Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [115]
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, puzzled.
‘Come here,’ she instructed.
He climbed the railing, jumped down on to the sawdust and walked towards her. It was like a scene from an arty photo shoot; her clothes looked far too flimsy for nighttime, her cheeks were unusually red, her lips damson and glossy. She didn’t look at all cold, and her smile was unnaturally luminescent.
‘Would you like to talk to me?’ she asked.
‘That’s not why I came. I just wondered where you’d gone.’
‘No, I mean, please talk to me.’
‘Sure.’ Goodhew sat down beside her. ‘Are you warm enough there?’
‘Yep.’
She lowered her voice. ‘I’m a bit drunk.’
‘I can tell.’
‘Really? I’d offer you some too, but I’ve only got what’s left in the mug.’ She swigged another mouthful. ‘Do you know that point when you’re so unhappy that you’re not scared any more?’
‘Scared of what?’
‘Of anything, because if it’s going to get you, so what? What can it do to you when a bullet in the brain would actually be a relief. That’s what I’ve been doing, lying here and thinking, “So what?” So what. So fucking what!’
‘What is “it”?’
‘It. You know, the “it” that comes into your room when you’re a kid, that makes you scared to open the wardrobe or look under the bed.’
‘The “it” that might jump out and get you?’
‘Yes, that’s the one. But not just might, because it will.’
Goodhew reached out and wrapped his fingers around the mug. He gave it a gentle tug and she let go.
‘Your father knew about Joanne Reed, so why did you pretend you didn’t?’
‘You’re not at work now, surely, Mr Detective.’ She reached for the mug but he held it away from her.
‘Why not tell me? I know you knew her,’ he persisted. ‘What really scares you, Jackie?’
‘Nothing.’ She glared at him, but the woolliness of too much drink left her unable to remain intractable. She leant forwards, breathing out brandy fumes and wafting something that smelt like Paco Rabanne. She touched his cheek, then ran her hand down and inside the breast of his jacket. ‘My father didn’t allow Richard to bring women home, so he and Joanne came here for sex.’
‘Richard told you?’
‘No, I saw them.’
‘How often?’
‘They came here several times but I only saw it once.’
Goodhew thought he’d misheard, but Jackie laughed.
‘They were in the end stable and I watched them through the window, both stark naked, not the tiniest bit aware that they could be seen.’
Goodhew looked across to the dust-covered window and pictured Jackie watching her brother and his girlfriend, possibly even standing on the edge of the muck heap to gain a better view. Jackie’s fingers began fiddling with the top button of Goodhew’s shirt; he pressed his hand on top of hers to keep it still.
‘Is that true?’ he said.
‘My father said I should say nothing . . .’ She paused and tilted her head towards the stables. ‘We could . . . you know, I could show you what I saw.’
He ignored the suggestion. ‘Your father thought he knew what happened to Joanne Reed. What did he tell you?’
‘Not much. He drove down here one lunchtime, jumped out of his car and started shouting at me. He kept saying, “What happened? Tell me what happened to her. You should know by now that I’m not stupid.” I had no idea what he meant. He stomped round the place for about ten minutes, ranting to himself. Finally he said, “Very clever”, and just drove out again.’
Goodhew thought about her father’s journal and its account of his search of Old Mile Farm. After a minute he lifted Jackie’s hand away from his shirt and up to his lips. He kissed her fingers. ‘Thank you for telling me. Now, I’m going to drive you home.’
‘Then pull me in, in the morning?’
‘I’d prefer it if you just showed up.’
‘Why not take me straight there now?’
‘Go home and sober up. You can’t go on like this.’
‘Stay with me, then.’
‘No.’ He stood and pulled her to her feet, but didn’t release his hold on her hands. ‘Why were you here tonight?’
‘Honestly? I missed Alex.’
‘Oh yes, your father who knew you so well.’ He felt her tense.
‘What’s that supposed