‘OK,’ he said, settling the tray firmly on the bed and buttering his toast, ‘let’s pretend it’s lunchtime on Wednesday.
What is this dog of yours doing?’
‘Either sleeping off the long walk we’ll have given him before we go to school,’ Harry said, ‘or sitting by the door waiting for the long walk we’ll give him when we get home from school.’
They’d clearly rehearsed this.
‘Or chewing every stick of furniture we possess,’ Max pointed out mildly, ‘while peeing on the carpet.’
The boys giggled at that.
‘Nan would let him out in the garden for five minutes,’
Ben said.
‘She’d probably like the company,’ Harry put in. ‘Look, Dad, we’re not kids any more. We know all about responsibility and stuff like that.’
They weren’t, and they did. Max couldn’t argue with that.
‘Don’t you think,’ he said, taking a sip of strong, black coffee made just how he liked it, ‘that this family is dysfunctional enough without adding even more chaos?’
‘Nah,’ they scoffed in unison. ‘We like chaos.’
‘You might,’ Max grumbled, “I don’t.’
‘You do.’
But he didn’t. He would give a lot to come home at a sensible time each day to a wife who was eager to see him and to kids happily doing homework. If life were normal, they’d be able to make plans for the weekend, knowing that his phone wouldn’t ring and drag him away to some terrible place.
He had a day off though so he was going to try and push all thoughts of work from his mind. His subconscious could mull things over while he relaxed. Today was for him and the kids.
‘We’ll think about it,’ he said, ‘and discuss it next week.
Meanwhile, you can take my tray away, thank you, and decide what you fancy doing today.’
As he dressed, he thought of driving out to Southport. It was cold, and a stiff wind was blowing, but the kids would enjoy messing around with a football on the beach. The fresh air would do him good, too. It might clear his head.
They could have a McDonald’s for lunch. No, they’d stop somewhere decent and have a proper Sunday lunch …
A car pulled up outside and, when Max saw that Fletch was driving it, his heart sank. Perhaps work wouldn’t wait until tomorrow after all. As he walked down the stairs, he could hear the boys laughing with Fletch.
‘And we’ll be having a dog soon,’ Ben was telling him.
‘We’ll be discussing not having a dog soon,’ Max corrected him as he walked into the kitchen. ‘Right, you two, scram for a few minutes. Go and see if Nan’s OK.’
After saying goodbye to Fletch, they raced upstairs to their grandmother’s.
‘You don’t deserve such good kids,’ Fletch told him fondly.
‘We always get what we deserve,’ Max argued with a grin, ‘and I deserve a day off. What’s new?’
‘Not a lot. I’m on my way home, but thought I’d stop by and let you know that another hooker’s been reported missing.’
Max felt his guts clench, but he knew it meant nothing.
They came; they went. Sometimes they moved on to a different patch, sometimes they went to work at the nearest massage parlour, sometimes they got so stoned they vanished for days. The possibilities were endless.
‘Where from?’
‘Burnley. A sixteen-year-old by ‘
‘Sixteen?’
‘Yes. An Anne Levington. We don’t know much about her, just that she has a missing drunk for a father, and a mother who kicked her out. She’d been squatting with a gang of misfits. She had a burger with a mate and both of them were going to work the streets for a few hours before meeting up. Anne didn’t show and the other girl’s worried about her. The girls working the streets are a bit twitchy at the moment.’
‘Not twitchy enough to keep them behind closed doors,’
Max said grimly.
‘It’s easy money, I suppose.’
‘Risking your neck every time you go to work isn’t easy’
‘No, guv.’ Fletch shuffled his feet, and Max made a mental note not to be so miserable with people.
‘Fancy a coffee?’ he asked.
‘Thanks, guv, but no. Sandra’s got me down for a spot of decorating, and my life won’t be worth living if I don’t get back soon.’ He turned to leave. ‘If she turns up, I’m sure someone will let you know. Cornwall’s on to it, of course.
They’re taking it seriously, just in case.’
With Valentine on the loose, every prostitute who was missing for more than five minutes was taken seriously.
That maniac had a lot to answer for and, come hell or high water, he would damn well answer for it.
It was nothing to do with him, Max reminded himself.
Cornwall was on to it. When they’d pulled Max off the case - ‘too obsessed to be objective’ - they’d brought in on Cornwall with his flash suits and ‘fresh ideas’. Max had been reprimanded on more than one occasion for treading on Cornwall’s delicate toes.
Max headed for Kate’s flat and told himself it was probably nothing. The girls on the streets were as twitchy as the police force right now.
He wondered, belatedly, if Kate had been trying to have a lie-in. It was doubtful, though. She was a lark, not a night owl like Max.
‘How’s my favourite son-in-law?’ she greeted him, dropping a fleeting kiss on his cheek as she moved from table to oven.
‘He’s just dandy,’ he said, ‘despite being woken in the middle of the night by this pair.’
‘Quite right, too. No point missing the best part of the day’
She was a lot like her daughter, both in looks and temperament. Linda, too, had been a lark. To her, a lie-in had meant staying in bed until 7 a.m.
“I thought we’d drive out to Southport and mess around on the beach,’ he told the kids.
Unsurprisingly, this news was met with a whoop of joy.
‘Coming with us, Kate?’ he asked.
‘Not on your life. Far too cold to shiver on a beach while you mad things chase a football around. In any case, I’ve too much to do. I’m having a late spring clean of these kitchen cupboards.’
She looked at Max and he wondered what she saw. Was she wondering what her daughter had seen in him?
Was she thinking that he hadn’t deserved her daughter?
Perhaps she was thinking that he didn’t deserve her grandsons. Did she think him an idiot for finding another good woman in Jill and then blowing it?
‘Enjoy your day, Max,’ was all she said.
From the outside, St Lawrence’s church was nothing to look at. Part brick and part stone, it could have passed for an old factory or office building if it hadn’t been for its impressive tower.
When Jill pushed open the heavy door, it looked as if every member of the parish had turned up for the morning’s service. The church was packed.
She slid into an empty pew right at the back and, seconds later, Tony and Liz Hutchinson came and sat beside her. The organist was already playing and they whispered their greetings.
Tony had jogged along the lane past her cottage early that morning. Getting in training for walking the Pennine Way perhaps. He’d said he was a keen runner, and he’d certainly been moving at an impressive pace.
Across the aisle, Bob - Jill didn’t know his surname, just knew him as Bob the Builder - was sitting with his head bowed. She made a mental note to have a chat with him after the service if she could. She’d seen and heard enough about the winters in the Pennines to know that her roof needed attention before much longer.
Bob was sitting next to a couple Jill didn’t know. She was about to ask Liz to enlighten her but Liz was in a world of her own, her gaze fixed on Bob. Even sitting, he was an impressive figure. He was a wearing a charcoal grey suit that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. A shaft of light from a stained-glass window gave his blond hair a streak of electric blue.
Gordon and Mary Lee-Smith were sitting in a pew towards the front of the church and Jill made yet another mental note. She’d popped a thank-you note through their letterbox, but she’d catch them after the service and thank them again for the bonfire party. At the same time, she’d see how they thought Jonathan was holding up.
Just then, Jonathan and Michael walked slowly up the aisle.
The police had had to release Michael. His statement was full of inconsistencies and, in the end, he’d said that he hadn’t killed his mother, and that he had no idea who had. He’d said he thought people wouldn’t believe him innocent as all the evidence pointed to him.
The force, she knew, was divided. Some believed Michael was innocent, and some thought he’d cleverly talked his way out of it. Either way, they had nothing that would stand up in court.
Father and son walked side by side, united in their loss.
Jonathan walked tall and erect, the only sign of his grief a ghostly pale face dominated by bloodshot eyes. Michael walked with his head bowed and his hands clasped in front of him. They sat in the empty pew in front of Gordon and Mary. Both looked as if they were attending a funeral.
The funeral was still to come of course.
The standin vicar took to the pulpit. He was a young chap - energetic and keen. Not surprisingly, he spoke of the tragedy and guessed the congregation was questioning its faith, something all Christians were called upon to do in times of tragedy. He then asked them all to pray for Jonathan and Michael.
Jonathan knelt to pray. Michael sat with his head bowed and a handkerchief to his nose. Jill wasn’t sure if he was sobbing or if he had the beginnings of a cold. Neither contributed a lot to the hymn singing. Jonathan made a token gesture and mouthed the words. Michael stared at a spot straight ahead of him. If it hadn’t been for Tony, singing loudly if tunelessly on Jill’s right, and Gordon and Mary’s stirring performances, the vicar might well have been left to sing alone.
When the service was over, the vicar, Jonathan and Michael all stood at the church door. The vicar thanked everyone for attending.
‘I’m sure it’s a comfort to the family,’ he said, shaking Jill’s hand.
Jill didn’t argue, but neither Jonathan nor Michael looked comforted.
She walked across the grass to where Gordon and Mary were standing. They looked as if they were waiting for someone to join them.
“I wanted to thank you for the party,’ Jill said. “I enjoyed it, and it was kind of you to invite me.’
‘We’re only glad you could make it,’ Mary said, adding a whispered, ‘Thank goodness we didn’t know what lay ahead.’
Jill remembered Alice, how she’d scolded Jonathan for talking religion, how her face had lit up with pride as she’d called Michael to join them.
‘Jonathan and Michael returned to the vicarage yesterday,’
Mary went on in a lowered voice. ‘Jonathan’s coming back for lunch, but nothing would persuade Michael to join us. I hate to think of the poor boy alone at the vicarage.’
‘Perhaps he needs to grieve alone,’ Jill suggested.
‘People deal with the grieving process differently. I expect he’s trying to be strong and finding it too much effort. Far easier to cry alone sometimes.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Mary agreed.
‘You’re more than welcome to join us for lunch, Jill,’
Gordon put in.
‘Of course you are. Where are my manners?’ Mary looked beside herself at the gaffe.
‘That’s very kind of you, but I’ve made other plans,’ Jill said quickly.
It wasn’t a lie. She’d just decided to pay Michael a visit.
With his father out of the way, he might open up a little.
Doubtful, but it was worth a try.
She was heading down the path, away from the church, when she spotted Bob again.
‘Bob!’ She broke into a run to catch up with him. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know your surname. I don’t think I was told.’
He smiled at that. ‘I’ve an even worse confession. I’ve forgotten your name and you’re the celebrity’
‘The celebrity you’d never heard of,’ she reminded him with a smile. ‘Jill Kennedy’
‘Bob Murphy - at your service.’ He took a business card from his suit pocket and handed it to her.
‘How busy are you?’ she asked. ‘There’s quite a bit I need doing, and I’d like it done soon. If I leave it much longer, I’ll have no roof left.’
‘I’m pretty busy at the moment,’ he said, ‘and that’s unusual at this time of the year.’ He took a pen and another card from his pocket. ‘Give me your phone number.
I’ll give you a call and make an appointment to have a look. If it’s not me, I’ll send Len along. OK?’
She scribbled down her name and number on his card.
‘I’m in and out a bit at the moment, but you can leave a message on the machine.’
‘OK. I’ll try and make it for the end of the week, probably late afternoon. I’ll give you a ring to confirm.’
‘Thanks.’ A huge raindrop landed on her nose. ‘Oh, great. No car and no umbrella.’
St Lawrence’s had been built long before parking had been a consideration and, as it hadn’t looked like rain, Jill had decided to walk.
‘I’d offer you a lift,’ Bob said, ‘but I’m in the same boat.’
He looked back at the crowd still outside the church.
‘There’s Len - he’s my roofing man. He’ll give us both a lift.’
Jill saw that he was referring to the couple with whom he’d shared his pew.
Len and his wife, Daisy, were more than happy to oblige and she and Bob climbed in the back of their elderly car.
‘I’ve been itching to get my hands on that roof of yours,’
Len told Jill as he drove them away from the church.
‘Nothing bugs me more than seeing a good roof allowed to get in that state. It should have been done years ago.’
‘Ah, but old Mrs Blackman didn’t have the money,’
Daisy reminded him. ‘It would have cost more than she paid for the cottage in the first place. Mind, she had the garden lovely, didn’t she?’
Len talked roofing, and Daisy talked gardens - at the same time. It was impossible to get a word in. For all that, they were a delightful couple, clearly devoted to each other. Although they’d dressed for church, there was something of the hippy about them. Len had a huge, untidy beard and his thin dark hair was tied back in a short ponytail. Daisy had long auburn hair tumbling this way and that, and bangles, rings and chains on every limb.
Minutes later, Jill was back at her cottage, waving them off. Bob would have to take her place in the conversations.