“I–I don’t know.”
“Your name didn’t come up,” Kelly Jacks went on, relentless, “because somebody made sure it didn’t. Now why was that I wonder?”
Erin’s shoulder twitched into a jerky shrug. “Could have been a mistake.”
Kelly Jacks came across the room in two fast strides, fisted her hands in the front of Erin’s robe and lifted her bodily off the floor. She was slim and barely came up to Erin’s nose. The show of strength shocked her, constricting her belly, her chest, making it hard to breathe.
“Do not mess with me,” Kelly Jacks said. “I spent five years in prison for something I now believe I didn’t do. And if I wasn’t capable of murder when I went in, believe me—I certainly am now.” She relaxed her grip slightly. “Want me to prove it?”
“No!”
“So talk. Whatever they threatened you with Erin, or promised you, that’s a long way from where we are right here, right now. All I want you to think about is what I will do if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”
Erin whimpered. Kelly Jacks spun her round and dropped her onto the duvet. Erin’s cellphone, spilled from her handbag, was less than a foot from her hand but she wasn’t brave or stupid enough to try for it.
“You don’t understand,” she begged, “what will happen . . . to me. To Jade . . .”
Above her head she heard Kelly Jacks’s breath rush out like escaping steam. Then she swore, short, crude and heartfelt. Erin felt the mattress give suddenly. She darted a quick sideways look and found Kelly Jacks sitting alongside her, leaning forward with her forearms resting on her knees and her head low.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m no bloody good at this strong-arm stuff—and certainly not on somebody who’s obviously been beaten with the shitty end of the stick too many times before.” She lifted her head and a pair of brandy-coloured eyes met Erin’s with a startlingly frank gaze. “I thought I could pull it off but I find I can’t do that to you. Sorry for the scare. You’re quite safe from me.”
Erin could only gape at her. Kelly Jacks flicked her eyes away and stood up, stuffed her hands into her pockets as if she didn’t quite know what else to do with them. “All I will say is, I think whoever’s put the frighteners on you so badly is probably responsible for your boyfriend’s death. I’m out to get him. And if I manage it you’ll be able to stop looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”
She turned for the door, had almost made it when Erin’s voice finally came back to her.
“Wait,” she said.
105
Kelly sat alone at the tiny table in the kitchen of Erin’s flat. She had both hands wrapped round a mug of tea tight enough to stop them shaking.
She was aware of a vague nausea like a kind of dull pressure high up under her ribcage. She put this down partly to lack of food and the possibility of concussion from her earlier blow to the head. And partly down to the fact that she had just tried to mould herself into the kind of monster she’d always despised. The kind that preyed on the weak.
Is that what it’s come to?
The kitchen was small and cluttered, bland cabinets with a microwave taking up a quarter of the available worktop space. A child’s crayon drawings randomly peppered the fridge door, held in place by alphabet magnets. Every item of furniture or bric-a-brac had come from IKEA. At least it was bright and cheerful. At that moment, Kelly felt neither. She took a sip of tea which was loaded with sugar but didn’t help.
Through the thin wall she heard the flush of a cistern, running water and then the hollow click of an overhead pull switch. The bathroom door stuck slightly as it was opened, no doubt warped by years of steam. A moment later Erin appeared hesitantly in the kitchen doorway.
“Sorry,” she said. “Always do need to pee really bad when I get nervous.”
“Is your daughter all right?”
“Yeah—still sleeping, bless her.” Erin came forwards, fiddling with the tie of her robe and flashed a smile that came and went like cheap neon. “She’d be ever so upset if she knew she’d missed the chance to show off her dollies to someone new.”
“Look, Erin—”
“Yeah I know,” the younger woman said quickly. “You didn’t come here for that.”
She crossed the room and slid into the chair opposite hardly able to meet Kelly’s eyes. “I still blame you, you know,” she said, her voice suddenly quiet and colourless.
Kelly shook her head. “I realise you believe that—even I believed it for a while—but it’s not true. I didn’t kill him. I was framed.”
“Isn’t that what they all say?”
“I’ve no reason to lie. I’ve been tried and convicted. I’ve served my time. Think about it—what do I have to gain by claiming innocence now?”
Erin took a breath and tucked a stray strand of blonde hair back behind her ear, looked Kelly right in the face with pale blue eyes. “What do you want to know?”
Kelly gave a helpless shrug. “Everything, I guess.”
An almost eerie calm had descended over her. Kelly wondered if Erin had taken something out of the medicine cabinet while she’d been in the bathroom. Valium, maybe. Something to round off the sharp corners of her fear.
“You’re right, of course,” she said. “Callum and me, we were going out. He was a lovely guy—a rarity in my line of work I can tell you. He knew what I was and didn’t care. Said he loved me anyway.”
“Your line of work?”
The colour rose in Erin’s cheeks. “I was on the streets, on the game, hooked on smack.” She gave a harsh little laugh. “He thought he could save me.”
Kelly regarded her steadily. “I’d say he managed it.”
Erin shook her head. “Having my baby did that,” she said fiercely. “I’ve been clean since before Jade was born. Don’t even smoke anymore. That was harder to give up—I still crave a fag every now and again.”
Kelly thought of the occasional glass of wine she’d enjoyed . . . before. Champagne on special occasions, perhaps brandy or a finger of single malt after a meal. It had been a long time since she’d willingly allowed anything intoxicating into her system. It was no longer a craving, she thought—more a sadness.
“How did you two meet?”
“At the wine bar. He was serving,” Erin said. “We used to go in—me and some of the other girls. Bit of Dutch courage before work.”
She might have been talking about a factory job.
“Wine bar?” Kelly queried. “I thought Perry worked at a club?”
“He did, but a mate of his owned a wine bar opposite St Pancras. Bit of a dive but all right you know? Callum helped out in there sometimes. That’s how he met . . .”