Matthew admires Sally’s taste on most matters but in two areas, he’s baffled. She is obsessed with opera, which he fails to understand. And she is entirely wrong about pancakes. She likes traditional pancakes – large and thin, rolled with lemon and sugar. Matthew shudders at the thought of all that flipping and burning and the sharp intake of breath when you taste the lemon. No. All wrong. This morning he’s in charge, so there is jazz on the radio and the pancakes will be fat and fabulous.
‘One order of pancakes with blueberries coming up, madam.’
‘It’s not a restaurant, Daddy. Why are you talking as if we’re in a restaurant?’
‘We can pretend it is.’
‘Why would we do that? We’ll have to pay.’
‘No, we won’t. My restaurant. My rules. Pancakes are on the house today.’
‘Like on the roof?’ Amelie frowns. ‘You’re a very silly daddy. How can I eat the pancakes if you put them on the roof?’
‘No, no, no. On the house means free. But never mind, sweetie. Here you go.’ He puts two of the plump pancakes into a bowl and spoons on some blueberries and a huge dollop of yoghurt. He puts a tea towel over one arm and delivers the breakfast to his daughter on her booster seat with a flourish that makes her giggle.
‘Where’s Mummy?’
‘Mummy is picking up the dry cleaning. Now – be careful because the pancakes are still hot. Try just a little bit. Shall I cut it up so you don’t burn your mouth?’
‘No. I’m not a baby.’ Amelie holds out her arm, rigid and determined, to keep him away. Matthew takes in the familiar warning in her eyes. Do not let her see that I am a tiny bit afraid, he thinks. No tantrums today. Please.
‘OK. Well, try a tiny bit with the yoghurt to see how hot it is? Yes?’
‘OK.’
Matthew watches his daughter cut the pancake with her little fork. Her eyes relax. Matthew’s shoulders relax. He takes out his phone to see if there’s a new message from Mel Sanders. He can still hardly believe how fast the investigation is progressing, and is praying she will say yes to his latest off-piste request.
He knows it’s a long shot – asking to watch the Alex interview. More than anything at times like this, Matthew wishes he had an official role. Official status. A long time ago he had toyed with the idea of retraining. He was fascinated with different techniques for interviewing. Also profiling. He did a preliminary negotiation course once and loved that too; for a time he’d wondered if he could get a new qualification which might make him useful again to the force in some new and different guise.
But he looks now at his daughter tucking into her pancakes and reminds himself of the reality here. The need to earn a living. To make a go of his agency. There’s no spare time for courses. He won’t go back in the force – however much Mel urges him. No. Too late for any of that.
At last, his phone rings.
‘Hi, Mel. So what’s happening?’ He pours some more orange juice into Amelie’s bright pink plastic cup and spoons a few more blueberries into her bowl, his phone tucked between his chin and his shoulder.
‘Well, he’s furious. Claims we’ve infringed his human rights by stopping the marriage. Is talking about suing us.’
‘Good luck with that, Alex. So – delusional?’
‘Definitely. No surprise there. We’re waiting for the duty solicitor, then they’re doing the interviews about breaking his terms of licence first. The team are looking at his phone already. A string of messages to the girl since he got out of prison but we’ve found nothing yet to link him to Alice.’
‘So can I come up? Be useful? I can help out if you go into labour early.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Seriously, I’d like to see the interview.’
‘Oh, come on, Matt. You know I can’t authorise that.’
‘Unofficially. Sort of adviser. Observer.’
‘You gone mad? You seriously want to come all the way up to Scotland?’
‘I do. There’s a flight from Exeter to Glasgow. I can be with you by mid-afternoon. When do you expect to interview him?’
There’s a long pause, as if Mel is seriously considering this. Good.
‘Oh, come on, Mel. You know we work best as a team. I can be helpful. We can bounce off each other. When are you getting a shot at him?’
‘I’m just observing for now. When it’s my turn for the stalker inquiry, I’m sending in a very good DS so I can watch and wait. You know how I like to play it.’
‘Let me watch too. I want to see him. Please, Mel. I want to figure out if this is our guy.’
‘Um. I think that might be my job.’
‘Yeah – sorry. But it kind of feels like mine too.’
There’s a long sigh at the other end of the line. ‘Look. I can’t make any promises, Matt. Come up if you want and I’ll see what I can do. But it’ll all be unofficial. We may have to tell some porkies.’
‘You’re a star.’
Just as he hangs up, Matthew hears the front door. He checks his watch and winks at Amelie.
‘Right, my sweet pea. Mummy is home and Daddy has to go to work. I’m going on an aeroplane and I’m going to bring you back some haggis.’
‘What’s haggis?’
‘It’s like sausage only better. Absolutely delicious, I promise you.’
‘As nice as pancakes?’
‘Definitely.’
In the hire car from Glasgow Airport later, Matthew feels a pang of guilt at the little white lies he’s had to tell Sally lately. He’s still pretending his iPad is broken, and is planning to call again on Ian as soon as he gets back. Ian’s now agreed to the monthly cost of an Internet package and is taking his iPad lessons very seriously. He should be up and running soon. Now Matthew has somehow implied to Sally that Tom is funding this Scottish trip. It’s true that Tom is meeting his day rate again since Alice re-engaged him. But there’s no sign-off yet for this special trip.
Matthew is well aware that he’s more copper than businessman, and is wondering if he dares add these costs to the Alice invoice without prior agreement. In fairness, silver-spoon Tom has said whatever it takes, I’ll pay, but Matthew can hardly make a legitimate case for this trip. The ball is in Mel’s court now. It will take time for the techies to check Alex’s phone and go over all the CCTV for his movements over the past few weeks. Matthew thinks it is highly unlikely Alex will admit to anything. He’s already playing the victim and won’t make it easy for them. In truth, it would make sense to just wait and see what happens. But Matthew is impatient; he badly wants to see Alex’s face as he’s questioned. He wants to get a feel for where this is going. In the past, he has had a good eye for spotting ‘tells’. He trusts his instinct and needs to see this guy in the flesh. The bottom line is he would love for this whole sorry case to be over. For Alice’s sake.
As he pulls into a parking space within sight of the police station, he feels the familiar surge of adrenaline that comes when a key suspect is in custody. Mel will be feeling the pressure too.
Inside, he puts in a request for Mel at the front desk and she appears within minutes. The sergeant on reception seems bemused. He queries Matthew’s status but Mel suddenly starts fidgeting with her phone, pretending to check messages and then making a quick call, saying simply, ‘He’s here; five minutes maximum.’ There are two other members of the public waiting to be seen by the front desk. Mel raises her eyebrows and stares at her watch. She signs for a visitor badge, giving only cursory explanations that Matthew is ‘ex-job’; is deeply involved with the case ‘down south’ and is needed urgently for the interviews. For a moment Matthew thinks the bluff isn’t going to wash, but then the desk sergeant glances between Mel’s enormous bump and the people waiting in line.
Matthew gets his visitor’s badge.
The station is small and he’s led quickly through to a small room adjacent to the interview suite. It’s nearly four o’clock in the afternoon and Alex has apparently been making a scene, complaining that
he’s feeling unwell. That he is being harassed. That Brexit or no Brexit, I’m going to the European Court of Human Rights over this. A duty solicitor has turned up and has already taken instructions. Mel explains that Alex’s position is that it is none of anyone’s business who he marries. The girl’s an adult now.
‘So there he is,’ Mel says, signalling with her head to the impossibly good-looking man seated on the other side of the one-way glass.
Matthew takes in a long, slow breath and stares at Alex. Suddenly he’s thinking again of that terrible moment when the bike swung past them. The squirt of liquid into Alice’s face. Those dreadful minutes when he thought it truly was acid and Alice’s life would be changed forever.
It would take someone with extraordinary nerve to do that. Chilling arrogance.
He takes in Alex Sunningham’s stance. He is leaning back in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. Arms folded. Narrowed eyes.
‘I’m going to sue you,’ Alex says very coolly.
OK. So – definitely arrogant enough, Matthew thinks.
But are you our man? He stares through the glass. Was all of that really you?
CHAPTER 41
HIM – BEFORE
Just two weeks and he’ll be in double figures. Ten . . . years . . . old.
He has waited a long time for double figures. He thinks of his maths lessons in school. His new teacher has an abacus which she keeps on the shelf. A black frame with shiny red beads. He loves that abacus. In fact, he likes maths a lot now and works even harder in school. Top group. Top dog. He feels sure that things will change; that things will be different once he is no longer a single digit. Double digits on that abacus.
He longs to be taller and stronger too. He thinks of all the things he will be able to do when he is taller and older and can go to the gym and build up his muscles.
‘What you thinking about?’ his gran says. She is knitting him a new sweater for school. He does not want it. It’s the wrong colour; the blue is too dark. The wool will itch and they will tease him. Maybe your gran could knit you some pants too. Woolly pants . . . Woolly pants.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ She’s still staring at him.
‘Nothing.’
‘Ah – yes. You children spend a lot of time thinking about that.’ She is smiling but also glancing at the clock.
Wednesday.
When he’s in double digits, everything will be different. When he’s in double digits, he will not answer the door to Brian. He will put a chair against the door and pretend he cannot hear him knocking.
He will be going to big school soon and he’ll start a gang. He’ll tell them about Brian. Not the truth – not the dirty, stinking truth. But he will say that Brian has hurt his gran and needs to be taught a lesson. And they will all teach him a lesson together. They will make him beg . . . and beg . . . and beg.
He looks across the room at his gran, who is still smiling at him. He thinks of how tired she always looks. How hard she always works. He thinks of her baking cakes for him every Sunday – butterfly cakes with jam and icing – and making him boiled eggs with soldiers before school. And he thinks of her looking out of the window every day to say good morning to Grandad’s bench.
‘When I’m big, I’m going to look after you,’ he says. ‘So that you don’t have to go to work at all.’
‘Of course you will. And that will be lovely, my sweet boy.’ She folds up her knitting and puts it into the bag next to her, glancing again at the clock.
She only works one night shift every two weeks now. She has done some deal with Stan at work. He doesn’t know how.
So just once a fortnight there is the tap at the door. Brian with biscuits and banter. His big fat belly. And his little bargain.
One week he thought of just refusing to answer the door, but Brian has said it has been going on so long now that it is too late for second thoughts. No one will believe him and they will put his gran in jail for leaving him.
He closes his eyes and thinks again of maths class in school. He has learned that working hard gets the teachers off your back. He was suspended after hurting the boy that time the head teacher got cross. His gran cried and the suspension wasn’t for very long. She said that education was his only chance to make something of himself. And so he decided deep inside never to make her cry again.
Now he has the class merit badge. He is in top groups for everything. And he has just been given a special school award to take music lessons free of charge. He can pick any instrument he likes.
He can’t decide. Guitar or piano? He must choose soon.
He pictures himself playing music and he imagines people looking at him and saying, What a clever boy. He thinks it will be a good trick. People will listen to his music and will have no idea what is really going on inside his head.
They will never guess the truth. That he is thinking still of hammers and eagles and how long it will be before he grows, with his age in double digits – and is big enough and strong enough to start a gang and pay Brian back.
To make him beg.
CHAPTER 42
ALICE
I’m in a café when the email comes in from work. I’ve used up the ‘breathing space’ of my spare holiday now, and they agree with me that we need to make some decisions about ‘going forward’. There’s politically correct rubbish from Helen in HR about my safety being the priority, blah blah blah. There’s an additional note from the editor saying he’s again turned down police requests to tap the phone lines for evidence. I do understand. No paper could function if we agreed to that. But at least they see that a meeting’s essential. Good.
It’s still Thursday. Mum’s settling into her new home and I need some routine back. I stir the foaming milk into the rest of the coffee and think. Yes – I so badly need to get back to work. I’ve written a blog for the charity but they haven’t published it yet. They’re worried about the timing with Alex’s arrest, and want to wait to see the outcome. To be honest, Claire’s emails have been a bit odd the past couple of days. She keeps going on about me trying her new alarm and writing about that instead. For some reason this is troubling me. I thought she said the alarm project was in its early stages.
No matter. I brush thoughts of Claire and the charity away and reply instead to Helen’s email, agreeing to the meeting and stressing that I ideally want to return next week. It’s been long enough. I’m not going to get heavy with them just yet, but I will if I need to. I shouldn’t be the one paying the price for this creep’s behaviour.
I put my phone back in my pocket and then, as I look up, there is the most extraordinary surprise. He’s wearing a very smart woollen coat with a bright, striped scarf I have not seen before, so that for a few moments I am not one hundred per cent sure it’s him. But then he turns and I’m shocked at the little punch inside. He looks so striking and I feel the familiar guilt because I don’t feel this way when I catch sight unexpectedly of Tom.
‘Jack. What on earth are you doing here?’
He looks utterly shaken too. ‘Alice! Goodness.’ His expression segues from puzzlement into pleasure, as if he can’t quite process this either. But I’m pleased he seems glad to see me. ‘I’m after a sandwich before an interview.’ He fidgets with his scarf as if suddenly self-conscious. ‘Local primary school. Teacher awards. What about you? Bit out of your way here, isn’t it?’
‘Loose end. Just been driving around. Well, sit down and tell me what’s happening. By coincidence, I’ve just had an email from the office. I’m hoping to be back next week.’
‘That would be fabulous. We’re all missing you. Everyone thinks it’s unfair they’re making you take holiday. So, how are things? Have you not got your security guard guy with you?’ He glances about, as if checking for Matthew.
‘He’s not a bodyguard. And no. Not today. Only Wednesdays. The key suspect has just been arrested, though I need you to keep that under your hat.’
‘But that’s great news.’ He l
eans in to read my face. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘Yeah – I guess.’
I am rewinding now to remember when I last saw Jack. Ah yes – at Leanne’s, when he warned me that the editor was reallocating my campaign stories. The demolition of Maple Field House. I feel a smile as I remember that Jack has been looking out for me. I’m grateful.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I say. ‘I suppose I should be more relieved but I guess I won’t relax fully until they find some proper evidence. It’s a bit of a waiting game.’
‘So who is it? The guy in custody. Someone you did a story on?’
‘No. Not supposed to say. An ex, actually.’
‘Dear Lord, I had no idea.’
And then the waitress appears and Jack orders a double espresso and a toasted sandwich. I wave my hand to signal I’m fine with just my drink.
‘By the way – I’m really grateful for you tipping me off about the campaign story. The demolition of the flats . . . I met the organiser up in London so I’m right up to speed. I’m not letting Ted pass the coverage to anyone else. No way. Not after all I’ve put into that.’
‘Oh – you’re welcome. Anyway, if you’re back next week, it’ll be fine. So it’s really all over? What a relief.’ He’s looking into my face as the waitress returns with his coffee, advising him the sandwich will be just a couple of minutes. I notice that he doesn’t thank the waitress, doesn’t even turn to look at her, and so I do the niceties for him, nodding at her and smiling until she’s gone.
‘It’s just I’ve been really worried about you, Alice. We all have. I haven’t wanted to intrude by email or text. I mean, I know you have Tom looking out for you.’ For some reason he flushes – a red patch appearing above the scarf on his neck. I wonder if he is thinking as I am of that awful Italian meal. My faux pas.
‘I’m fine, Jack. Well – no, that’s not true. But Tom’s been great and I’m managing, and I should know very soon if this nightmare is finally over.’ I pause then, wondering if I should confide in him more. He seems to sense this, raising his eyebrow by way of question.
I Will Make You Pay Page 19
