‘So,’ he says, raising his glass to her and smiling, with that twinkle – Father Christmas and Captain Birdseye.
‘So,’ she says, and she drinks, hoping it will steel her nerves. The whiskey burns, a tear drop of fire descending her gullet. Her head swims and she feels sick. Perhaps he will tell her what he’s done to Edith Hind, how he got away with it, and then he will kill her. Yes, that seems likely now, and she feels calm in the face of it. She doesn’t care about herself. She lights a cigarette and so does he. There is so much camaraderie in lighting up together. Another protocol broken.
‘Just you and me, Tony,’ she says. ‘What’s the deal? Why was Edith on your AV list?’
He looks at her. Blows out smoke. ‘She was in the prison doin’ some research, interviewin’ prisoners. I dinnae remember what for, was a while ago now – 2009. Whitemoor was in a right state at the time. Riots, escapes. Prison wardens were filth, abusin’ us. She was askin’ loads o’ questions about the conditions we were livin’ under in the prison. We started talkin’. And we enjoyed talkin’. So I said, if you’d like tae come back, we could talk some more.’
‘You were grooming her?’
‘Groomin’ her for what? I’ve no’ touched her.’ He leans forward, jabbing the table top with one finger. ‘Ye’ll get nothin’ on me ’cos I’ve done nothin’ tae that girl. If there’s a law says a lowlife like me cannae be pals wi’ a classy bird like that, then show me it.’
‘What did you talk about, when she visited you?’
‘About the prison, life inside. She brought me some books to read. Jude the Obscure. Well, I had a lot o’ time on ma hands, but even so, I only pretended to read the books she brought me, so that she’d like me all right. I liked talkin’ to her, and I liked lookin’ at her. No’ in a bad way – she’s a fine-lookin’ girl.’
‘So you talked literature, Tony, you and Edith Hind?’
‘Ah told ye, I only pretended to read that book just so she’d keep visitin’ me. Then ma mother died. I found myself in a very quiet place, ye ken? Inside myself, I mean. Edith came to see me just after. I was in a bad way; darkness, ken?’ He beats a fist against his heart. ‘We started talkin’ about deeper things.’
‘What did she call you about in the week before she disappeared?’
‘This an’ that.’
‘Ah, come on, Tony.’
‘Nothing special: how you doin’, Tony, what’s happening wi’ finding work, seeing your probation officer, whatnot. She’s a good person; a really good person. I never had anyone classy like her tek an interest afore. Made me want tae make an effort. Thought maybe I could have … I don’t know …’ He trails off.
‘Have what, Tony? Have her money? Take her life?’
‘Och, there you go again,’ and he gets up. Manon gets up too and they square up to each other, making the room feel small. She needs to get out of here if she’s going to make it at all, but the front door is locked. Tony is reaching into his pocket slowly. She thinks of the girl, his victim, beaten with the butt end of a knife’s handle until she couldn’t see.
‘Ye see what ye want tae see,’ he says, squinting as he lights another cigarette. ‘Ye see me, and in your view I’m no’ able to change. That’s fine. But I’m tellin’ ye, Edith Hind has been a good pal in my life, an’ even wi’ all this shit, I’m glad I know her.’
‘Know?’
‘Know, knew … Ah’ve no idea where she is.’
He has sat down again, his legs effeminately crossed, regarding his cigarette held in a tight hand.
‘She’s alive, isn’t she?’
‘I told ye, I don’t know what’s happened tae the girl. I hope she’s alive, aye.’
She has to get out of here, while the going’s good. She strides for the door, tries to open it. She pulls at the door, rattling it furiously, until he comes behind her, lays a hand on her shoulder.
‘Hey, hey, hey, calm it,’ he says, and turns her body towards his. ‘There’s no need to be jigglin’ about like that.’ He is so near to her she can smell him – cinnamon and whiskey. Her heart is pounding so furiously she wonders if he can feel it too. ‘There ye go,’ he says, and he opens the door onto a blast of freezing night.
She is shaking, whether with fear or with cold or with relief to have got out, she cannot tell. She is shaking so much her key will not make it into the lock of her car door. She tries again, holding her wrist with her other hand, trying to steady the aiming of the key’s shaft.
Crack.
Sharp hot pain at the top of her skull. Then an ice cold trickle down the back of her neck. Her last sensation: her legs folding beneath her.
The world tips.
Sunday
Manon