Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [40]
Bryn paused there, and Gary knew he was looking appropriately blank.
‘A lemon. A dog. A car turned out quick ’cos everyone wants to knock off for the weekend. You know, one that keeps throwing up so many niggly faults that you think the whole machine must be a bit suspect.’
Gary nodded; he’d already got it at ‘lemon’.
‘Well, she came in a few times after that. I think it suited her because we’re so close to the town centre. Like I said, the car had mostly minor problems, but a couple of times we ended up having a drink afterwards. In here, actually.’
‘Her idea, or yours?’
Bryn screwed up his face, like he’d been asked a disproportionately difficult question. ‘Can’t remember.’ He looked at Gary as if waiting to be told whether or not that was a reasonable answer.
‘Fair enough,’ Gary replied.
‘I remember she asked if I fancied a game of pool, and we ended up in Mickey Flynn’s on Mill Road.’
‘Is that the American place?’
‘Yeah, that’s it.’
‘And what then?’
‘That happened a couple of times, too. She was funny – easy company. We saw each other a few times, but it wasn’t ever planned. She’d turn up and, if I was free, we’d spend a couple of hours together.’
‘Just as friends?’
Bryn smiled apologetically, like he’d just been caught with his fingers in a metaphorical jar of biscuits, then he shifted his expression rapidly towards neutral. ‘Sure,’ he replied.
‘OK.’ Gary meant it as in OK, if that’s how you want to tell it, and he could see that that was what Bryn realized he meant. However, they both pretended he’d intended it the other way. ‘So when did you last see her?’
‘About the time she wrote me on her calendar, I guess. I MOT’d the car, and then she said she planned to sell it. Never saw her after that.’
‘Did she ever mention friends, or seem lonely or unhappy? You know where she lived, so what else do you know?’
‘She mentioned people from work, said she had something going with her boss, but we never got into that. I think it might have been one of those on-off things. She never seemed like one of those women that can’t handle being on their own, and she certainly didn’t seem like she wanted to settle down soon. I run a mile from those types.’
‘Sounds like you knew her more than a little.’
That stalled Bryn, opening a route to somewhere he evidently had no plan to go. No matter, it could wait. Whatever composure he’d regained began to freewheel away. He slammed on the brakes and his earlier hesitancy reappeared. Gary knew that the productive part of the conversation was as good as over now.
‘Look,’ Bryn said finally, ‘maybe that’s how it seems, but she was one of those people . . . you know, you see them a few times and really feel you’re on the same wavelength, then suddenly you realize they’ve learnt plenty about you, but you know bugger all about them. So I don’t know if I knew her much at all. I never had any romantic interest in her, if that’s what you’re wondering. But I thought she was really genuine and sweet. And I liked her.’
Gary’s gaze wandered towards the windows, and settled on the sulphurous light pooling down from a streetlamp. He left his instincts to summarize the conversation and decided that what little he’d heard had been the truth, but he doubted it was the whole truth, and was equally dubious that it had been nothing but.
SIXTEEN
Gary Goodhew left the Salisbury Arms at a few minutes before nine. The air was clear and still; it had hushed away the usual blur of background sounds, pushing its stillness between cars and pedestrians, leaving everyone to move in their own pool of solitude. He cut through the back alleys behind the houses, deliberately keeping his distance from any pockets of activity, heightening his feeling of isolation.
Even the sky had backed away, retracting the stars until