Martin Edwards - I Remember You

‘I don’t know, you’ve had your share of nutcases to contend with. Especially on the phone-ins.’

‘A hazard of the job?’ asked Harry.

‘Too right,’ said Penny. Her expression was troubled. ‘There are some very unhappy people out there. And some very disturbed ones.’

‘Someone’s got to support Tranmere Rovers,’ said Baz.

‘That reminds me! What about the man who would only make love wearing Liverpool football kit?’

‘He once scored at Anfield,’ said Baz drily.

‘But he’s had some sad cases, Harry. In the end, it began to get to him, that’s why he asked Nick to let him move to the morning show. He takes his work so seriously, always gives it one hundred per cent. But it’s no fun at two a.m., trying to talk sense to someone at the end of their tether.’

Harry was struck again by Penny’s fierce devotion to her lover. He wondered whether the disc jockey found it hard living on a pedestal.

‘No wonder they talk about the desperate hours,’ said Baz. ‘The straw that broke my back was a couple of months or so ago. A young girl called, threatening to commit suicide. I tried to persuade her things weren’t so bad, but it was like soft-soaping a speak-your-weight machine. She just kept repeating her life was in ruins, she was no good, she’d let her family down.’

‘What was the problem?’

‘The usual. A young Catholic girl who got pregnant. She wanted an abortion, but felt she could never live with herself afterwards. I’m not one for religion, never have been, and I kept arguing with her, off the air and on. A bundle of cliches, but true all the same. She was only a kid, she had everything good ahead of her, why ruin her life for one silly mistake?’

‘So what happened?’

Baz’s face was ashen as he cast his mind back; Penny had her head bowed. ‘She took my advice, but there was a problem with the anaesthetic. She had a bad reaction to it — a chance in ten thousand. She died without regaining consciousness. I threw up when I heard the news. Couldn’t help reproaching myself.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ said Penny urgently. ‘You’d done everything in your power to help young Eileen. She simply couldn’t — ’

‘Eileen?’ interrupted Harry. In the overheated room he felt suddenly cold. ‘What was her second name?’

Baz and Penny exchanged puzzled glances.

‘McCray,’ said the disc jockey. ‘She was called Eileen McCray. Why do you ask?’

‘Life’s riddled with uncertainties, sir!’

A fresh faced youth in a blue polyester blazer called to Harry from an insurance company’s stand.

‘You take chances every single day! But don’t despair! Help is at hand.’ The salesman spoke with the evangelistic fervour of an aspiring Billy Graham. Having captured his prospect’s attention, he allowed his mouth to relax into a smile as broad as the get-out clauses in the small print of the policies he sold.

‘We offer our clients real peace of mind — about their lives, their property, their possessions…’

‘Sorry,’ said Harry, brushing away the proffered literature. ‘Never mind hang-gliding and unsafe sex. If you knew the people I mix with, you’d declare me uninsurable.’

He’d said goodbye to Baz and Penny at the Radio Liverpool stand. Finbar wasn’t there and neither was Melissa. The engineer from Pop In said the Irishman had gone to the bar whilst his girlfriend went to the loo. That suited Harry, who wanted the chance of a private word with his client. He was after confirmation that Finbar was the father of the unborn child Eileen McCray had decided to abort.

As for insurance, Finbar had to be the ultimate bad risk, with two attempts on his life in swift succession. Would McCray — assuming he was the culprit — try again, or would the police investigation scare him off? Harry doubted whether the builder frightened easily. Finbar’s best hope of saving his skin was to put aside his guilt about Eileen McCray’s death and tell Sladdin about it. But if he did not, what could be done to help him?

Two people. Rosemary and Finbar. Both fools to themselves, yet both clients for whom Harry couldn’t help caring. He felt an unwanted sense of responsibility for their fates, as if they were silly kids blind to the danger of what they were doing and therefore unable to protect themselves.

He became aware that his head was aching, perhaps in protest against having too much to think about. Preoccupied, not looking where he was going, he almost collided with a woman heading in the opposite direction.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Oh — it’s you.’

Since her tearful departure from the Blue Moon, Sophie had conquered the shock of the bomb blast and her skilfully made-up face had regained its customary composure. He detected no trace of pleasure to see him. In her mind he had obviously become a lost cause: a friend of Finbar Rogan.

‘The police insisted on talking to me,’ she said, as if it were Harry’s fault.

‘Inevitable, Sophie. Nothing more than a routine check.’

She wagged a long finger at him. Whilst she would not admit it, he guessed she was glad of the opportunity to vent her anger about her disastrous afternoon affair.

‘I never dreamed when I agreed to go with Finbar bloody Rogan how things would finish up.’

‘Surely with Finbar you didn’t expect to live happily ever after?’

‘I expect you think I deserved what I got, missing death by a whisker and having to suffer the third degree, do you? But remember, he’s your client and you’ve always known he’s bad news. I just thought he was a good-looking feller with a gift of the gab — not that he was some kind of terrorist.’

‘Come on now, Sophie. Finbar has many faults, but he’s not mixed up with terrorism. You must realise that.’

She uttered a sharp bark of laughter. ‘Oh yes? Do you have many clients who have their businesses burned down and their cars bombed? Wake up, Harry. The man’s made serious enemies, and you can add me to the list. It’s taken me years to get where I am now with Radio Liverpool. And if Nick sacks me because he finds out I was screwing a tattooist when I should have been at work, Finbar will be safer with the I.R. bloody A. than with me. I’ll murder him myself.’

‘Folley is bound to find out sooner or later. People are already talking about you and Finbar.’

‘Shit! I only told Penny, and that was in confidence when I got back to the station. I was only looking for a shoulder to cry on — just goes to show you can’t trust anyone these days.’

‘If you’ll take my advice, you’ll tell Folley fast, before someone else does. Limit the damage.’

She stared at him. ‘Take your advice? You must be joking. Save your words of wisdom for Finbar. He’ll certainly need something if he’s planning to stay alive.’ And with a vigorous shake of her red mane, she stalked off. Looking back, Harry saw her pause when she reached the radio station’s stand and slip her arm in that of someone whose back was turned to him.

‘Was that the lovely Sophie I saw you chatting up?’

Harry spun round. ‘Finbar! I want a word with you. Did you realise Sophie’s gunning for you now, like everyone else? I was trying to persuade her to confess to Folley about her fling with you, before Penny Newland lets the cat well and truly out of the bag.’

‘Penny?’ Finbar frowned. ‘What does she know?’

‘Sophie told her she was with you at the Blue Moon.’

Finbar swore. ‘She’s a darling girl, is Penny, but she ought to know the value of discretion. Don’t fret, I’ll have a word with her. Make sure she buttons her mouth.’

‘You’ll be lucky. She only has eyes for Baz and I don’t think she’s susceptible to anyone else’s silver tongue. In any case, you can’t hope to contain gossip so easily. Let me see if I have more luck getting you to listen to me than Sophie. Are you listening? Tell Melissa about the Blue Moon right now. Explain it was a one-off. Promise it won’t happen again — especially if you mean it.’