’ Polly said, her face contorted. With guilt or shame, Nick wasn’t sure.
‘I can see that.’ Nick was unsettled, but Polly was breaking no promises. She’d let him think he was her only lover, but he had never asked for, and she had never offered monogamy. Only, why was this bloke allowed in now when Nick was normally invited over only when the kids were at school or had gone to bed? At least she had the good grace to look uncomfortable.
‘I had some news,’ he told her. ‘It’ll only take a minute.’
‘Spit it out, then.’ Polly’s dressing gown was old and her short hair was a mess, sticking up in several different directions. He didn’t want to be here. After two months, Nick knew every part of Polly’s body, but he had never got far inside her head.
‘It’s Ed Clark. He’s passed his test to get a taxi permit. The firm I’m with has given him a job. Sorry, there was nothing I could do about it.’
‘You could have phoned,’ Polly said, her expression morose, inscrutable. ‘You’re a bit late with the news anyway.’
‘You mean . . .?’
‘S’right,’ said a familiar, male voice. A large, pale, tattooed arm slid round Polly’s waist, then a bald head slid into view. Ed Clark gave Nick a lascivious grin. ‘You see, kidder, I’ve already given her a ride.’
21
Arnold had two sides. There was a wide suburbia of dull, detached houses that spread all the way up a long hill before merging with middle-class Mapperley. Then there were the mean terraced houses off the left of the main road, a more working-class area where there were few posters for Gedling’s Tory MP. It was a small Labour zone in a safe Tory seat. Sarah was pleased to note that the house she was visiting had a poster for the Labour candidate, a deputy head who at least had a job to return to in a week’s time. Maybe she should get her red rosette out of the car and put it on.
The guy who opened the door was Sarah’s age. Unshaven, he wore a white vest with faded blue jeans, gone at both knees, and filthy trainers. Seeing Sarah, he smiled, revealing tobacco stained teeth and a mouthful of NHS fillings. Yet Phil Bolton was handsome, in his fashion. He looked a little like Nick, with a strong jaw and dark, thick hair. Sarah could tell what Polly Shanks had seen in him. The eyes were his only weak point: slightly sunken and pale blue, giving him a haunted air.
‘I’m Sarah. I phoned last night.’
‘I can see who you are. When you rang, I thought you might be some kind of debt collector. Nearly went out. Not that I owe anyone ought, but I wouldn’t put it past Polly to buy something in my name.’
‘Actually, it was Polly I wanted to see you about.’
Sarah stepped over old newspaper covered in oily motorbike parts. This wasn’t a home that children lived in, but Phil didn’t live alone. A couple of bras and a skirt hung from a laundry rack near the gas fire.
‘You helped get that Ed Clark out, didn’t you?’ Phil said.
‘Yes. Your ex wasn’t too pleased about that.’
‘If you say so. Why do you want to see me?’
‘I want to help the police find Terry and Liv’s killer. I thought you might be able to help me.’
‘Doubt it.’ Phil took a copy of the Mirror off an uncomfortable looking armchair and waved Sarah to sit down. ‘Terry was always all right to me, but I wasn’t around when he died.’
‘You were married to his sister, though . . .’
‘Legally. But I’d moved out by then.’
This confused Sarah. ‘I thought you moved out just after Terry and Elaine’s kids came to live with you and Polly.’
‘Nah. I moved back in for a while, after the murders, to help Polly out. But the marriage was shot soon as she started having it off with Ed Clark, eighteen month before.’
Sarah bit her lip to disguise her surprise, then asked Phil to repeat his last sentence.
‘Claimed she hated him after, of course. Begged me to stay with her. But she doesn’t know what she wants, Polly. More sides to her than an old threepenny bit. Clark probably wasn’t the first she played away with. I don’t even know if the kids are mine. She wanted money, went through the CSA, but wouldn’t let me do paternity tests. So I’ve stayed clear of them, too. I’m well rid.’
Sarah was still having trouble taking in what he’d told her. ‘She was sleeping with Ed Clark before he got arrested the first time? Polly told you this?’
‘Not her, no. Terry knew about it before I did. He suggested I put the bug in our bedroom. You don’t know about the bug?’
‘There was no bug mentioned in the trial transcripts.’
‘It was inadmissible evidence for the court case. Poll didn’t contest the divorce, so it was never used. But that’s how they caught Ed and his mates. They got the s
hithead on tape, in bed, boasting to Polly about how he was going to turn round all this tobacco from a warehouse job.’
‘Who planted the bug? CID?’
‘The bloke who came round with Terry was called Slater. Jack Slater, I think. He was in plain clothes, but that doesn’t mean he was CID. Terry wasn’t in uniform either.’
‘And Polly didn’t know she was being taped?’
‘Not far as I know. They had to get permission from the homeowner, and that was me, but I certainly didn’t tell her.’
‘Terry went through you to get at his sister’s lover?’
‘I got on better with Terry than Polly did.’
‘And none of this came up at the trial?’
‘No. Ed must have worked it out, though. Otherwise, why would he have killed Terry and Liv?’
There was an accusation in his tone but Sarah ignored it. ‘Liv knew about the tape but Polly didn’t?’
‘Oh yeah. Terry had no secrets from her. Liv told me getting Ed sent down was one of the best things Terry had ever done.’
Sarah understood why Terry Shanks’ role in Ed’s original arrest was kept so low-profile. He wouldn’t want his adulterous sister dragged into the case, especially when she didn’t know he’d recorded her in bed with her lover. In the murder trial, it would have suited both prosecution and defence not to explain how Terry Shanks had been instrumental in Ed’s arrest: a role that didn’t reflect well on either Shanks or Clark.
‘But you don’t think that, do you?’ Phil said.
‘What? Sorry, I was lost in thought.’
‘You don’t think Ed killed Terry and Liv?’
‘I don’t know what I believe any more,’ Sarah confessed. ‘What do you think happened?’
‘I reckon the police got the right man in the first place, but the evidence weren’t strong enough.’
‘The appeal court threw out the conviction because there was reasonable doubt,’ Sarah said.
‘Does that mean you agree with me, that Ed did it?’
‘Probably,’ Sarah said, admitting it to herself for the first time. ‘I couldn’t say so in public but if you asked me off the record, after what you’ve told me, I’d have to say yes. Yes, I think he killed them both.’
It had been two days, but Nick still couldn’t get his head around finding Polly with Ed Clark. Her being with him made no sense. He couldn’t leave things the way they were. Late afternoon he cycled to the cab office, where Nas was alone behind the switch.
‘When’s Ed driving today?’ he asked.
‘He finishes at six,’ Nas replied, without looking up.
Something in her voice prevented him from hurrying off.
‘Are you all right?
When she looked up, he saw that she had been crying.
‘What happened? Is it to do with you and Joe?’
‘You know about that?’
He nodded, because she had just confirmed his suspicions.
‘Joe told me you used to go out with a Muslim girl. You know what our men are like.’
Nick was alarmed. ‘Your brothers? Have they hurt Joe?’
‘Not Joe, no. He’s on his way over, to pick me up when my shift ends. Better maybe, if you’re not here.’
Perturbed, Nick left. Had Nas’s brothers hurt her? He wanted to do more, but she had told him to go and, whatever this was, it was Joe’s mess, not his. Moreoever, Nick had to see Polly before Ed’s shift finished. Less than an hour’s time.
Nick still had Joe’s bike, so he cycled to New Basford. There was no reply when he knocked. Polly had never given him a key, so he couldn’t go in and wait. Maybe it was best to leave it, Nick decided. He’d no idea what he would have said. He cycled off.
Nick was fifty yards away when a taxi turned onto the street. Nick glanced round. It was Ed’s car, with Polly in the front seat. Nick, not spoiling for a fight, swerved into the ginnel that ran between two of the terraced houses. Ed wouldn’t see him. Taxi drivers never noticed cyclists. Nick waited until Ed had helped Polly get her shopping bags out and driven off. Polly let herself into the house. As soon as she was inside, Nick cycled back.
The door was still ajar, two shopping bags in the small hallway. Nick lifted his bike over the step. Polly, fag in hand, returned for the remaining bags. Seeing him, her calm demeanour changed.
‘What the fuck do you want?’ she spat.
‘I’ll only stay five minutes,’ Nick said. ‘We couldn’t talk last time.’
Polly was shrill. ‘Have you been waiting for me to come home?’
‘No. I was just leaving when Ed dropped you off.’
Polly’s voice became high-pitched in a way he’d never heard it before. ‘Because if you’re stalking me, God help you, I’ll call him. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of Ed.’
Nick waited a moment before replying. This wasn’t the Polly he’d built up in his mind before he found her with Ed – not the vulnerable, working-class woman who was, if anything, too good for him.
‘I know what Ed’s capable of,’ Nick said. ‘And I know we’ve finished. But I have to know: why Ed? What possible reason can you have to sleep with the bloke who killed your brother, your sister-in-law?’
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Polly said. Her voice was numb, estranged, yet contained the ghost of the woman he’d made love with. They were still standing in the hall, with Polly blocking the door to the living room. Nick tried to recall what he’d first seen in her, why he got involved. In Nick’s old world, they would never have met. Yet he’d felt close to her.
‘Why?’ he repeated.
‘Turns out Sarah Bone was right. Ed didn’t do it.’
‘How can you be sure?’ Nick asked.
‘Because he told me who did.’
‘Who?’
‘None of your fucking business.’
‘Okay, so you believe him,’ Nick said. ‘But I still don’t see why you’re sleeping with him.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with you. You and me were going nowhere. We were only using each other for sex, right?’
Nick’s feelings were more complicated than that. He didn’t reply. Polly continued.
‘Ed doesn’t want me to see you any more.’
She didn’t sound at all convincing. She didn’t even sound as though she had half convinced herself. Nick wanted to help, but had no idea how to. ‘I’m worried what you’re getting into, that’s all,’ he said.
‘Don’t be.’ Polly’s voice softened. ‘I’ve known Ed for a long, long time. We had a thing, before Terry was killed, when my marriage was on the rocks. We had a misunderstanding, but it’s sorted. Now please go.’
22
Sarah managed an hour’s catch-up sleep when she got in from canvassing then freshened up with a shower before making dinner. When they lived together, Nick did all the cooking. He wouldn’t expect much.
Sarah prepared lamb kebabs, one of her few fancy dishes, from a Delia Smith book, a pointed birthday present from her mother. Best end neck of lamb, minced and blended with cashews, coriander, some chilli and a little egg white to bind the mix. The only tricky bit was cooking them on a kebab, where they were liable to fall apart. Sarah got around this by shaping them into fish-finger-size rissoles, which she fried instead of grilling. She left them to firm, then went to work on a pasta salad.
Sarah found cooking dull but relaxing. It gave her time to consider what it would be like if she and Nick got together again. Her body was softer than before. Nick’s looked harder. Sarah ached for Nick, ached to have again what they once had. Which was stupid. You can never go back. Everybody knew that.
She had to stop fantasizing. Sarah didn’t do casual sex, no matter how much she liked someone. When you knew you weren’t going to sleep with someone, it reduced the risk of giving mixed signals. No, she would not sleep with Nick tonight. She’d made Dan wait a month. Fifteen years ago, she’d made Nick wait longer. Then they’d spent a good proportion of her year as Union President in bed. It
was the best year of her life. She wondered if the same went for him.
Nick arrived on the dot of seven-thirty, carrying a bunch of lilies and a bottle of Rioja. When he leant over to kiss her, his hair smelt newly washed. His lips landed softly on the side of the mouth.
‘What would you like to drink?’
‘What are you having?’
‘A vodka and tonic.’
‘Sounds good.’
Sarah had to fight the urge to over analyse. Most blokes, when they chose the same drink as you, were trying it on. She’d been on body language training courses, knew that mirroring someone’s behaviour was a way to disarm, then seduce. But this was Nick. Sarah refreshed her drink while making his. When he wasn’t looking, she wiped her brow to remove a thin layer of sweat. Nervous Nelly, her granddad would have said. She and Nick had gelled pretty well on Thursday, but then she’d been in MP mode. Now she was trying to be herself, but which self? The last time she’d been truly relaxed was so long ago; she no longer remembered the person she’d been. Sarah dropped ice into tumblers, splashing the stainless steel work surface, then wiped the glasses dry with a tea towel.
‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers!’ Nick took a large slurp. He was nervous too.
‘Do you want to choose some music?’
‘Sure.’ He followed her into the living room and she knew she’d screwed up. Nick was always into his music. The only new CDs she’d bought in the last five years were reissues from the sixties and seventies. She watched him flick through the pile next to the stereo.
‘I haven’t heard this since I was a student.’
She couldn’t see what he’d chosen, but when he put it on, she recognized it at once: Al Green Explores Your Mind. ‘Late night seduction music,’ Nick used to call it.
‘Are you trying to get me into bed before we’ve even eaten?’
Nick grinned, the old Nick she’d been missing for thirteen years. Sarah, not sure how to react, looked away. She sat at one end of the sofa. Nick took her cue and sat at the other end of the long, matt leather settee.
