Never Look Back (23 page)

‘Regards?’ she laughed. ‘OK, Dad.’ She bent down and kissed his cheek again, and then was gone. So that’s what a hit and run feels like, he thought, listening as the bell over the door jingled, marking his daughter’s departure.

5 February – Wednesday

Lockyer repositioned the petrol nozzle and squeezed the trigger but again the flow clicked off, stopping as if the tank was already full. The garage was packed, cars lining up, two or three deep behind each pump. The snow had caused problems with fuel deliveries so half of Lewisham seemed to be panic buying. He tried to ignore the numerous car horns and revving engines.

‘Come on,’ he said through clenched teeth, as he shoved the metal nozzle in as far as it would go with barely restrained violence. ‘All I need is some bloody fuel. Do you think you can manage that?’ He snatched at the trigger, his tension easing when the pump finally kicked in and the litres ticked away.

‘Do you wanna get a move on, mate?’

He turned to see a huge guy leaning against the petrol pump, arms covered in tattoos, a beanie hat rammed low on his head. Rather than say what he was sorely tempted to say he nodded, removed the petrol nozzle, locked the fuel cap and walked towards the shop, searching for his wallet in his jacket pocket. Beanie man continued to voice his disapproval, muttering obscenities as he climbed back into his van. Lockyer decided challenging him was not worth the effort. He pushed open the glass door to the shop and joined the back of the queue.

‘Number four,’ he said when he finally got to the till, cash ready in his hand.

‘Anything else?’ the girl behind the counter said in a sing-song voice, pronouncing her ‘th’s as ‘f’s. She didn’t seem bothered by the onslaught of impatient petrol-buyers.

‘No, thank you.’

Beanie-guy had arrived and was now standing perilously close behind him. Lockyer took his change, nodded his thanks to the cashier, turned, looked the guy right in the eyes and then walked out of the shop. He climbed back into his car, slamming the door hard, dissipating some of his frustration.

The traffic crawled through Lewisham, not unusual for this time of day. Anything from 4 p.m. to 6 p.m. could be considered rush hour in south-east London. The snow was turning to slush as countless wheels pushed it out of the road and piled it up against the kerbs like a grey sludge. He had to be back at the station for a briefing at 19.30 so he was going to be cutting it fine. If he got half an hour with Bobby he would be lucky. There was a press conference at 18.30 releasing a reconstruction of Debbie’s last movements, not to mention the interview with Hayley’s parents who had arrived in London from Devon the day before. ‘That’s all I need,’ he said to his reflection in the rear-view mirror as he changed up into fourth gear, zipping through the lights at Sainsbury’s.

As he drove into the suburbs he passed hedges covered in blankets of snow. It made him think of Richmond Park, of Hayley’s body lying on the ground, white all around her, as if she was sleeping under a freshly washed sheet. He indicated and turned onto Bobby’s street, pulling in behind Alice’s car. Her back window was littered with stickers ranging from ‘Nurses do it stat!’ and ‘If you can read this, you’re literate!’ He managed to smile, cheered by the yellow smiley faces looking back at him.

He took the keys out of the ignition, climbed out of the car, alarmed it and walked carefully up the driveway, avoiding the ice patches he knew would be lurking beneath the snow. He searched his coat pocket for his phone before scrolling to the notes page where he kept the combination number for Bobby’s front door. ‘Five, four, seven, eight,’ he said, punching the buttons with his already freezing fingertips. As he pushed open the door he called out to announce his presence. ‘Hellooo,’ he said, walking across the hallway into the communal lounge. All the lights were on, including some Christmas lights that had lasted long past advent. ‘Hello,’ he said again, walking to the end of the room and poking his head through the doorway that led back into the hallway.

‘One second, one second.’

Just hearing Alice’s voice lifted Lockyer’s mood. ‘It’s Mike, Alice,’ he called.

‘Michael, I’m a-comin’,’ she said.

He looked up to see her walking down the stairs, her thin blonde hair flying around her face, her eyes and smile wide to greet him.

‘How are you doing?’ he asked. ‘And how’s the new man?’

‘Pretty good,’ Alice said, stopping on the bottom step. ‘It’s going well, so far.’ Her smile said it was going better than that. ‘So, if you are here to see me, I’m afraid you’ve missed the boat, my friend.’ She gave him a wink.

‘I hope he’s good enough for you,’ he said, happy to settle into the familiarity of their banter.

‘Not too good, I hope,’ she said, giving him another playful nudge.

‘How is he?’ he asked, gesturing up to the landing.

Alice collapsed into laughter as he realized his gaff. ‘None of your business,’ she said as she disappeared into the lounge, still chuckling to herself. ‘Of course, if you meant your brother . . .’ she shouted, poking her head back through the doorway, ‘sandboys would be jealous.’

‘How did he enjoy the trip to Greenwich?’ he called after her.

Alice reappeared. ‘Everyone had a great time. Bobby absolutely loved the
Cutty Sark
. With his birthday coming up I’d say a book on sailing would make his day.’ She put her hands on her hips and said, ‘You know, you should come with us one day. Invite’s always there for friends and family.’

Lockyer opened his mouth to deliver an excuse so familiar he should have it tattooed on his forehead. ‘I will. I’m just really busy at the moment.’

Alice smiled. ‘OK. Say bye before you go.’

‘Will do,’ he said, leaning on the banister to drag himself up the stairs. He suddenly felt exhausted. For those brief seconds, chatting to Alice, he had been able to forget about Clara and the case. But the respite didn’t last long enough.

As he walked along the landing he ran his hand over the old-fashioned wallpaper that always reminded him of the house he grew up in. He knocked on his brother’s door and waited for a few seconds. There was a muted shuffling sound and the creak of a chair. Lockyer took this as his signal to enter. ‘Hey there, buddy. How are you doing today?’ he said as he pushed the door closed behind him.

Bobby was already in his seat, a pack of blue patterned playing cards in his hand. ‘Cards,’ he said, holding the pack of cards in the air but keeping his head down.

‘Not today, I’m afraid. I can’t stay long.’ He wasn’t surprised when Bobby didn’t react. A familiar crushing sensation enveloped his chest. ‘Let’s look at one of your books instead, shall we?’ He walked over to a tall pine bookcase and waited. Bobby slowly stood, shuffled to the side of the chair and stepped back two paces to join him. ‘So, what do you fancy?’ There wasn’t one book on the shelf that Lockyer didn’t recognize. ‘I know. We haven’t looked at your
Book of British Birds
for ages. Why don’t we look for birds you see in the garden? Although I guess there aren’t so many, now it’s winter.’

‘Lots,’ Bobby said.

Lockyer loved seeing the excitement on his brother’s face. ‘Nah, I don’t believe you,’ he said, gently nudging Bobby’s arm.

‘Twenty,’ Bobby said.

‘You’re havin’ me on, twenty birds in this tiny garden? The next thing you’re gonna tell me is that they’re all blue.’

For what felt like the hundredth time Lockyer saw a smile and a flicker of understanding on Bobby’s face. He knew the autism restricted his brother’s brain function to a certain extent but Lockyer was convinced Bobby could comprehend more than the doctors gave him credit for. Bobby seemed to snap out of a trance. He reached forward, picked up the book, shuffled over to his bed and sat down, already flicking through the pages, his eyes darting back and forth. Lockyer walked over and sat in the chair Bobby had vacated and watched his brother scanning the bird book.

‘Here,’ Bobby said, standing up and holding the book out, his head turned away to the door.

Lockyer took the book and rested it on his lap, looking down at the open pages. ‘Nice. A brown-and-red bird. I’ve even seen them in my poor excuse for a garden,’ he said, putting his finger to his lip in mock concentration. ‘Now what are they called? They’re on Christmas cards . . . there’s a song about them . . .’ He knew the hook would work. Bobby was tapping his slippered feet. ‘Why don’t you come over here and help me? I bet you know what this one’s called,’ he said, gently patting the chair opposite the card table.

Bobby stood up, took three sidesteps to the right and one step forward so he was next to the chair. He ran his hand over the top, back and then the arm of the chair. Lockyer realized he was sitting in Bobby’s chair. Should he move? He wasn’t sure. Alice said getting Bobby to try new things was an important part of his care. Lockyer could see the hesitation on his brother’s face, as if he was wrestling with an invisible demon, blocking his way. God, it was painful to watch. It took every bit of his restraint not to move but Bobby finally lowered himself into the ‘alien’ chair with slow, minute movements. He was constantly touching the fabric, as if to reassure himself that the object was real, that he wouldn’t fall to the floor when he trusted the chair with his full weight.

As soon as Bobby was sitting, Lockyer handed over the book, placing it on his brother’s lap and turning it the right way up so Bobby could look at the picture of the robin standing on a branch, a red berry in its beak.

‘What is it?’ Lockyer asked.

Bobby looked up at the window, then back down at the page of the book, running his fingers over the robin’s head.

‘Have you seen one of these in the garden, Bobby?’ he asked.

Bobby nodded vigorously but didn’t speak.

‘Are there lots of them?’

‘No,’ Bobby said, shaking his head.

‘How many have you seen?’ Lockyer waited, leaning forward in his seat so he could see his brother’s face.

‘One,’ Bobby said.

‘Just one. Wow. They must be rare. Maybe they don’t play well with others, eh?’ Lockyer said, laughing.

His heart squeezed when Bobby smiled. The bugger was that Bobby could be smiling about what Lockyer had just said or something that had happened an hour ago or, in fact, nothing at all. It was frustrating and despite reading up on the Internet, looking through any literature he could get his hands on and talking to his own GP, Lockyer just couldn’t get his head around the idea that his own brother was somehow locked away from him. It wasn’t fair.

Bobby stood, the book sliding off his lap onto the floor with a thump he clearly didn’t hear. Lockyer watched him take one sidestep to the right and walk over to the window. ‘Robin,’ he said, putting both hands flat against the glass.

Lockyer leaned back in the chair and rested his head, closing his eyes for a second. Visits to Bobby normally lifted his mood but today he had all but plummeted right back into the fug. With his cheek resting against the soft leather of his brother’s chair he opened his eyes and looked at Bobby, still standing motionless at the window. The look on his face was one of total contentment.

He reached under the table to pick up the
Book of British Birds.
There was a pile of books next to Bobby’s chair, a lamp resting on the top. Lockyer picked up the lamp with one hand and slid the bird book onto the top of the stack with the other. He heard something fall to the floor. He flicked on the light and bent down to see what he had knocked off. Bobby was very particular about his room and his things. One small item out of place could cause an enormous amount of stress. He ran his hand back and forth across the carpet until his fingers touched something hard. He picked it up, sat back and looked at it under the glow of the lamp.

‘What’s this, then?’ he said, more to himself than to Bobby, who was still transfixed by whatever was outside the window. He turned the object over in his hand. It was an earring; silver with a butterfly clasp and a turquoise stone. Alice or Amber must have dropped it. If Bobby found it he would naturally have added it to his collection of things. Bobby loved knick-knacks, especially anything shiny, or his ultimate favourite: tiny animal figures made of glass. There were dozens dotted around the room: swans, elephants and even a peacock.

‘Collecting women’s jewellery now, are we?’ Lockyer said, holding the earring up for Bobby to see, if Bobby had been looking, which he wasn’t.

‘I’ll just give this back to Alice, buddy. She’s probably been looking for it. And I’m sorry to say that I’ve got to go.’ He stood and walked over to Bobby, patting him softly on the back. ‘I’ll see you next time,’ he said, turning to leave.

‘Cards,’ Bobby said.

Lockyer smiled, turned back and said, ‘Next time, buddy, next time.’ He touched his brother’s hand and walked away, leaving Bobby to go back to his window and his birds.

As he pulled the door closed behind him, a lump formed in his throat and his vision blurred with tears. He took a deep breath, leaned against his brother’s bedroom door, tipping his face up to the ceiling, hoping the gravity would stop the tears that wanted to fall. It took several big swallows to push back the flood of emotion that threatened to engulf him.

‘Get a grip,’ he said out loud.

‘You do know that talking to yourself is the first sign of madness?’

Lockyer opened his eyes to find Alice standing at the end of the hallway looking at him. There was something in her expression that made him think she had been standing there for longer than he would have liked. ‘Madness,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I think I’m way past the first sign.’

‘Aren’t we all,’ she said.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ Lockyer said, holding out his hand, feeling the weight lifting from his chest as his emotions returned to normal. He held up the earring, an inch from Alice’s nose. She looked at it and then at him.

‘Most of the men I know would buy me two earrings,’ she said, smiling, taking the tiny piece of jewellery out of his hand.

‘I found it in Bobby’s room, assumed it was yours.’