‘I think he knew something about the phone hacking. Maybe someone in the police tipped him off. It was before my editor was charged –’
I’m interrupted by Finn walking through the door. Helooks smart, dressed in drainpipe jeans, a white shirt and a pin-striped blazer. He’s shorter than Jack, although still tall at about six foot, with white-blond hair and blue eyes. He reminds me of Matt and Luke Goss from Bros. He’s a year younger than me, and I know that I, of all people, shouldn’t judge but it’s hard to believe he’s a cop.
He shakes out an umbrella and looks around until he spots us. Irritation briefly passes over his face when he sees me sitting with Jack. ‘Oh,’ he says, coming over to us, looking flustered. ‘I didn’t realize you were meeting Jess first.’
I stand up so quickly I feel light-headed. ‘I’m just going.’
‘You haven’t finished your drink,’ says Jack. ‘Don’t go yet. You don’t mind, do you, Finn?’
Finn looks like he does mind. Very much. But he’s too polite to say so. Instead he hastily scouts around for another chair while I squirm with embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to make a swift exit. I don’t want to play gooseberry.
He pulls up a seat between me and Jack. ‘So, how’s things?’ he says to me. ‘You okay? How’s Rory?’
‘Fine. We’re both fine. You?’
‘Busy with work. You know. Hoping to be made a sergeant so have to put the hours in.’
I nod politely but the conversation feels formal and stilted. I love Jack so much. I just wish I felt as comfortable with Finn.
‘So, what are you working on at the moment? Still the Wilson case?’ he asks.
‘Yep. Can you give us anything? Tip-offs et cetera?’ I try to sound playful but his expression darkens.
‘You know I can’t. It’s unprofessional,’ he replies stiffly.
Jack rolls his eyes. ‘Always the professional, eh, Finn.’ He winks but Finn doesn’t look amused.
I down the rest of my Coke so fast it gives me indigestion and I suppress the urge to burp. ‘Anyway,’ I say, in a voice that sounds like I’ve inhaled helium, ‘I’d better be off. Rory will be wondering where I am.’
I rummage in my bag for my umbrella and, telling Jack I’ll see him in the morning, I rush outside, the cold air instantly cooling my cheeks. I take a few deep breaths and stand under my umbrella for a minute, looking through the window at Jack and Finn. Finn’s back is to me but I can see Jack glancing at his boyfriend tenderly, his hand over Finn’s.
I walk briskly along the Watershed and cross the footbridge over the river. I wouldn’t normally go home this way – it can feel a bit lonely in the dark walking through Queen’s Square at this time of night – but it’s the most direct route to our flat from the pub. Queen’s Square is deserted, as most of the Georgian buildings that line the pavements are now offices, and I quicken my steps, trying to stop my imagination running away with me. But I’m sure I hear footsteps again. They sound heavy, like men’s boots. The rain is harder now and the wind tugs at my umbrella. I focus on my destination, walking as quickly as I can without running, and soon I exit the square and am passing the Llandoger Trow pub. I can see a few people huddled together outside it, smoking under an umbrella, the light from within casting anamber glow onto the cobbled pavement. A woman carrying a briefcase emerges from the building opposite and walks briskly in the other direction and I instantly feel safer, until I turn right onto the river and I’m alone again.
I’m sure I can still hear the footsteps. Heavy and determined. I stop and turn around, ready to confront whoever is behind me, but there is nobody. Someone laughs, piercing the silence. I walk on, but as the river falls away and I’m enveloped by the tall buildings either side of me I can see shadows lurking in every doorway. It’s my imagination, I tell myself. There’s nothing here. I’m just feeling unnerved after reliving past events this evening, that’s all. But I deliberately walk in the middle of the cobbled road anyway, praying no cars turn down this way, until I reach my block.
I fumble for my key, but don’t allow myself to panic. I turn the lock and let myself into the lobby, closing the heavy glass door behind me with relief. But as I do so I notice a light flash in the lower window of the derelict building opposite. A torch, perhaps. But it’s gone.
Before I have time to think any more about it, my phone vibrates in my coat pocket. I retrieve it to see Margot’s name flashing up on the screen.
14
August 1994
Flora was falling in love. She was certain of it. She’d never felt like this before. And Dylan was so different from anyone she’d ever met. They’d only been seeing each other for seven days, but it had been the best week of her life. Dylan made her feel so special. And he was nineteen.Nineteen.Three whole years older. She still couldn’t believe her luck that he was interested in her when he could have had anyone. She saw the way other girls flicked their hair and fluttered their eyelashes whenever he was around.
The country was in the middle of a heatwave, and every day seemed hotter and more humid than the last. When they weren’t at the fair, they were at the beach, sunbathing or splashing about in the extremely cold Channel.
‘I don’t know why you keep mooning over that boy,’ Heather had said that afternoon, after Flora had begged her to go with her to the fair yet again. Heather was on her bed, an A4 sketchpad on her knee, getting away from the incessant heat. ‘You know the fair will move on in a couple of weeks and him with it. A girl in every town, I bet.’
Flora had scowled in response. It wasn’t like Heather tobe mean, yet here she was acting like a jealous ex. ‘You’re my sister,’ she’d replied. ‘You’re supposed to be supportive.’
It had had the desired effect, as Flora had known it would. Nothing like laying a guilt trip on Heather to get her to do what Flora wanted. It worked both ways, though – they’d been doing it to each other for as long as they could remember. So Heather reluctantly agreed to accompany her to the fair for the fifth time that week. On the days that Heather had refused, Flora had gone anyway. Her mother hadn’t noticed, too busy with customers. The caravan park was only in its second summer and the business was starting to take off. But Flora didn’t like to disobey Margot’s rules too often, if she could help it. She knew her mother’s strictness came from a good place, and that she cared more than anything for her and Heather. Which was more than could be said about Heather’s friend, Jess: her mother didn’t seem to give a toss where Jess was half the time, or for how long. Jess might as well have lived with them, the amount of times she stayed over.
Jess was here now, standing by the coconut stall wearing a crop top and too much make-up. She was jigging along to ‘Saturday Night’ by Whigfield that was blaring out of a nearby ghettoblaster. God, Flora hated that song. Someone had brought a tape back from their holidays in Benidorm and unfortunately it seemed to have caught on. There was even a bloody dance. She’d caught Heather and Jess doing it the other night in Heather’s bedroom. They’d looked mortified, mid-pose, when she came bounding in, Jess in particular. Flora knew Jess wanted her to think she was cool.
Jess blushed now at the sight of them. ‘Hi, Heather, Flora.’
Flora smiled kindly, then cast her eyes about for Dylan. Where was he? She couldn’t see him in his usual spot on the Waltzers.
