Kate had forgotten about her work experience child and she hadn’t noticed him get out his notebook. Fatal bloody schoolboy error.
“Sorry, Harry. He’s just making notes on how I do my job. Aren’t you, Joe?”
The edge to her voice worked and he quickly put down his pen and beamed at Harry.
“Homework!” he said.
But the connection had been broken. Harry started clearing the cups, balancing the expensive china like a waitress in a beachfront café. Kate got up to help her, sliding saucers into the dishwasher as she worked out how to rebuild trust. They were running out of time.
“Look, we haven’t talked about why I’ve come. I’m hoping you can help me,” Kate said. “I’m doing a story about the discovery of Alice Irving’s body in Howard Street. I expect you’ve seen my stories about it?”
The shutters fell. Harry’s eyes went blank. “No, I hadn’t heard anything about it,” she said stiffly. “In Howard Street? Well, I didn’t live there. Not sure I remember it.”
“It’s where your friend lived.”
“Don’t think so,” she snapped.
“Toni at the Royal Oak,” Kate prompted.
“Toni? Toni Baker. God, she rang me the other day. Did she tell you where to find me? Look, I don’t know. It was all so long ago. I can’t really help. Must get ready. You’ll have to go,” she said, picking up her handbag.
“Can you see yourselves out? Thanks.”
Kate bundled Joe out into the hall. “I’ll leave my card here on the table, Harry. In case you want to contact me,” she called back and quietly closed the door behind her.
“There we are, then,” she said as she and Joe walked back to the office.
Joe looked at her, mystified. “Where are we? Wasn’t that a disaster? She asked us to leave.”
“But what did she tell us before she asked us to leave?”
“Nothing. She said she didn’t know anything.”
“Joe, for Christ’s sake, don’t you know anything about reading people? As soon as I mentioned the baby, she closed down. Telling a silly lie about Howard Street.”
“Oh,” he said.
“She knows something,” Kate said. “We’ll have another chance to talk to her at the disco. And Joe. Don’t take notes when you are trying to persuade someone to trust you. Golden rule of interviewing.”
“But you said the golden rule was to take notes every time,” he said.
Kate sighed. Baby steps.
FIFTY-FIVE
Emma
MONDAY, APRIL 23, 2012
Kate picked up immediately.
“Hello, it’s Anne Robinson,” I say. I’ve closed the door of my office so I don’t get disturbed by Paul.
“Hello, Anne,” she says. “Nice to hear from you again. How are you? What are you up to?”
I’m a bit taken aback. She’s talking to me as if she knows me. I look at my crib sheet for reassurance.
Number one on the sheet is Drug addicts?
“Oh I’m fine, thanks. I thought I’d just give you a ring to see if you tracked down the addicts in Howard Street.”
“No, drew a blank, I’m afraid. No official records for them—expect they drifted from place to place. Anyway, everything has changed a bit since we last spoke, hasn’t it? The baby was buried in the 1980s, the police say.”
“Yes, I saw that.”
“So that would have been more your era. Can you think of anyone who was behaving strangely at the time? Any gossip among the neighbors about what people were up to?”
“Not that I can think of,” I say. “People kept to themselves, really.” Well, they did.
Kate Waters sighs. “If I had a pound for every time someone said that,” she says and laughs. “People love to keep things secret, don’t they?”
I need to move on. Number two on the sheet is How do they know it’s her?
“I wanted to ask you how sure they are about the identity of the baby. The police, I mean. I think they’ve made a mistake.”
“Do you? Why? Do you know something about the baby? Anne?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “I just think they’ve made a mistake. They should look again.” I am veering off script. Stop.
“Do you think the baby is someone else, Anne?”
I don’t trust myself to speak so don’t answer.
Kate Waters sounds agitated. “Do you still live in the area?” she says. “I could pop round to see you.”
“Oh, no,” I say too forcefully. “I live out of London.”
I can hear Paul coming up the stairs and will him away. But he doesn’t stop. “Are you on the phone?” he calls through the door and I freeze. “Darling!”
I put my hand over the receiver and hiss, “I’m busy.”
“Your husband?” Kate says when I take my hand away.
“Yes, I’d better go,” I say.
“Anne,” she says carefully. “You rang me because you want to talk about the baby and I am really glad you did. If you think the police have made a mistake, it is important to say so. I know it may be hard for you, but we can talk about it. I can help you. It doesn’t matter what name you use. Okay?”
“Okay,” I reply. “I’ll think about it.”
I do nothing else for the rest of the day.
FIFTY-SIX
Jude
MONDAY, APRIL 23, 2012
Jude was doing her roots—painting out the gray with a color she’d bought at the local chemist—and thinking about which dress to wear. She might put on the black velvet one—if she could squeeze into it—but she’d have to buy tights. And nail varnish. She felt girlish for the first time in years. She was going on a date.
Will had rung again. She’d almost not picked up the phone. She hadn’t recognized the number and thought it might be a cold call or a crook, trying to scam her out of her money. Well, it was, in a way.
“Hello, my lady, how are you?” he’d said.
“Fine, Will,” she’d said, hearing the simper in her voice.
“Thought I’d give you a call to see if you’ve transferred your donation to the university centenary fund? We’re almost halfway to the total.”
She’d forgotten. That’s why he’d rung in the first place. Not for her. For money. She’d pushed the ungenerous thought to one side. “Sorry, Will. I’ll do it today. It is lovely to hear from you again.”
“Lovely to hear you, too. You don’t sound a day older, Jude,” he’d said. And she’d felt happier than she had for weeks.
“Where are you living these days?” she’d asked. “Still in Clapham?”
“No, moved when I retired. I’m in a little village in Kent. Bucolic retreat. Dead as the grave, actually.”
“You sound in need of cheering up,” she’d said. “Why don’t you come up to town and we can go for dinner.”
He’d hesitated and she’d felt ridiculous for having asked, but before she could make an excuse, he’d cleared his throat and said, “That would be a real treat.”
The date had been set for Monday at one of their old haunts in Victoria. “Handy for the trains,” he’d said.
? ? ?
Tonight’s the night,” she told herself in the mirror as she fastened her earrings.
She arrived first, leaving home early so she could walk slowly with her stiff hip, but he appeared in the plate-glass window minutes later and peered in.
God, you look old, she thought as she caught sight of his face.
He swept through the restaurant and bent to kiss her, then held her by her shoulders to get a proper look.
“Still beautiful, Jude,” he said.
“Still a smooth talker,” she said.
“Yes, but it’s all talk these days,” he said and they both laughed.
Ice broken, they cantered through decades of life during the tricolor salad starter. Shorthanding their experiences, hooting with laughter at shared memories, and skirting round the reason they hadn’t seen each other for almost twenty years.
But, halfway through the melanzane alla parmigiana, Will asked about Emma. She’d wondered when he’d venture there.
“So,” he said, as the waiter poured more wine, “did Emma ever get back in touch?”
“Yes, actually. A couple of years ago. Out of the blue.”
“I see. So how is she doing these days?”
“So-so. Married to a man old enough to be her father.”
“Right,” he said. “Working?”
“Yes. She got herself together in the end. Took a while, but she went to university in her twenties. She’s a books editor. Working from home. Commercial rubbish, most of it, but she does it well.”