John Harvey - Ash & Bone

'Yes.'

'How was she?'

'Confused, angry, upset. Take your pick.'

'When I went to see her, she kept her face to the wall. She wouldn't tell me a thing.'

'The drugs they claim she had in her bag,' Miles said. 'Planted, like as not.'

'Martyn,' Joanne said. 'Please stay out of this.'

He carried on as if she hadn't spoken, as if he hadn't heard. 'No offence intended, Frank, not to you, but the police, you know what they're like, some of them.'

'Martyn,' Joanne said. 'I'm warning you…'

'All right, okay. Calm down, why don't you? Just calm down.'

Ash spilled down the front of Joanne's dress and she brushed it casually away. 'Heroin, Frank,' she said. 'What would she be doing with heroin?'

'These days -' Martyn began.

'Don't get to thinking she's like those skinny models you're so fond of.' Joanne said, her voice shrill. 'Doing cocaine and God knows what else every five minutes of the day.'

'One of your fantasies, sweetheart, not mine.'

'Fuck you,' Joanne said, swigging down what was left in her glass.

'All I'm saying is, Frank,' Miles went on, 'these days you can never tell. Well, you'll know that yourself, better than anyone.'

'For Christ's sake, Martyn, stop trying to get him on your side.'

'I didn't think it was a matter of sides.'

'No?'

'No.'

'Because if it is, why don't you tell him what you told me when you heard Kate had been arrested. See how far he's on your side then.'

'Oh, for Christ's sake, leave it out, Joanne…'

'Why? Because it doesn't suit you now? For Frank to know what you really think?'

'Now you're being stupid.'

'Am I?'

Miles gave Elder a look as much as to say, You see how unreasonable she's being.

'I think,' Elder responded, 'I might like to know what it was you said.'

'He said it was no more than she deserved.'

'What I said was, it might not be such a bad thing.'

'Why was that, Martyn?' Elder said. 'I'm not sure I understand.'

'You know, Frank. These past months, the way she's been. And now it seems drugs as well.'

'And you think being locked up in a police cell will make her see the light?'

'It might scare some sense into her, yes.'

'Don't you think she's been scared enough?'

'That was a year ago, Frank. She can't keep hiding behind that forever.'

'Listen to yourself,' Joanne all but screamed. 'Just bloody listen to yourself. You don't understand a bloody thing.'

'And you do?'

'Yes, I fucking do.'

'That's it. That's it. Get hysterical,' Miles said. 'Great help all round.'

Tears welled in Joanne's eyes.

'Martyn,' Elder said. 'Maybe you should let Joanne and I talk.'

'Fine.'

The lanterns on the patio shone small candles of light through the window, their reflections doubled and redoubled in the glass. Nursing a fresh glass of wine, Joanne stood close against the window, staring out, and Elder wondered if in some way it made her feel invisible. Or was it something to do with how she felt, what might happen at a touch? He could see her face, its contours in the glass, not quite real, white against the dark. The small triangle of skin where the hair parted at the nape of her neck.

It was past midnight by now, Elder thought, closer to one.

The reflection of his face slid over hers and merged. Slowly, he touched her shoulder with his hand.

'Frank.'

When she said his name a small circle of mist blurred the glass before her face. She said his name again and turned and when she turned it was into his arms. Eyes closed at first, he held her close, her head beneath his chin, feeling her heart race against his chest.

Minutes passed.

Minutes passed and her breathing steadied and she lifted her face towards his. 'I'm sorry,' she said.

With a slow shake of his head, he stepped away.

'I need a cigarette,' she said and crossed the room.

Elder went through into the kitchen and ran the tap, drank water from a glass. Whoever Joanne had in to clean had worked hard on the bottoms of the burnished pans, hanging in perfect order from a polished metal rail high on the wall.

In the living room, Joanne was sitting at one end of the settee and he sat opposite her on a pale curve of cushioned chair that gave a little with his weight.

'What will happen?' Joanne asked.

'To Katherine?'

She looked back at him as if to say, What else?

'They could charge her with possession with intent to supply, in which case she'd almost certainly be released on police bail. But I don't think they will.'

'Because of you?'

'That wouldn't matter one way or another.'

'What then?'

'I don't really think it's Kate they re interested in. It's him. Summers. I think they were hoping if they pressured her, she'd give them something they could use against him.'

'And she won't?'

'It doesn't look that way.'

'God.' Joanne took a last drag at her cigarette and ground it out in a hollow globe of glass.

'How long has she been seeing him?' Elder asked. 'Summers. D'you know?'

Staring at the floor, Joanne shook her head. 'I don't know who she's been seeing, Frank. Not recently. She won't talk to me. About anything. And if I ask her, she just flies off the handle and storms out. Martyn's right, she's been running wild and I don't know what to do.' She looked at him then. 'She's our daughter, Frank.'

'I'll talk to her. If I can.'

Joanne pulled a folded square of tissue from a pocket in her dress, dabbed her eyes and lit another cigarette.

'You'll stay, Frank.'

'I don't think so.'

'This time of night…'

'I'll go to a hotel'

'There's no need.'

He shook his head. 'It's easier.'

'Martyn won't be back, not tonight.'

'It isn't that.' He crossed towards her and aimed a kiss at the top of her head. 'I'll see you tomorrow, okay?'

'Okay.' She reached up for his hand but he was already on his way towards the door.

Outside, any wind there'd been had dropped and the air, as he walked back down through the winding criss-cross of roads towards the city centre, was heavy and still.

Against all odds, Elder slept like a stone. The radio alarm on the small bedside table woke him with inane chatter, slightly off station. In the bathroom mirror his face looked tired and drawn; a thin scar, where Adam Keach had cut him with a knife, ran from the centre of his forehead down along the bridge of his nose, stitch marks like tiny perforations to each side.

The hotel dining room was busy with business people in dark suits, enjoying the full English behind the Telegraph or the Mail. In the buffet, the scrambled eggs were congealed and the catering tomatoes swam in a sea of their own juice. The toast, brought to the table too soon, was scarcely brown and almost cold.

'Coffee or tea?' the waitress said with a charming smile, her heavily-accented voice, to Elder's ears, from South America or Spain. Though he asked for coffee, she brought him tea regardless, and he had neither the heart nor the energy to complain.

He met Maureen Prior in the Starbucks on Lister Gate, close by the entrance to the Broad Marsh Centre. She was seated at a table in the rear when he arrived, unobtrusively dressed in brown and beige. He might have seen her in bright colours once, but couldn't easily remember when. Her hair, medium-length, mid-brown, softened the sharp oval of her face.

'Good to see you, Frank.'

'You, too.'

He went to the counter to collect the coffee he'd ordered, carried it back and sat down.

'I'm sorry about Katherine,' Maureen said.

'Thanks.'

'She's been charged?'

'No, thank God.'

'Special pleading then.'

'Not on my part. No favours asked.'