‘Oh, Sammy, why didn’t you say?’
‘I don’t know.’ He gave a sigh. ‘It creeped me out.’
‘Look, you don’t have to put up with that, nobody does.’ She could imagine how distressing Sammy would’ve found it. His father sobbing and sentimental, full of self-pity and theatrics.
‘I’ll tell him you won’t be seeing him again until he’s straightened himself out if that’s what you want?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Are you OK?’
Oh, you lovely, lovely boy. ‘Course I am,’ she said. She could see the man he was becoming, not just his father’s son or hers but his own person. See how the disaffection of the last couple of years was being replaced by engagement now he’d found something he wanted to do. Happy with Orla too. She was so proud of him. And she would not let Dave undermine all this. If it meant keeping them apart then so be it.
‘Dave, I’m coming round, OK?’
‘Sure, yeah.’
She couldn’t tell if he was sober or not. ‘About half an hour. See you then.’
‘We could go out,’ the first thing he said when he answered the door.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Gill said, stepping inside.
They went into the living room. There was no sign of Dave’s mother, which was a relief; the conversation Gill intended to have was best conducted in private.
‘You want a drink?’
Seriously? ‘No,’ she said, sitting in an armchair. He sat in the other one. His eyes were slightly bloodshot but he had shaved, and she could smell aftershave. Sprucing himself up for her?
The room was tidy enough, no bottles or glasses half drunk.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘about yesterday, your office.’
‘You remember, do you?’
He stopped, disconcerted, but ignored her question. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘You’ve no way of knowing that.’
‘You have my word,’ he said, palm open, begging her to believe him.
‘Worth precisely nothing,’ she said.
He coloured. ‘If you came here to insult me-’
‘I came here to talk some sense into you. Your drinking is out of control, you are risking your job, your livelihood, never mind your health.’
‘That’s bullshit,’ he said, ‘it’s just been a rough patch.’
‘Hasn’t anybody said anything at work?’
‘I’ve a week’s leave.’
‘So what – this is your holiday? The lost weekend writ large? The bender of a lifetime? You need help.’
There was a pause. Dave stared at her, jaw working, temper in his eyes, then his expression softened. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’ve made a mess of things – you, Sammy, Emma, the little one. I know I’ve let everybody down.’ He took a breath. ‘It was a mistake, Gill, leaving you. But I think if you and Sammy, if we could just try again-’
Aw fuck no. ‘Stop there,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to waste my breath explaining to you all the many, many reasons why that is not going to happen. But it is never going to happen. It is over. Dead.’ How many times?
His mouth tightened. ‘You’re here, aren’t you?’
‘I’m here because whatever else you are, you are still Sammy’s dad and I don’t want you to chuck that away.’
‘I’m not chucking anything away.’
‘Dave, he doesn’t want to see you. You get pissed and emotional and it freaks him out.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about-’
‘He told me.’ She fought to keep her voice level. ‘You have a problem, accept it, and deal with it. You won’t see him until you do.’
‘You’re giving me a fucking ultimatum!’ He stood up, walked to the bay window, turned back to face her. ‘I can stop, I can cut down. You’re blowing it out of all proportion.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘How long before you fuck up at work and have that meeting with HR? How long before your mother kicks you out and you end up sleeping in some B &B?’
‘That’s never going to happen, I won’t let it happen,’ he insisted.
‘You won’t be able to stop it, not unless you stop drinking. This murder I’m working, that guy had a business, family, the works. He lost everything. He was living on the streets-’
‘That’s not me,’ he said.
‘Don’t be an idiot, Dave. You’re not that stupid. You’ve seen it happen, Willie Deason, Patrick Barker. Or what about Julia Dalloway?’ Officers they’d both known, two of them dead from drink-related illnesses, the third a recovering alcoholic, a dry drunk back on the job. ‘There’s a million excuses,’ she said, ‘boozy lunches, a snifter at sundown, something in the morning coffee, something to celebrate, to commiserate, a good day, tough day, take the edge off. I like a drink as much as the next person but you are drinking way too much. You’re off your face. Every day. Every time I see you.’
‘Look,’ he said angrily, ‘if you’ve said your piece-’
‘You pissed yourself,’ she said quietly.
He glanced down. Oh, sweet Jesus. ‘Not now. When you came to my office. You couldn’t stand, you fell over and you pissed your pants.’
He shut his eyes and walked back to the chair and sat down. He didn’t speak for long enough, his gaze lowered so she could not read it, and when he finally looked up she saw tears in his eyes. Gill’s stomach flipped over. Her instinct was to go to him, comfort him, but she knew that would be dangerous and could be misconstrued. Used to buoy up Dave’s fantasy of a second chance with her.
‘It’s all shit,’ he said gruffly.
‘That’s the booze talking,’ she said. ‘Sort it, Dave, AA, rehab, whatever you decide but don’t get in touch until you have. I mean it.’
He glanced at her then away, the tension in him gone, and an air of defeat in its place.
She left him sitting there. She could not judge whether anything she’d said had sunk in. Had no idea whether he’d heard the wake-up call or whether he had further to fall before he acknowledged his addiction and took action towards recovery.
Day 5: Monday 14 May
16
Gill was dreaming, more of a nightmare than a dream. Dave had moved back in with her, bringing the whore of Pendlebury and her spawn, and Gill was having to sleep on the sofa while they took the master bedroom. The smoke alarm was beeping but Gill couldn’t find it. She ran upstairs and down again, Dave shouting at her to turn the bloody thing off but she couldn’t see it. They’d all die in their beds. She came awake to find her phone ringing, the middle of the night. She picked it up. Trevor Hyatt, the fire investigation officer.
‘Trevor?’
‘Sorry to be so early but I knew you’d want to hear.’
‘What?’
‘The warehouse fire, Shuttling Way…’
‘Yes?’ She was expecting, if anything, him to say it was definitely the same accelerant or even that someone had seen the twins, but wouldn’t that wait till morning?
‘We found two bodies.’
Oh my God. Her heart rate doubled. She was wide awake now, mind spinning, trying to grasp all the ramifications.
‘I’m on my way.’
She snapped on the light.
Two bodies. Two more bodies. What the fuck was going on?
The warehouse was a huge structure, five storeys high and extending for over a hundred yards alongside the canal. In its heyday it would’ve housed bales of cotton for transport by the waterway to the ports at Manchester and Liverpool. Lorries would’ve done the job latterly.
Surveying the scene in the first light of dawn reminded Gill of photographs from the Second World War, bombings in Coventry and Dresden, everything shattered, black.