John Harvey - Cold Light

There was a moment when Dana arrived back at the flat when she was certain Nancy would be there. It lasted only as long as it took to push the front door closed behind her, slip the catch on the lock, and feel the emptiness settle round her shoulders like a shroud.

“Another cup of tea?”

“Say what?”

“Another cup of tea?”

Gary reached out and turned the TV down, unable to hear Michelle from the kitchen above the roar of pre-recorded laughter.

“Tea?”

By that time she was in the doorway, ski pants and sweater, and even though the sweater hung loose he could see how she was getting her figure back after Natalie. See: he knew. Strands of hair hung loose across her face. Gary wanted to give her a look, the look towards the stairs, but he knew what she would say. Karl’s this minute dropped off; the baby’ll be awake soon anyway.

“Gary?”

So, all right, what was wrong with down here? Least, in front of what was left of the fire, they’d keep warm.

“C’m here,” he said.

“What for?”

But she knew the grin, the way it was meant to make her feel. “I’ve got the kettle on,” she said.

“Then take it off.”

“Oh, Gary, I don’t know.”

“Well, I do. Come on.” Winking. “While it’s hot.”

Pushing the hair out of her eyes, Michelle went back into the kitchen and switched the kettle off. She’d been so pleased when Gary had come home, late on Christmas Eve, relieved, she would have made love to him there and then, but all he’d wanted was to carry on about the bastard coppers, the bastard law, bastards at the Housing whose fault it all was anyway. Hadn’t even wanted to see the kids. Ask after Karl. Take a look at his face.

She hadn’t told Gary about that. Not any of it. The social worker, visit to the doctor, none of it. It would only make more trouble. He couldn’t stand it, Gary couldn’t, not ever, every Tom, Dick, and Harry coming round from Social Services, barging into the place as though they owned it, telling him how to bring up his own kids.

“Get us a decent place,” that was what he’d said last time. “Get us a decent place and then we’ll bring ’em up decent, you see.”

But what if they don’t, Michelle had wanted to ask? What if we have to stay here? What then?

“Michelle? You coming or what?” When she got back into the room, he had switched off the television, turned out the light, pushed the settee closer to the fire. He was leaning back against the far end of it, legs stretched out, slightly parted. Those jeans on, no way she couldn’t tell he was excited.

“Well?”

Forcing a smile on to her face, she started towards him; if only she could get the memory of him hitting Karl out of her mind, it might be all right.

He was kissing her, tongue pushing against her teeth, one hand reaching under her sweater when Lynn Kellogg knocked sharply on the door.

Lynn had talked to Dana earlier, back at the station, drinking tea and trying not to mind that the smoke from the other woman’s cigarettes kept drifting into her face, irritating her eyes. What is she, Lynn thought? Six years older than me? Seven? One of those round faces, not unlike her own, in the right circumstances they were full of life; dark eyes with an energy, a glow. But sitting there, on and on about Nancy, the same details, facts, suspicions, what Dana had looked was heavy-featured, exhausted, her face flabby and pale.

“Isn’t there a friend you could stay with?” Lynn had asked. “Just for tonight. Rather than being on your own.”

But Dana had insisted, she had to be there, by the telephone when Nancy rang, by the door when she walked back in.

“You think she’s all right, don’t you?” Dana had said suddenly, clutching Lynn’s arm. “You do think she’s all right?

It wasn’t yet twenty-four hours; there was still time for her to turn up unannounced, unharmed. A postcard. Phone call. I just had to get away, Sorry if you were worried. Chance came along and I took it . It happened all the time. People taking off on an impulse, a whim. Paris, London, or Rome. Those weren’t the incidents Lynn had to deal with, not closely, not often. The twenty-four hours would stretch to forty-eight and if there’d been no word from her by then, no sign … Well, there was still time.

Although the lights seemed to be out, she could hear voices inside; reversing her gloved hand, she knocked again.

“Yeh?” It was Gary who finally came to the door, still pushing one side of his shirt back down into his jeans. Behind him, Michelle had switched on the light.

Lynn showed Gary her warrant card and asked if she could come in.

“What’s this about then?”

“It might be easier if we talked inside.”

“Easier for who?”

“Gary …” Michelle began.

“You keep out of this!”

In the center of the room, involuntarily, Michelle flinched, a spasm of fear passing across her eyes.

Lynn set one foot on the scarred boards inside the door.

“Who said you …?”

“Gary …”

“I thought I told you …”

“Better we talk here,” Lynn said, “than back down at the station. Surely?” Gary’s head dipped and he stepped away. “You’ll not want to let too much cold in,” Lynn said. “Night like this.” And she pushed the front door closed.

“I was going to make tea,” Michelle said.

“She’ll not be here that long,” Gary said. “This isn’t going to take all night.”

“A cup of tea would be nice,” Lynn said. “Thanks.” She smiled and Michelle headed off for the kitchen, glad to be out of there and leave the two of them alone.

Except that the settee had been moved, nothing seemed to have changed since Lynn was there the day before. The same squares of worn carpet, oddments of furniture that had come from Family First. Two or three Christmas streamers, held in place with pins. A few Christmas cards. Mold in the corners, damp on the walls. Despite what was left of the fire, it was cold enough for Lynn to think twice before taking off her gloves.

“Well?” Gary lit his cigarette, then dropped the spent match on the floor.

“Where were you last night?” Lynn asked.

“You know bloody well where I was last night.”

“After you were released.”

“Where the hell d’you think I was?”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

“Here, of course. Where d’you think I was going to fucking go?”

In the doorway, Michelle bit her tongue; if only Gary didn’t lose his temper all the time.

“So you were here all evening?”

“Yes.”

“From what time?”

“Listen, I want to know what all this’s about.”

“From what time were you here?”

“From right after you bastards let me out!”

“Which would be when?” Lynn said. “Eight? Half-past eight?”

“It was twenty to nine,” Michelle said. “Almost exactly. I remember.”

Gary looked as though he was going to tell her to keep quiet, but he scowled instead.

“And you didn’t go out again?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well …” Coming towards her now, past the edge of the settee, right up close, “… that’s exactly what I’m saying now. I came in and I never went out. Not till this morning. Right?”

Lynn could smell his tobacco breath, warm on her face. Dinner. Beer.

“And Nancy Phelan?”

“Who?” But she could tell in his eyes that he knew.

“Nancy Phelan.”

“What about her?”

“You do know who I mean, then?”

“Course I know.”

“And did you see her?”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“You know bloody well …”