The Accident (22 page)

I perch beside Danny. ‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.’

‘No problem at all. Any mum of Oliver’s is a mum of mine.’ He laughs and places his hands on the back of his head, pushing out his elbows in an exaggerated stretch which makes his broad chest appear even broader. An effect, I’m sure, that’s not entirely unintended.

‘So,’ he lowers his arms and twists to face me, giving me his full attention. ‘This is all very mysterious. Tell all!’

With his bright blue eyes, wide generous smile and strong jaw I can see why Keisha – why most young women – would find him irresistible. There’s no doubt that he’s an attractive young man but his gaze is that little bit too piercing and his smile a little too arched to be genuine. I’ve never been alone with Danny before and now I’m starting to understand why Brian doesn’t trust him.

‘The thing is,’ I say, ‘I recently found out that Charlotte and Ella skived a school trip.’

Danny laughs, then catches himself. ‘Sorry. That was immature of me. You must have been furious, Sue.’

‘Not really.’ I reach for my coffee, bristling as I take a sip. ‘Although I might be with the person who encouraged them to skive.’

‘Oh.’ He looks intrigued, like I’m about to share some wonderful piece of gossip with him. ‘Who’s that then?’

I peer at him over the rim. ‘You.’

‘Me?’ His hand flies to his chest. ‘Me?’ He tosses back his head and laughs but when he checks my reaction the smile has gone from his eyes. ‘That’s ridiculous, Sue. Whoever told you that obviously has a screw loose.’

‘Or they were there too.’

‘What?’ Beads of sweat shine in his immaculate hairline and he runs a hand over his forehead. ‘Who? This is ridiculous. I’m a nightclub promoter not some kind of … some kind of weirdo encouraging schoolgirls to skive off.’

I place my cup of coffee back on the table. It slips back into its saucer without rattling. ‘So you’ve never heard of Greys
nightclub in London then?’

‘Greys
in Chelsea?’ He sits up straighter. He’s on safer ground here. ‘Of course I do. It’s my job to know what’s hot and what’s not.’

‘Is that why you encouraged Charlotte and Ella to skive their school trip and go there instead? Because it’s
hot
?’

‘Of course not. I didn’t encourage anyone to go anywhere. Why would I? It’s not my club. And besides, I barely even know Charlotte. She’s Oli’s little sister.’ He looks me straight in the eye. ‘I hope you’re not implying what I think you’re implying, Mrs Jackson.’

‘What’s that, Danny?’

‘That I … that Charlotte and I were somehow involved.’

‘Were you?’

‘God no.’ He clutches his chest again but this time I’m tempted to believe him. ‘Never. Like I said, she’s Oli’s kid sister. I’d never look at her that way. Besides, I’m with Keisha.’

‘I see.’ I glance around the nightclub, taking in the empty DJ booth, the sprawling dance floor and the sparkling bar. ‘But you still thought it would be fun to take the girls clubbing in London.’

‘No! Why would I do that? What would I possibly gain out of taking two fifteen-year-olds clubbing?’ He suddenly becomes very still, very collected. ‘Is that what you’re implying? That I’m some kind of kiddy paedo? Because if you are—’

‘I’m not implying anything. I just want the truth. I’ve been told that you and Keisha were in Greys
nightclub in Chelsea with Charlotte and Ella on Friday, ninth of March. Look me in the eye and tell me you weren’t.’

‘I wasn’t.’ His gaze doesn’t so much as flicker. ‘I wasn’t even in London that weekend. I took Keish on a romantic getaway to …’ he eyes dart to the left ‘… Oxford.’

He’s lying through his teeth but giving him the third degree isn’t going to achieve anything. He’ll just keep lying. James was the same.

I glance at my watch. I’ve got fifteen minutes to get home before Brian.

‘Well …’ I hold out my hand. ‘Thank you so much for the coffee and the chat.’

Danny frowns. ‘You’re off?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you … you’re okay?’ He stands up. ‘You believe me when I say I didn’t go clubbing with Charlotte and Ella?’ He bares his teeth in an exaggerated smile. ‘You’ve obviously got the wrong man.’

I smile. ‘See you again soon, Danny. I’ll see myself out.’

I hurry to the exit before he can follow me and twist the handle to open the side door. I’m just about to yank it open when OOMPH!, it flies open, sending me reeling backwards against the wall.

‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I totally didn’t see you there I – oh!’ A face appears around the door. ‘Mrs Jackson. What are you doing here?’

‘Keisha?’

‘Yeah,’ she steps around the door, closing it behind her so I’m no longer trapped between it and the wall. ‘Are you okay? You look a bit pale.’

I grasp my stomach. ‘Just a bit winded. I’ll be okay in a bit.’

‘Let’s get you outside. Some fresh air will soon see you right.’

We perch on the concrete step together, its narrowness forcing us to sit unnaturally close.

Keisha rummages in her handbag and pulls out a crumpled packet of Marlboro Lights and a lighter. She waves them at me. ‘Mind if I smoke?’

‘Go ahead.’

I watch as she tweezers a cigarette out of the pack with her long nails. She lights it and inhales deeply. Twenty years since I last smoked and I can still remember what that first sweet hit of nicotine feels like when you’re desperate for a cig.

‘Want one?’ she catches me watching and holds out the pack.

‘I don’t smoke.’ I change my mind immediately. ‘Actually I will. Thank you.’

I put the cigarette in my mouth, relishing the way it feels so foreign and so familiar at the same time. Keisha lights it for me and I inhale deeply. The smoke scratches the back of my throat. I take another drag. It tastes strong, chemical-like and hot and I’m reminded of the first cigarette I ever smoked, back in 1984, when I was fifteen. I lean back against the door and close my eyes as the nicotine fizzes through me. The cigarette tastes foul but the ritual – lift to mouth, inhale, hold, exhale, lower – and the buzz of nicotine is comforting.

Keisha says something I don’t catch and I open my eyes. ‘Sorry?’

She tips back her head and blows a perfect, grey smoke ring into the air. ‘I said I didn’t expect to see you here.’

The smoke ring grows wider and thinner until it breaks up and disappears.

I say the first thing that comes into my head. ‘I came to see Danny about a surprise party. It’s Oli’s twentieth soon.’

‘What a lovely idea.’ Keisha’s face lights up. ‘No one’s ever thrown a surprise party for me. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I had a birthday party. I must have been little. Eight, maybe nine.’ She looks wistful for a second then smiles again. ‘Are you going to hold it at Breeze
then, Oli’s party?’

‘Actually I was considering Greys
nightclub in London. I wanted Danny’s opinion.’

She raises her eyebrows. ‘I’ve been there. It’s the shit. Expensive though. Seven pounds fifty for a rum and coke!’

‘I know, but Oli’s been through a lot recently and we wanted it to be special.’ I puff on my cigarette, hold the smoke in my lungs for a couple of seconds and then exhale. ‘Charlotte was the one who recommended Greys. Before her accident,’ I add quickly when Keisha’s eyes widen in surprise. ‘She said it was amazing, that she went there with you and Danny.’

‘It was.’ She flicks her cigarette into the gutter. The tip glows for a second then turns grey and goes out. ‘Poshest club I’ve ever been to. There’s a woman in the toilets who’ll rub hand cream into your hands if you pay her a pound. She’ll squirt you with perfume too if you want. She’s got loads of different types.’

‘Really?’ I smile encouragingly. I have to play this carefully. If I spook her she’ll clam up. ‘Charlotte said a lot of famous types hang out there too.’

‘They do.’ She wraps her slender arms around her knees and pulls them close to her chest. The sun is starting to go down and there’s a chill in the air. ‘Pop stars, soap stars, footballers. You don’t really get to mingle with them though because they sit in the roped-off VIP bit.’

‘So how did Charlotte get to meet her footballer then,’ I drop my cigarette onto the pavement and grind it out with the heel of my boot, ‘if the famous people are kept separate from everyone else?’

Keisha looks at me in surprise. ‘She told you about him?’

‘Of course. We’re very close. We tell each other everything.’

‘Wow.’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘So Charlotte told you some of what happened that night then?’

I nod. I don’t trust what will happen if I open my mouth to lie.

She searches my face. ‘And you didn’t go mental?’

‘No.’ I try and keep my breathing slow and measured but my heart is racing from the cigarette. This could be it. This could be the moment I find out what caused Charlotte to step in front of the bus. ‘Why would I?’

An empty coke can clatters against the pavement at the far end of the alley. Keisha and I both jump but there’s no one there.

‘I’ve got to go.’ She leaps up, reaches for the door handle, her eyes still fixed on the entrance to the alley. ‘Danny’s expecting me and I’ve said too much already.’

‘Please.’ I reach for her hand. ‘Please. You need to tell me what happened that night.’

‘I thought you already knew.’

‘I know she met a footballer but that’s it. Please Keisha. Please tell me what happened.’

She shakes her head, opens the door, slips one shoulder into the gap. ‘If I tell you he’ll kill me.’

‘And if you don’t tell me Charlotte might die.’

It’s a low blow but it’s enough to make her pause, step back into the alley and close the door. I wait as she shakes her empty cigarette packet, crumples it in her fist then tosses it into the gutter and roots around in her handbag for a new pack. She peels off the cellophane, flips back the lid, pulls off the foil and tweezes out a cigarette. It takes forever and when she roots around in her bag for her lighter I want to scream. Finally she puts a cigarette in her mouth, lights it and inhales deeply. She exhales through her nose and looks at me from under her lashes. ‘She had sex with the footballer in the club toilet.’

I stare at the lit end of her cigarette, at the plume of smoke that curls upwards, at the length of ash that grows longer and longer and then falls through the air and disintegrates before it hits the floor.

‘Who was he?’ I tear my eyes away from the cigarette. ‘What was his name?’

She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. His first name was Alex, I don’t know his surname. He was foreign, French, I think. Black. Plays for Chelsea someone said. Or Man U. One of the top clubs anyway, I forget which.’

‘This premiership footballer she slept with, this
Alex
.’ The words feel like they’re coming out of someone else’s mouth. ‘How can I get hold of him?’

Keisha sucks on her cigarette and opens the side door, her eyes never once meeting mine. ‘I don’t know, I’m sorry.’

‘Okay,’ I say and smile, even though I’m pretty sure she’s lying to me. They’re all lying about something – Brian, Danny, Ella, Liam – and they think I’m too emotionally unstable to see through it.

They’re wrong.

I wait for Brian to go to bed and then I creep into his study and turn on his laptop.

Alex famous footballer
I type and press enter.

The first entry is for a Brazilian footballer who plays for Paris Saint-Germain. Is that who Keisha meant? Maybe she got confused about whether he was French or lived in France? I look at the next entry, another French footballer – this time he’s called Alexandre Degas, but there’s no mention of him playing for a British club. Alexandre Laurent then? Or Alex Sauvage? There’s an Olivier Alexandre who plays for Tottenham Hotspur but it can’t be him, can it?

I push the chair back from the desk. I don’t know what I was thinking, expecting that I’d find contact details for this Alex person when I haven’t got the slightest idea who he is. I twist from left to right in the chair scanning the room for solutions but none come so I stand up and wander into Charlotte’s room. I should have pushed Keisha for more details. I should have asked her how she knew Charlotte had sex in the club toilet. It’s so out of character. She was besotted with Liam, absolutely doolally about him. She’d never have cheated on him. It was one thing she felt strongly about because of the fall-out of her own father’s infidelity. I just can’t imagine her doing something sexual with someone she’d only just met, even if she was drunk and he was a famous footballer and astonishingly good looking and—

I smooth out her duvet then straighten up to get a better look at the posters above the headboard. They’re pages she’s ripped out of
Heat
magazine’s ‘Torso of the week’ and the wall is crowded with an array of good-looking topless men – soap stars, film stars, TV presenters and … footballers. There’s David Beckham, Ashley Cole, Ronaldo and … someone I don’t recognize, a tall, handsome mixed-race man with pale brown eyes, high cheekbones and full lips. Alex Henri, the caption at the bottom says, Striker, Chelsea FC.

I rush back to Brian’s study.

Alex Henri Agent
I enter into Google.

Details appear on screen for Steve Torrance, ‘international sports agent’. I click on his website and an image of a balding, middle-aged man appears, his top lip curled into a half smile, half sneer. I skim read his biography, glance over his list of clients and then click on the ‘contact’ link. An email address and a PO Box address and London telephone number pop up on screen and I scribble them down. It’s too late to call now so I tuck the piece of paper into my purse, leave it on the hall table and then pad into the bedroom. I change into my nightdress in the dark and slip into bed. It’s a very long time until I fall asleep.

‘Could you tell him it’s urgent?’

The woman on the other end of the line sighs. ‘Mrs Jackson, this is the third day you’ve called. I
know
it’s urgent. You tell me every time you call. I’ve passed on your messages and if Mr Torrance hasn’t called you back yet then …’ I can practically hear her shrug. ‘He is a very busy man.’

‘Please,’ I beg. ‘It’s vital I get a message through to Alex Henri. My daughter’s in a coma and he might be able to help.’