Janet came and stood close by. ‘You did your best.’
‘It’s not good enough,’ Rachel rounded on her. ‘He’ll walk. He’ll walk, Janet. He did it, he did Rosie, whatever else. Maybe not Lisa, but Rosie.’
Gill sent them home. ‘Too late to go back for more,’ she said.
‘Tomorrow?’ Rachel asked. Was this it? Would she get another chance?
‘I’m not sure we’ll get further. Let’s sleep on it. You did all right, kid.’
Rachel shook her head, rejecting the praise, eyes aching. No. She did crap. He was gonna get away with it and there was nothing she could do.
44
‘HOW WAS MR Fairley?’ Janet asked Ade.
‘He wants to put her on a behaviour plan. She’ll be monitored for a month and she’s barred from the Christmas trip.’
‘That’s a bit steep,’ Janet said.
‘He wants to make an example of her, apparently.’
‘And you let him? Didn’t you object? She’s eleven years old, Ade, she didn’t think about-’
‘If you wanted to express an opinion, you should have been there.’
‘Didn’t you stick up for her? What about the others? She didn’t dream this up on her own,’ she said.
‘She won’t say who they are,’ he said.
‘God. How’s she taking it?’
Ade shrugged. ‘Hard to tell.’
‘I’ll have a word.’
‘Wait,’ Ade said, ‘there’s something else.’
Janet felt dizzy. He did know. That explained the peculiar visit at work. ‘I’m tired,’ she tried, ‘just want to get to bed.’
‘Janet, we need to talk about this now.’
Her throat closed. Sweat on her scalp. Her chest hurt. ‘What?’ she managed. She wanted to freeze things, rewind, change everything. She wanted to disappear.
‘Sit down, for chrissakes,’ he said.
She did as he said. She couldn’t look at him.
‘It’s Elise,’ he said. ‘She’s seeing this lad.’
Elise? Elise! Oh God. Janet began to laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’ he said. ‘She’s thirteen.’
‘Well, who is he? How serious is it?’
‘I don’t know, some boy at school. He’s in Year 11.’ Like it was the mark of Satan. ‘You’re her mother, you need to talk to her, make sure she’s not doing anything stupid.’
‘We’re talking about Elise here. When have you ever known her to act stupid? She’s got common sense stamped through her like Blackpool rock.’
‘If she got into trouble…’
‘She knows all about safe sex. And she’s only thirteen. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. It’s normal. We should be pleased. Anyone who can cope with Elise and her high standards has my vote. She’s a great kid.’
‘Sure about that, are you? It’s not as if you see much of her,’ he said.
‘That’s not fair,’ Janet said.
‘No, it isn’t. Not on any of us.’
‘If you want to have another row about my work patterns, I’ll try to fit you in next month. Meanwhile, I’m going to see my daughters, and then I’m going to bed.’
Janet fetched Taisie’s phone. Upstairs, Taisie was in bed but awake. Janet sat down on the bed. ‘Here-’ She handed the phone to her.
‘You said a week.’ Taisie glowered suspiciously.
‘Well, it will be a week, tomorrow. Dad told me about Mr Fairley. Seems a bit tight.’
‘He is proper tight. Candice Waller swore at him and she’s still going on the Christmas trip.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Janet sympathized. ‘I don’t think there’s anything I can do. Maybe those friends of yours who were in on the joke should not go on the trip either. Show some solidarity.’
Taisie shook her head. ‘They wouldn’t do that.’
‘No, thought not. Hey, think next time.’ Janet tapped her own temple.
‘Can I go to Phoebe’s for a sleepover on Saturday?’
‘Is it a party? Aargh! I’ve got déjà vu.’ Janet clutched her head.
Taisie laughed. ‘Just a sleepover.’
‘Give me their number first.’
‘OK.’
‘I love you.’ Janet kissed her.
‘Yuck,’ said Taisie, force of habit.
Elise was on MSN. Janet didn’t make any attempt to snoop at the conversation. ‘So, what’s his name?’ she said.
Elise flushed, put her hand to her head and groaned. ‘Connor,’ she said.
‘Dad says he’s in Year 11.’
‘So?’
‘Nothing,’ Janet said, ‘just interested. I don’t need to do any safe sex-’
‘Mum!’ Elise recoiled, interrupting her. ‘No! We don’t even, we’re not-’ She pulled a face.
‘Good, fine, sorry! Thought I’d better check.’
‘I’m thirteen,’ Elise said. ‘I’m under age. You should know that.’
Janet kept a straight face. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘OK. Bed now. It’s late.’
Janet lay in bed, her thoughts slowing, relaxing towards sleep. They were all right, her girls, they were fine. Ade kept on raising the issue of her work, implying she was a bad mother, neglectful, absent, but it really wasn’t like that. Sure, there were times in the early stages of each murder investigation when she put in long hours and saw little of them, but it wasn’t always like that. They’re fine, she reassured herself again, everything’s going to be fine.
And she’d make sure it stayed that way. She’d forget about Andy; she had to. It would get easier with time: the awkwardness, the fear of someone finding out. New Year soon. A fresh start. Everything’s gonna be fine, she thought again. And then she slept.
Rachel shouldn’t have answered the phone. It was ringing as she walked in the flat, she had expected it to be Nick – who else, this time of night? It would be a relief to talk to someone, even about inconsequential things, to take her mind off James Raleigh and her sense of defeat, of inadequacy. Distract her from the fact that Rosie’s funeral was at half past eight in the morning.
It was Alison. ‘Where’ve you been?’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying for hours.’
‘Work,’ Rachel snapped. ‘Where d’you think?’
‘Till this hour?’ sounding as if she didn’t believe her.
‘Yes, interviewing a murder suspect,’ Rachel said.
‘Really! God, did he confess? Was it that lass in the papers – Lisa?’
‘Yes, it was. No, he didn’t.’
‘Wow.’
There was a pause. ‘So, anything else?’ Rachel said. ‘You rang me, remember.’
‘I’m going to see Dom on Friday,’ Alison said quickly. ‘You could come.’
Not this again. Rachel felt a wave of displeasure, anger. ‘How many times do I have to tell you…’
‘It’s Christmas,’ Alison went on. ‘Can’t you think about him for once?’
‘Try not to, does my head in. I’m not going, Alison. I don’t want to.’
‘You can be really hard-faced sometimes, you know that? What if it was me?’
‘Don’t be thick.’
‘Prisoners with family support…’ Alison started her touchy-feely spiel.
‘No,’ Rachel said.
Every time Alison brought it up, it felt like ripping a scab off a wound, opening it up again. When all Rachel wanted to do was bury it. The deeper the better.
‘He always asks after you, you know.’ Emotional blackmail now.
Rachel had a flashback. Dom in the under-thirteens. Man of the match. Slathered in mud and running across to her. Rachel, frozen stiff on the edge of the pitch. Their dad had promised to come, but they all knew he’d get waylaid in the bookies or the boozer. Alison at work, her Saturday job. So Rachel turned out. Bored senseless until Dom had the ball, scored not once but three times.
He had run over to her, happy as a pig in muck and just as filthy, arms raised and yelling, ‘Who are you, who are you.’ Some chant from the terraces. ‘Did you see?’ he demanded, eyes sparkling, stupid grin on his face. ‘Did you see?’
‘Wicked!’ she’d agreed. Laughing as he did a back-flip, his football boots sending up clods of earth from the field.