‘Can’t, driving. But you help yourself.’
So I did. A lot. Glenn sat beside me, stone-cold sober, writing notes in his silly pink notebook. Updating our investigation, presumably. I snatched it from under his nose before he had the chance to react, possessed with that fluid speed that only drunks seem to achieve. Jumped from the vehicle.
‘Give it back, Melanie.’ He leapt out too. Silhouetted in the headlights, hands on hips.
‘I want to write in it: “Case closed”.’ Eurgh, I was slurring.
‘You’re drunk. You’ll ruin it. Give it back, Melanie.’
I danced out of the way, stumbling in a direction I hadn’t anticipated. Clearly neither had Glenn, as his charge completely missed me.
I opened up the book triumphantly.
‘Let me write… Hey, what’s this?’
The first two pages were covered not in Glenn’s spider scrawl; instead it looked like the neat, rounded script of a teenage girl. In one corner sprouted a doodle of a flower growing from a stack of books. A drawing of a bird with a long, plumed tail, like a peacock or something, dominated the opposite corner. Both were beautiful. They were only a couple of lines, but clearly done by someone artistic. While Glenn had many talents, artistry almost certainly wasn’t one of them.
I peered closer when – ouch! Glenn snatched the notebook from my grasp so quickly, my fingertips burned from the friction.
‘Flipping heck, Glenn, no need to have a cow! Mardy arse. I only wanted to write in it. Someone else already has, so what’s the big deal?’
He hugged it to him. ‘Look, you know this was my daughter’s, Mel. This is all I’ve got of hers. I grabbed the nearest thing I could without Marcie noticing, pocketed this book. Writing in it makes me feel closer to my kid.’
Even in my drunken state, shame gripped me. Of course! Sometimes I was so busy thinking about the loss of my daughter that I forgot Glenn had his own loss to deal with.
‘Sorry. Some friend, eh?’ I took a staggering step and wrapped him in a loose hug. It was nice. Plus it helped keep me steady.
‘’S’okay.’ His voice was small. He clearly hadn’t quite forgiven me.
‘Look, tomorrow we’ll forget about all my problems and do whatever you want. Yeah?’
‘Yeah?’ He held my shoulders, pushing me back to arm’s length so that he could look at me properly. ‘Well, you know what I want to do?’
I shook my head, and if it weren’t for him holding me up I would have fallen over. ‘Whoops,’ I giggled.
He laughed and shook his head too. ‘I want you to have a lie-in and get over the hangover you’re bound to have tomorrow.’
‘Yay!’ I flung my arms up in celebration. ‘I want to see James Harvey get sent down for a very long time.’
‘Okay, well, we’ll see what we can do.’
We stood in companionable silence. I couldn’t face going home. Not quite yet. My head lolled back against Glenn’s shoulder as I looked at the stars.
‘I could never live in a city,’ I murmured.
‘Hmm?’ He grunted, clearly in his own world.
‘I could never live in a city or town. Well, for one, it’s too noisy, but… I’d miss the stars. You can only see a handful of the brightest ones there, but here, with no light pollution, wow. It’s like someone has sprinkled diamonds across the sky.’
An infinite number glittered, some small, some large, all so bright against the huge black night.
‘Yeah. It’s funny, when I lived in Nottingham I didn’t notice it. But now I’m back, I look up at the sky and it really is incredible how much more you can see. I did see that amazing red moon, though – that was cool.’
I wrinkled my nose. ‘I thought you were travelling in September.’
‘Huh?’
‘September last year. I thought you were travelling.’
‘I was. Australia.’
‘But the blood moon was in September.’ I turned to him, making sure to hold onto his parka for steadiness. He was finally wearing it as a concession to its being well below freezing tonight.
‘Yeah. I saw it there,’ he replied, still looking at the sky. ‘Bloody great red moon. In Sydney, Australia. In September. Supercool.’
‘Supercool. Supercool!’
‘Come on, let’s get you home,’ he sighed, and gently led me back to the van.
‘Supercool.’
I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve such a good friend, but I was so glad Glenn had come along just when I needed him.
Forty-Six
At midday the following day, the police arrived at the house. DS Devonport looked as immaculate as ever. This particular day she wore a three-quarter-length black coat that, despite being plain, was clearly expensive. Either wool or cashmere or some kind of mix, it exuded quality.
I exuded booze – from every pore.
‘Is Mr Oak here?’
‘He’s had to go to work. But I can fill him in.’ No need to tell her that I hadn’t set eyes on him so far that day. I’d been asleep by the time he arrived home from the hospital, and hadn’t even stirred when he rose for work. The joy of being in an alcohol-induced coma.
‘May I take a seat?’ DS Devonport asked. She was a cold fish, that one. Her gaze always appraising; her every move carefully considered. I wondered what you would have made of her; imagined you doing a pretty accurate impression of her husky voice and stiff manner. ‘We have news.’
Yes!
‘You’ve charged James Harvey?’
‘We have released him. He has an alibi for the night your daughter was injured.’
My stomach lurched. ‘He claims to have been with Alison Daughtrey-Drew, I know. But, obviously, she’s lying for some reason.’
‘We’ve absolutely no evidence of that, Mrs Oak, and—’
‘Come on! It’s the only thing that makes sense. James Harvey was taking advantage of our daughter, and, I don’t know, perhaps she realised, said no, fought back as he tried to force himself on her.’
‘Melanie—’
‘No, it has to be said,’ I insisted. ‘He gets angry that his advances have been rejected at last, and he’s scared that she’ll tell someone what’s been going on. So he hits her. Hits her to shut her up. Or maybe even just to scare her, and goes too far. Whatever – it’s clearly him who’s responsible.’
The detective took a breath before speaking slowly, calmly. Enunciating each word as if talking to an imbecile.
‘Mrs Oak, there’s something else. The medical examination of Beth that you agreed to shows that she is still a virgin.’
Relief flooded through me.
The detective continued. ‘We’ve also looked into the dates mentioned in Beth’s diary. Dates where she claims to have met Mr Harvey. He has alibis for virtually all of them – he was at practice sessions of a church choir for most of them. Other dates you yourself have said Beth was with you. I’m afraid there is no easy way of saying this, but it appears the book was a work of fiction. A child psychologist has also studied the writings, and reached the same conclusion we have. Apparently the language used is innocent; there is a lot of talk of kissing and love, but only hints of more.’