Kate Atkinson - Case Histories

"No, it's not, Jackson," Howell insisted. "It's just a year, ask Marlee."

You fucking bitch!" Jackson shouted. "Your wanker boyfriend's only going on a year's exchange to New Zealand. You told me you were going for good." Josie said something indistinct on the other end of the phone, her voice had a throaty, lazy timber that it took on straight after she'd had an orgasm. If she hadn't been in the Ardeche and he hadn't been in a hospital somewhere south of Doncaster he would definitely have killed her. He was sitting on a bench outside the hospital, still tied to his drip. A lot of people were giving him odd looks and he dropped his voice a little.

"Why, Josie? Why did you lie to me like that?"

"Because you were out of order, Jackson. Get over it," she added. "Get over me."

Jackson wanted a cigarette, very badly. His tongue found the empty socket of his tooth, both tooth and root had been removed by the emergency dentist on call while Jackson was blissfully unconscious. Sharon was going to be very annoyed when she discovered she had been denied the pleasure of torturing him. He caught sight of himself in the plate glass of the hospital, he looked like the walking wounded you saw in war documentaries.

He punched another number into his phone. "Theo?"

" Jackson!" Theo sounded almost happy. "Where are you?"

"In the hospital," Jackson said.

"Again?"

"Yeah, again."

Jackson discharged himself against the hospital's advice. The only way they could be mollified was by Howell promising to drive him to Northumberland to pick up Marlee and then home to Cambridge.

"Christ, Jackson," Howell said as he eased his huge frame into the driver's seat of the Punto. "What happened, have you turned into a woman?"

"Worse things could happen," Jackson said. "I can drive."

"No, you can't." Howell raked through Jackson's CDs. "You still listening to this shit, Jackson?"

"Yes."

Howell tossed Trisha and Lucinda and Emmylou and the rest of the women in pain onto the backseat and put on one of Marlee's Christina Aguilera CDs. By the time he'd played it three times they were up the Al and almost back in the middle of nowhere again.

"You don't have to do this," Jackson said.

"Yes, I do, I'm your friend. Anyway I could do with a break, bit of culture, city of dreaming spires and all that."

"I think that's Oxford."

"Same difference," Howell said. "Who's trying to kill you?"

"Guy in a gold Lexus."

"That would be the one that's following us, then?" Howell said, glancing in the rearview mirror.

Jackson tried to turn round to see but his neck didn't really turn anymore. Howell read out the number plate.

"Yeah, that's the one." Jackson reached for his phone and said, "Don't turn off the main road," just as Howell swung a sudden violent left onto the slip road.

"Why not?" Howell said. "We'll lead the Lexus somewhere quiet, a nice country lane, and then we'll deal with him."

"Deal with him?" Jackson said. "As in what, take him out?"

"Well, I wasn't thinking anything that drastic, but if you want, yeah, why not?" Howell said.

"No, I don't want. I want everything done by the book. I'm going to call it in. There's a warrant out for the guy's arrest."

"You're such a policeman, Jackson."

"Yeah, I know. I'm a policeman, I've turned into a woman, I'm pussy whipped, and I carry an organ-donor card. It's called middle age."

The Lexus was glued to their tail. Jackson turned the rearview mirror so that he could catch a glimpse of Quintus. His posh moon face was choleric. Jackson couldn't imagine what it was he'd done that had enraged the guy so much.

They could hear sirens in the distance. Jackson stayed on the phone with the dispatcher, although he was having a hard time giving her an idea of their position. They were on a narrow road now, made narrower by the overgrown hedgerows. Howell was driving as if he were playing Grand Theft Auto. They turned a sharp bend and found themselves almost bonnet to bonnet with a silver Mercedes SL 500 sports car being driven at equal speed. Jackson closed his eyes and braced himself, but somehow or other the driver of the Mercedes went to her left and Howell went to his left – it felt to Jackson as if they were on the Wall of Death – and they missed each other by a feather. "Fucking hell," Howell said admiringly, "what a babe, what a driver, what a car." "Jesus," Jackson said. He looked at his hands – they were actually shaking.

The Lexus seemed to have disappeared off the radar. Howell stopped the Punto and reversed cautiously back up the road and round the bend. The sound of police sirens was growing progressively nearer. The Lexus had managed to avoid the Mercedes but not the bend and had plowed relatively harmlessly into the overgrown hedge, where it was caught like an insect in a net. Quintus could just be seen inside, pushing helplessly at the door.

A couple of traffic cars appeared, followed by a plainclothes patrol car, all of them slewing to a stop in an overexcited way. An approaching police helicopter added to the sense of adrenalin-filled drama. Jackson knew how much they'd be loving this, anything that was out of the routine of speeding tickets and the misery of road accidents.

Howell and Jackson got out of the car and walked over to the Lexus. "Why does he want to kill you, anyway?" Howell asked.

"I've got no idea," Jackson said. "Let's ask him."

And when you see your mother," Jackson said to Marlee, "it might be a good idea not to show off your Russian to her." "Why not?"

"Because…" Jackson frowned, thinking of all the things he really didn't want Josie to know. "Just because. Okay, sweetheart?" She looked doubtful. Jackson gave her a ten-pound note. "Spaseeba," Marlee said.

When Jackson had phoned Theo from the hospital Theo told him that Lily-Rose, the yellow-haired girl, was staying with him. Jackson didn't know what to make of that, but as it wasn't anything to do with him he decided not to think much about it at all. He was trying not to think too much because thinking did actually physically hurt his brain. He said to Theo, "That's good," and hoped it was.

Jackson told Theo on the phone that he was going to send him a name, the name, the one he had been looking for for ten years, the name that Kim Strachan had given him. Of course, it might not be the name of the man who killed Laura (Innocent until proved guilty – did he believe that? No), and Jackson knew that, even if he suspected it for a moment, he should tell the police, but this was Theo's quest and it was up to Theo to decide where to take it from here.

He wrote the name and address on the back of a postcard that he picked up in a service station near the Angel of the North. The picture on the postcard was of one of the artificial-looking pink daisies that he'd passed over for Niamh's grave. Maybe it was a new kind of flower. He put a stamp on the postcard and Marlee ran to the postbox with it because she was still young enough to find posting a letter quite an exciting thing to do. When she came back in a year perhaps she would be blase about it. She wouldn't be the same Marlee in twelve months' time: she would have different skin and different hair, she would have outgrown the shoes and the clothes she was wearing, she would have new buzzwords (New Zealand words), and she might not like Harry Potter anymore. But she would still be Marlee. She just wouldn't be the same.

Jackson dropped Marlee off at David Lastingham's house. Josie looked him over dispassionately. "You look terrible, Jackson."

"Thanks."

He turned to leave but Marlee ran down the path and caught him at the gate. She threw her arms round him and hugged him. "Dasvedanya, Daddy," she whispered.

Jackson went back to what remained of his own house. The building smelled sour and sooty, as though the dormant spores of ancient diseases had been released into the air. He raked with his foot through the clinker and slag that now carpeted his living room. He wondered what had happened to Victor's ashes – there was no sign of his urn. Ashes to ashes. He found a broken shard of pottery, a piece of wishing well, the letters G… from scar still legible. He let it fall back into the debris. Just as he was turning to leave something caught his eye. He squatted on his haunches to get a better look. One blue arm, covered in ash, was sticking up in the air, like an earthquake survivor signaling for help. Jackson tugged at the arm and pulled Blue Mouse out of the ruins.