‘Oh, hello. Got the morning off?’ I ask with faux cheer.
‘I told Dad I wouldn’t be down until eleven. He knows I’m looking after you. Jessica, we need to have that talk you keep avoiding.’ Drew is looking particularly edgy this morning in his black vest and black jeans, arm tattoos on display. The joker is grinning at me – or is it snarling?
‘Uh-oh.’ I have heard this opening before. ‘Perhaps I should get dressed?’
‘You’re fine as you are. Tea? Coffee?’ He fills the kettle.
‘Double brandy?’
‘If you like.’
‘Tea’s fine.’
He sets the kettle down and roots around among the teabags. ‘Indian or green?’
‘Whatever you’re having.’
God, we’ve become so formal!
He puts two cups down on the table, and a little see-through pot with tea brewing in poisonous green curls like some witch’s potion. ‘Right, let’s talk.’
‘It’s OK, Drew. I know what you’re going to say and I’ll—’
‘I don’t think you do know what I’m going to say.’
‘You’re going to say that I’d better start looking for somewhere else to stay. That’s what any reasonable person would say.’
‘Let me get a word in edgeways, please.’
‘Sorry, when I get nervous, I babble.’
He reaches out and takes my hand. ‘Just listen then. I’m not throwing you out. I promised I’d look after you but it’s more than that. I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet the last week since you told me about Eastfields. And then you had your…’
‘Breakdown.’
‘Yeah, your thing last Saturday. I had to work through some issues of my own after what you said about that boy. I had a bad experience when I was a teenager, with someone I should’ve been able to trust, so any hint of sex between child and adult, and I tend to think the worst.’
‘Oh Drew, I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s OK now. I got help. The person was dealt with.’
‘By whom?’
‘My dad. It was his cousin.’
‘What did your dad do?’
‘You know we’re a family firm of funeral directors, Jess?’
‘You killed him!’
Drew actually laughs at my wild guess, lightening a serious moment. ‘No. We’re not Feltham’s answer to the Godfather, though I love your imagination. Dad put the fear of God into him though, rearranged a few features, and sacked him. Then Grandad got hold of him, did the same, and told him to fuck off and seek his fortune in another country – Australia, Canada, if either would have him.’
‘He used to work here?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. I was messed up for a bit, felt guilty as if I caused it somehow, but I got a good therapist, and that really helped. It took me a while to feel clean of it all but now I can say “water under the bridge” and mean it. I just needed to explain that when you told me that you and the boy had been at it in a cupboard…’
‘He was eighteen, a young man,’ I mutter.
‘… it touched an exposed nerve. But I made myself think about it some more. The person who did it to me definitely made all the plays, getting me on my own, making me think I had to do the things he wanted, threatening to tell my mother, which of course he would never have done, but I had no perspective at thirteen. It went on for about six months. I just thought it was all my fault. But you – I know you. You wouldn’t pursue someone, you’re not predatory.’
‘Hardly.’
‘You’re sexually more on the submissive side of the fence.’
‘Geez, I sound pathetic – and there’s a fence for this?’ I’m imagining one very strange field with us all lined up according to our sexual behaviour, a kind of sheep-and-goats scenario, Michael and Max on one side, me on the other. On which side is Drew right now?
He shrugs. ‘It’s just the way some people tick. So I had to ask myself whether the boy was the one who moved on you. Maybe he sensed that you were vulnerable, the kind of person who responds to an alpha personality. The assumption is that teachers are in control, but we all remember from our schooldays that that really isn’t the truth.’
I grimace. ‘Look, I know I’m the dictionary illustration for Beta, one of life’s followers.’
‘You’re not that much of a doormat – you just think you are. I think you can be bloody stubborn sometimes. Anyway, as you say, he was eighteen too, much older than I was. I decided I should stop replaying my own history and instead look at it through what I know of yours. You have a terrible taste in men, Jess.’
‘What?’
‘Michael: dominant, sneering, bullying, doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it because he lives in the past. This kid? I’m guessing: full of himself, proud of having pulled a pretty female teacher, persistent?’
I nod.
‘You’ve been badly led by your instincts and you were professionally way out of line. You even make too many excuses for yourself, you know that?’
I’m not sure whether to nod or put my head in the gas oven.
‘But we can’t be defined by a single mistake – we should learn from them.’
‘What if it’s more than one mistake?’
‘Then you have to break the cycle. I think you should try to like someone who would be much better for you, who would keep you out of trouble, who is around the same age. In fact, I think you should try to like me.’
‘I do like you!’
‘No, I mean, like this.’ He pulls me up from my seat and kisses me.
‘I haven’t brushed my teeth yet!’ I wail. ‘God, I must be as attractive as the sawdust at the bottom of a hamster cage.’
‘Ssh!’ He offers me a cup of the green tea. ‘Have some of that and we’ll try again. You’re messing up the big moment here. I’m trying to take the lead, like you need me to. I’ve realised you’ll never come to me.’
I take a sip, swash it around my mouth, and put the cup down. ‘Thank you for understanding.’
‘It’s my job to make you feel good about yourself, and I’m patient. Now, if you’re ready, we’re taking this tea to bed.’
He is getting into being this alpha guy even though it’s not his usual play. ‘At nine in the morning?’
He nods, his eyes twinkling.
I panic a little. I’m the idiot letting herself be blackmailed into sleeping with a guy I don’t even like. Here’s a man I do like and I feel terrified.
‘Stop thinking whatever it is that you’re thinking. You are perfect to me.’ Drew draws me after him to his room. He has a totally decadent king-size bed with maroon covers, black scatter cushions and Japanese prints of galloping horses on the wall. It’s unexpectedly flamboyant.
I giggle a little desperately. ‘Flamboyant in Feltham?’
‘That’s better. I hate seeing you look so miserable. I did that to you the last couple of days.’
No, Max and I did that.
Drew takes the tea and puts it on the bedside table. ‘You OK with this?’ It’s weirdly domestic and sexy at the same time.
‘Yes, but don’t expect too much, OK? I’ve got quite a few miles on the clock.’
‘You’re beautiful, so shut up.’ He lifts my T-shirt over my head. ‘Stop over-thinking.’
I’m not sure of the time but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. We lie together, my head on his chest, sun spilling over us like a gentle continuation of the superb feelings Drew had stirred in me. He is playing with a lock of my hair, dusting my shoulders with it. I don’t feel used like I do with Max; I feel completed.
‘Do you know that you have three freckles on your shoulder blade? They make a little equilateral triangle.’
‘No, I did not know that. Gosh, I may not be sexy but I am geometrical.’
‘You’re sexy too, you muppet, or do I have to prove it to you again?’
‘Maybe I do need to be reminded.�
�� I run my fingers over his chest. He has a little smattering of hair which concentrates at the centre and arrows south. Just above his hip bone there’s a tattoo of a phoenix I’ve not seen before. ‘How many of these have you got?’
‘I’ll leave you to find out.’
‘Ooo, homework from the teacher. My favourite kind.’ I take a playful nip at it.
‘Steady, or you’ll be in trouble again.’ He rolls over so I’m now on the pillow, his face hovering over mine.
‘Yes, please.’
His alarm goes. ‘Damn and blast.’ Drew turns it off, looks once at me, considering, then sighs. ‘I’ve got to get going.’
I stretch and yawn, feeling decadent. ‘Really?’
‘It’s quarter to eleven. Cortege leaves in fifteen minutes.’ Drew is shimmying into his trunks and I catch a glimpse of new tattoo number two, a panther.
‘You’ve got a panther in your pants?’ I start to laugh.
‘You know, you are the first girl to get the joke.’ He grins at me.
‘I don’t want to hear about other girls.’ I grab my discarded clothing.
‘And I don’t want to hear about the other men. Fresh start for us both.’
‘Yes.’ I hope so. ‘Good idea.’
As he leaves, I summon up the contacts on my phone. Do I have the courage just to delete Max Tudor and take what follows? Maybe, like Drew’s experience, the threat is more in my head than real and Max wouldn’t want to tell anyone what we’ve been doing? There must be professional guidelines he’s breaking? I stroke the screen. Do I dare?
Fuck this.
No more being nice. Don’t contact me again. I press send.
Energised by doing what is right for once, I go back to clearing Michael’s name with more enthusiasm. I start pulling on the threads and the tangle around him begins to unravel in a very satisfactory fashion. I find Latifah. A colleague of Michael from Royal Holloway – one of the few who returned my calls – does me a favour and rings round London colleges. She discovers that Latifah is on the enrolment for this year’s Psychology intake at University College London. It’s probably against all sorts of regulations but she knows how serious things are for Michael – she was the one who found him his lawyer – so she gets me a mobile number on the strict understanding that I won’t say where it came from.
‘Hello?’
‘Is that Latifah?’
‘Who is this?’ I can hear street sounds at the other end. It sounds very busy, wherever she is.
‘My name is Jessica Bridges. I look for missing persons – please don’t hang up.’
‘How did you find me?’
I’m going to lose her if I’m not quick to defuse her alarm. ‘Listen a moment: I’m not going to tell your family where you are, I promise. I’m looking for you for a completely different reason. Your name has got mixed up in some ugly allegations made against my ex-partner, Dr Michael Harrison.’
‘Oh.’ She must’ve seen some of the press stories as she doesn’t ask what the allegations are. I suppose if you are about to embark on a psychology degree you would pay attention if one of the leading figures in the field is splashed all over the front pages. ‘But what’s that got to do with me?’
‘When you went missing, someone decided that Michael arranged it.’
‘But I only met Dr Harrison once – at my interview. I’ve not seen him since and I decided in the end not go to his college.’
The question has to be asked. I remember my own time in Michael’s study, the sweaty coupling on the sofa. ‘Was it anything to do with him – the way he treated you?’
‘What? No! It was just that when I decided to get away, I thought my parents would know too much about where I was if I went to Royal Holloway. So Dr Harrison has absolutely nothing to do with me.’
‘I’m glad. But it would help him a lot if you could confirm to the
police—’
‘The police? No, I can’t talk to them.’
‘You’re over eighteen, Latifah. The police have no reason to take it any further once they know you are safe.’
‘How do I know that? I don’t know you.’ This is one cautious woman I’m talking to – I approve.
‘The only interest the police have is in hearing that you’re fine. You are fine, aren’t you? I mean, do you need money or help or anything?’ I think of Lillian and hope Latifah hasn’t gone down the same rocky road. And listen to me, the penniless loser, more or less offering to bail her out!
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘How have you managed? Sorry, you don’t need to answer that. It’s just that I ran away once and didn’t come through the experience very well.’
‘I suppose there’s no harm in telling you, is there? I’ve been working for a charity fundraiser this year. Saving for Uni.’
‘So you’re what, chugging?’ The street sounds make sense now.
‘Yes.’
‘Brave of you. I can imagine few things worse than going up to complete strangers, who would wish you in Hades for interrupting their day, and having to ask them for money.’
Her tone is unbending a little as I make the connection with her. ‘It’s OK. Teaches you a lot about the weirdness of people when they’re asked to give.’
‘I bet. Plenty of material for your essays next year.’ I’m liking this girl. ‘Please, I don’t want to upset the new life you’ve made for yourself, but Dr Harrison could really do with some help. He’s been falsely accused and the question mark over your whereabouts is part of that.’
I can hear her tell someone that she won’t be much longer. She comes back to me. ‘But you don’t understand, Miss Bridges, I’m with someone now. If my family find out, we could be in real danger. You don’t know what they’re like. My uncles …’
I can guess because I’ve researched them.
Drew comes into the kitchen, removing his black tie, and, seeing I’m busy, starts on a late lunch. I wave.
‘They wouldn’t like his family background,’ continues Latifah. ‘They won’t think he’s good enough for them. They can’t know.’
I really don’t want to make trouble for her. There has to be a way to keep her safe and get Michael off the hook. ‘How about I give the police investigating the accusations about Dr Harrison your number, and you confirm that you’re OK over the phone? You don’t have to see them – or go to them – nothing like that.’
‘You’re not giving up, are you?’
‘Dr Harrison’s liberty might depend on you. Besides, if the police really start looking for you, they’re going to find you and then it’ll be much more difficult to control how that all unwinds.’
She goes quiet for a few moments. ‘All right. No, actually, you give me the number and I’ll call them. And I’ll be changing this one, so please don’t try to ring me again.’
‘OK, Latifah, you’re in charge. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel that you’re not.’
‘It’s fine, I get it. You’re only trying to help your friend. I know I can’t hide for ever but I’ve spent a year trying to disappear. I don’t want to come back right now. I’m not ready.’
I remember some of the appeals I had read in the local press in her hometown of Bradford. She has sisters, a mother and father. ‘I think I should mention that your family is worried something bad has happened to you.’
‘It would if they got hold of me and Jamal.’
‘I understand that. But if you need a go-between, I can pass them a message on your behalf, put the worst of their concerns to bed. You’ve got my number now.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ She ends the call.
It’s not quite the hundred per cent outcome I hoped for – a daughter reconciled with her family, the allegation hanging over Michael refuted immediately – but it’s good enough. If she doesn’t contact Randall, I’ll at least be able to point him in the direction of UCL if it becomes absolutely necessary. However, on balance, my money is on Latifah coming through for Michael and contacting the i
nspector.
When I put my phone down, carefully because the screen is only just attached by the equivalent of an electronic thread, Drew actually applauds.
‘You sounded good, Jess. Firm, persuasive, but not pushy.’
‘Thanks.’ And I do feel good about myself for once. I think I handled her OK. ‘What I can’t understand, though, is where Jacob got all this… this guff from? That’s clearly not a raped and murdered girl left in a shallow grave. Why had he ever thought she was?’
‘Yeah, really bizarre, isn’t it? You’re going to find Ramona though, aren’t you, even though you’re no longer worried for her?’
‘I have to close the case. And I’ve got an idea on that too.’
Drew comes up behind me and shuts the lid of the computer. ‘Enough for today. Right now, we are going to take the afternoon off and make sure you are fully recovered.’
‘Are you giving me a choice here?’
He kisses my neck. ‘Yeah. In the bedroom or on the sofa?’
After that pleasantly enforced break, I only get back to my investigation the next morning. My idea is to trawl through the images of life models in the exhibitions of graduating students from the major art colleges. Ramona is distinctive looking, in an African-princess way: swan neck and the last picture had her with close-cropped hair. She would be a joy to sketch and I have a hunch that Ramona will be hanging around in the world she loves.
After three hours of internet searches I’m beginning to think I’m getting over-confident with my investigative instincts. I can’t see her. There are fat saggy guys, old wizened ladies, buff men and middle-aged women with pouch bellies, but no Ramona.
Drew comes back at lunchtime, relieving his mother who has been doing paperwork to keep me company. Fortunately, I’ve been too busy to feel my usual itch for a tablet so I’ve not embarrassed myself by giving her any trouble.
‘How’s it going?’
‘There are some right frights on there,’ comments Mrs Payne, gathering up her files.
So she wouldn’t wonder why I am trawling the internet for sketches of nude people, I explain what I am up to and show her the picture I have of Ramona.
Don’t Trust Me Page 26
