Simon Beckett - The Restless Dead

He shrugged, uncomfortable again. ‘That’s OK.’

He obviously didn’t want to talk, so I took the envelope from my pocket containing the money I’d withdrawn for him earlier. I held it out.

‘Here. I hope that’s enough to cover it.’

Jamie frowned down at the envelope without touching it. ‘What’s that?’

‘What I owe you.’

‘I don’t want paying.’

‘It’s only what a garage would charge. Probably less,’ I added, thinking of Coker. ‘If you’re going to university later this year you’ll probably need it.’

His mouth set in a firm line. Even in the dim glow from the light above the front door, the resemblance to his father was unmistakable. ‘Who told you that?’

‘I thought...’ I stopped myself from saying I’d heard it from both Rachel and his father. Evidently there was some dispute over his future, but that was one argument I wasn’t going to get involved in. ‘Well, I must have got it wrong. Put it towards a gap year, then.’

‘I’m not taking a gap year either. I’m not going anywhere, not when—’

He broke off, looking away. I was still holding out the envelope, wondering how trying to pay someone could have become so complicated. ‘OK, well, take it anyway. It’s not a lot, but—’

‘I told you, I don’t want paying,’ he said, his voice suddenly harsh, and before I could say anything else he walked away towards the cars.

I lowered the envelope, regretting inadvertently touching a raw nerve. A lot of teenagers would have been glad to get away after what had happened, but Rachel had told me how protective Jamie was. Still, throwing away his own future wouldn’t help anyone.

As I put the money away — I’d have to give it to either Rachel or Trask for him — I was tempted to go back to my car and leave. But it was too late to back out now. Taking a deep breath, I went up the steps to knock on the door.

Trask opened it. He stared blankly, and I guessed he’d forgotten inviting me.

‘I’m not too early, am I?’ I said, giving him a hint.

‘No. No, of course not. Come in.’ He closed the door when I stepped inside. The hallway was unlit, but light spilled down the stairs from the kitchen. ‘I’m just finishing something off, but Rachel’s upstairs. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

He headed off down the hallway towards a partly open door, through which I could see a drawing board picked out by lamplight. Wondering if coming here was a mistake after all, I started up the stairs. The smell of cooking became stronger, a casserole scent of cooked meat that brought unwelcome associations with the vat of simmering bones at the mortuary.

Rachel was busy at the cooker while Fay sat on a bar stool at the granite-topped island, desultorily stirring something in a bowl with a long spoon. Her dog lay at her feet, looking sorry for itself. Large patches of its fur had been shaved away to reveal islands of bare skin and dressings, and there was a protective cone around its head to keep it from gnawing them.

It lifted its head when it saw me, briefly thumping its tail on the floor before slumping back down again with a tragic sigh. Rachel turned from the bubbling pans and gave me a determinedly bright smile.

‘Hi. I didn’t hear the door. Dinner’ll be about fifteen minutes.’

‘Can I do anything?’

She blew a strand of hair from her face, looking hot and bothered. ‘No, thanks. Just make yourself comfortable.’

I looked over at Trask’s daughter. She was pale, with shadows under her eyes. There were adhesive dressings on her hands and wrists, and I could see the outline of bulkier dressings underneath her long-sleeved top.

‘Hi, Fay. How are you feeling?’

She hitched a shoulder in an indifferent shrug. ‘OK.’

‘OK, thank you ,’ Rachel told her, and received a deadpan stare. ‘We tried to get the doctors to put a collar like Cassie’s on her as well. But they said no, for some reason.’

Fay favoured her with a withering look before going back to stirring the bowl. Rachel looked at me over the girl’s head and raised her eyes skyward. I held up the bottle of wine I’d brought. It was the white Bordeaux I’d planned to take to Jason and Anja’s, still chilled from the boathouse fridge.

‘Shall I open this?’

‘Yes, please.’ She silently mouthed Thank God .

‘Dad doesn’t drink wine,’ Fay said without looking up.

‘No, but I do,’ Rachel said. ‘And Dr Hunter might like a glass as well.’

Her niece gave her an arch look. ‘Why? It’s not a special occasion.’

‘It doesn’t have to be. Sometimes people like to drink wine with their food.’

‘Alcoholics, you mean?’

‘No, I don’t mean that,’ Rachel said, with exaggerated patience. ‘Come on, Fay, don’t start.’

‘Start what?’

‘You know what.’

‘No I don’t.’

The girl stared back at her with calculated insolence. Rachel shook her head, exasperated. ‘OK, fine. Can you leave the dog food cake for now and set the table?’

‘I’m tired,’ Fay said, unceremoniously dumping the bowl down on the island and stomping downstairs.

Rachel gave a sigh as the girl’s footsteps receded. ‘And she isn’t even a teenager.’

‘She’s bound to be upset after yesterday.’

‘Oh, I know. But the little-madam routine is nothing new, she just knows she can get away with more at the minute.’ She gave a grim smile. ‘Glad you came?’

I had been when I saw her, but this was seeming more and more like a bad idea. Invitation or not, there was enough tension in the house already without my presence adding to it.

‘I forgot to bring the jacket back you lent me,’ I said, deciding to move on to safer ground.

‘It doesn’t matter, it’s only an old one. Just leave it at the boathouse.’ She nodded pointedly at the bottle of wine. ‘Corkscrew’s in the top drawer.’

‘You don’t have to open it on my account.’

‘I’m not. Don’t pay any attention to Fay, she’s just... being Fay. Andrew doesn’t drink any more, but he doesn’t mind anyone else doing it. Emma certainly did, and I’d really, really like a glass.’ She winced. ‘God, now I do sound like an alcoholic. But it’s been one of those days.’

I found a corkscrew and opened the wine, pouring it into glasses Rachel set out for me. ‘You’re sure I can’t help?’ I asked as she drained pans.

‘No, it’s about ready, thanks. Although you can put the dog food cake in the freezer. There’s a baking tray to scrape it into on the island.’

She gestured at the mixing bowl that Fay had been half-heartedly stirring. It contained a brownish mess, and a non-stick baking tray stood nearby. ‘So this is, uh, a treat for Cassie?’ I asked uncertainly, spooning it into the baking tray.

Rachel burst out laughing. ‘No, it’s pudding. Modged-up biscuits, raisins and melted chocolate, sort of like tiffin. That’s just a family nickname for it because it looks like, well...’

‘Dog food?’

I was pleased to see her laugh again. ‘It tastes better than it looks. Honestly.’

Footsteps on the stairs announced Trask’s arrival. In the bright lights of the kitchen I saw he looked better than he had yesterday, though not by much. The ratty sweater had been replaced by a faded black denim shirt and jeans, and the unshaven, greying stubble was beginning to look more like a beard. The glasses were pushed up on top of his head.

He took in the glasses of wine. ‘That looks like a good idea.’

Rachel looked startled as he went to the cupboard and took down another glass. ‘Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be having one.’

‘Well, I am.’

She turned away as he sloshed the wine into his glass, though not before I caught the unease on her face. They kept wine in the house, and Trask evidently didn’t mind other people drinking. But there was obviously some sort of issue going on here, and I hoped I hadn’t unknowingly triggered any kind of lapse.