The Elephant Girl (Choc Lit) (34 page)

‘Jesus Christ!’ he groaned. ‘What are you doing? You nearly gave me a heart attack.’

‘Sorry. It was a spider.’

She picked up her rucksack and the folder she’d dropped when she knocked into him. Some of the pages had come free of the binding and were spread all over the floor. Jason handed them to her.

‘A spider?’ he grinned. ‘What are you, man or mouse?’

‘Neither. Where’ve you been anyway? I was looking for you.’

‘We were out of milk.’ He held up a blue plastic bag from the corner shop. ‘Why were you looking for me?’

No more secrets, she thought. ‘Because your father’s just told me this town isn’t big enough for both of us.’

‘What?’

‘He told me to stay away from you.’

‘He doesn’t own me.’

‘Maybe not, but he’s pretty scary.’

Jason laughed. ‘He’s a crook, he’s supposed to be. Don’t listen to that old goat. He’s just blustering. He wouldn’t harm you.’

Involuntarily her hand went to her windpipe. She remembered Jones’s grip, and Moody’s indifference to her terror. ‘How can you be sure?’

With a frown, Jason moved her hand. ‘What’s this? You have a massive bruise on your neck.’

‘That was the “old goat”. Well, his man Jones, actually.’

‘Jones did this?’

She nodded.

‘The bastard!’ He whipped his phone out of his pocket and began to dial, but Helen stopped him.

‘Please, just leave it be. I don’t want any more trouble.’

He scowled furiously for a moment, then he sighed. ‘Oh, man. I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault.’

‘He’s only doing this because he knows I like you.’ He touched a finger to her cheek. ‘Look, I know how upsetting it must be for you, with Fay running off just when you had the chance to really talk to her. And now this with my dad as well, but I promise you Fay will come back. And I’ll tell my dad to back off. He’ll listen to me.’

She wanted to say she didn’t share his confidence but was distracted by the feel of his finger on her skin. Instead, the contact between them was suddenly much more important, all heat and anticipation, and she stared into his eyes and saw that he wasn’t pulling her leg. He really did like her. Perhaps a lot.

Impulsively she planted a kiss on his lips. She’d meant it to be soft, a kiss of gratitude, but her mouth and body had other ideas. She gambled everything on this kiss.

Her mouth on his sent shock waves through his body, immobilising him. When he recovered, she’d pulled away again and was trying hard not to show how rejected she must have felt by his unresponsiveness.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘It bloody well will.’ Dropping the shopping bag with the milk, he cradled her head in his hands and kissed her back.

A muffled protest at first. Then her lips became soft and warm beneath his, and she stopped pushing her hands against his chest, letting them wander around his waist instead.

He thought he understood why. She was so damned independent and so afraid of being hurt that it was easier to deny how she felt – how they both felt – rather than risking rejection.

Or maybe she just liked it a bit rough. The masterful male and all that. He smiled at his own stupid fantasy.

‘What’s so funny?’ she said. Her breath fanning against his cheek smelled just like she tasted, cool and fresh.

He brushed a strand of honey-coloured hair away from her face. ‘Nothing. I’m just glad this is happening.’

For a moment her eyes clouded over with suspicion, then she smiled. ‘Me too.’

They made love in Jason’s basement flat, kissing, stroking, and giggling in the muted light from his retro lava lamp. Fumbling with protection, delighting in each other’s bodies, kissing away tears of relief. Her eyes, not quite green, not brown either, and flecked with gold, held his as he moved over her, drinking him in and wrapping him in their warmth. Pupils widening as she came, cat-like smugness when, satiated and mellow, they finally lay still.

He thought, I’ll never get tired of looking into those eyes.

‘You’re so mine,’ he said. He’d never understood before, this need some people had to own another person, but now he did. He rolled off her and propped himself up on his elbow so he could continue looking at her.

‘Oh, yeah? How do you work that out?’ She raked a finger down his chest to his abdomen, sending ripples of renewed desire through him.

‘You just are.’

Her smug smile was replaced by a guarded look. ‘Your father—’

‘Has nothing to do with this.’

‘He won’t give up. He’ll push and push, and you’ll give in because he’s family. Family is important. I don’t want to get hurt.’

‘No one does.’ He sighed. ‘Listen, Helen, I can’t promise you that I’ll never upset you because it’ll probably happen once in a while even if I don’t mean to. But I can promise you this, it won’t be because of anything my dad says or does. Family is not everything, and when it comes to being dysfunctional, mine’s no better or worse than yours. We aren’t Romeo and Juliet.’

She smiled. ‘God forbid.’

He put his hand on her hip, savouring its female roundness. Helen was slim but not emaciated like some girls who thought they had to starve themselves to be beautiful, and his respect for her grew. She’d grown up without the support of a mother, or a father for that matter, but her sense of self seemed remarkably intact.

And despite her lack of formal education, she was very smart. If he told her what he’d found out about his father, she’d draw the same conclusions he had, that his father was somehow involved in her mother’s death, or at least knew more than he was letting on, not even to his own bodyguard. Helen would confront him, and then what? He needed to keep his father’s name out of it for as long as possible if he was ever to gain her complete trust.

He’d meant what he said that family wasn’t everything. But you still looked out for them.

They lay for a while, whispering, and when she fell asleep, he stayed awake for a while watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, her eyelashes casting impossibly long shadows over her cheeks in the low light. All that attitude of hers had melted away, and he felt a rush of affection, but resisted kissing her in case she woke up.

His father’s attack on her had worried him more than he’d let on. Derek had threatened Cathy but as far as Jason knew had never laid hands on her. This was different. Helen was more exposed, unless he stepped in and looked out for her. Except it was very unlikely she’d let him, so he had to do it in such a way that she didn’t realise it.

Following her on Trevor’s motorbike was impractical, and she would notice eventually. Besides, he doubted very much Trevor would let him borrow his pride and joy indefinitely. So he had to think of something else.

He was racking his brain when the idea came to him. Slipping out of bed, he found her rucksack which she’d left on the floor, and fished out her smartphone. Quickly he installed an application which allowed the owner to track the phone via GPS coordinates, a function which was useful for stolen or lost phones and which could be activated by a text message.

Pleased with his own ingenuity, he returned it to her rucksack and climbed back into bed, then pulled her closer, never wanting to let go.

They were woken by a loud hammering on the door. A shaft of bright sunlight had found its way through the railings at street level and cut through the half-closed curtains, almost blinding them. Groggily Jason felt for his clothes which were all over the floor.

‘Jason, are you in there?’ It was Charlie.

‘Coming.’ He grinned at Helen, and she smiled back. The heat rose in his stomach at the memory of what they had done last night.

‘Is Helen in there with you?’ Charlie shouted.

Mouthing ‘what?’, she sent him a wide-eyed look. He shrugged, and she threw on her T-shirt. ‘Yes, I’m here.’

When they were both dressed, Jason opened the door.

‘You didn’t have to get dressed on my account,’ said Charlie. ‘Like I don’t know what you’ve been up too. Sound really travels in this old house.’ She frowned at Helen. ‘There’s a call for you. It’s from the newspaper.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

Helen took the call in the kitchen where Lee was having breakfast.

A clerk at the newspaper gave her the details of the respondent, and she dialled the number. A man with a strong Liverpool accent answered the phone.

‘You responded to my ad in
The Gazette
,’ she said.

‘Yes, I did. Well, I don’t know what you need to know but I was there. That morning when that woman was knifed in her car. I had the sort of dog you’re asking about.’

Helen swallowed. Lee sent her a curious look while spooning Cornflakes into his mouth. Jason and Charlie stood silently by the sink.

‘What can you tell me?’ Helen asked. ‘What you saw and heard?’

‘Why do you want to know?’ The voice was cautious now.

She hadn’t thought much about it before placing the ad, imagining that she’d probably just ask whatever came into her head, but now she had to consider two things. He might have done it himself, and if he hadn’t, why didn’t he come forward when the original appeal was made? If he’d been in some sort of trouble at the time, he might clam up, and she’d be back to square one.

‘Can I just explain that I’ve nothing do with the police,’ she said. ‘It’s personal for me. The woman who died was my mother.’

A pause. ‘You’re the child in the back seat?’

‘Yes.’

He whistled. A dog barked in the background, and he shushed it. So, still a dog owner, then.

‘Okay, I get you,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we ought to meet, though I don’t know what I can do to help. There’s a pub in Ealing, just down the road from the tube station. You know it?’

‘I’ll find it. Can you make it this evening, say six o’clock?’

‘Yeah, that’d be fine. At six, then.’

‘How will I recognise you?’

He chortled. ‘I’ll be the one with the dog. At the back of the pub.’

‘You can’t go alone!’ said Charlie when she’d explained about placing the ad. ‘I’m going with you, and so is Jase. He can close the stall early, can’t you, Jase?’

‘M-me too,’ said Lee with a mouthful of cereal.

‘It’s a public place. Nothing will happen.’

As if on cue all three of them crossed their arms, and Charlie’s jaw was set in that pigheaded way of hers. A warm feeling spread inside Helen. They really wanted to help.

‘Okay, fine. Whatever. But stay in the background. Don’t let him know you’re with me. There’s a reason he never came forward, and I don’t want to scare him off.’

Just before six, Charlie and Jason went inside the pub, hand in hand like a couple, and Helen felt a short pang of jealousy.

She waited another few minutes, then went inside and looked around. The pub was welcoming, trendy, with a slightly threadbare look about it. Scuffed floorboards, a panelled bar, wooden furniture and gaming machines. With no curtains to soften the echo from all the hard surfaces it was a thrumming, pleasantly noisy place, and ideal for having a conversation you wouldn’t want anyone else listening in on. If this was what the dog owner had in mind, he’d chosen well.

The bar staff were young and hip, and over the bar hung several clocks showing the time in London, Beijing and Riyadh, among others. Helen went to the back of the pub through a doorway decorated with acid-blue fairy lights, so bright against the red-painted walls they hurt her eyes. The room was cosy with dark wood tables and squashy armchairs.

The caller sat in an armchair by a tall window overlooking an outdoor smokers’ area. He was clad in grey trousers, a shapeless anorak, and dirty white trainers, and was nursing a pint of bitter which made him stand out in the wine-bar type surroundings. A packet of crisps had been ripped open on the table in front of him, and by his feet, eyeing the packet intensely, was a large brown dog.

An Airedale Terrier.

Charlie and Jason were ensconced at a table in the darkest corner, heads close together. Lee waited outside as they’d agreed, to distract the man with questions about dogs if he tried to follow Helen.

Approaching him, she said, ‘Are you the dog owner from the Common?’

‘That I am, luv.’ He stuck his hand out for her to shake.

His touch was warm and strong. A chunky gold bracelet hung from a wiry wrist, and the words ‘love’ and ‘hate’ were tattooed on his knuckles. Prison tattoos?

She could be shaking hands with her mother’s killer, but it didn’t seem likely.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he said.

Tongue-tied, she sat down on the edge of the chair. She’d started to think she’d imagined him and the dog, and now here he was, a flesh and blood person, with ill-fitting clothes, crows’ feet, and a lilting accent. The questions which had been queuing up in her head were now falling over themselves to be asked, but nothing came out of her mouth.

‘The name’s Declan. And yours?’

Her tongue untied itself. ‘Helen.’

‘Well, Helen,’ he said, smiling, ‘I often wondered what became of you, what sort of life you had and that, and here you are, all grown up, asking
me
what happened. Don’t you know?’

She frowned. Was he testing her, trying to figure out how much she saw, and then decide whether he ought to finish the job or not? Or was he just the careful type?

She weighed the possibilities, grateful for Charlie and Jason in the corner, and Lee outside on the pavement. Her own personal backup team.

‘I didn’t see anything,’ she said. ‘I’m an epileptic and had a seizure at the time, so I wasn’t aware of my surroundings. When I came to, my mother was dead.’

It surprised her how easy she found it, using the dreaded
E
word. She’d started feeling differently about her condition, but the change was so gradual she couldn’t tell when.

‘Right.’ He sent her a look as if he thought she was having him on. Then he shrugged and took a crisp from the packet, left it on the edge of the table in front of the dog, and said, ‘It’s a southern bas’tud.’

The dog drooled but didn’t eat the crisp. Helen was about to say something, but Declan stopped her with his hand.