My moralistic radar is so off kilter sometimes that I don’t always know if I’m doing a good or a bad thing. But since the mess I left behind in London, I’ve really been trying. Yet today, with that card, I feel as if I’ve failed some test.
I try to explain this to Jack, but he stares at me with confusion. ‘I don’t think what you did with the card was wrong, though. You’ve got a good nose for a story. That’s what being a journalist is all about. There’s a story behind that card. Clive – or Deirdre – had enemies. That’s worth exploring.’
I fidget in my seat, feeling uncomfortable. ‘It’s not just that.’ I fiddle with my beer mat. Behind me a few lads whoop and cheer at something and Jack flinches. I turn around but they’re busy thumping one of their group on the back and congratulating him about something. ‘I need to tell you what happened in London.’
Jack frowns, his eyes flickering to the lads, then back to me. ‘Like I said earlier, I think I know. The scandal. It was all over the news. Were you involved?’ He rips open both packets of crisps and places them between us with a help-yourself gesture.
Behind him, through the window, I can see that it’s already getting dark. It’s still a few weeks until the clocks go forwards. People are scurrying past on their way home from work, huddled under umbrellas. I think of the walk to the Welsh Back and shudder, remembering the footsteps the other night, the sense that I was being followed. I could really do with a glass of wine.
Jack shovels a handful of crisps into his mouth and I take a deep breath. I need to get this off my chest. ‘Yes. It was immoral. I know that now. A teenage girl was found dead after overdosing on drugs. She was missing for a few months before that, and during that time we – we hacked her phone, as well as her stepdad’s.’
He takes a sharp breath, nearly choking on the crisps. ‘I had an inkling that’s what you were going to say. But were you arrested?’
‘No. My news editor was. The buck stopped with him. But …’ I blink back tears ‘… I was involved. So was my colleague, Mark. We shouldn’t have done it. We knew it was wrong, but we were running on adrenalin. It wasa big case. A missing teenage girl. We all assumed her stepdad might have had something to do with it. Things had becomeshady.The boundaries were unclear. I was sacked, along with Mark and a few others, including my editor. We were so desperate for the story. We thought if we hacked their phones we’d find out something incriminating about the stepdad … It was stupid. Reckless.’
Jack swallows. ‘Shit, Jess. Does Ted know?’
I nod and shuffle in my seat. I pick up a crisp but don’t eat it, just hold it uselessly. ‘Yes. I had to be honest with him. He would have found out anyway. But he took me on, providing I kept on the right side of the law, of course. He gave me a second chance and I’m so grateful for that. Oh, God, Jack, it was just horrible. The worst. The embarrassment. The fear I’d be arrested. Charged. Prison, even. The trial is still hanging over my editor and others … Well, you’ll have read about it, no doubt. I felt so guilty – I still feel guilty, especially towards the girl’s family.’
Jack exhales through his nose. Then, ‘What does Rory think?’
This is the bit I’m most ashamed of. ‘I never told him. Not about me. He knows my editor was arrested and charged but that’s it.’
Jack’s eyes are round with shock. ‘What? How could he not know?’
I put down the crisp, feeling sick. ‘He wouldn’t have a clue what goes on. He’s not a part of this murky world, thank God. And I wasn’t charged. I told him they had to get rid of me because of cutbacks.’
He groans. ‘You lied? Oh, Jess.’
I close my eyes. I have a headache coming on. ‘I know,’ I mumble, massaging my temples. ‘Rory thinks the best of me. I suppose I didn’t want to disappoint him by admitting I was also involved.’
I open my eyes. Jack reaches across the table and takes my hand. He doesn’t say anything – he doesn’t have to – just squeezes my fingers gently.
I feel close to tears but I won’t cry. ‘He would look at me differently. He wants marriage, kids, the whole fairytale. And I want it too. After my upbringing …’ I swallow a lump in my throat ‘… I want a good man. A family man. I just …’ I lower my voice so that it’s barely audible ‘… I just don’t know if I deserve it.’
Jack leans forwards, still holding my hand. ‘Of course you do. You realize you made a mistake. Nobody’s perfect, Jess. Blimey. Certainly not me and I bet certainly not Rory, whatever you think. But you should tell him.’
‘I know.’ I take my hand from his and push the crisps packet away from me. I’ve completely lost my appetite. ‘There’s more,’ I say.
Jack stays silent, waiting, as he regards me over his pint glass.
‘The case I’m talking about. It was Marianne Walker-Smith.’
He snorts. ‘Shit.’
I don’t need to tell him what happened. The whole country knows. Marianne, a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl, went missing on Christmas Eve eighteen months ago from Reading. Everyone, including the press, suspected her stepfather, a rough-looking local hard nut made good. Wayne Walker was a builder, who made alot of money but couldn’t shed his thuggish image despite his flash cars and fancy suits. He was arrested but released with no charge after lack of evidence. A few months later, and just before I was sacked, Marianne’s body was found on Clapham Common. A heroin overdose. She’d got in with the wrong crowd, the police said, and run away from home. There had been sightings of her with an older man, but nothing to suggest she’d been murdered.
But Wayne was angry and wanted someone to blame. One evening, when I still lived in London, I was on my way home from a night out with friends when he accosted me as I was walking alone to the tube station, slamming me into a wall and breathing into my ear that he would fuck me up, among other things.
‘You weren’t the only journalist who slagged him off in the press,’ says Jack, when I finish telling him. ‘Why did he come after you?’
I run my finger around the rim of my glass. ‘I don’t know. Someone saw, yelled out and he ran off. But I knew who he was. I recognized his bulldog face.’
‘It was just an empty threat. He wouldn’t do anything. He can’t know where you live now.’
I remember how scared I’d felt the other night when I’d thought I was being followed. ‘No. You’re right. It just freaked me out.’
‘Not surprising. He sounds like a nasty piece of work.’
