Mo Hayder - Poppet

AJ ONLY HAS to wait for ten minutes, feeling like a stalker or a nervous teenager outside the girls’ school gates, before Melanie appears at the off-licence, same as last night. He loiters outside, watching her speak to the sales assistant. Nodding. Concentrating on putting her pin number in the terminal.

Moments later she emerges, the long sleeves of her blouse peeking out of her raincoat, bouncing with each step. She is so close, almost two metres away, when she sees him.

‘Oh no,’ she groans, bringing herself up short. ‘You caught me again.’

‘It’s not what it looks like – I wasn’t following you. I always do my shopping here.’

She smiles tiredly. ‘Well, this isn’t what it looks like either.’ She opens her carrier bag and shows him two cartons of orange juice. ‘To go with the vodka at home.’

AJ peers up at the darkening sky, then over at his car, then up and down the street. He wishes he knew which angle it is that makes him look like Presley because he’d adopt it right this second. Instead he says:

‘Vodka has its limitations, in my humble opinion. I wonder if you’ve ever ventured into the wild-and-woolly world of cider drinking.’

‘Wild and woolly?’

‘Yes – we’re, uh, tree huggers. Most of us have beards and wear Fair Isles – I’m the exception to the rule.’ He nods up the street to the old pub, beloved of the local cider connoisseurs. ‘But if you did ever want to risk the hairy element – that would be the place to start.’

She turns and glances over her shoulder at the pub. She stares at it for a long time. His heart sinks – she’s formulating a way to say no. But when she turns back she’s smiling. She puts a hand over her eyes to shield it from the overhead street light so she can meet his gaze.

‘I dunno,’ she says. ‘You sure I’m not a little overdressed?’

‘HI,’ CAFFERY SAYS, as if he’s just wandered in on Flea in her office. ‘Think you’ve got time for a chat?’

She can’t do anything now except respond. Get her big ugly ostrich head out of the sand.

‘Yeah.’ She stands casually, straightening her jacket and brushing some of the mud from her hands, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to be sitting behind a tree in the middle of nowhere on a freezing-cold night. She gives him a tight, teenage grin and a wave. ‘Hi. How’re things?’

‘Fine. You?’

‘Freezing.’ She comes out and stands in front of him. Wraps her arms around her – shivers. ‘One of the boys left a GPS unit out here today. They’re too lazy to come back and get it, so who’s the obvious monkey who has to do it?’ She makes bunny ears on her head. ‘The sergeant – because that’s what we’re here for. A few extra hundred quid a month in return for taking all the shit, all the responsibility. I’d go back to being a grunt like’ – she snaps her fingers – ‘ that .’

He nods, silently. His eyes are very dark and very steady. He’s not having any of it.

She holds up her hands, to say OK, whatever. ‘But how the hell did you find me?’ She gestures around at the empty road stretching into the darkness. ‘Out in the middle of—?’

‘A guess.’

‘A guess ? You guessed I’d be here? Seriously?’

‘Yes.’

‘Explain.’

He laughs ironically – as if to say, The explanation is so long, so embroidered and ornate and convoluted it would take a thousand years . Then his face sobers. ‘I ordered the extra search. You know that.’

‘Yeah.’ She gives a grim smile. Shoves her hands into her pockets. ‘Look, I hope this won’t come as a surprise to you, Jack, but everyone’s thinking WTF about this search – why you ordered it. The only answer we can come up with is you’re doing it to keep the press happy.’

He inclines his head in assent. ‘You’d be right. There’s no new intel – it’s to distract them from the attractive prospect of Misty’s mum being in town. It’s a waste of time. We’re not going to find Misty’s body. Not here.’

‘Aren’t we? What makes you so sure?’

There’s a pause, then he turns his eyes to hers. He shakes his head. His expression is so serious her confidence curls up and dies.

‘ What? ’ she murmurs. ‘Why’re you looking at me like that?’

Again he shakes his head. He looks so sad. So very sad.

‘What?’

He shrugs apologetically, then says, ‘I know what happened.’

THE GRASS IN the beer garden is still spotted with rain but the landlord has lit the chimineas and it’s warm enough to sit outside. They choose a gnarled old table next to the hedge that divides the garden from the street. The hedge is a dense evergreen laurel, but pedestrians can just be glimpsed passing on the other side.

AJ has lined up four glasses of different ciders on the table between them. Three are almost empty – Melanie is peering thoughtfully into the fourth.

‘You can see the bottom, can’t you?’

She nods. ‘And bubbles.’

‘Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but if I’m honest I’m going to say this one will appeal to you more than the other three.’

She looks up at him. ‘What – because I’m a woman, you mean?’

‘It does tend to be more of a lady’s cider. Sparklier. Sweeter – sort of golden, isn’t it? Appealing to look at. Not enough tannin in it for my taste.’

‘In that case …’ She pushes it away. Folds her arms petulantly. ‘In that case I’m not interested. You drink it.’

‘I can’t. I can’t possibly. I’ve got a reputation to protect – anyone could wander by and catch me drinking it. That’ll be my cred right out of the window.’

‘Misogynist.’

‘Dungaree wearer. I should have known it when I saw your car – Beetle – dead giveaway.’

‘Ewwww.’ She wrinkles her nose and peers at him as if he’s a cockroach just scuttled out from under the table. ‘A fascist.’

He nods happily. ‘And the worst sort of fascist. The liberal who got mugged – we make the nastiest conservatives. We’re as bad as ex-smokers when we meet a liberal – want to kill them. Attila the Hun was dangerously and irresponsibly liberal.’

She laughs. She’s got a sweet laugh. He’s surprised he’s just said that and wonders if he’s half serious. ‘I don’t really mean that,’ he says. ‘I’m not really a fascist.’

‘I don’t care if you are. It’s a tough system we work in. It’s tough to see the way it’s abused.’

‘A waste of taxpayers’ money. And we’re dancing to Brussels’ tune most of the time.’

‘I know it. And I also know that if I hadn’t been a woman I wouldn’t have done half as well. I was up against three men for the job – I was maybe as good as two of them, not as good as the other, but what panel member was going to give him the job ahead of me?’

‘You’re being modest.’

She gives a rueful smile. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. But I do still care. I do care about them – every last one of them. From Zelda to Moses to Isaac Handel to Monster Mother. I care about them all.’

AJ presses his lips together. He decides not to answer that. Zelda? He’s just not going to lie on that issue.

‘So.’ He changes the subject. ‘Have I made you into a cider drinker? Do you like it?’

She beams at him. ‘I love it!’

‘Another? I’ll get you a man’s cider this time.’

Her glittering smile doesn’t change. ‘No thank you. I’ll have a vodka.’

‘You hate cider, don’t you?’

‘Yes. I’d puke if I had any more.’

He shakes his head. ‘You’re so adventurous. Open to new possibilities – flexible.’