Rings. Clear polish on her nails.
“When it became clear that we were going to live together, get married, I know-I know, though he never, not in as many words, although he never said it-I know what he wanted was the two of us living together. Starting fresh. Room for his kids to come over, stay weekends or whatever, of course. But nothing more. What he didn’t want was, well, what he didn’t want, though again he never came right out and said it, was Keith. Living with us. Here.”
Three people’s breath in the double-glazed room.
“Apart from anything else, he could never understand, you see, why Keith’s dad didn’t want him there, why Keith didn’t want to live with him. To be fair, I think he would have kept him, been happy enough to, but by then they were having these awful rows, Reg was drinking more and more, no real job, and Keith just kept on at him, on and on, prodding away till, of course, Reg-his dad-struck out and, I mean, they just couldn’t go on that way, so I said to Stuart, Stuart, after we’re married and we’ve moved into the new house, he’s got to come and live with us. Keith. Till he’s old enough, maybe, to have a place of his own.”
Ash drifted towards the pleats of her skirt and, absentmindedly, she brushed it away.
“Keith hadn’t been in any really serious trouble by then. Oh, there’d been, you know, silly little incidents, shoplifting, sweets and things, nothing to write home about. Just the way kids do. And truanting. One term he’d skipped off almost as much as he was there. On account of bullying, that’s what he said. He’s small you see, Keith, small for his age. Not that he used to be, not when he was little; well, they all were then, little. Around ten or eleven, though, when the other lads started shooting up, Keith, he seemed to stay the same.
“And they teased him for it, beat him up, you know what they’re like. Keith, he found the only way to get them on his side was act the fool, make everyone laugh, clown around in class. Which meant, of course, getting in trouble with the teachers instead. Clever, he’d been, back in the juniors. All his reports, lively, that’s what they say. Bright. That all changed.”
She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray on the mantelpiece; stayed for some moments, staring at the wall.
“When we came here and we asked Keith if he wanted to live with us, he jumped at it like a shot. Stuart was very good with him, took him off to one side and talked to him about how it was important to turn over a new leaf, do well at school.”
She glanced at the door before going on.
“When Jason came along, he was lovely with him. Keith, at first; playing with him, parading him up and down. I think it changed when Jason was able to get out of his pram, his cot, move about. Crawl and then walk. Stuart was working more, farther and farther away, having to, no choice about that, and I was busy with the house, one thing and another. Little Jason, he was really quick, into everything; and before either of us knew it Keith was up to all sorts, only this time it was serious. Cars and the like. Always mad about cars. First we knew, three o’clock one afternoon, I go to the door, two policemen standing there; in uniform, not like the two of you.
“’Course, when Stuart heard about it he went wild, really lost his temper. Hit him. After that it was never the same. I think Keith would have moved back with his dad, but Reg was having troubles enough of his own.
“Last time, when Keith was sentenced, Stuart said if he gets in trouble once more after this, I’m not having him back inside the house. No matter what.”
Christine’s fingers fumbled out another cigarette.
“‘Even it means the end of us?’ I asked him and he just stands there, you know, looking me flush in the face and says, ‘Yes, even if it means that.’”
Resnick noticed, as if for the first time, the even ticking of the clock.
“He’ll be with his dad,” Christine Bird said. “Over in the Meadows.”
Keith sat hunched forward in the Honda, fidgeting with the tuning of the radio. Five minutes back, he’d caught a snatch of M. C Mell’O’, but since then it was Gem-AM or static, difficult to decide which was worse. Darren was still leaning against the wall opposite the small parade of shops, shifting his weight every now and then from one foot to the other.
Keith watched him now, stepping away from the wall suddenly, getting ready to move. And there, back across the street, the building society door opened and the girl with the blue-framed glasses, the one they’d tried to hold up, stepped out on to the pavement.
Fourteen
“I did think that was nice of Mr Spindler, didn’t you?” Marjorie said. “Considerate. Calling round in person, to make sure we were all right.”
“About the least he could do,” Lorna replied, watching the older woman turn the key in the lock once, then twice.
“He is a busy man,” Marjorie said.
“And we just saved several thousand pounds of his company’s money.”
“You know, Lorna,” Marjorie said, dropping the keys down into her bag, “you really ought to do something about your attitude.”
“My att-’
“I sometimes think it’s the only thing holding you back.”
Lorna half-turned, vaguely aware of someone walking towards them across the street. Where the hell’s it got you, Marjorie? she felt herself wanting to say. All those years of backpedaling and going out of your way to be nice?
“Look at Becca, for instance.”
“What,” asked Lorna, more than a little steel in her voice, “has Becca got to do with it?”
“Look at the way she’s got on as fast as she has. I know she’s intelligent, degree and all, but why do you think she’s got where she has?”
Lorna stared at Marjorie’s doughlike face, waiting to be told.
“It’s because she knows how to behave towards people; especially people like Mr Spindler. She’s nicely spoken and she’s always well-turned out …”
“And if it would help her career, she’s not above taking Spindler into the back office and giving him a quick wank.”
“Lorna, really!” Marjorie flushed bright red from the nape of her neck to the roots of her hair. “I can’t imagine what you … I can’t believe … I’m going to pretend I never heard you say that.”
“Fine,” Lorna said. “Believe what you like.” And, turning fast on her heel, she came close to colliding with Darren, who had slowed his pace on hearing raised voices, but continued, nonetheless, towards them.
“I’m sorry, I …”
“’S’okay,” Darren said, chirpily. “No harm done, eh?” For a moment they were stationary, Darren close enough to see his new face reflected in the curved lenses of Lorna’s glasses. Lorna looking at him, this tall, skinny youth with the shorn head and the beaklike nose and those protruding gray-blue eyes.
“Closed up?” Darren jerked his head sideways towards the door.
“Half-five.”
“Well,” Darren shrugged, “call in another time, eh?” And he was walking on down the street, hands in his jeans pockets, whistling.
“You don’t know him,” Marjorie said. “Do you?”
“I don’t think so,” Lorna said, watching as Darren began to cross back to the other side of the pavement, lower down. But, somewhere inside, she felt that, yes, she did.
Resnick contacted the station, told Graham Millington to get Divine and Naylor down to the Meadows sharpish. If Keith Rylands was there, no sense letting him slip away because nobody was watching the back door. The sky seemed to darken abruptly as Resnick and Lynn Kellogg passed over the railway bridge on London Road, the carriage lights of short sprinter trains standing out clearly-commuters waiting to be shuffled back to Langley Mill, Attenborough, Alfreton, and Mansfield Parkway. Ahead of them the traffic slowed almost to a standstill. In the car alongside, a thirtyish executive in a white shirt, sleeves rolled back just above the wrist, added another Benson Kingsize to the pollution levels and listened to the up-to-the-minute traffic report on the local radio, confirming where he was and why.