Speak No Evil (21 page)

Her laugh brought him back into the present. It was a beautiful laugh. He smiled at her, tried to find something to say that would keep her laugh going.

‘Yeah,' he said, ‘no more emo for me. Didn't really like it much. I don't look good in eyeliner.'

She laughed again.

‘And I can't stand the sight of blood. Especially my own.'

She laughed again. What was going on?

‘I kept the hair, though.'

She didn't laugh, just smiled. ‘It looks nice. Suits you.'

He reddened, put his face down, concentrated on his smoothie. She had got him again. He didn't know what to say next. While he was searching, she beat him to it.

‘So, that's your mum, right?'

‘Yeah,' he said, nodding.

‘So what's it like living round here? Newcastle?'

‘Erm … don't know. Haven't been here long.'

She looked surprised. ‘Really?'

‘Yeah. We moved here not so long ago. I hope …' He tried not to think of the kids at school, at the morning he had endured. At his mother's bloodied and bandaged hands. ‘I hope we're going to be living here for a while. That everything's OK. Goin' to be OK.'

She nodded, frowning. ‘Where did you live before?'

‘Hull.'

‘That's in Yorkshire, isn't it?'

‘Yeah. It's at the end of Yorkshire. Last bit before you fall into the North Sea. Sometimes it felt like the end of the world.'

She laughed again. He didn't think about it, just enjoyed her reaction.

‘Fish town, they called it. When the wind was in the wrong direction all you could smell was rotting fish.'

‘Lovely.'

‘I'm just telling you the good bits.'

Another laugh. ‘You're funny.'

He felt something in his chest. He didn't know whether it was good or bad but it certainly went deep.

Her laughter subsided to a smile. ‘So why did you move from there to here? Don't you like fish?'

His turn to laugh now. It felt good. ‘Not any more.' He stopped laughing, trying to answer her question seriously. ‘I'm not really sure. My mother … she has problems. Emotional problems. I don't want to make a big thing about it but … I don't know. It means we can't stay in the same place for too long.'

‘So how long are you here for?'

He shrugged. ‘Don't know.' He thought of the episode with her a few days ago. Her hands covered in blood. Tried to shake the image from his mind. He had been trying to forget about that. ‘Hopefully a while but … you never know. I think your dad's helping her, though. So that's good.'

She nodded, went back to her smoothie. He had said more to her than just about anyone. He didn't want to lose the connection, had to find some words to bridge the gap.

‘So … why are you up here? With your dad?'

The smile slipped from her face. Jack felt he had said the wrong thing and opened his mouth to say something else, backtrack, make it OK again. Before he could do that, she spoke.

‘Oh,' she said, playing with her straw, ‘I had … a few problems at home. I had to get away for a few days.'

Jack leaned in closer. She was opening up to him. Why? No girl had ever done that before. ‘What kind of problems?'

She looked up. Saw him looking intensely at her. Straightened up and pulled back. Damn. He'd lost her. He'd been trying to be nice and he had lost her.

‘Well,' she said. He hadn't lost her. She was answering. ‘Just … stuff, you know.' She ran her fingers through her hair before continuing. He watched her do it, watched the way the strands fell down into place again, how the light caught it as she did so. How that act transformed having a smoothie in a juice bar on a November afternoon into something special. ‘My dad and mum are separated, as you know. And my mum wanted to … well, she wanted to move on. Without dad. And I thought fine, you know? He's never been my number one favourite person since … since he moved out. Fine, do it.'

She sighed. He waited.

‘So … so what happened?' he said eventually.

She sighed, looked into her smoothie that, beyond the slow falling froth on the inside of the glass was empty. ‘I don't know,' she said, still looking into the glass. ‘I just thought about it and why he left and how things were before and …' She shrugged again. Jack felt it covered a lot of emotions. ‘We had a row, I walked out and I really wanted to see him.'

‘So you came up here.'

She nodded. ‘Mum wanted to marry again. And she's never divorced dad. So, you know, you always think, you know …'

He nodded. He thought he knew what she meant.

She sighed as if shifting the weight of the world. ‘But I guess not. Oh, I don't know. I just wanted things to be like they used to be. With Dad there, and … and …' Another sigh. ‘Never mind. I do go on. Sorry.'

‘No. That's all right. Don't say sorry.'

She looked at him. Their eyes locked. Jack felt panic pulse through him like an electric current. They looked away.

‘You're sweet,' she said.

‘Er, thanks. Is that a good thing?'

Another smile from Abigail. ‘I think so.' She looked at her watch. ‘Where shall we go next?'

‘I don't know.' He knew he didn't want to go home but he didn't know his way round well enough to show her the sights. ‘I don't know the city very well.'

She stood up, put her bag over her shoulder.

‘Let's go and discover it together, then, shall we?'

Jack smiled. That sounded like a great idea.

Tess was bored. All the excitement she had experienced earlier at tracking down Mae Blacklock and preparing to expose her was wearing off. This was what it had come to. Following two teenagers round the shops.

They had walked all afternoon, stopping for smoothies and to windowshop CDs. It was clear the girl wanted to look in the clothes shops but she didn't want to offend the boy. Aw. How sweet.

She followed them to the Gate where the girl took out her mobile and made a call. Since the Gate had restaurants, bars and cinemas, she could safely bet that they were going to get something to eat and see a film. She didn't need to shadow them for that.

Phoning Collins, she decided to go back to the estate and wait for Mae Blacklock to put in an appearance. The boy would have to come back sooner or later.

‘I'm coming back,' she said, ‘there's nothing doing here. Let's go back to the estate. See if we can find out which flat they live in.'

Collins grunted in reply. The daylight had gone by the time Tess picked up a cab from the Haymarket and started to make her way back to the east side of the city. The driver was either avoiding rush-hour traffic or, more likely having heard her accent, giving her a scenic tour of darkened back alleys and estates. Tess was about to say something when someone caught her eye.

‘Wait up a minute, slow down,' she said.

They were going down an alleyway under what looked like a flyover or viaduct or both when she saw two people standing on the pavement underneath a streetlight, outside a building, the word Albion written on the front.

She couldn't believe her luck. There she was. Mae Blacklock.

Talking to some other guy, big, longish hair, leather jacket. Boyfriend? No. Body language was all wrong. Must have been close, though, the way they were talking.

She had an idea.

‘Go round this corner, please, and pull over.'

‘What for?' The driver didn't sound very pleased.

‘Just do it, please. I'm paying for this trip.'

The driver muttered something under his breath that Tess didn't catch, although she was sure the words ‘southern' and ‘cunt' were in the mix somewhere.

Once the car had stopped she got out and took a small digital camera out of her pocket that she carried for occasions like this one. She was sure Collins wouldn't be pleased with her, any more than she would be happy if Collins tried to write an article, but she didn't have time to think about that now.

She hid round the corner of an old building and risked a peek round it. Mae Blacklock was still saying goodbye to the other guy. Neither of them had seen her yet so she risked a couple of shots. Hoping the streetlights provided enough light because she couldn't risk the flash. And another one for luck. Great.

Mae Blacklock said goodbye to the man and started walking towards her. Tess thought quickly. She could just step out now, confront her, tell her she knew who she was, what she had done and get her side of the story. Promise a lot of money for an exclusive.

But then she might run. She might lose her. It might never see print. She might be wasting her money. She might lose her job. Her promotion. Scratch that.

She would wait. Yeah, that sounded like a plan. Wait, follow her back to the estate, see where she lived.

She jumped back into the car. The driver said nothing, waited. Tess said nothing, just watched Mae Blacklock walk by.

‘So you ganna tell us where I'm goin' or is it ganna be a surprise?'

‘Yeah, yeah, just a minute …'

Tess thought. She could just go straight back to the estate and wait. But what if Mae Blacklock wasn't going back to the estate? What if she was going out? What then?

‘Look, it's your meter that's runnin', but I've got a livin' to make. You're not the only fare around, you know.'

‘I know.'

‘You gettin' out?'

Tess thought again.

‘Yeah.'

She paid the cab driver and got out. She had no idea where she was. But it didn't matter. She was going wherever Mae Blacklock was going. She waited until she was a discreet distance ahead then began to follow her.

Back to the estate. Tess had been right all along. She mentally awarded herself some brownie points and the promise of a treat later. She approached the block of flats Tess knew she lived in. Good. She followed her up the stairs.

It stank of piss – canine, human and possibly others – and was decorated with fast-food debris, old, wind-deposited tabloids, and other detritus that crunched and squelched underfoot that she would rather not put a name to. She had never felt more out of place in her life. Or more scared. She didn't know how people lived in these conditions.

She waited until Mae Blacklock had reached the correct floor before running up behind her to see where she went. She listened, heard her footsteps going along the landing. She walked almost on tiptoe, risked a glimpse round the corner.

Mae Blackock had met a man coming out of a front door. The same one she had been about to enter. They didn't go inside. They stayed on the landing, talking. Tess ducked back round the stairwell, listened. It was indistinct, but it was clear they were arguing.

‘Well, I'm sorry,' she heard a woman's voice say, echoing along the landing and round the stairwell. Presumably Mae Blacklock. ‘But I've just finished and got home. If you were hungry you could have made something to eat. In fact you could have made something for all of us.' She sounded so tired. Like she was ready to drop.

The reply was male and angry. ‘That's not my job. My job's to work or find work. Not do bloody housework. That's what you should be doin'.'

Ah, thought Tess with a wry smile, the age-old battle of the sexes.

They continued in this vein, she sounding increasingly more tired and imploring him for help which she clearly wasn't going to get, he getting more and more angry until he told her he was going out, that he would get something to eat in the pub and that she would see him later. Much later.

Footsteps told Tess that the owner of that angry male voice was heading towards her. She looked round for somewhere to hide, ran quickly upwards, hoping he wouldn't look there for eavesdroppers. She flattened herself into an alcove and hoped that no one else would see her and ask what she was doing there. Her luck held.

She heard footsteps go past, head towards the ground floor. She waited until she was sure their owner had left the building before following. She had changed her mind while listening to the argument. Mae Blacklock was in for the night. This guy, obviously her partner, was off out. One of the things they had argued about was money. They were clearly short of it.

Tess felt that tingle. She had just found the key to unlock the story, and with it, the entrance to the magic kingdom. Promotion. Front-page bylines. Money.

Her editor's words niggled at the back of her mind:
Overwhelming public interest. We can't publish unless there's overwhelming public interest.

She would cross that bridge when she came to it.

She reached the bottom of the stairwell, waited until the bloke, big with a ponytail of grey hair, black jeans and an aged leather jacket, was ahead and began to follow him.

Tess was confident that whatever this guy's price was, she could match it.

Or get away with paying him less.

‘I think I've had enough now.'

‘In what way?'

‘For today.'

‘Right. Look, Anne Marie, there's loads we haven't covered yet. And if we want this to work, we have to step up a gear.'

She sighs again. ‘I know …'

He waits. She looks like she's about to speak then stops herself. She sits silently a while longer. He thinks she's not going to say anything else and is going to turn off the recorder when she starts again.

‘I still think of him, you know.' Her voice is thin, fragile and breakable. Like a robin's eggshell. ‘The boy. Trevor. I still think of him'

He says nothing, waits.

‘I still see him. In my dreams. Yeah …' She nods slowly.

He waits, expecting more. Nothing comes. He gently prompts her. ‘As he was then? Or now?'

She thinks before answering. He is aware of the darkness outside, the cold seeping into the room. Shadows surround the light. Night is prematurely here.