Lemonade and Lies (9 page)

“My Bill?”

“Slip of the tongue.”

“You want to watch that,” I said. “Tongues can be tricky things.”

“Useful though.”

“Cheeky devil.” I knew exactly what he was getting at and that he’d never have tried that kind of innuendo if I was standing next to him.

“Guilty. Right, I’m gone.”

“Yeah, I know. Norway. You said. I’m trying to picture you in long, winter thermals.”

“How’d I look?”

“Not bad. Eight out of ten. Skinny legs, though.”

“Picky, eh?”

“Doesn’t hurt to have high standards.”

“Mu-um!” Tom dug me in the back with his small fist. “Rupert needs to go out and it’s your turn.”

“Yeah? Well he’ll have to wait a minute,” I hissed at my son, “I’m talking.”

But Tom wouldn’t give up and tugged urgently at my jacket, his expression somewhere between pained and downright angry. And I sussed it. I was getting friendly with a man, when he’d been the only man in the household for a while.

The fact that he was jealous was a small revelation to me. I’d have to think about that when I had a clear head, work out a strategy. Anyway, it was probably stupid putting me and romance in the same breath. I’d put the kiss of death on it by having two kids, a mortgage and a great slobbering dog. Who’d want to take that lot on?

“You still there?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure. Need to go now, though,” I said. “Enjoy Norway. Wait a minute – Norway!”

“What? You thought of something?”

“Bill – he went there once.”

“Did he say why?”

“No. Only that he’d been to Oslo, and then took a plane to some strange sounding place in the back of beyond. Did some skiing. Saw the Northern Lights. Brought me back a weird looking carving from some place called Husflid.”

“Not a place, a shop. Husflids are craft shops,” he said. “But they also sell touristy junk. Right . . .”

He was getting anxious to go. Wanted to get on with the job. The dynamic of the conversation had changed, and now we were back to real life. The serious stuff. And I fell in with it. “So - can I bring the kids back home?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said Kabak’s gone.”

“Sure, but there’s more than him in his organisation.” Jamie McDonald’s voice suddenly went harsh.

“You telling me we’re still not safe?”

“I’m saying there may be others out there. He boarded the plane alone.”

An image floated into my mind. An ugly, Neolithic face with a trace of blood running from below the eye to the corner of its mouth. A pair of fancy cowboy boots. Jesus! I’d been trying to remember what happened on the cliff that day, but failed. And now, when I didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to think about it again, this stuff fought for space in my head.

That’s when I knew. None of it would go away by itself. Somehow, I was involved in this, that bastard Bill had involved me. Don’t ask me what that meant, but there was only one way out. I had to face my demons. My life would never be normal again until this thing was made to go away.

“I’m going home. The kids can stay here.”

“You should stay there as well. Be good for you,” said Jamie.

“Oh, yeah?”
In what way would it be good for me?
“Just tell me one thing. Will my kids be safe up here?”

“It’s isolated. A place nobody would think to look.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“I’m not an oracle, Jill. Just a policeman.”

“So?”

“I’d say it’s safer than being home.”

“Thanks.”

“For what? I didn’t do anything.”

“For being honest.”

I didn’t feel any better after the phone call than before. Just more resolved. My mother noticed it.

“Everything okay now, love?”

“Sure. And thanks for looking after the kids. Would you do me a favour, Mum?”

“Now I know there’s something wrong. You haven’t called me Mum since you were a kid, since Brian . . .”

She still couldn’t say it, but for once I didn’t blame her. She’d had enough to cope with.

“I need some money for my car. I don’t suppose you’ve got the odd bit knocking around.”

She smiled and went to her handbag. “Cheque do?”

“But what about . . .?” She knew who I meant.

“It’s okay. This is a bit of money your grandmother left me. We both agreed that it should go to you and the kids anyway. After we’ve gone, like. But it looks as if now’s the time you really need it. So, yes – to your question. Your father’ll be okay with it. It was his idea you should have it.” She pushed the thing into my overnight bag and made me promise not to look at the amount until I got home.

*

I took the train back alone, for Alice still hadn’t turned up. And all the while my mother’s cheque called out to me. Curiosity almost overcame me, but I’d promised, and my parents had brought me up to keep promises. So I did. It wasn’t until I was safely home that I found out I was now ten thousand pounds richer. For once I had no words.

I had to apologise to Alice. But I figured she deserved it, for I’d been guilty as charged, acting like a spoilt kid and abandoning her at the harbour in Maidens. She extracted every ounce of juice from my apology, but I understood, for that was Alice. She had her own hang-ups.

When I put the phone down, we were still friends, although she wasn’t happy with what I was about to do, said I should leave all that up to the professionals. They got paid to take risks.

She’d gone back to London. A friend of a friend had suggested her for a new job. Same job, different publisher. She’d make it. She was a survivor. We both were, I reminded myself.

My phone was a hot spot. Jamie McDonald got through the minute Alice’s voice had disappeared back into the ether.

“Plane leaves at one o’clock tomorrow and gets in at Gardermoen Airport around four. I’ll give you a bell from Oslo.”

“Must be beautiful in Norway this time of year,” I said. “Lit ski-trails, the Northern Lights.”

“You working for the Norwegian Tourist Board?”

“No, but it sounds cool.”

“So - I’ll drop you a postcard,” he said.

“Just get the bastard.”

“I will. Oh and Jill?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep safe. And don’t do anything stupid, eh?”

“Would I?”

*

“You promised you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

“No, I didn’t. Anyway, define stupid,” I said.

“You know exactly what I mean. This is crazy, and it goes against all the rules.”

I hadn’t seen Jamie angry before. But I had a hunch it wouldn’t last, and I knew why he was all twisted out of shape. He was worried about me, was doing the caveman bit, protecting the female of the species. And I had to admit it was a good feeling, until the Feminist in the back of my head gave me a quick slap. Reminded me that I couldn’t let him have it all his own way, for this felt right. All my instincts told me so.

“Okay.
Whose
rules?” I asked.

He ignored that. Bowled on like I’d never spoken. “It also goes against my gut feeling,” he said.

His gut versus mine then.

“Stop whining. We’re here now. Just relax and enjoy the trip,” I told him. I grinned. And okay, maybe I looked like something from a low budget horror movie, face all banged up, broken wrist in a sling. Still, I was surprisingly chilled for someone who hadn’t had a Diazepam in days. But, according to some, my mental health would still provide long term job security for a therapist.

I was enjoying myself, even if Jamie wasn’t. I loved flying and hadn’t been on a plane for years. Now here I was heading for a place I’d always wanted to see.

Bill had known that. Had flaunted his own trip in that cruel way that he sometimes used to get the upper hand. And the beauty of Norway had been wasted on him, the phenomenon of the famous
Midnatsol
. In the north of the country, it never got dark in the summer. Twenty four hours of daylight. Can you imagine it? The
midnight-sun
shimmering on rocks and fjords at a time when all reason said it should be pitch black. A miracle.

But there’s a price to be paid for everything. The far north had long, hard months of winter days. Dark, bleak times, when light didn’t penetrate, and hearts sank. And depression was close to the surface.

Daylight didn’t arrive until ten in the morning, and left again only four hours later. Then northerners faced twenty wearying hours of darkness before they saw light again. A light so pale and insignificant that it would hardly be a cause for celebration.

Winter nights had their compensation, though. A black sky could dramatically transform into a canvas of florescent, vibrant colour as it lit up with the fantastical
Nordlys
. The
Northern Lights
, nature’s own spectacular firework display. I wanted to see that. But wondered if I would. The closest I’d come so far had been YouTube.

I reminded myself why I was here, on this flight to Oslo. I wanted to confront Bill. Tell him I wouldn’t take any more of his shit. And I wanted Viktor Kabak nailed, so he could no longer terrorise me or my family. I didn’t know where I would fit into that process, but I knew I couldn’t just sit back home and knit. Okay, so I don’t knit. But I know people who do.

I turned around to look at the two men a few rows back. Jamie scowled, for I’d promised to ignore the plain clothes CID officers trying to look like anonymous businessmen. They were trying too hard. They looked just like policemen. Like him, the Met also paid their wages, and they were part of his small unit dealing with Economic and Specialist Crime.

*

“C’mon, jump in.”

The car’s engine was running, and plumes of exhaust gushed out to meet the icy Norwegian air. The driver had the heater up full blast.

The man’s face was smug. No wonder. It was the last thing either Jamie or I had expected and our reactions were as different as night and day. The Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus thing.

I thought it was great. Jamie saw it as one more problem in an already screwed-up situation. You can’t please everyone and fifty percent was a fair result. So I smiled, just to let our driver know his miraculous effort was appreciated.

“Figured you could use a hand.”

“No offence, Dave. But I’m already up to my shorts in well-meaning amateurs.”
That would be me!

“None taken.” David Ovenden winked at me, like I was some kind of co-conspirator which I wasn’t. For I hadn’t a clue he was going to be there. Alice must have roped him in. “Get in the back, Jill,” he instructed - like it was my natural place in the universe. And what if I’d wanted to sit up front, like a grown up?

“C’mon, James, don’t hang around.” He patted the front passenger seat by way of encouragement. “It’s bloody freezing out there.”

A struggle took place on Jamie’s face. He was the one in charge here, D. I. McDonald from the Met. It was him who should be handing out orders. The cold won. He got in the Volvo, but was reluctant to give up his protest.

“Haven’t you got a surf business to run?”

“Business doesn’t pick up again until Easter,” said David. “I’d only be waxing boards and repairing dings in noses.” His expression said that this promised to be a lot more exciting.

“Shit. It’s like a bloody circus. We might as well take out an advert in the press. There’s Jill here looks like a victim from a hit-and-run.” Jamie nodded in my direction. “And even in a land of Vikings you’ll stand out in a crowd.”

It was true that David Ovenden was a bronzed giant who had to look down on most normal people. But Jamie’s inference that the two of us were some sort of freak show was an insult too far. I sat in the back of the car, nursing my anger, sending out waves of resentful silence, while David tried to ease the tense, frigid atmosphere with stilted conversation.

“Oslo’s about 50 Ks away,” he said. “I booked us a hotel, figured you wouldn’t mind laying out for one in the city centre.”

Jamie grunted. It could have been a yes or no. I wasn’t worried either way. I didn’t need anyone to pay the bill for me. Right now I had a healthy bank balance and didn’t feel any guilt about blowing some of it on an expensive Oslo hotel. My life style was frugal and any money I had after scraping together the mortgage always went on the kids, not me.

I stayed inside my head for the rest of the journey and only once did Jamie turn round to stare at me. I could see he was struggling, that he wanted to smile. There was definitely a spark between us, but I figured it would never be kindled into a fully blown flame. The job would get in the way.

There were three of us musketeers in the car, all set to change the world. Or at least one small part of it. But for Detective Inspector James McDonald, that was two musketeers too many.