Something Hidden (27 page)

He eased off, taking two quick rights and waiting at the T, staring towards the main road.

‘Anything?’ Jenny asked.

‘No.’

‘Who was it?’

Andrew didn’t answer, edging along the side street, back in the direction he’d headed originally, glancing quickly from one side to the other.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘There was a black car behind the silver one, biggish, I don’t know the make. It’s shiny.’

There was no sign of anything at the first turn, so Andrew took the next one, keeping to the residential twenty-mile-an-hour limit now he was off the main road. Vehicles were parked on both
sides, making it hard to manoeuvre, but that meant it was easier to keep an eye on what was ahead. He was almost at the turn back to the main road when Andrew spotted what he was looking for. He
parked in between two cars and switched off the engine.

‘Who is it?’ Jenny asked again.

‘No one you’d know.’

‘I think you should tell me.’ She was firm but polite. Not pleading, not angry, just honest.

Andrew was chewing the inside of his mouth again, a bad habit that was developing. Psychologists would probably have something to say about it: nervous tension; unfulfilled childhood; unresolved
guilt at dumping his ex-wife, with whom he was still in love, that sort of thing. They could find fault with anyone if they put in a bit of effort. Gandhi? His bald head was clearly a symbol of
insecurity. Mother Teresa? Her lack of height was clearly down to a lack of ambition.

‘His name’s Iwan,’ Andrew said. ‘He works for Thomas Braithwaite. He was in Cheshire over the weekend. I was pretty sure I was being followed then, now it’s
obvious.’

‘What does he want?’

‘Let’s find out.’

On one side of the road was a small community park, a row of empty benches facing the street next to it, and a long terrace of houses on the other. Andrew opened the door and strode along the
pavement. When he reached the black car, he crouched slightly to see Iwan sitting inside, phone clamped to his ear. He rapped hard on the glass, enjoying a twinge of pleasure as the brute inside
jumped. Iwan’s head twisted so that he was peering up and then he muttered something into his phone before dropping it onto his lap. Jenny arrived at Andrew’s side as the window hummed
down.

‘I thought I made myself clear about being followed,’ Andrew said.

Iwan shifted in the driver’s seat, tilting his head so that he could see them both. ‘And I thought I made myself clear that Mr Braithwaite is expecting an update.’

‘You haven’t given me a way to contact you.’

‘I’m here now.’

Andrew willed Jenny not to say anything about what they’d found within the CCTV footage. He wasn’t ready to divulge it and didn’t like being bullied. ‘We’ve been
busy doing other things,’ Andrew said.

Iwan gritted his teeth, nodding. ‘That sounds very disrespectful compared to the welcome Mr Braithwaite gave you.’

‘If you keep following me, then you’ll get nothing. I’ll tell the police before I tell you.’

That did it, as Andrew knew it would. It was as if the previous week had all been part of one long self-destruct mission. The car door opened, forcing Andrew to step backwards towards the
nearest house. Iwan seemed bigger than Andrew remembered, dressed in a tight-fitting black suit with a white shirt. His chest and arms bulged, eyes boring through Andrew.

‘That really wouldn’t be a good idea.’

‘How about I tell them what you told me about Sampson the jeweller? I’ll tell them who gave me the information. Let them know how you followed me to Cheshire to keep an eye
out.’

Iwan smiled, taking a step forward.

Andrew opened his mouth to say something else stupid but Iwan’s mitt was already around his throat. He tried to kick his legs but his back slammed into the wall, stealing his breath. Iwan
let his throat go, but pressed a forearm across Andrew’s chest. He jabbed the bump on Andrew’s head with a sausage-like finger.

‘Been pissing someone else off, have we?’

The wound had stopped hurting while they’d been at Margaret Watkins’ house but Andrew grunted as jolts shot through him. It was more painful than when Kevin Leonard had hit him in
the first place.

Iwan poked it twice more. ‘Where’d this come from?’

Andrew tried to struggle but his strength was nothing compared to the other man’s. He was struggling for breath as Iwan’s forearm crushed the top of his ribs.

‘What are you going to do, big man?’ Iwan taunted, ready to poke the injury again. ‘Mr Braithwaite might be tolerating you, but I’m not.’

The pressure increased on Andrew’s chest, leaving him gasping, unable to breathe.

‘Oi!’

Air spilled back into Andrew’s lungs as Iwan turned to where Jenny was standing next to the black car. He twisted between the two of them, grinning. ‘You need a girl to fight your
battles?’

Andrew couldn’t reply, coughing as he slumped along the wall. His head was pounding and he felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen and subsequent panic.

‘How about you come and work for a real man, darling?’ Iwan said.

Jenny was returning his stare, unruffled. In a flash she reached through the open car window and snatched the keys from the ignition. Iwan straightened up, unsure what was going on.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he said, taking a small step forward.

Jenny held them up, angling towards the small park across the road.

‘Don’t you—’ Iwan began, but he was already too late as Jenny reared back, grunted slightly, and threw the keys into the hedge that ran alongside the green on the
opposite side of the road. There was a metallic jangle and then silence as they lodged somewhere among the mass of twigs, mud and leaves.

Iwan didn’t know where to turn, staring open-mouthed at the hedge, then the car, then Jenny. She was wearing flat black shoes, tights, a pleated dark skirt and a jacket, but didn’t
shrink back, even though he towered over her. She stood with one hand on her hip, top lip curled into an amused sneer, daring him. Andrew pulled himself to his feet, still short of breath but far
more shocked by what Jenny had done.

‘I’ve seen some nutters in my time but you, darling, are a right psycho.’

Iwan took a step into the road, heading for the hedge but Jenny’s features changed completely. The confidence was gone; the smile changed into aggrieved fury. With a screech, she threw
herself forward, leaping onto Iwan’s back. In other circumstances, she would have bounced off, but Iwan had one foot in the road, one on the pavement and was off-balance. At Jenny’s
frenzied cry, he stumbled sideways, landing face-down with Jenny on top of him. She was smashing clenched fists into the back of his head, tears streaming down her face as she clattered his
ears.

Andrew was so surprised that it took him a few seconds to realise what was going on. He darted across the pavement and grabbed her around the waist, heaving her up and away from the suited man.
Her legs flailed as she hissed and spat. He’d never seen her like this before: she was always composed, even standing up to men with knives.

‘Jenny!’ he shouted, trying to calm her.

The entire episode had lasted barely two or three seconds, with Iwan using the kerb to pull himself up. There was a mud streak across his front, with flecks of grit stuck to his breast pockets.
He brushed himself down and rubbed his ear, where a crease of blood was beginning to dribble, twisting towards his mouth. He peered at the red on his finger and then stared towards Andrew and
Jenny, who had finally stopped kicking. Andrew lowered her to the pavement, but kept his arms across her shoulders, holding her back. Or, if interpreted another way, using her as a human
shield.

Iwan touched his face a second time, smearing the blood slightly, before he pointed a thumb towards them. ‘You’re to come to the house tomorrow afternoon. Don’t make me come
and find you.’

Andrew didn’t reply, waiting until Iwan had his head buried in the hedge before grasping Jenny’s hand and leading her back to the car. She was panting, sweat streaming from her
forehead, despite the cold. He opened the passenger’s door and she climbed inside, not looking at him, eyes unfocused.

By the time he’d started the engine, Jenny hadn’t moved, so Andrew reached across and pulled the seatbelt across her, clicking it into place. Iwan was still searching for his keys in
the hedge as Andrew drove past, neither of them bothering to look at each other. He reached the end of the street and pulled onto the main road, driving as carefully as he could as the traffic
started to back up.

‘Jenny.’

No reply.

‘Jen.’

Nothing.

‘What was that about? You could’ve been hurt.’

Andrew glanced at his own reflection in the mirror, remembering she’d only intervened because he was getting the shite kicked out of him. Again. The small gash on his head had become a
larger, rounded wound. It wasn’t bleeding but there would be one hell of a bruise.

‘Jen.’

‘I’m not a psycho.’

‘I don’t think you are. It was just something he said. He doesn’t even know you.’

No reply.

‘Jen.’

‘What?’

‘No one thinks you are.’

She shook her head slightly, still not shifting her unblinking gaze from the road, her lips barely moving. ‘I’m not a psycho.’

Jenny was deliberately not looking in Andrew’s direction. She was staring at the road, the lines of students, the arriving and departing coaches – anything but
him.

‘You can stop watching me,’ she said, not harshly but with a distinct edge.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

She started playing with a fingernail. ‘No.’

This was the first time Andrew could remember picking her up in the morning when she’d not been eating. Usually, there were slices of toast on the go, cereal bars, biscuits, bars of
chocolate, occasionally an apple. When she was in the office, the first thing she normally did was stick the kettle on and then raid her drawer full of biscuits and cakes. She ate for large parts
of the day, showing off a superhuman appetite and metabolism. Not only had she failed to eat for the entire half-hour journey, she’d barely spoken. He doubted she’d left her house since
he dropped her off the previous afternoon.

‘I’m not a psycho,’ she said softly.

‘I don’t think you are.’

‘I don’t like being called one.’

‘I understand.’

The morning was cool, but, compared to recent weeks, it was positively tropical – at least one or two degrees above freezing with no wind and barely even a hint of rain. The sky was still
washed with a murky greyness but that was normal. Anyone who spent any time in Manchester could distinguish between rain-grey and gloomy-grey. This was distinctly gloomy. Newborn Mancunians were
issued a colour chart comprised entirely of shades of monochrome, helping them to learn the names of various greys long before they could start counting.

Andrew and Jenny were sitting on a wall watching groups of young people pass by on their way to school. If he had been by himself, there would have probably been a catch-the-paedo riot squad
deployed by now, but nobody was paying the pair of them any attention.

‘Thank you for being concerned,’ Jenny whispered.

‘If it wasn’t for you, I’d have had my arse kicked by Iwan.’

She smiled slightly. ‘You had him right where you wanted him.’

A giggle, which was nice, even if she was joking about him getting beaten up.

‘There’s no way you can come along this afternoon,’ Andrew said.

‘I know.’

He had expected more of an argument and had spent almost an hour in bed that morning rehearsing the best way to tell her that, though he valued her input, he didn’t want her anywhere near
Braithwaite’s house.

‘What are you going to tell him?’ she asked.

‘That depends what we find out when we go to the university.’

A group of girls traipsed past, skirts around arses, blouses a size too small: all make-up and ‘y’know’s.

‘
. . . well I had five Valentine’s cards this morning but I think one of them’s from that Ian kid.
’

‘
Eew. That is soooo gross.
’

‘
I know. I was all, like, this is totally weirdsville. Just ’cuz he lives on my road, he thinks we should totally be together. As if I’d ever go out with a ginger.
It’s, like, totally disgusting, and that. It might be catching.
’

‘
Did you get anything from Stephen?
’

They rounded the corner, denying Andrew the chance of finding out if the ginger-hating mini-Hitler had a card from Stephen. He realised he was rubbing the top of his head and stopped himself.
The past week had gone so badly that even teenage girls he didn’t know were giving him a hard time as he listened in to their conversations.

Jenny laughed quietly. ‘
They’re
why I didn’t have many friends at school.’

Andrew sat up straighter as he caught sight of the reason they were there. Jenny spotted it too, brushing her skirt down and hopping into a standing position.

Edie Watkins was walking along the street with two identikit lads, each with spiky dark hair and black rucksacks. The minute they were out of school, it’d be nipple ring-this, and emo
tattoo-that. The other girl with them had long black hair, a clown-load of make-up and was wearing a skirt that was ripped at the bottom. Edie stood out because she looked like she’d barely
made an effort: uncrumpled school uniform, straight blonde hair and dark rucksack covered in purple and green badges slung over her back.

Andrew caught her eye from a distance but she looked away instantly. It was only when she was level with Andrew and Jenny that she stopped again, telling her friends that she had to tie her lace
and that she’d catch them up. They shrugged and disappeared around the corner.

The moment they were gone, Edie stood, looking between Andrew and Jenny. ‘What do you want?’

‘How old are you?’ Jenny asked.

‘What’s it to you?’ Edie snapped.