Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

‘Will you write back to your dad?’

You shook your head violently. ‘He made it quite clear in his letter I should leave him alone. I don’t know what Mum did, but it was bad enough for him not to want to see us again.’

I laced my fingers through yours and stroked my thumb across the smooth skin between your thumb and forefinger. ‘You can’t choose your parents,’ I said, ‘more’s the pity.’

‘Are you close to yours?’

‘They’re dead.’ I had told the lie so often I nearly believed it myself. It might even have been true – how would I have known? I’d never sent them my address when I moved down south, and I can’t imagine they lost much sleep over my departure.

‘I’m sorry.’

You squeezed my hand and your eyes became shiny with compassion.

I felt a stirring in my groin and I dropped my eyes to the table. ‘It was a long time ago.’

‘We have something in common then,’ you said. You gave a brave smile which showed you thought you understood me. ‘We’re both missing our fathers.’

It wasn’t clear if your ambiguity was intentional – you were wrong on both counts – but I let you think you had worked me out. ‘Forget him, Jennifer,’ I said. ‘You don’t deserve to be treated like that. You’re better off without him.’

You nodded, but I could tell you didn’t believe me. Not then, anyway.

You expected me to come home with you, but I had no wish to spend an hour in a student bedsit, drinking cheap coffee out of chipped mugs. I would have taken you back to mine, but Marie’s things were still there, and I knew you would object to that. Besides, this felt different. I didn’t want a one-night-stand: I wanted you.

I walked you to your door.

‘Chivalry isn’t dead, after all,’ you joked.

I gave a little half-bow, and when you laughed I felt absurdly pleased to have made you happy.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been taken out by a proper gentleman before.’

‘Well then,’ I said, and I took your hand and brought it briefly to my lips, ‘we must make a habit of it.’

You flushed and bit your lip. Lifted your chin a fraction, ready for my kiss.

‘Sleep well,’ I said. I turned and walked back to my car, and didn’t look back over my shoulder. You wanted me – that much was obvious – but you didn’t yet want me enough.

23

Ray was floored by Jenna Gray’s lack of emotion. There was no cry of outrage, no fierce denial or rush of remorse. He watched her face carefully as Kate carried out the arrest, but all he saw was the faintest flicker of what looked like relief. He felt oddly uneasy, as though his legs had been taken from under him. After more than a year of searching for the person who killed Jacob, Jenna Gray wasn’t at all what he had expected.

She was striking, rather than pretty. Her nose was slim, but long, and her pale skin covered with freckles that joined up in places. Her green eyes slanted fractionally upwards, giving her a cat-like appearance, and dark auburn hair swung about her shoulders. She wore no make-up, and although her baggy clothes concealed her figure, narrow wrists and a slim neck indicated she was slightly built.

Jenna asked if she could have a few moments to gather her things. ‘I have a friend here at the moment – I’ll need to explain this to him. Could you leave us alone for a minute or two?’ She spoke so quietly Ray had to lean forward to hear.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he said. ‘We’ll come through with you.’

She bit her lip and paused for an instant, then stepped back to allow Ray and Kate into the cottage. A man stood in the kitchen, a glass of wine in his hand. Any emotion that was missing from Jenna’s face was writ large upon the face of the individual Ray assumed must be her boyfriend.

The place was so small it was hardly surprising he’d overheard, Ray thought, glancing around the cluttered room. A line of carefully arranged rocks was gathering dust above the fireplace, in front of which a dark crimson rug was spattered with tiny burns. A blanket covered the sofa in a kaleidoscope of colours, presumably in an attempt to brighten the place up, but the lighting was dim and the cottage’s low ceilings made even Ray duck his head to avoid the beam between the sitting area and the kitchen. What a place to live. Miles from anywhere and freezing, despite the fire. He wondered why she had chosen it; whether she thought she would be better hidden here than anywhere else.

‘This is Patrick Mathews,’ Jenna said, as if they were standing around at a social gathering. But then she turned her back on Ray and Kate, and Ray immediately felt as though he were intruding.

‘I have to go with these police officers.’ Her words were clipped and flat. ‘Something terrible happened last year and I have to put it right.’

‘What’s going on? Where are they taking you?’

Either he knew nothing about what she had done, or he was an accomplished liar, Ray thought. ‘We’ll be taking her to Bristol,’ he said, stepping forward to hand Patrick a card, ‘where she’ll be interviewed.’

‘Can’t this be dealt with tomorrow? I could give her a lift into Swansea in the morning.’

‘Mr Mathews,’ Ray said, his patience wearing thin. It had taken three hours to get to Penfach and another hour to track down Blaen Cedi Cottage. ‘Last November a five-year-old boy was knocked over and killed by a car that failed to stop. I’m afraid that’s something that can’t wait until the morning.’

‘But what’s that got to do with Jenna?’

There was a pause. Patrick looked first at Ray, then at Jenna. He shook his head slowly. ‘No. There must be some mistake. You don’t even drive.’

She held his gaze. ‘There’s no mistake.’

Ray felt a shiver run through him at the coldness in her voice. For the last year he had tried to imagine who could be cold-hearted enough to drive away from a dying child. Now that he was face to face with her, he was battling to remain professional. He knew it wasn’t only him: his colleagues would find it equally difficult to deal with, just as they found it a challenge to be polite to sex offenders and child abusers. He glanced at Kate, and saw she felt it too. The sooner they got back to Bristol, the better.

‘We need to get moving,’ he said to Jenna. ‘When we get to the custody suite you’ll be interviewed and you’ll have an opportunity to tell us what happened. Until then we can’t talk about the case. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’ Jenna picked up a small rucksack from where it had been slung across the back of a chair. She looked at Patrick. ‘Would you be able to stay and look after Beau? I’ll try to call when I know what’s happening.’

He nodded, but didn’t speak. Ray wondered what he was thinking. What must it be like to discover you had been lied to by someone you thought you knew?

Ray placed the handcuffs on Jenna’s wrists, checking they weren’t too tight, and noticing there was not even a flicker of reaction as he did so. He saw a flash of scarred tissue on her palm, but she closed her fist and it was gone.

‘The car’s quite some way away, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘We couldn’t get any closer than the caravan park.’

‘No,’ Jenna said. ‘The road ends half a mile away.’

‘Is that all?’ Ray said. It had felt longer when he and Kate were inching their way along it. Ray had found a torch rattling around in the boot of the car, but the batteries were dying and he’d had to shake it every few metres to get it to work.

‘Call me as soon as you can,’ said Patrick, as they escorted Jenna outside. ‘And get a solicitor!’ he called after them, but the dark night swallowed up his words and she didn’t answer him.