Because Brian was home early they ate with the boys in the kitchen. Pepperoni pizza from the freezer and baked potatoes in the microwave. Emma prepared a salad, which Brian made into a joke. He put his hands by the side of his head to form ears, pulled his front teeth over his lower lip and said,
‘Lettuce. That’s rabbit food. Men don’t eat that.’
The boys made rabbit faces, too, then collapsed into fits of giggles. Even Emma joined in, despite her disapproval. He knew how difficult it was to get them to eat properly. The laughter made her realize how tense they had been in the previous months, and remember that once they had got on very well.
After supper Brian sat her in an armchair in front of the television with a large glass of wine and took the boys up to bed.
‘Don’t wind them up,’ she said. ‘Not before bedtime.’
‘Of course not.’ His voice was solemn but when she looked up he was making the rabbit face at the boys who were waiting in the doorway and as he chased them up the stairs they whooped and screamed with delight.
They’ll wake Helen, she thought, not really caring if they did.
She’d finished the wine when he came downstairs.
‘Two stories each,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘And they’re fast asleep.’ He fetched the bottle from the fridge and poured her another glass.
‘Don’t you want any?’
‘I thought I’d pop out to the club. Just for a quick half.’
A quick three pints, she thought, and why do I have the feeling that he’s running away? But she was so grateful for his kindness, so frightened of spoiling the evening, that she let him go without a fuss.
Inside the club it was as cold as always. Brian kept on his overcoat and put on the pair of gloves he found in his pocket, making a show of it, so the regulars all laughed.
He was halfway through his second pint when Kim Houghton turned up with a new man in tow. Brian watched her from his seat by the bar. He’d had his own fantasises about Kim Houghton in the past. He’d imagined what it would be like to knock at the door of the little house in Cotter’s Row, to be taken inside…
The man was a jerk in a sheepskin jacket and black patent shoes. When he wasn’t drooling over Kim he was trying to sell Les a second-hand Cavalier. She’d been in with car dealers before. Perhaps she was trying to work her way through the motor trade. Or perhaps she fancied a little motor herself. The bloke wouldn’t have much joy selling to Les, Brian thought with satisfaction. Les had lost his licence the month before through drink-driving. That had given them all a shock, made them watch their step.
Brian wondered what Kim had done with the little girl. Being a single mum didn’t seem to cramp her style. He’d seen them together occasionally, the child immaculately dressed, colour co-ordinated, a scaled-down version of her mother. Poor little bastard, he thought. It couldn’t be much fun. He’d have to get Em to invite her up to play. Perhaps she’d enjoy flying kites too.
He’d just rescued Les from Kim Houghton’s boyfriend by demanding another pint, when the door opened and two police officers came in. They were in plain clothes but everyone knew what they were. It was the flash young man and the bonny woman with red hair. They stood for a moment, looking around them. All the conversation in the place stopped.
Les rubbed his hands together. He always did that when he was nervous.
‘Yes, folks,’ he said. ‘What can I get you?’ Pretending he didn’t recognize them, that they were just ordinary punters, though the day they found the body they’d been practically camping out in the place.
Brian could tell that the man was tempted. He was gasping for a drink. But the woman said, ‘Nothing, thanks. We’d just like a quick word with Mrs Houghton.’
They took Kim to a table in the corner so that not even the boyfriend could hear what they were saying, then the three of them walked out. The car dealer looked foolishly after them, finished his drink and followed. There was the sound of a car engine. He must have started his company car and driven away.
‘What was all that about then?’ Brian said. ‘Do you think she’s been arrested?’
Les gave a gappy grin. ‘Na!’ he said. ‘No handcuffs.’ He gave a lecherous wink.
Brian felt himself becoming flushed, though handcuffs had never featured in his fantasies about Kim Houghton. He’d imagined a wardrobe full of dressing-up clothes. A school uniform. Black stockings. Tarty red underwear. But nothing really kinky.
He decided he’d go. Emma would appreciate it if he wasn’t too late back. Besides, Les wouldn’t want to risk a lock-in for after-hours drinking with the police on the Headland.
It was even colder outside than in the club and he walked quickly past the jetty and into Cotter’s Row. There were still lights on in Kim Houghton’s house but he was surprised to see that the car the detectives drove was not parked there. It was pulled up right against the pavement outside the Howes’ place. And from inside came the sound of raised voices.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘How did you know?’ Sally had demanded. ‘How did you know that Bernard and Claire were having an affair?’
‘It was something Bernard’s mother said. I suppose we should have realized before. Considered it at least.’ He saw it as a failure of his, this refusal to consider the obvious. It was another sort of arrogance.
‘It really changes things, doesn’t it? I mean if they were working together we’ve got motive and opportunity.’
‘I suppose we have.’
Although this too was obvious he resisted the enthusiasm. He wasn’t ready yet to make an arrest. She was like a hypomanic kid on the eve of her own birthday party. She couldn’t keep still. She bounced around the office on the balls of her feet and came to rest at last with her bum on the window sill.
‘When you first suggested it I couldn’t believe it,’ she said. ‘ I mean he’s old enough to be her father. What a creep!’
I suppose he is old enough to be Claire’s father, Ramsay thought. Prue’s friends who were into self-enlightenment and therapy would make a lot of that. It was plausible enough. They’d say that Claire, who had recently lost her father, was looking for a substitute. If the couple ever came to trial there would be a probation officer’s report before sentence and he could predict almost word for word what would be said about Claire’s bereavement. But he thought something quite different was going on in the relationship. It wasn’t a father Claire was looking for but a child. Someone to take care of. And Bernard Howe had never grown up.
‘Surely we’ve got enough to bring them in for questioning,’ Sally said. She was as macho as Hunter when the mood took her. She’d persuaded the girl to talk. Now she wanted a bit of glory and a result.
‘Probably.’ Ramsay spoke calmly.
‘We’ll go for it, then, shall we?’
‘No,’ Ramsay replied. ‘Not yet. We’ll talk to them at home. Separately if we can. That shouldn’t be a problem. They’re not sophisticated enough to put up any resistance.’
‘But why not here? Formal questions. In the Interview Room with the tape running. They’ll be blaming each other within minutes.’
‘Because the press will get to know.’ He was annoyed by her callousness, disappointed in her. He’d supposed that because she was a woman she’d look at things differently. And didn’t that make him every bit as much of a bigot as Hunter? He tried to contain his irritation.
‘You know as well as I do that if we say a witness is helping the police with their inquiries the world assumes he’s guilty. There’s the girl to think of. And what if they’re innocent? It’s easy enough for us. We just move on to another case. But they’ll have to put together some sort of life and that’s not easy when the neighbours are whispering murder.’