‘I’m much too tall to be Tom Cruise,’ I complained.
‘Okay, Russell Crowe, if you prefer.’
‘Who the hell is Russell Crowe?’
She laughed. ‘Wait and see. But take my point; no problem for boys, once it’s done it’s done. But for girls it’s still a taboo subject with most people… even some girls themselves, because that’s the attitude they inherit from their mothers, or in this case from Dad.’
I didn’t have a counter-argument. Daisy had seen Alex through the onset of puberty and I had left them to get on with it. I’d never even bought her Tampax while doing the supermarket shopping. Thinking back, it hadn’t been a topic of conversation between Myra and me either.
‘I’m not blaming you,’ Mia added, ‘or saying you’re failing as a dad. It’s the way a girl’s life is. As a result, it’s a valid topic, so I air it.’
‘What about your boy listeners?’
‘It’s got to be good for them too,’ she argued. ‘If you talk about issues in a matter-of-fact way, it takes any silliness out of them.’
It had been dawning on me all afternoon, and finally I was convinced. Mia Watson was like very few women I’d ever met. There was a depth to her, a seriousness, that was contagious, even across the airwaves, given the empathy between her and my daughter. ‘Your father must have been a hell of a man,’ I remarked, quietly. She looked at me, suddenly self-conscious.
My mobile sounded. ‘Bugger!’ I swore, and dug it out as I pushed myself from my chair, and walked to the far end of the garden.
It was Fred Leggat. ‘Progress?’ I asked him.
‘Ever have one of those days when you can’t believe your luck?’ he replied, question for question.
I looked back towards the table. ‘I think I’m having one.’
‘So did I,’ the DI sighed, ‘until about fifteen minutes ago. NCIS came up with nothing at all on Mr James Pearson of South Shields, but the Newcastle police did. He’s dead. He was a plumber, he developed mesothelioma, from exposure to asbestos, and it killed him, last year, aged fifty-four. His widow sent his van to auction. It was sold, but the change of ownership hasn’t been registered yet. I’ve asked them to find the manager of the auction yard to get the details of the buyer, but they’re not hopeful of tracing him before Monday.’
‘How hard are they trying?’
‘As hard as they can, Bob. They know this is a murder inquiry. We’ll probably have to sit on it until Monday.’
I was frustrated but I knew that he was right. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘You’d better stand down. See you on Monday.’
Mia read my mood as I returned. ‘Problems?’
‘Delay,’ I replied. ‘We’re trying to trace the owner of a Transit van; I thought we had him, but now we don’t.’
‘Has he gone into hiding?’
‘In the arms of the Almighty. So he’s not part of it; the van still is, though.’
I didn’t elaborate, not with Alex there; she’d been in at the start of the investigation, but I didn’t plan to take her with me all the way through it. Instead I sat down again and listened to them talk about radio, about Mia’s daily routine, and about which music stars had visited the station and which ones were expected. ‘I’m having a new band as guests on Wednesday,’ she said. ‘They call themselves the Spice Girls. There are five of them and their first single’s due out next month. Their management sent me a couple of demo copies, on condition that I don’t play it on air any sooner than a week before the release date. It’s amazing; you’ll love them. Would you like the spare copy? I’ve got them both at home; if I left them lying around the studio they’d be nicked.’
‘Yes please!’ Alex squealed, childlike again.
I wasn’t aware that it had clouded over until I saw goosebumps forming on Mia’s arms. I looked at my watch and saw that it was just after five thirty. She saw me. ‘I must go,’ she said. ‘What time are the buses?’
‘You’re not taking the bus,’ I declared. I didn’t want her to go at all.
‘I am,’ she insisted. ‘I didn’t come out here meaning to let you run me back home. I’m a big girl; I know how to get on and off a bus.’
‘Train would be better,’ my pragmatic daughter pointed out. ‘There’s one from Drem at ten past six.’
‘That’ll do then.’
I was tempted to ask her to stay and eat with us. We always went out on Saturdays, usually somewhere within walking distance, so that I could have a glass of wine, or two, or three. That evening we were booked into the Roseberry and I knew that they’d have fitted in a third, but I didn’t want to push it with her. I drove her to the station, with Alex in the back seat.
‘It’s been a lovely afternoon,’ Mia said, as we saw the approaching train in the distance.
‘Would you like to do it again?’ I asked. ‘Maybe just the two of us,’ I suggested, ‘to give you a break from the interrogation?’
‘What about your girlfriend?’
I thought about the doorway of the Sheraton. ‘I’m not sure she is any more. In any event, the accent’s always been on the friend part of it.’
‘So you tell yourself, I’m sure,’ she murmured. ‘Tell you what, call me at the studio on Monday, when we’ve both had time to think about it. Unless you’re too busy, that is.’
‘I’ll do that,’ I promised.
Alex was silent, all the way home, and for a while after that. I switched on the TV and caught up with the news. The weekend offered a break from stories of parliamentary sleaze, but the news bulletins were dominated by a disaster on Mount Everest, where storms had killed up to eleven climbers, while the main sports headline was Manchester United’s victory over Liverpool in the FA Cup final, thanks to a late goal by Eric the Red. I’d forgotten that the game had been on telly, live.
My preoccupation wasn’t lost on my daughter. ‘You like Mia, Dad, don’t you?’ she ventured, finally.
‘Sure,’ I replied. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Of course I do, she’s brilliant.’ She hesitated. ‘I like Alison too.’
‘And so do I.’
I was watching the third rerun of Cantona’s volley when she pulled over the footstool I never used and placed it between me and the screen. ‘Pops, can we have a grown-up talk?’ she asked.
‘I thought we always did.’
‘Don’t try to get out of it,’ she scolded, impatiently.
‘Sorry. You first then. Go ahead.’
‘Something’s worrying me.’ That gained my full attention: I reached round her with the remote and switched off the TV. ‘It’s been a long time since Mum died, hasn’t it?’
‘You know it has. Eight years; you were five when it happened.’
‘And now I’m thirteen. Does that make me different in some way?’
I was puzzled. ‘No, why should it?’
‘Are you worried about me,’ she pressed on, ‘about my emotional development?’
‘No. Come on, kid, stop throwing big words at me. What’s your problem?’
‘This is. We’ve come all this way together, Dad, and you’ve been brilliant. But I know you’re lonely too. Have you finally had enough of bringing me up on your own?’
My reaction was instant. ‘No way!’ I protested.
‘Or do you think I need a mum?’ she asked. ‘Because if you do, you’re wrong. I don’t need anybody else; just you. If you think you’ve met somebody you really want, that’s good. But if you’re thinking it’s what I want, you’re wrong. Honestly, I don’t think I’d like to share this house with another woman, not even Alison.’
Another woman! This was my baby talking to me, but that’s how I’d better get used to thinking of her. I reached out and took her hand. ‘That’s me told, good and proper. For the record, I haven’t been running auditions, honest. I promise you, if I ever think about getting married again, and you’re still living at home, I’ll let you pop the question to whoever it is. In the meantime, though, does it make you feel awkward when Alison stays the night?’