The Dead Tracks (19 page)

    'Wow,'
I said.

    'Thank
you.' She fluttered her eyelids jokingly and reached for a long black coat laid
over the back of one of the sofas. 'You look very dashing too.'

    I
looked down at myself. I had a black button-up shirt on, a smart pair of denims
and a long, black,
very
expensive Armani jacket I'd bought at a shiny
supermall in Dubai when I'd had to spend a week out there with the paper. It
had looked great on the hanger, even better on, but decidedly less good coming
out of my bank account. Since then, I'd worn it three times, terrified I'd
irreparably damage it by subjecting it to fresh air.

    'I
feel underdressed,' I said, looking at her.

    'Oh,
rubbish,' she replied, slipping on her coat. You look great.'

    I handed
her a brown paper bag.

    She
took it and looked inside. Her face widened in delight. 'Kona coffee?' she
asked. 'Now it's my turn to say "wow".'

    'It's
just coffee.'

    'It's
Kona
coffee, David.'

    'Now
you'll be forced to think of me as you drink it.'

    She
smiled. 'That won't be a hardship.'

    The
restaurant was three miles away, right on the edge of Gunnersbury Park. On the
way over, we talked about our days. When it was my turn, I left out the bit
about ending up at a crime scene and spending three hours at a police station.
Liz looked at me a couple of times, as if she knew I'd not told her everything,
but she didn't probe.

    At
the restaurant, the owner - her client — gave her a kiss and a hug, then found
us a table near the back, with views out across the park. On the walls there
were black- and-white pictures of old Italy: cobbled streets; shuttered windows
looking out over small town squares; stony- faced men and women outside cafes,
their skin etched with age, their colour darkened by the Mediterranean sun. I
ordered a bottle of white wine and some water, and then — once the waiter had
gone — I turned to find her looking at me.

    'You
okay?'

    'I'm
fine,' she said. 'Are
you
okay?'

    'Yeah,
I'm good.'

    There
was a slight hesitation between us. This was a very different road from the
ones we'd walked before. She could see the apprehension in me, and I could see
it reflected. It was nearly two years since Derryn had died, and in that time
it had been a meal, or a coffee, or some company at the end of a hard day. Now
it was the beginning of something more.

    I
eased us back into conversation by asking about her daughter.

    Liz
had met her ex-husband straight out of university, and been married at
twenty-two. A year later, Katie was born. She'd told me a bit about her
background before.

    Her
husband had battled her for custody of their daughter, but came out second
best. 'He could be a little… She looked up at me.
Violent.
I nodded that
I understood. 'Never seriously. And he never,
ever
touched Katie — but
any future I had seen for us rapidly went down the toilet when he started on
the booze.'

    'When
did you decide to get out?'

    'When
Katie was two. I packed her off to my parents for the weekend, and sat him down
and told him I was leaving. He took it badly, as you might expect. I think any
man, even a drunk, feels wounded when you tell him he's not providing for his
family.'

    'Does
she still see him?'

    'He
moved up north. She hasn't seen him for eight years.'

    Our
meals arrived a few minutes later. 'So what about you?' she asked, as we
started eating.

    'What
do you want to know?'

    'Did
you ever think about starting a family?'

    'We
talked about it a lot, especially when we hit our thirties. I always imagined
my work would put me off wanting to have kids - all the tragedy and the
heartbreak I got to see — but it never did. We definitely always wanted them.
In the end, though, Derryn found out she had cancer and… well, it became less
important.' I smiled at her, letting her know everything was fine. She seemed
to understand the gesture, but I could tell the conversation had led somewhere
neither of us wanted it to go. I made an attempt to redirect it: 'My mum used
to tell me she loved me more than anything in the world — but that I'd put her
off having another baby for the rest of her life.'

    Liz
smiled. 'Really? So you've
always
been naughty then?'

    'Apparently
they could never find my heartbeat when she was pregnant.'

    'So,
what — you're a vampire?'

    I
laughed. 'Not a vampire. But definitely a pain in the arse.'

    'When
did your folks pass on?'

    'Mum
was just over five years ago. When I was young, my dad used to take me out
shooting in the woods close to our farm. Dad had this whole thing about me
being a marksman in the army. When I became a journalist and crushed his dream,
I agreed to go shooting with him on Sunday mornings as often as I could get
down to see them. One morning we got back to the house and mum was lying on the
bench outside the house. She'd had a stroke. Dad died a couple of months
later.'

    'I'm
sorry.'

    I
shrugged. 'It's weird. The only time it ever really registered with me that my parents
were getting old was when they talked about their age. I never really noticed
otherwise.'

    'You
must miss them.'

    'Yeah,
I do.'

    'Do
you ever get over that feeling?'

    'You
want the honest answer?'

    She
nodded.

    'When
you love someone, I'm not sure you do.'

    I
left Liz chatting to the owner while I walked to get the car. The rain had
eased off, but there was still a chill in the air. The BMW was parked close to
a cemetery and in view of the motorway, cars flashing past beneath a permanent
orange glow.

    'David.'

    I
turned around, my key in the door. On the other side of the road, just coming
out of a pub, were Jill and Aron. They crossed the road towards me.

    'Wow,'
Jill said, smiling as they approached. 'Talk about coincidence!'

    I
shook hands with Aron. 'How are you guys?'

    'We're
good,' Aron replied.

    Jill
held up her mobile. 'I tried calling you earlier, but you weren't picking up. I
figured you were busy with work.'

    I
fished in my pocket for my phone. It wasn't there. Then I remembered I'd left
it on the bed at home.

    'That's
because, brilliantly, I've forgotten to bring it with me.'

    Aron
smiled. 'Forty - it happens to us all.'

    Jill
laughed. 'Oh well, never mind. I was just calling to see if you wanted to come
out for a drink. Remember I mentioned it?'

    'Oh,
of course.'

    I did
remember. I hadn't purposefully forgotten, but I was glad to have gone out to
dinner with Liz instead. Even from the limited conversations I'd had with them both,
it was obvious their friendship was developing in a way both of them were
enjoying. I didn't want to get between that.

    'I'm
really sorry,' I said, lying. 'That would have been great.'

    'Next
time maybe,' Jill said.

    I
glanced at Aron. He was smiling, and looked as if he wasn't worried whether I
said yes or no. If it was for show, or to avoid making me uncomfortable, he was
doing a good job.

    'Next
time,' I said.

    'I
wanted to thank you, actually, David,' Aron said.

    'Really?'

    'For
going round to see Jill the other night.' He looked at her. She smiled at him.
'I was up in Manchester at a work function, and had my phone off all night.'

    'It
doesn’t matter,' she said.

    'It
Does matter,' he replied softly. He turned back to me. 'Anyway, I wanted to
thank you for stepping in and helping out.'

    I
held up a hand. 'Really. It was nothing.'

    'Well,
it was very good of you.'

    I
nodded at him. 'Can I give you guys a lift somewhere?'

    'Oh,
no, don't worry,' Jill said.

    'It's
only about a quarter of a mile to my place,' Aron added, nodding across the
cemetery to where a bank of newly built homes had gone up on the other side.
'You should come over one day. We can celebrate the onset of old age together.'

    I
smiled. 'I like to live in denial.'

    'Then
we can live in denial together.'

    I
shook his hand, but Jill seemed hesitant as I turned to her. I'd promised her
I'd make a few calls, though had also said it would be after I cleared the
Carver case. It had only been a day since I'd offered. But I could understand
her impatience. She wanted to know what happened to Frank, and she didn't want
to have to wait now she'd found someone willing to help. I'd left a message with
an old contact of mine, who used to work in the National Criminal Intelligence
Service before they became part of SOCA. But I hadn't chased it up.

    'I
haven't forgotten about Frank,' I said.

    'Oh,
thank you so much.'

    I
nodded to them both, said goodbye again and got into the BMW. As I headed back
to the restaurant to pick up Liz, I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw them
side by side, laughing at something, fading into the night.

    Liz
offered to make me a cup of Kona coffee from the packet I'd bought her so,
after parking the car, I wandered around to hers. One of the sofas had folders
and loose legal papers scattered across it. I sat down on the second one and
could see books with names like
The Dictionary of Law
and
Solicitor
Advocate
stacked up by the fireplace. She came back in, armed with two
coffees, sat down next to me and glanced at the books.

    'Fascinating,
huh?'

    I
took one of the mugs. 'I think I'm too terrified to find out.'

    'Fortunately
I've got a photographic memory.' She winked. 'Actually, that's not true. But I
do seem to be good at remembering lots and lots of really boring, really
technical things.'

    'So
if I'm a vampire, Does that make you… a robot?'

    She
laughed — and then a momentary silence settled between us. 'Thanks for the meal
tonight,' she said.

    'Thank
your friend.'

    'No,
I mean…' She paused, took a sip from her mug.

    'I
mean, thanks for asking me out. I know you didn't have to.'

    'I
didn't have to - but I wanted to.'

    She
nodded. 'I know how hard this must be.'

    I
looked at her. Her eyes were dark. She moved a hand to her face and tucked some
hair behind one of her ears, and I felt a sudden, unexpected pull towards her.

    'Are
you okay?' she asked.

    I put
down my coffee. Liz followed my hand, then looked back up at me. I placed my
fingers on hers and eased her mug from her grasp, putting it down next to mine.

    Then,
slowly, I leaned in and kissed her.

    At
first she backed away a little, her mouth still on mine, as if she didn't want
me to feel like I had to. Then, as I moved a hand to the back of her head and
pressed her in harder against me, she responded. We dropped back on to the
sofa, me on top of her, feeling her contours and her shape beneath me. I
breathed in her scent as we kissed, one of her legs moving between mine. She
moaned a little, and a feeling raced through me, like every nerve ending in my
body was firing up. When I looked at her, she was staring up at me, her eyes
sparking.

    And
that was when I broke off.