Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [38]
He decided to steer clear of Lorna Spence. ‘I went to school with you,’ he began. How inane did that sound? ‘At Chesterton Primary.’
‘Congratulations.’ Bryn raised one eyebrow very slightly but didn’t smile.
Gary had recognized Bryn, partly because he knew who he was looking for. Bryn, on the other hand, clearly didn’t have a clue who this was.
‘I’m Gary Goodhew, you probably don’t remember . . .’ He left his words to trail off.
Bryn shrugged. ‘Remember the name. What’s up?’
Gary nodded towards the workshop beyond. ‘I need to ask you something, but not out here.’
‘I’m just leaving.’
‘Five minutes.’
Gary saw Bryn hesitate before he glanced back into the workshop, then he slid the door closed.
‘Five minutes,’ Gary repeated.
Bryn gave in. ‘OK, I’ve got time for a quick drink. The Salisbury’s just round the corner.’
They walked in silence for the first hundred yards, and Gary wondered how he should approach the subject. Lorna Spence may have just used Bryn to repair her car and, if so, what next? Yet Gary was well aware that anything he now found out should form part of an official statement, not a friendly chat over a pint.
Bryn broke the silence first. ‘By the way, I’m not up for a school reunion, if that’s what you’re here about. Not my thing at all.’ He said it in an easy way, the way Gary remembered, as though the answer didn’t really matter, except that his eyes flickered as they watched for the reply, and it was clear to Gary that the answer he gave was actually very important.
Gary deflected the question. ‘Maybe you need to hit thirty before you start getting nostalgic.’
The Salisbury Arms stood on the other side of the road. Bryn darted across in front of a car, leaving Gary trailing a few yards behind. He figured, however, there was no need to hurry, and reached the bar just as Bryn was being given change for his pint of lager. Gary ordered a Stella, and followed Bryn to the table he’d selected at the far end of the room.
The pub was genuinely traditional, not just styled to look that way. The beams and old floors had really aged with the building, rather than arriving there as prefabricated panels. Bryn sat on a long bench, his back to the end wall, while Gary chose a square chair that looked like it belonged in a dining room. The table itself had been converted from a treadle sewing machine, and the word ‘Singer’ was curled into the metal footplate.
‘Ever see anyone from school?’ he began.
Bryn shook his head. ‘I remember you, though.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I thought your sister was cute. Then you left and we were told you’d both got scholarships to some private school.’
Gary smiled: funny how such rumours turned the truth into something else. Funny, too, how Bryn remembered his sister. ‘Debbie probably was cute,’ he conceded, ‘but I think she was only ten at the time.’ They both paused to drink. ‘I’m with the police now,’ he added, with no change of tone.
‘Ah.’ It was said with neither surprise nor alarm, but just as a recogniton of a matter of fact. ‘I see.’
‘Do you know a Lorna Spence?’ Gary continued quietly.
‘A little, I think.’
‘You think?’
Bryn rubbed imaginary sweat from his forehead with the flat of his right hand, further smudging the greasy streaks that already marked the exposed skin right up into his hairline. Gary noted the raw patches on Bryn’s knuckles, and wondered what object he’d hit.
Bryn thought for a few seconds, then answered Gary’s question with one of his own. ‘Do you mean “Do I know her”, or do you mean “Did I know her”?’
‘What makes you think she’s dead?’
Bryn dropped his hand on to the tabletop, covering a Guinness beer mat with his palm, then spread his fingers out like he was trying to come up with five good reasons. He managed two. ‘You lot found a woman’s body this morning, right?’
Gary just nodded.
‘It’s been on the radio all day. Then you start to search a flat in Rolfe Street. Know how many