‘Yes, boss,’ said Janet.
Janet had one eye on Rachel, who’d been chugging it down like there was no tomorrow and was back at the bar. Still – get away with it at that age.
‘You did good, kid, with Sean.’ Gill held out her glass. They clinked. ‘Cheers.’
Janet took a swallow. ‘Is that vodka?’ She looked at Gill’s drink. A huge wine goblet, filled with clear liquid. ‘Am I going to be sick monitor again?’
‘Cheek!’ Gill jabbed her in the ribs. ‘It’s tap water – I’m driving.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Early start.’
‘They were good, Mitch and Lee,’ Janet said.
‘Need a drummer. Hey, Andy,’ Gill shouted across to him, ‘you not fancy drumming with them?’
‘No sense of rhythm.’
Not true, from what I recall. Janet shook her head, giggled. Should slow down herself.
‘Right, I’m off. Be good,’ Gill said.
Janet saluted. Andy moved closer, offered her a drink.
‘I’m fine.’ She pointed to her glass.
They talked, heads close so they could hear over the music. He persuaded her to dance too. The floor was crowded and people were really letting their hair down now. One guy doing some northern soul moves, a circle of admirers around him, his limbs like rubber. When had she last danced? It felt good, she swung her hips and turned, couldn’t keep the grin off her face. Bit of fun.
Another drink and she saw Rachel leaving. Wondered how she’d found the party. Couldn’t have been easy in the shadow of what had happened. An inquest into Rosie’s death had been opened and adjourned, pending further investigation. When it reopened Rachel would be a key witness, though it could be months till then.
Pete was making a complete tit of himself with a woman from CID. A mix of air-guitar and heavy metal rocking. Janet got a stitch laughing.
Andy was attentive and witty, making her feel… real again. She was flushed and warm with the drink and the dancing and his interest when he said, ‘Come outside, I want to show you something.’
‘I’ve heard that before, officer,’ she joked, trying to make light of the butterflies inside and the depth of his gaze. She let herself be persuaded. Outside through the double doors on to the wide terrace. And it was snowing. Big, fat, soft flakes of snow and a winter’s moon, full and bright. The gardens muffled thick and white.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he said, ‘you’re beautiful.’ And his breath was warm on her cheek, his mouth firm on hers. Just a kiss, she promised herself, that’s all, just a kiss.
‘I’d better go,’ she managed when they came up for air. Her heart beating too fast.
He touched her face, she could feel his hunger. She wanted him so much.
‘Don’t go. Please. Stay with me, Janet.’
She closed her eyes, felt snow, tiny fingerprints of cold on her eyelids, on her cheeks.
‘Janet,’ he whispered her name again. She knew it was wrong. She had Ade, she had kids, for chrissakes. She looked at him again, his lips, his eyes. She couldn’t speak. This was stupid, dangerous, destructive. She was going home. This minute. Now.
She nodded her head. And she saw him swallow, the movement in his throat.
She texted Ade – easier to lie that way, no chance he’d hear the deceit in her voice. Staying at Rachel’s x. The kiss seemed to screech hypocrisy and she almost changed her mind until she looked over to Andy at the hotel reception desk, and pressed send before she could back out.
It was so strange, making love with Andy after all the years of only knowing Ade. Strange and exciting. The way he looked at her, drinking her in with his eyes, the tenderness he displayed and then the passion. She was lost for those hours in some parallel universe where she could be impulsive, instinctive, abandoned. As though she had shed her skin and emerged a different being.
The guilt came on waking. As soon as she opened her eyes to the unfamiliar room, Andy beside her, looking younger in his sleep. A shrivelling inside, like a stomach full of burning acid. A weight across her shoulders. What have I done? Knowing it was a dreadful mistake. She was not wild and impetuous, that wasn’t the person she was at all. She was careful, sensible, responsible. She was the one who stuck to the rules and made wise decisions and slept easily at night as a result.
Outside, the snow had gone, the magic wonderland dissolved by heavy rain, clouds still hovering low. Brooding. How could she do this to Ade? The thought of him ever knowing brought her out in a cold sweat.
33
‘KEYS,’ JANET SAID as they reached the car park.
‘How long you going to keep that up?’ Rachel said.
‘While I live and breathe.’ Looking ratty.
Rachel threw them to her.
The day was grotty, wet and gloomy. ‘Did I miss anything last night? Anyone throw a punch or get their kit off?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Janet snapped.
‘God, who pissed on your chips?’ said Rachel.
Janet didn’t answer, maybe she’d drunk too much and was fighting a hangover but not wanting to let on.
At the children’s home, Janet introduced Rachel to Marlene.
‘Oh, yes, you rang about Martin Dalbeattie,’ Marlene said. ‘Was he any help?’
Janet’s smile froze in place and she turned to Rachel. Rachel, not feeling all that good any more, said, ‘We’ve not spoken to him, yet.’
‘You’ve heard about Rosie Vaughan?’ Marlene said, obviously not knowing Rachel had witnessed the whole thing. ‘So awful. That poor girl. Everything stacked against her, relentless – we just couldn’t get her to access mental health services.’
Janet murmured something back and Rachel studied her shoes. She didn’t want to think about Rosie, with her spindly arms and that pathetic ring of junk like a charm bracelet round the sofa. Though every time the cut on her hand throbbed, it all came rushing back at her. Rachel felt the bile of revenge. I didn’t do it, she told herself. The bastard who raped and beat her – this is on his head. And before him the mother who abused her, who made her do things that no child should ever suffer. The mother had done her time, punishment served, but Rosie’s rapist was still out there. Rachel wanted to get the bastard now more than ever.
Once they were settled in Marlene’s office, Janet said, ‘We want to find out if any of the boys who’ve been here since 2008 had a reputation for sexual violence?’
Marlene raised her eyebrows in a question mark.
‘We’ve got some forensic evidence suggesting a possible link between Rosie Vaughan’s rape and Lisa Finn’s murder.’
‘Oh, God.’ Marlene closed her eyes for a moment. ‘What a waste,’ she said, ‘both of them. You do everything you possibly can, but… they didn’t deserve… no one deserves-’ she broke off, upset and angry. Rachel felt awkward, suddenly too hot in the room.
‘You’re right,’ Janet said. ‘But anything you can do to help…’
‘Of course.’ Marlene sat up straighter and swivelled round to the computer on a workstation at right angles to her desk. ‘Nobody springs to mind, but I’ll just have a look.’ She keyed some strokes and peered at the monitor.
There was a climbing frame in the garden and Rachel could see a toddler scaling one of the sides, bundled up in a bright red padded all-in-one. She had a sudden rush of fear that the child would fall, felt sweat break across the back of her neck and her mouth fill with saliva. Get a grip.
‘Of course, once our kids move out we wouldn’t necessarily know what’s going on,’ Marlene said. ‘Some of them move away or lose touch, even though social services have a duty of care to continue assisting the most vulnerable.’