Never Look Back (29 page)

After they had finally let him go, Malvern had gone straight home, climbed into his car and driven to Sarah’s. He couldn’t wait to see her. Their days apart had felt like years, each minute passing like a knife across his throat. He hadn’t been home since; he couldn’t leave her. He had found a side street, about a half a mile away, that no one seemed to use, so he had slept in his car but even then he was anxious, missing her face. He had to pluck up the courage to go and see her. He was desperate to tell her what had happened, to see if she could understand the mess the police had made. To charge him with harassment was insane.

As he watched Sarah pull her hair into a ponytail, he couldn’t help smiling. She looked relaxed, carefree, like the woman he had met all those months ago in the City. The cups of coffee they had shared, chatting like two old friends. The connection had been obvious from the second their eyes met. Malvern knew it and it was clear Sarah did too. She had said she looked forward to seeing him, that he made her day, photographing strangers, more bearable. He knew when she took her breaks. It just so happened he took his at the same time. Fate. He watched as she pulled her hair through her fingers, draping it around her shoulders. Her neck was long and smooth. How he longed to touch it, to kiss her there. He sat down on the wall as his trousers tightened. He needed to be careful. If the police saw him here they might take him away again.

He stood and walked into the corner shop, his hands in his pockets. It was so cold tonight. The man behind the counter was watching him. Malvern picked up some milk and cheese from the fridge unit and pretended to be deciding on another purchase. It was much warmer in here. His hands tingled in his pockets as they came back to life. He needed to go home, to shower, to change, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. As he looked up, his breath caught in his throat. She was here. He watched as she walked into the shop. She didn’t look quite so happy now. She looked like he felt: nervous.

‘Evening,’ she said to the shopkeeper who just nodded in response.

Malvern’s hands began to shake. He stood, fixed to the spot, the milk slopping around in the plastic container. He suddenly felt very hot as he looked down at his wrinkled jacket and tea-stained trousers. He looked like a tramp. He probably smelled like one too. Before he could move, hide, she was walking towards him. The aisle was too small for the two of them. She picked up a carton of apple juice, some milk and a tub of something. He froze as she raised her eyes to meet his. She seemed to hesitate, looking him up and down.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, looking at the gap between them.

He tried to back himself into the fridge unit, his arms folded over his coat, the milk and cheese still clutched in his hands. She turned away from him and slid past. Her back brushed against his arm for just a second. His whole body seemed to come alive with that one touch. He knew he was blushing, he knew his body was reacting to her presence. As she disappeared behind a tower of toilet rolls she caught his eye; her nose wrinkled. She understood.

By the time he had collected himself, picked up a loaf of bread and followed her around the corner she was already at the till, talking to the man behind the counter.

‘Could I have a bottle of Jack Daniel’s as well, please?’ she asked.

She spoke so softly, Malvern had to strain to hear. Her voice felt like velvet against his skin. He watched her pack her items into a small plastic bag. Her hands were so fine and delicate. He forced his feet to move towards her until she was only inches away. As he opened his mouth to speak she turned away, raised a hand to the man behind the till and was gone. Malvern was too shaken to move, to think. She was so close. He should have talked to her. She wanted him to talk to her. He dropped the milk and bread and ran out of the shop without looking back.

As he rounded the corner he caught sight of her. She was standing at her front door but she wasn’t alone. A man was with her. It was the tall detective. He was taking the shopping bag out of her hand. Malvern’s heart began to thud harder in his chest. He felt as if his fury would overwhelm him. They were kissing. Her arms threaded around his neck, her fingers in his hair. The detective seemed reluctant, pulling away from her, looking around them, as if ashamed. Malvern took a step forward, wanting to shout, to scream, but they were gone, disappearing into Sarah’s house, the door slamming behind them.

He walked up the street and stood on the opposite side of the road, impotent with rage. This was his fault. He had led this man to her. But how could she betray him, humiliate him like this? He swiped at a tear as it trickled down his face. When Sarah was alone again he would come back and this time he would have the courage to act. To do what needed to be done. She had left him no choice.

11 February – Tuesday

Lockyer beeped his car horn again and waited. He didn’t know what he was going to say. As soon as he had read Megan’s name on the piece of paper Chris had given him his mind had been in freefall. He had almost told Sarah when he saw her earlier, but how could he? They were still getting to know each other. Besides, he could tell she was disappointed that he couldn’t stay for dinner. They had barely had time for a drink before he was rushing out of the door, promising to call her later.

He shook his head. He still couldn’t believe it. His eighteen-year-old daughter had had an abortion in March of last year. Over twelve months ago. She had gone to a clinic, got tested, made a decision and had the procedure, all without him knowing a thing. Lockyer had spent the drive over from Sarah’s trying to remember whether Megan had been different last year, when she was only seventeen. She would have been over the age of consent. He knew she had boyfriends. Clara no doubt knew all about it, which made him even more furious. How could she not tell him?

He looked up and saw Megan in the doorway, wrapped up in a winter coat, a colourful scarf wound round her neck. He suddenly saw an image of her when she was seven years old, going away to Brownie camp. ‘One second, Dad,’ she shouted before disappearing back into the house. He had to get a grip. Megan was fine. He could always talk to her about it; make sure she was all right. Even the thought terrified him.

It felt odd, sitting outside his old house. The house where he had shared a life with Clara, a life he had ultimately sabotaged. It felt like he was being unfaithful to Sarah, even being here. His hand automatically went to his chest, to touch the ring that was no longer there. As snowflakes landed on his windscreen, pushed aside by the automatic wipers, he realized things could never change back.

‘Hi, Dad,’ Megan said as she climbed into the car, dragging a rather large overnight bag with her. How long did she say she was staying for?

‘Hi, honey, you look good.’ Why did he say that? He felt nervous. He started the car and pulled away, the tyres slipping as he pushed past a small drift of snow.

‘How’s everything going?’ she asked, pulling at the loose strands sticking out of the end of her scarf. ‘How’s work?’ She looked pained. He didn’t know if she asked about his work because she thought she should or because she really wanted to know. Either way, he didn’t want to talk to anyone about the case, especially his eighteen-year-old daughter.

‘Everything’s fine,’ he said. ‘Thanks for asking,’ he added, as he pulled out onto the main road. He saw her nodding out of the corner of his eye. These stilted conversations were becoming a bit too habitual.

‘I called you on Saturday, after our coffee, but you weren’t answering your mobile or the flat phone . . .’

‘I was at . . .’

‘No, I called your office too, Dad . . . you weren’t there,’ she said. He could hear mocking in her tone but before he could react she said, ‘Don’t tell me you’re seeing someone?’

Lockyer tried to indicate but only succeeded in turning off the windscreen wipers, the snow immediately blinding him. He slowed down, turned his lights on and then off again, found the indicator and finally managed to get the wipers going again. It was all he could do to keep the car on the road. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He decided it was best to keep quiet. She was only fishing. ‘What do you fancy for supper?’ he said, putting on his most casual voice.

Megan dropped the ends of her scarf. ‘Hey, it’s none of my business,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘I was just telling Mum how different you were on Saturday.’

‘What did your mother say?’ he asked.

‘Nothing . . . Mum didn’t say anything. I was just saying you seemed different . . . more relaxed, maybe? Let’s drop it before you crash the car.’ She leaned forward and turned on the radio. ‘There’s a programme on in a sec that I need to listen to for college . . . do you mind?’

‘No, no, I don’t mind at all,’ he said. He doubted he would ever have the courage to discuss the other matter. Their father–daughter relationship had turned on its head as it was.

12 February – Wednesday

He watched her as she brushed her hair, long strokes, her eyes closed. He wanted to reach out and touch her. How could the handsome detective have been so careless? He thought again of his disciples as he looked at the face in the window. The calm he saw there wouldn’t last until tomorrow.

His dreams had been filled with visions of her, distracting him. It was strange. The images coming to him were ones he had buried long ago but they refused to quieten. Instead the memories crippled his mind. The doctor had said he could touch her but he hadn’t wanted to. He had felt trapped behind a two-way mirror, viewing himself, viewing her. Her red hair, once so vibrant, now hanging limp over the edge of the gurney. Her shape beneath the sheet. Her breasts creating the faintest undulation of the material, her hip bones another, then her feet, creating a final point. He remembered the stain on the sheet. It spread like a flower opening its petals to the morning sun. He hadn’t been able to stop himself thinking about the blood. How it would have congealed around the meaty slices she had made in her wrists. He had wondered if it had hurt, if she had felt pain.

His eyes filled with tears as he was transported back to that hospital corridor. He had needed those walls for support, unable to understand, unable to forget the black-and-white outlines, the flutter of a heartbeat. Tears dropped onto his cheeks. They trickled into his mouth and down the side of his neck into the collar of his shirt. Blood pounded in his ears, his right eye twitched, his skin itched, prickling as adrenalin surged through his system. He allowed the heat of his rage to surge through his body.

12 February – Wednesday

Sarah scrolled through the messages on her mobile, waiting for the traffic lights to change. She tried to block out the persistent horns outside the car. Everyone around her seemed to be in a hurry, but then that was London. She clicked into her inbox. Most of the messages were from Mike, a couple from Toni, but Mike’s name dominated the screen.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so attached to her mobile. It was her new one, and she had only given her number to four people so far: her mother and father, Toni and Mike. Right now she was content to have a phone that, for the most part, remained silent. When it chirruped to let her know she had a message or a voicemail, instead of feeling dread, she felt excitement. Her feelings of panic were replaced with a calm self-assurance, a renewed confidence. It was a welcome change.

Sarah turned into the car park at Lewisham Police Station and parked up at the end of the row. Her meeting with Bennett was at 5.30. It was only 4.30 now. She wanted to see Mike. When he was with her, her fears, her worries, everything seemed to vanish for those few hours. In the past week she had been able to laugh, to chat. It had been so long since she had felt even close to normal.

She pretended to be searching for something in the glove compartment when a group of officers walked by, close to her driver’s side window. She wasn’t hiding. She just wasn’t ready to go in quite yet. She climbed out of the car and walked out onto Lewisham High Street. Without thinking she headed straight for Bella’s coffee house. She pushed open the door, listened to the bell jingle and walked to the counter. The same girl was serving.

She smiled at Sarah. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Americano, please,’ she said, digging in her handbag for her purse. To hear her voice sounding so normal was comforting.

As she waited for her coffee she searched for her phone in her handbag. She would call him. It would be stupid to arrive unannounced. He might not even be in the office. Although he had told her yesterday he would be spending most of the day reviewing CCTV footage. She found his number, pushed ‘call’ and put the phone to her ear, turning away from the counter. He answered on the second ring.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How are you doing?’

Sarah could feel the smile spreading across her face. ‘I’m good, really good. You?’

There was a pause before he answered. ‘OK, but today has been a very long day.’ He sounded tired. ‘I’m with people right now.’

‘No problem . . . you’ll be done soon,’ she said, looking up at the clock on the wall of the café, immediately realizing it was a lame thing to say. ‘I’m in Bella’s if you get a second,’ she said, but when he still didn’t respond, she hurried on. ‘I’m here to see Bennett, thought I could pop in and say hi,’ she said with a tentative smile. Silence greeted her question. She listened as he cleared his throat.

‘That would be great but . . . I’m right in the middle of things. I really don’t have time to take a break, I’m sorry.’

Sarah tried to ignore the change she could hear and feel in his voice. ‘Of course, it was only on the off-chance. It doesn’t matter. Will I see you tonight?’ she asked, blushing, aware of the waitress behind her.

‘Actually, I’m going to have to rain-check,’ he said. Sarah tried to ignore his business voice. He was in the office, people were with him, he was hardly going to sing down the phone to her. ‘I’ll probably end up pulling an all-nighter at home,’ he said.