‘Probably.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
York
The smell of burning wakes Chloe a few seconds before the high-pitched wail of the fire alarm kicks in. She lies still, letting the siren pound in and out of her ears. It’ll stop in a minute. If she jumps up and heads out to the garden, she’ll only be sent back when they work out it’s just someone smoking in the toilet. She turns on her side and puts her pillow over her head to block out the sound. On the other hand, it could be a real fire and if it is, the smoke will suffocate her before she burns to death and she won’t know anything about it. She shuts her eyes and wonders what colour the smoke will be that kills her. She opens them again to check it isn’t really coming under her door. Next to her bed she notices a plate. She remembers Emma bringing it in late last night. There was a peanut butter sandwich on it. Emma didn’t ask her where she’d been or what happened, she just gave her the sandwich and went away again.
Then it all comes back, everything that happened yesterday. There is a moment when you wake up in the morning and it’s not there. The thing that’s happened, the grief. The waves are far out to sea and you don’t even see them. When Jay died, they would come crashing in within seconds. She would be drowning in sorrow for the rest of the day. Only the first snap of light on waking was clear, then the rest was muddy and thick and impossible to breathe in. When she found out she would never see her mum again, she was already in prison. Three things to realise every day. Jay’s dead. Bang. I’m inside. Bang. I’ll never see my mum. Bang. Then they wrapped her up in medication, like a cotton wool nest that kept her up and away from the grief. The waves still rolled in, but she was safe from them, as if they were breaking somewhere far below her.
She knows how it goes now. This feeling before the big wave, the storm wave. She watches it, watches herself, wondering why she’s so calm. She pulls herself up to sitting and looks at the plate, the fire alarm bashing her skull with sound. It’s empty, so she must have eaten the sandwich. Emma will be awake now, lining up outside on the terrace for the fire drill. Chloe should get dressed and go out to join the others, or someone will come banging on the door, shouting at her. She loved Taheera and then she was so angry with her that she thought she hated her. Now it’s too late.
She gets out of bed and takes a pair of jeans from the wardrobe. The screwed-up, white forensic suit is on the floor. They kept her work clothes and her boots at the police station in Doncaster. She wonders if she’ll ever see them again. She pulls on her clothes and follows another couple of girls down the stairs, but nobody’s hurrying. The new night officer, who used to be a screw, has a clipboard and is ticking off names.
‘Come on, ladies. You need to get moving as soon as the alarm goes. No good waiting, could be fatal.’
There are some mumbled responses. Nobody believes it’s real. Chloe crosses the terrace to where Emma’s standing, rolling herself a cigarette. She feels seventeen pairs of eyes watching her.
‘Eh! Someone came home late. On a date were you? Nice fancy dress costume you had on.’ A voice cuts loud through the sound of the fire alarm, followed by a brittle, false laugh.
Chloe doesn’t turn to see who’s speaking. More than one curtain twitched at the front of Meredith House when she stepped out of the police car in her luminous white suit, long after curfew.
‘You OK?’ Emma says. ‘Want a ciggy?’
Chloe shakes her head.
‘Police were here yesterday, asking questions. She let them in your room,’ Emma says quietly, flicking ash in the direction of Clipboard Woman.
The other women are watching Chloe. She wonders what they know.
‘Don’t worry,’ says Emma. ‘I told ’em nowt. Said you were dead quiet, no bother. Didn’t even have to lie.’
‘Thank you.’
Chloe startles herself with the sound of her own voice, even though it comes out as a whisper. It’s the first thing she’s said out loud since she climbed onto the lawnmower yesterday, and behind those first two words a whole surge is waiting. She bites down hard, clamping her jaw shut, jamming her knuckles against her mouth, her lips against her teeth. She stares at the green, open leaves of a geranium in a pot at the edge of the terrace, concentrating on its white flower head. Inside she taught herself not to show her feelings, to grow a thick skin and become an expert in keeping her thoughts to herself. Now she needs to think of something, anything, that will keep the tears back, so she thinks of the plant names Bill was teaching her. It’s not really a geranium, he said, but a pelargonium. She starts listing all the Latin names of the varieties in her head. When she gets to pelargonium formentosa, the siren stops.
‘That’s it ladies, false alarm. Who’s been smoking indoors?’
Talking and laughter break the stillness as the women shuffle back inside. Emma is standing in front of her. She’s pinching the end of her cigarette and putting the stub in her pocket.
‘Talk to me, babe. What happened to you?’
Her arms open and her hands come to rest on Chloe’s shoulders. She squeezes gently, drawing a sharp needle of pain up through Chloe’s chest, until she can’t fight it any longer and falls forwards into Emma’s waiting arms, sobbing against her shoulder. Her knees give way and Emma falls to the ground with her, until they’re both kneeling and Chloe can’t stop the torrent of tears that heave up and through her body, soaking her face and Emma’s hair. They stay like that for a long time, until there’s nothing left. When they disentangle their arms, she sees that Emma’s been crying too.
‘Look what you’ve done,’ her friend says, gently, ‘started me off now.’
They’re both sitting on the ground looking at each other, unsure of what to do next. Emma gets up first and brushes a bit of dirt off her trousers before reaching out a hand. Chloe takes it and steadies herself, standing shakily, feeling so much lighter than she did before.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Emma says, ‘go for a walk and then, if you want to, you can tell me what’s been going on. And if you don’t, well that’s all right, I’ll fill you in on last night’s Coronation Street. Deal?’
Chloe tries to smile. She takes Emma’s waiting hand and they walk in through the back door, past the TV room. They go past the front desk and Emma waves to Clipboard Woman. They go out of the front door and onto the street.
‘Which way?’ Emma asks and Chloe turns right towards the main road and the city centre.
They link arms and walk together. Chloe tries not to think about Taheera. She can’t help her now. They walk in silence until they come to a familiar row of shops. Chloe stops outside the charity shop.
‘When I’ve got some money, I’m going to buy that cup,’ she points to the white china set with the blue irises round the rim. ‘Then the plate and then the bowl, then I’ll come back and get the saucer. I don’t really need it, but it would be a shame to leave it. I’d like the full set.’
Emma starts to laugh but then she stops. She can see Chloe’s not joking.
‘I bet you could have the cup,’ she says, ‘if you gave them fifty pence.’
Chloe turns away.
‘Here, I’ll get you the cup. I’ll get you the whole set. You can pay me back.’
Emma pulls something out of her pocket. It’s a thick, folded wad of notes. She peels off a tenner. Chloe stares at the money.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Doncaster
While Sean’s phone was charging, he went to get a couple of coffees and a bacon sandwich from the canteen. He stuffed the food down as soon as he’d paid for it. Nothing had ever tasted so good. He looked out for Khan in the canteen and all along the corridor to the CID office, but he didn’t see him. He wondered if his boss knew DS Simkins was trying to stab him in the back. Probably. But who was behind her, holding the arm that was holding the knife? She didn’t have the drive to have thought of it herself.