Speak No Evil (23 page)

‘I know. So that's why we tread carefully.'

They ate.

‘So your family emergency …'

‘The fire's are out. Everything's fine.'

‘Oh. Good.' Wendy looked nervous about asking the next question. ‘Was it … your son?'

‘No,' said Donovan, ‘my daughter.'

Wendy's eyes widened in surprise. ‘I didn't know you had a daughter.'

‘I don't think we know each other very well at all, do we?'

She smiled, the candle lighting up her eyes. ‘Not yet.'

Donovan didn't reply.

‘So where is she now, this daughter of yours?'

‘She's out for the evening.'

‘On her own? In Newcastle?'

‘With Anne Marie's son, Jack. They've gone to see a film.'

Wendy put down her fork, her eyes widening. ‘Seriously? Are you sure about that? Are you happy for your daughter to … go out with him?'

‘Why not? Yeah, she's done something awful in the past but that was when she was a kid. And this is her son, not her. You can't judge him on what his mother did when she was eleven.'

‘Yes, but, all those dead boys …' Wendy shuddered.

‘I know.' Donovan smiled. ‘But he seems like a nice lad. And him and Abigail got on well too.'

Wendy's turn to smile. ‘You're a very noble man, Joe Donovan.'

‘Don't talk bollocks.'

‘I mean it. You practise what you preach. That's rare.' She picked up her glass. ‘Here's to you.'

Donovan didn't join her.

They finished their meal, talking all the while. They finished the bottle of wine, ordered another. Donovan found her easy company. Warm, funny, charming. And the fact that she was beautiful to look at didn't hurt either.

The bill arrived.

‘I'll take that,' said Wendy, tossing down the company credit card. ‘Business expenses.'

‘Thank you.'

She fixed him with another killer smile. ‘Not at all. I've thoroughly enjoyed it. You're worth it.' She didn't drop eye contact after her words. Neither did Donovan.

He could feel stirrings within him the more she looked at him. She was beautiful, she was available and she had made it clear just what she felt for him. He had known this would happen and no matter how much he had tried rationally to argue himself out of it, there was an inevitability about what was going to happen next.

‘So,' she said.

‘So.'

‘Your place or mine?'

He laughed. ‘Do people still use that line?'

‘People will use anything that works. So?'

‘What about your boyfriend?'

‘He's not here.'

She leaned forward again. Fantastic cleavage, he thought.

‘I asked you a question.' Suddenly she seemed very assertive.

‘Mine,' he said.

They got up and left.

Hurriedly.

*

‘Thanks,' said Abigail, ‘I've really enjoyed tonight.'

Jack gave a smile as if no one had ever said anything nice to him before. She smiled in return. He really was a sweet boy. And good company too.

She had been wary of him at first, if she was honest. When he turned up at the office to see his mother who was some kind of ageing goth, and told her he had been sent home from school for fighting, she knew he wasn't the kind of boy she wanted to spend time with. But he had insisted it wasn't his fault, that he was just trying to sit and read and the other boy had picked on him and started it so she had given him the benefit of the doubt. She asked him what he had been reading and when he told her
The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas
, and that he had been really enjoying it and they had a discussion about it, she changed her opinion of him. Maybe he was telling the truth.

So when her dad suggested they take a look round town together she didn't mind as much. And he knew as much about Newcastle as she did, so they were even. And she had really enjoyed herself. The film wasn't very good, a teen comedy about a geek getting a hot-looking girl pregnant, but that was OK. They had fun. And when he walked her back to Donovan's flat they aired their impressions of the movie. He had thought the same as her and they enjoyed sharing deprecating remarks about it that were actually funnier than the actual film had been.

He walked her to the main entrance of the block of flats, stood there on the doorstep.

This was awkward. She liked him, he was sweet, but sweet didn't always translate into anything else. He was fun to be with. But she didn't want to spoil it by making it something it wasn't. Or something she didn't think it was.

‘I've had a really great time today,' he said, looking at his trainers. ‘Thanks.'

‘You too. It's been fun.'

He smiled shyly, kept his eyes downcast. ‘Erm, look, I … I don't know what's happening tomorrow, if I'm, you know … back at school or anything …'

She waited. Here it comes, she thought.

‘But, erm … if you're around and you've got nothing to do … well, of course you're around and you've got nothing to do, sorry that's … well, anyway, should I … you know, call you?'

He really was sweet, she thought. And quite good-looking too, in his own way. And intelligent. And funny. In fact, she could do a lot worse. Certainly worth spending another day with.

‘Sure,' she said. ‘Let's swap phone numbers.'

He looked as though he couldn't believe his luck. They swapped numbers, then he stood back and looked at her. Oh God, she thought. He's going to try and kiss me.

But he didn't. He smiled at her, catching her eye, this time. ‘Thank you. I've … thanks.'

She smiled. ‘Get home safely.'

‘I will.'

He looked relieved that the kiss hadn't happened. So was she. She thought. Probably.

He turned, walked away. She watched him go. He got a way down the street, turned and, when he saw her still there, smiled and waved. She waved back. He walked off, a spring in his step.

She let herself in with the key her dad had given her, made her way up to his floor. He had told her he wouldn't be back until late and to let herself in. And not to tell her mother that he had allowed her to be out so late with a boy. She smiled at that. Maybe he wasn't as bad as she had thought Maybe she would be able to talk to him. Get things sorted.

She let herself into the flat.

It had been a good day.

‘Hello.'

She answers her phone without thinking. Not knowing who it might be but hoping there will be no more talking tonight. She cannot talk any more.

‘Hello, babe.'

She hears the voice and freezes. She doesn't answer. She can't answer.

‘I hear you've been a naughty girl. I hear you've been talking. That's a no-no, isn't it? Remember what we agreed? What would happen the next time you felt like doing that?'

Her mouth moves but nothing comes out. She wants to ask so many questions, but she doesn't want to hear any of the answers. She wants to put the phone down, pretend she never answered. Pretend she's somewhere else. Someone else.

‘You know what I said would happen, what you'd have to do …'

She nods.

‘Speak up, I know you're there.'

‘Yes …'

‘Then do it.'

‘No … no …'

‘You've got no choice. You broke the rules. You know what to do. Do it now. Now.'

He tells her where.

‘Alone.'

He hangs up She stares at the phone. She wants to scream her lungs raw, throw herself at walls, slice her skin down to the bone. Anything but what he wants. She sobs. She knows he's right.

She wipes the tears and snot from her face with the back of her hand, gets up, walks to the door. Her heart is like concrete.

She leaves the flat.

19

‘Yeah, it's a pisser, I mean, what isn't? The way they've got it, fuckin' government's got no respect for the workin' man. Have they?'

Tess agreed that indeed they didn't.

Rob continued. ‘You've got to make money where you can these days. How you can.'

Tess spotted her cue. ‘And how are you doing it?'

Rob gave a smile that he probably intended as cunning and clever but came over as more feral and vicious. ‘We've got a plan. Me an' the missus. A plan. An' a fuckin' good one too.'

Rob then excused himself to go to the toilet. Tess watched the drunken man weave his way across the barroom floor and stifled a smile. She had him right where she wanted him. The man was drunk and, he had revealed, skint. A perfect combination for what Tess was about to propose.

Tess had fed him drinks all night. She had tried to maintain the illusion that she was keeping up with him, matching him pint for pint, but when his back was turned she had been returning them to the barmaid for her to pour away. She knew exactly what she was doing and it only increased her sour-faced appearance but she didn't tell Rob. Probably because Tess had included her in every round she bought. However, Tess still felt the effects of the alcohol and knew she shouldn't have much more. Which meant it was time to move up a gear.

Rob returned from the toilet, resumed his seat.

‘So,' said Tess. ‘You were saying.'

Rob looked blank.

‘Your missus and you have got a plan.'

Rob remembered. As the memory of his plan returned, his face split into a venomous grin. ‘Yeah. Get our own back. She's fuckin' suffered, my missus. Fuckin' suffered loads. ‘Bout time she got her own back. Got what was comin' to her.'

‘You mean money?'

‘Oh yeah,' said Rob, ‘money. Plenty of it …'

‘And what about you? Do you get it as well?'

Rob frowned. ‘Yeah …'

‘You don't sound so sure. Will you get it? Or will she?'

Rob frowned further. He didn't answer. Tess pressed on.

‘Because I've got a proposal that could make you a hell of a lot of money. A hell of a lot. In no time at all. Say yes and the money would be with you tomorrow.'

Rob's eyes were once again alight with feral cunning. He was listening.

‘You see …' Now or never, thought Tess. She leaned in close, reminding Rob of her breasts, took a deep breath, dived right in. ‘I know who you are, Rob. I know who your missus is too. Or rather was. And I know what she did to that boy.'

Rob stared at her, suddenly sober, too stunned to speak.

‘And there's been another boy killed right where you live. You can put two and two together …'

Rob still said nothing, just stared at her.

‘So this is my proposal. Talk to me. Give me an exclusive about her, what your life's like together, all that. We'll get some photos and in return all your money worries will be over. You might even get your own book out of it. Get you on
Richard and Judy'
She smiled what she assumed was her most winning smile. ‘What d'you say?'

Rob looked at her, slid off the bar stool and stood up slowly. He said one word.

‘Cunt.'

And threw a punch that knocked Tess right off her stool and sent her crashing to the floor, drinks spilling, glass breaking. There was a blinding flash.

Tess opened her eyes, saw Rob standing over her.

‘Fuckin' cunt.'

She closed her eyes expecting a kick that she knew would shatter ribs. It never came. But there was another blinding flash. Then she heard quick footsteps – Rob running away. There were gasps and shrieks from around the pub. Tess ignored them. She groaned, touched her face. Brought her hand away wet and red.

‘God …' It hurt. It hurt so much …

Tess opened her eyes. She wanted to cry, but Collins was standing over her. She tried to pull herself together, be professional.

‘Did you … did you get the photos …?'

‘Yeah,' said Collins, animated for the first time since Tess had met him. ‘Got a couple of great ones as he hit you. Another of him standing over you about to do some more damage. Good stuff.'

Tess managed a weak smile. It hurt even more.

‘Come on then … let's get after him …'

Collins pulled her roughly to her feet. The pain was so intense as he did so that Tess feared she would black out. She didn't realize a punch to the face would affect her whole body this way. Her head was spinning, she thought she might be sick. Then tried to get a grip once more. Focus. Concentrate.

‘Public interest, my fucking arse …'

Collins dragged Tess to the car, looked at her as she sat down.

‘You did good, Posh Bird. We'll make a reporter out of you yet.'

They set off for the estate, Collins's endorsement ringing in her ears. It almost made the pain worthwhile.

Almost.

Pez was upset. Renny was his best friend no doubt, the best he had ever had and ever would have, but sometimes he upset him. Like tonight.

They had been to the off-licence with that journalist's money, bought enough sweets to send them to Haribo heaven, two packets of cigarettes – which surprised Nihal because they only ever had the money for singles usually – and some WKDs and cider. Sorted for the night.

Sitting on the bench watching the world get dark. Nothing else to do. Sugar-rushing from the sweets, mellowing out from the cider. They couldn't open the WKDs. They talked, laughed. Sat for long stretches in silence.

The sugar comedown hit Pez hard, he kept eating and drinking to keep on the high. Renny went into one of his angry moods, twitching and jumping around, mouth moving worldlessly, having imaginary conversations with whichever demons were plaguing him. Pez didn't interrupt, knew better than to do that when he was in one of these moods. Just sat next to him, happy just to be beside his friend. His best and only friend.

And then Renny, after necking the last of the cider and lobbing the plastic bottle as far as he could, had started. They had this money left, their heads were loaded, they should go somewhere, do something. And Pez, like always, agreed. It was too early to go and see the cars and the police were in the area, watching for Calvin's murderer after Calvin's death. So they couldn't go there.