This Little Piggy (30 page)

It was four o’clock in the afternoon. Clare tried to sleep, to rid herself of the nagging headache, but all the things she wanted to write buzzed round her head like mosquitoes. In the end, she got up, took a couple of paracetamol and called Joe.

“Hey. Are you up to much?”

“Clare! Where the hell have you been? We’ve already had an office debate about whether we should get the police to break your door down.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can we meet for a quick chat?”

They met at the pub where Joe bought her a tall iced drink. “Should you even be driving?”

“No one told me not to.”

“Like you would take any notice, even if they did.”

“Look. I need help. A couple of really strong stories are knocking around and I want to get them out there. Preferably without a Chris Barber by-line.”

“I’m supposed to tell you to stop thinking about work. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do, but I don’t care. Come on, Joe. You’re the only other reporter I can really trust.”

She started by telling Joe about Annie’s call for the bodies to be released for the funerals.

“I know that Catholic priest. He’s not a bad bloke. How about I go get a quote from him and Bob Seaton and then we can write this up together?” Joe tapped his pen on the desk. “I could persuade Bell that this is something you just have to do before you take a proper break. A promise to Annie Martin. We can get this in, without you having to do too much extra work.”

“Yes. Thanks, Joe.” Clare rattled the melting ice cubes around in her glass. “There’s something else, though.”

“Another story?”

“Mmm. A really complicated one.”

Clare began to recount the story of the teenagers’ arrests. Joe interrupted. “You can’t report this right now, not if there’s going to be an inquest and a police inquiry. And anyway, think about it. You’ve only got the word of some kid, who wasn’t there.”

“I know that. But Seaton knows some funny business went on, he just doesn’t know what, exactly. Should I tell him?”

Joe wiped his forehead. “Shit. I’m not sure. Probably, since it’s Seaton and he’s generally okay. But it’s tough. You don’t want to land that kid brother in trouble, do you?”

Clare shook her head.

“Well. Hello.” A voice behind them made them both turn round. It was Finn. “This is where you are.”

Clare gave an apologetic smile. “Let me guess. You’ve been worried.”

“I have.” Finn looked at Joe. “But I see I shouldn’t have been.”

Joe took a sip of his pint. “Can I get you one?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” He looked back at Clare. “So you’re back at work?”

“Sort of. Unofficially. And before you say, ‘Is that wise?’ the answer is I don’t care. I have stuff to do.”

“That newspaper exploits you. You know that?”

“I’m a willing exploitee. Today, anyway.” Clare shuffled further along the bench and patted the seat. “Come and join us.”

Finn shook his head. “I’ve got work to do, too. I only came in because I thought I spotted your car in the car park. And I’ve been calling at the flat.”

“Sorry.” Clare gave a cringing smile. “I phoned you too, but I missed you. My head’s a bit spaced out.”

“You in this evening?”

“I am. Come round.” Clare waved at Finn as he turned to leave.

Joe watched him go. “He wasn’t too happy, I’d say. Anyway, going back to this mad story. I think you should leave it alone. It could bring a heap of trouble down, on you, on the police, on this kid and his family, and all for something that you can’t be sure is true. It doesn’t even sound plausible. It sounds mad. Just drop it until the inquiry’s finished and see what comes out of that.”

“You think? Really?”

“I do. I know that taking the long view isn’t your strong point, but that’s what I would do here.”

By six o’clock, they’d co-written the funeral story, with quotes from the parish priest adding to Annie’s call for the release of the bodies and two lines from Bob Seaton saying that everything possible was being done. Joe was as good as his word and talked Dave Bell into giving Clare a by-line. An hour later, though, Joe called Clare at home to say that they’d had to change the copy: Seaton had called back to announce the bodies of Deborah and Jamie Donnelly were to be released to the family the next day.

“Seriously? So that means the police are effectively saying they still think Jason Craig is the killer. That they’re not looking for anyone else?”

“I put that to Seaton and he wouldn’t make any comment. But my guess is they’ll be pulling Stevie Simpson back in for more questions.”

“It seems crazy. Even Annie Martin doesn’t think those lads had anything to do with it.”

“The coppers think differently. They must have some reason for it.”

Clare bit her lip. “I think their best reason is that Amy thought she saw them around, the day Jamie died. At least she thought she saw someone with red shoelaces. They would be the shoelaces he used to hang himself, poor kid.”

“Shit.” Joe paused. “It’s like the damn things hanged him twice over.”

“Don’t. So Seaton wouldn’t say whether they’re going to make any more arrests or whether they’re still looking for anyone else?”

“He wouldn’t be drawn on that, no. But my gut tells me they’re not looking for any other people, they’re just trying to find a motive to pin on Stevie Simpson. And Jason Craig, who can’t talk back any more.”

Clare sighed. The more things developed, the more she worried that someone else would find out it was Amy who had given the story about the lads to the police. The poor kid would never survive the backlash. “I take it you’ve spoken to Annie Martin again?”

“Yes. I called her and she burst into tears. She says a special thank you to you.”

“The power of the press, eh? I honestly didn’t think it would be that quick. I suppose Seaton thinks this is one piece of bad publicity he can turn round quite easily.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll still get your by-line. Dave Bell is writing in some line from Annie thanking the
Post
for its intervention. More herograms, Clare. Now go on fucking holiday, eh?”

Clare laughed.

When Finn came round, Clare could tell straight away that his mind was somewhere else. She put her arms around him and leaned her head on his chest. His body felt stiff.

He wouldn’t sit down but paced the floor as Clare got him a drink. “Come on, Finn, you’re making my head spin, as if I didn’t feel bad enough. You’re freaking me out. Is something wrong?”

“There is, yes. I can’t talk about it, though.”

Clare’s stomach gave an anxious dip. “Hey, come on. You can’t say there’s something wrong and then refuse to tell me what it is. You’re making me really nervous now.”

Finn stared out of the window, arms folded, and Clare waited, her heartbeat sounding too loud in her head. “Finn, please.”

After a long moment, she asked: “Is it about Jackie? Are you still seeing her?”

Finn looked around at Clare, and gave a short laugh. “I wish it was something as stupid as that. That would be easy to sort out. No, Clare, I stopped seeing Jackie ages ago. You’re the only woman I want, I promise.”

With an effort, Clare stood up and walked over to Finn. She put her arms around his waist. “Talk to me. If you want me, tell me what’s going on.”

After a long breath, Finn leaned down and kissed Clare’s head. “It’s just that I’m back up in court tomorrow,” he said.

“It’s tomorrow? I didn’t realise.” Clare looked up into Finn’s pale eyes. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I could go to prison.” Finn pulled her a little tighter to him. “Would you still want me then?”

Clare thought about the rush of heat that went through her, every time she so much as looked at Finn. It was so long since anyone had sparked that kind of response. She didn’t want to think about losing it – it would be like going back to those two months of frozen semi-existence that she’d suffered before Finn and Amy had chipped her defences down. “Yes. Of course I will.”

Finn picked Clare up from the ground, carefully, and began carrying her to the bedroom. “You weigh nothing,” he whispered, as he laid her on the bed, as softly as if she was a piece of glass that might break at any moment.

Later, as Finn dressed, he dug in the pocket of his jeans. “I have something for you.” He handed her a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Lying under the sheets and still trembling slightly, Clare unfolded it.

“It’s a copy of a letter my mother sent to the
Post
, thanking you for your piece about the women’s fundraising. They’ve had an offer of a coach trip for the kids from a local firm and a baker in the town will supply a picnic for them. So they’re planning a big day out for the young ’uns. They’re very excited. She reckons it’s all down to the article you put in the paper.”

Clare grinned. “Hang on while I polish my halo. Tell your mum a big thank you too.”

Finn took hold of Clare’s hand and stroked it. “Clare. I need to know. Is there anything between you and Joe Ainsley?”

Clare laughed. “Me and Joe? You’re kidding. We’re just good mates and we go a very long way back. We’ve fished each other out of too many gutters for anything romantic to ever happen.”

“Does he know that?”

“Of course he does.”

“Okay. Good. It’s just…” Finn squeezed Clare’s hand a little harder. “I like you, Clare. I really like you. And I don’t want to waste my time.”

“I like you too, Finn. Joe’s not part of the picture, I promise.”

Thursday 2nd August
Clare sat in the court car park, dressed in her work suit, wondering whether or not to go in. It wouldn’t be to report on the case, as she was officially on a day off and she was sure the
Post
would have sent someone else. But it seemed harsh not to be there to see what happened to Finn. She watched everyone going in: lawyers she recognised, Chris Barber, some of Finn’s union colleagues and Finn’s mother, looking more frail than usual. This must be frightening for her, Clare thought, given the way things are between the police and the miners. She must be worrying about what could happen to her son in the privacy of a police cell.

A few minutes before ten, Joe rapped on her car window. Then he darted round to the passenger side and let himself in.

“I really need to talk to you. It’s about Finn.”

“What about him? I’m just wondering whether to go in or not. I’m not really working, but I thought Finn might like me to be there as a show of support. But then it might look weird, me sitting in the public gallery instead of on the press bench. What do you think?”

“Clare. I had something of a close encounter with your boyfriend last night.”

“What do you mean? He was with me.”

“Until when? I’m talking about eleven o’clock last night when I walked out of the pub. He came up and threatened me.”

Clare gave a little snort. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. Listen. I was taking a short cut down that alley behind The Ship. He came up behind me and gave me a shove in the back. Then he asked me if anything was going on between you and me.”

“I’ve already told him there isn’t.”

“He hasn’t quite grasped it, then. He told me to back off. And he said something to the effect that, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have any fingers left to write with.”

Clare sat back in the seat. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I make this up?”

“Because you think I shouldn’t be seeing him. We’ve had this conversation.”

“Come on, Clare. It’s a bit of a leap from thinking you shouldn’t be seeing him to making up stories about him, isn’t it? This is me you’re talking to.”

“Okay.” Clare thought about it. “I’m sorry. I do believe you. But look, he was upset last night. He thinks he’s going to be sent to prison today. I’m sure he didn’t mean to sound threatening, it just came out wrong because he’s all on edge. Who wouldn’t be?”

“I can’t believe you’re sticking up for him. The guy’s a thug.”

“That’s just not true.”

“Remind yourself why he’s in court today? For assaulting a police officer. Doesn’t that ring any alarm bells?”

“That was because the police got too heavy-handed on the picket line. He was just defending someone that was being beaten up. With a truncheon, actually. Come on, Joe, it’s not like you to take the side of the police against the picketers.”

“I’m not. I just think Finn McKenna is trouble. You don’t want someone like that in your life.”

“Yeah, well. That might not be an issue after today. He’s expecting to get sent down.”

Joe sighed. “Come in with me.”

They got out of the car and slammed the doors shut. As they walked towards the court room, one of the union men came up to Clare. “We need a favour. Can you send us your piece for our union newspaper? We haven’t got anyone else to take notes or write it up. Finn said you might do it?”

Clare nodded. “Yes, sure. It gives me another reason to be here.”

Joe was waiting.

“Go on ahead,” Clare said. “I’ll just see what the union needs and I’ll catch you up.” Better to put a little bit of physical distance between her and Joe this morning, she thought. If Finn was already agitated about the prospect of being sent to jail, then it wouldn’t help to see her looking too cosy next to Joe on the press bench.

It meant she had to sit next to Chris Barber. “What are you doing here?” he hissed at her. “You’re supposed to be on sick leave, aren’t you?”

“Not voluntarily,” Clare whispered back. “Anyway, don’t worry. I’m not here for the
Post
.”

“You’re not allowed to freelance for other papers,” Barber pointed out. “Sackable offence.”

“I’m not. I’m not doing it for money. I’m just taking notes for someone, that’s all.” She gave Barber a quick smile. “You can’t get rid of me that way, so forget it.”

They had a long wait for the court to get under way, so much so that Joe got restless and pestered the usher, who said some sort of discussions were going on between the lawyers. Mary McKenna looked more and more anxious, occasionally dabbing at her eyes, two of the women from the support group sitting on either side of her. When Finn was brought into the dock, the first thing he did was look over in Clare’s direction and smile. Clare smiled back and gave a little nod. She was aware that Mary McKenna was watching. Finn didn’t look at Joe, who was keeping his own gaze studiously lowered on to his notebook.