Out on to the street at last, into the drizzle. Pippa was there already and we sat on the low wall. She put her arm through mine and leaned her head on my shoulder. ‘What a fucking nightmare,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ I said. I kissed the top of her head.
‘Isn’t it horrible when everything you’ve done or said becomes suspicious? I tell you what, I’ll be better at my job after this.’
So she didn’t know yet.
Owen joined us and I could tell he didn’t know either. He stood moodily in front of us, kicking bits of gravel on the pavement, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He scowled at Pippa when she reached out a hand, and moved a step backwards, then sat on the wall on the other side of me. She shrugged, stood up and pulled her mobile out of her pocket. Dario reeled out of the police station. His hair stuck up in orange peaks and his face was a chalky white. ‘I wanted to confess,’ he said, ‘just to stop them. To make it all go away. Is there a word for it, feeling guilty for something you didn’t do?’
‘Shut up,’ said Owen, who was rolling himself a cigarette.
‘Right,’ said Dario, as if Owen had given him useful advice. He started pacing up and down, muttering to himself.
Then Astrid arrived. She was pale and the spring had gone out of her step. She sat between me and Owen. Owen passed her the cigarette. I put an arm round her. She let her weight rest on me. Her hair was against my cheek. I could feel her breathing. I could feel the crisp thickness of the cash in her jacket.
‘OK?’ I said.
She just turned and looked at me.
Dario padded towards us. ‘Who are we waiting for?’ he asked.
‘Just Mick and Miles. I’m sure they’ll be out soon.’ I said it casually but Astrid jolted out of my embrace and stared at me, her eyes huge in her face.
‘Don’t you know?’
I looked at everyone else, as if they were the ones performing, not me. Mick walking down the steps towards us. People holding up their hands, shaking their heads in horrified denial, mouths open, weeping and wailing, arms round each other. I was at the centre of it. I got my arms round Astrid before Owen could, and I heard words coming out of my mouth and I thought they were the right words, the ones that wouldn’t be noticed by anyone. Mick was going on about tissue and hairs. I hugged Dario as well, feeling how sharp his bones were and how his flesh was chilly; his breath smelled of garlic. We were all wet from the drizzle. Our clothes clung to us. Raindrops ran down our faces. I said stuff like ‘Miles, Christ!’ and ‘Three women!’ It didn’t really matter. No one was listening to anyone else, we were all tottering around uselessly on the pavement, not knowing what to do next.
Dario suggested going to the pub. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t in my plan. We needed to go our separate ways now. There wasn’t much time. Everyone else thought it was a good idea so of course I agreed and we made our way along the pavement, Astrid pushing her bike. I didn’t feel so well. There was a hissing in my head and my throat was like sandpaper. My eyes ached.
I don’t know what everyone talked about. I could hear the words and I knew how to respond every so often so that it appeared I was part of the frantic emotions that were surging round the group, but I wasn’t. I was thinking. I was waiting. I was feeling the minutes tick by. I was swallowing my nausea. I was stopping myself imagining what would happen if things went wrong.
When we finished our first drinks I offered to get the next round. But I went outside first. I got my penknife out of my pocket and sliced through both of the tyres on Astrid’s bike. You won’t get home on that, Astrid. You’ll have to go a different way. I went back into the heat and the noise and the glaring light, collected the drinks and returned to the table.
Astrid was fumbling inside her jacket. ‘This is probably evidence of some kind,’ she said. ‘Before the police grab it, we should share it out.’
‘No,’ I said, blood pounding in my ears so I could barely hear myself speak. ‘For goodness’ sake, Astrid, people are already looking at us. Don’t flash money around in a place like this.’
I looked round nervously. It seemed a feeble excuse but Astrid nodded. Perhaps it provided reason for them not to let go of each other finally, not to drift apart.
‘I’ll do the maths,’ said Pippa. ‘Then we can arrange to meet tomorrow somewhere a bit more salubrious. It’ll be an excuse for another farewell drink.’
‘OK,’ I said. I was steaming in the muggy heat of the pub. Drops of sweat prickled down my neck like dozens of small flies.
At last Pippa said she needed to make a move and everyone else was standing up, putting on their jackets. Astrid was standing up. She was pulling on her coat, tying its belt. We trooped outside, into the cool night, to discover her ripped tyres. How mean is that? Never mind. Walk to the Underground. Collect it later. She said we’d all meet tomorrow. Yes. Dream on, my darling. Dream on.
She gripped my arm as she said goodbye and her touch burned through my clothes. I swear I could feel it like a brand on my skin. She kissed Pippa. Now she was speaking to Owen in a low undertone. He was speaking to her. Their heads were close together, nearly touching. She took his hand. Let it go. Now. Let it go. Stand away. This mustn’t happen. Don’t let them go off together. They couldn’t. I screwed my hands into fists and thought I’d have to scream out loud at any moment, to provide relief from the unbearable pressure building inside me. I would explode. Come apart. My head hammered.
‘Right, then.’
Astrid stood back from Owen at last, and I felt relief flood through me, leaving me dizzy and weak as a kitten.
At last she left, raising one hand in farewell as she went. Give her a count of ten before following. I got to six, then worried about losing her. Nobody was looking at me anyway. I saw Astrid walking along the pavement. Stay close, wait for somewhere isolated. I felt in my pocket. The penknife I had used on her bike tyres. The cool weight of a spanner. A blow from behind. She wouldn’t even know.
‘Mr Gifford?’
I looked round. I was so taken by surprise that it took me a few seconds to realize it was Detective Chief Inspector Kamsky.
‘Who? Me?’ I said stupidly. Ahead, Astrid disappeared round a bend in the road.
‘Could we have a word?’
Chapter Forty-two
It had all gone wrong. Of course. I had dropped something somewhere, forgotten a detail. There was always a loose end, however much care you took. Even so, I hung on. I thought about how to be innocent. Ask questions, be puzzled. I could feel my face burning and there was a twitch at the side of my mouth that I couldn’t control, but somehow I managed not to collapse. I told myself it was all right to be a bit rattled. The police made ordinary people nervous. Only real criminals are casual and amused about being arrested. Kamsky barely spoke on the drive to the police station.
‘Is there a problem?’ I asked, hearing how my voice came out a bit cracked and hoarse. I gave a sharp cough to clear my throat. ‘Is there something more you need to ask me?’