Elly Griffiths - The Janus Stone

‘I’m not a prude,’ he says at last, ‘it’s just that there’s a time and a place.’

Michelle looks at him under her lashes. ‘You didn’t always think that way. Remember the ghost train on Blackpool pier?’

Nelson grunts. ‘We were young and stupid then.’ But he takes her arm as they walk towards the theatre.

A motley collection of individuals are gathered in the foyer, drinking overpriced cocktails and squinting at the lower case programme. Michelle’s employers Tony and Juan are there, surrounded by a group Nelson privately categorises as ‘exotic’. There are a few older couples, looking worriedly at the photographs posted around the walls showing actors in Greek masks and very little else. There are lots of young people too, probably from the university.

‘She’s attractive,’ says Michelle.

‘Who?’ Nelson is fighting his way back from the bar carrying a half of lager and a glass of white wine.

‘There. With the red hair.’

Nelson looks and sees a striking-looking woman in black who seems strangely familiar. With her is… Jesus Christ.

‘Come this way.’ He tries desperately to steer Michelle in the opposite direction. ‘There’s a seat.’

‘I don’t want a seat. Who’s that with her? It’s Ruth! Harry, look, it’s Ruth.’

Michelle is off through the crowd. Nelson watches as she taps Ruth on the shoulder and is introduced to the redhead, whom he now recognises as the nutcase Shona who was involved in the Saltmarsh case. Ruth greets Michelle with every appearance of pleasure. She looks pale, he thinks, but otherwise well, wearing a loose red top over black trousers. Thank God for loose clothing. With any luck Michelle will thinks it’s just fashion.

‘Harry!’ Michelle is beckoning imperiously.

Nelson stumps over and Ruth gives him a slightly mischievous smile.

‘I wouldn’t have thought this was your sort of thing, Nelson.’

‘It was Michelle’s idea.’

‘Ruth took a bit of persuading too.’ This is Shona, tossing back her hair and twinkling at Nelson. He stares impassively back.

‘We met Leo at Edwards Spens’ party,’ explains Michelle. ‘I thought he was very interesting.’

‘He’s taken some fascinating ideas from Greek and Roman theatre,’ says Shona, wearing an intense, twitchy look which makes Nelson fear that an intellectual conversation is on its way.

‘Are you looking forward to the play?’ Ruth asks him. She is drinking orange juice and looks happier than he has seen her for weeks. He feels his lips moving into a grudging smile.

‘No. You know how thick I am. I don’t even eat yoghurt because it’s got culture in it.’

Ruth laughs. ‘I can’t say I’m looking forward to it either but Shona thought a night out would do me good.’

Nelson lowers his voice. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fine. No ill-effects at all. I was at the Woolmarket Street site today.’

Nelson bristles. ‘On your own?’

‘I met Father Hennessey.’

‘Hennessey? What was he doing snooping around?’

‘I think he just came to have a look round. Don’t you always say that people come back to the scene of a crime?’

‘Yes, but whose crime is it?’ answers Nelson soberly. ‘That’s what we need to find out.’

The play is as bad as Nelson fears. A man in a mask appears in front of a black curtain and drones on about January. Then he puts on another mask and drones on about the lottery and choices and whatnot. At least this reminds Nelson that he hasn’t bought his ticket for Wednesday’s draw yet. Then the curtain goes up and there are these people in togas having an orgy, only they can’t have much of one because the production obviously can’t stretch to more than four actors. Then the curtain comes down and the man in the mask drones on about women’s rights, puts on his other mask and starts on about rape. The curtain goes up and there are two people in Victorian dress having breakfast. Turns out the man is seeing a prostitute and the woman kills herself. Up pops Chummy in the mask again and goes on about terminations and oral sex and the pill. Cue a blast of sixties music and the four actors at another orgy, only this time with LSD rather than grapes. Somebody dies of a drug overdose and the others sing ‘Yellow Submarine’ as a kind of funeral dirge. The man in the mask appears to say it’s all the fault of the planets and the jolly foursome appear in space suits to say that the Earth has finally disappeared into its own orifice. Cue applause and calls for ‘Author, Author’.

‘Jesus,’ says Nelson as they file out of the doors, ‘what a load of crap.’

‘Shh.’ Michelle looks round. ‘Leo’s just over there.’

Nelson looks and sees the bearded playwright surrounded by admiring friends. He thinks he sees Shona’s red hair in the crowd but there’s no sign of Ruth.

‘I’ll arrest him under the Public Decency Act,’ Nelson mutters.

‘Shh.’

In the car, Michelle admits that the play was dire and she even agrees to stop off for a Chinese. Cheered, Nelson hums under his breath as he negotiates the Norwich suburbs, the car flying merrily over the speed bumps.

‘So,’ says Michelle chattily, ‘what did you think of Ruth?’

Nelson stops humming. ‘What do you mean?’

Michelle laughs. ‘Oh Harry, you’re hopeless. Didn’t you notice?’

‘Notice what?’ Be careful, he tells himself.

But Michelle is still laughing. ‘She’s pregnant.’

Nelson counts to ten, keeping his eyes on the road.

‘Hadn’t you noticed?’

‘You know me,’ he says, ‘I never notice anything.’

‘A fine detective you make,’ teases Michelle.

‘You don’t know for sure that she’s pregnant,’ counters Nelson.

‘Yes, I do. I asked her when we went to the loo together.’

Nelson curses women’s inability to go to the loo on their own. And why do they have to chat? Catch men chatting in the bog. No wonder women always take so long in there.

‘She didn’t say who the father is,’ Michelle continues, leaning forward and fiddling with the car’s radio.

‘Didn’t she?’

‘No. I bet it’s her ex-boyfriend. You know he went back to his wife?’

‘Did he?’

Michelle changes stations until she finds some music she likes. A woman’s voice fills the car, telling him that girls just want to have fun. ‘You know, Harry,’ says Michelle slowly. ‘I’d like to help Ruth a bit.’

Careful, Harry, he tells himself again. Careful.

‘Why?’

‘Because she’s going to have a baby and she’s on her own and she’s not with the father. I’m sure she’s got lots of friends at the university, people like that weird warlock who gave us the dreamcatchers, but we’re probably the only normal family she knows. So I’d like to help her. Take her shopping for baby stuff, that sort of thing.’

In all the years he’s known her, Michelle has never wanted to take another woman under her wing. Why, thinks Nelson despairingly, does she have to start with Ruth? He glances at his wife. She is smiling to herself, twisting the ends of her blonde ponytail like a little girl.

‘All right,’ he says at last, ‘anything you say.’

Ruth is in a good mood as she drives home. She has survived a social event without being sick or rushing to the loo a million times. Even though the play was terrible it was nice to go out for the evening, to see well-dressed people and to talk about something other than bones and decapitation and death. It was nice too to spend time with Shona. Maybe they will be able to stay friends even after Ruth has passed into the shadowy Mother World. Even seeing Nelson and Michelle hadn’t been too bad. It had been a bit of a shock when Michelle had asked her about the baby but she supposes that everyone will know soon. And, the funny thing is, she would like to go shopping for baby clothes with Michelle. Ruth is dreadful at shopping. It is a female ritual that she has never mastered. Other women can disappear into a shop for half an hour and come out with piles of tasteful clothes in the right size, artfully matching accessories and the perfect pair of shoes. Ruth can shop all day and still only have a T-shirt two sizes too small to show for it.