He let it hang, watching her carefully, then said, ‘He attacked him, Alicia. Quite aggressively, by all accounts.’
‘What?’ Alicia stared at him, stunned. Justin? He’d never been violent in his life. He simply didn’t have it in him to be violent. ‘Was he injured? Paul?’ she asked, fear that Justin might be arrested causing her chest to constrict.
‘He did have an injury, according to my officer’s report. Sustained earlier at the gym, according to Mr Radley. It seems he wouldn’t confirm the initial report we received. Said there’d been some misunderstanding.’
Now Paul’s sudden decision to fly back to Dubai made sense.
‘The strange thing is, the attack took place before your husband learned of this contact.’ DI Taylor paused. ‘A reaction to the difficulties he found himself him, no doubt. Understandable.’ He sighed expansively. ‘Nevertheless, Justin is still at fault. Please try to persuade him to stay away from Mr Radley, Alicia. He could very easily have been charged with assault, which would have done no one any good, would it?’
Still uncomprehending, Alicia shook her head and nodded all at once. ‘He’s leaving. Paul… Mr Radley. He says he’s going back to Dubai.’
‘Ah, right.’ Taylor’s smile brightened. ‘In which case, hopefully that will be one less obstacle on the road to recovery, hey?’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
Walking him to the door anyway, Alicia maintained her composure. But when she’d closed the door behind him, she leaned against it and pressed a hand to her forehead. He’d attacked a man. But Justin wasn’t aggressive. He’d never condoned violence of any sort. It was because of the paternity test, she realised. He was as determined to be a good father to Sophie as he was to find her. And Justin was her father – the person who’d nurtured her, loved her, laughed with her, cried for her. He would never give up on her, never bow out of her life. If there was anything positive to gain from this, it was that Paul Radley at least knew that now.
But what about Justin? What state of mind must he be in?
She picked up her mobile, unsure what she was going to say to him or how much she should reveal of her conversation with DI Taylor.
Justin picked up straight away. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Thanks for returning my call.’
Hearing the formality in his tone, the politeness, Alicia felt another crushing wave of sadness.
‘Obviously, I would,’ she started, and then stopped. He was keeping her at a distance. He’d hung a no-admittance sign on his emotions, one he wouldn’t easily let her past, not now. ‘Sorry I couldn’t get back sooner,’ she said, trying to keep the devastation from her own voice. ‘DI Taylor was here.’
‘I gathered. Did he have anything to say worth listening to?’
‘Not in regard to Sophie, no,’ Alicia answered cautiously.
Justin sighed wearily. Clearly, he’d expected as much. ‘So, why the visit?’
Not sure what his reaction would be, Alicia hesitated. ‘He wondered whether I knew that Paul Radley had been in touch with Sophie. He was a bit concerned, I think.’
‘About?’ Justin asked curiously.
‘You. He said… He told me you attacked Paul Radley. He was—’
‘He said what?’ Justin sounded immediately agitated.
‘He was worried about you, Justin. About the consequences. If you’d been charged with assault…’
‘It would have been worth it,’ Justin assured her.
‘It would have affected your job, Justin,’ Alicia pointed out, feeling scared that he didn’t seem to care. ‘Your future.’
Justin didn’t answer immediately. ‘I don’t have much of a future, though, do I, Alicia, without my family?’ he said quietly.
Alicia felt fear pierce through her like an icicle. There had been no contempt in his voice, no accusation. Nothing. He’d sounded empty. Flat. As if he truly didn’t care.
‘I’m sorry if it upset you,’ he went on, drawing in a long breath, ‘but he had it coming.’
‘Sorry?’ Alicia shook her head. ‘Justin, I’m only upset for you. I don’t care about—’
‘We need to talk,’ Justin said quickly over her, as though he had steeled himself to say it.
Alicia nodded, closing her eyes. He needed answers, none of which he would want to hear. ‘When?’ she asked, gulping back the heavy weight of remorse.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said. ‘At the house.’
Surrounded by the ghosts of what had been, and the future that could never be. It would hurt meeting him there, seeing him there, being reminded of everything she’d thrown away. She didn’t think that was Justin’s intention, but it was fitting.
Fifty-One
JUSTIN
Covered in a slick film of sweat from his efforts working in the basement, Justin wiped his arm across his forehead and checked his watch. It was early morning, he realised. Time he called it quits. He wasn’t sure why he’d decided to come here, to carry on working on the studio. And then he realised it was because he saw Sophie and Luke wherever he went in the house; he would hear them. It was to be in touch with his children.
Tidying up his tools, double-checking he had all the equipment he would need, he turned his attention to the additional LED lighting he’d been installing. The soundproofing had already been done when he’d suspected the existing lighting wasn’t sufficient. Wanting the studio to be finished for Sophie’s sixteenth, he’d been planning to strip the insulation away and replace the spotlights. Her sixteenth had come and gone. The lighting had never been done. He’d come here on her birthday, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to disturb anything; not that day.
He would finish it. He was determined to. It was his way of keeping hope alive, he supposed. Hope that when she came back, it would be ready. When he’d finished it though, what then? What if Sophie didn’t come back? He wasn’t ready to contemplate that. Wearily, he climbed the steps back to the hall, where the melodic sound of a child’s innocent laughter greeted him. He’d heard it when he’d come once before. It had worried him then. Today, it didn’t bother him. He found it quite soothing.
She’d learned to ride her bike, stabiliser-free, here in the hall, he recalled. It had been snowing that day. His gaze travelled the length of the long flagstone floor, where he could see her pedalling furiously, laughing delightedly when she’d realised he’d let go of the saddle and she was doing it all on her own. She’d abandoned her bike and run back to him, when the rug had slipped from under him and he’d ended up flat on his back, cracking his head on the tiles. ‘Is it hurting, Daddy?’ she’d asked him, her beautiful chestnut eyes wide with alarm.
‘It’s hurting, baby,’ he said now to the wispy spirit of her. So much, I don’t think I can bear it. Closing his eyes, he swallowed and headed for the stairs, planning to take a shower before leaving. Where he was staying, hot water was a luxury in the bathroom he shared with the other tenants. He didn’t need luxury. He needed to function, to wash himself awake, wash the grime from his soul after endless days traipsing the bowels of the city, seeing things he’d always been aware of but could never have truly imagined.