Sean looked about despondently. The absence of any furniture made the room so much larger. As if, when he wasn’t watching, the walls had quietly retreated a foot or two. The house was now just an empty shell and, like an empty shell, it seemed a little bit sad.
He placed the cardboard box down. Aside from the crates and boxes of his stuff in the centre of the room, the fireplace was the only thing to look at. Blank walls. Skirting boards running from one corner to the other. He thought about the hours he’d sat with his mum in this room, the pair of them contentedly watching telly. Her nodding off and letting out the occasional snore.
The family who were due to move in had an adult daughter who had recently been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. They’d made an offer substantially lower than two others, but he’d accepted it. When things flared up, she’d need the stairlift. It was nice to think that would stay in place. As would the wheelchair ramps at the front and back doors, and the waist-high wall-railings throughout the house.
His thoughts drifted back to his mum. The injuries she’d sustained when the Renault Scenic ran over her meant that, sometimes, she couldn’t even get out of bed. Janet, a proud sergeant who, over almost two decades, had built an exceptional rapport with the local community. Following the accident, her hospital room had soon resembled an over-stocked florist’s. The first few months after she returned home hadn’t seemed bad. Physiotherapists and health workers would regularly visit. So would colleagues. Too many, sometimes. But, as the months passed by, the attention dwindled.
That’s when it got harder.
Sean gradually took on more and more responsibility for her care, even though he was still at primary school. No more playing with mates after lessons: he had to hurry home to make sure she was clean and comfortable. Then cook tea, tidy up, fetch and carry. His school friends drifted further and further away.
Bare floorboards amplified the approach of footsteps. Sean turned just as Katie May stepped through the living room’s doorway. ‘In here with the rest?’
‘Yeah, that’s great. Thanks.’
Keeping her back straight, she bent her knees to place the box down. Sean found himself speculating on what she did in the gym. She’d mentioned triathlons, but getting details out of her wasn’t easy. Seeing her outside the office made him reassess her age. Previously, he’d thought she was mid-twenties. But maybe she was a little older. It was hard to tell.
‘What’s in this?’ she asked, half lifting a narrow cardboard tube from a crate he’d carried down earlier.
‘Just a poster.’
‘Yeah, but of what? This stuff all came from what was your room, right?’
‘Right.’
‘So it’s a poster of …?’
He waved a hand as if he couldn’t quite recall. ‘Some mountain view, I think. A national park over in the States.’
‘You’ve been?’
‘I wish.’ Apart from the occasional day-trip organized by a charity for young carers, Sean hadn’t been on a proper holiday since north Wales when he was ten. But a trip to Yellowstone was something he had long dreamed of.
Her blue eyes fixed him for a second as a smile teased at the corners of her mouth. ‘Maybe I’m spending too much time with detectives, but I sense a touch of evasiveness here.’
He lifted his chin. Directly above him, a naked bulb shone down. It was beginning to feel like an interrogation. ‘Evasiveness? No.’
‘Mm.’ She lifted the tube fully out and picked at the torn bit of masking tape at the top. ‘I love mountains. Are they the Rockies?’ The glossy paper made a sucking sound as she started to slide the poster out.
He showed her both palms. ‘All right! It’s not just of mountains.’
She paused in the act of unrolling it. ‘Nothing dirty … is it? Some model half out of her ski suit?’
‘No!’ He gave a chuckle. ‘On my bedroom wall? Why would I— it’s a wolf, OK?’
‘A wolf?’
He nodded. This could be make or break. His fascination with wolves could, he realized, appear a little strange. Magda certainly found it hilarious. ‘Here.’ He held the corners at one end of the poster, so she could unfurl it. The timber wolf was on the crest of a hill. Its entire outline sat within a shimmering super moon. The image had won the National Geographic’s photography competition. ‘I really like wolves.’
‘Clearly,’ she said, glancing at him. ‘It’s a … very nice shot.’
There’d been a hitch in her voice he couldn’t ignore. ‘But …?’
‘Nothing. It’s just … you know … posters are a bit teenage, aren’t they?’
‘Maybe. I did buy it when I was about thirteen.’
She rolled it back up and slid it carefully into the tube. ‘And will it be going up in your new room?’
Spotting her smirk, he shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It might be.’
‘You need some interior design advice, Sean Blake! Wolf posters.’
OK, he thought. Maybe I’ll forget to mention that I also sponsor a three-year-old female called Kaska that lives in the Snowdonia Wolf Sanctuary.
‘Have you thought about how you’ll decorate the new place?’
He made sure his voice was matter-of-fact. ‘I was thinking of AstroTurf. For the telly room. It’s not nearly as expensive nowadays. I could practise my golf putt in the evenings. Sunset wallpaper to make it more atmospheric. With palm trees – a kind of Honolulu feel.’
Her mouth was hanging open. ‘Astro—?’ Seeing the look on his face, she turned the cardboard tube round and bopped him over the head with it. ‘Do you even play golf?’
‘No,’ he laughed.
‘Thank God, you were starting to get me really worried there.’
He watched her as she placed the tube back in the crate. ‘What’s your pad like? You rent, don’t you?’
‘Who doesn’t?’ she replied, examining what else was in the boxes. ‘Model spaceship? Really?’
‘Model spaceship? Millennium Falcon, if you don’t mind. From Star Wars?’
‘Silly me. Of course.’ She cocked her head and gave him a sad look.
He still hadn’t quite worked out where her flat was. On the edge of Chorlton had been as exact as she’d got. He wondered if that was because she was embarrassed to be in one of the cheaper, less trendy, areas that bordered it. ‘Is your place decorated nicely?’
‘It’s OK. I’d change most of it if I could, though.’
She moved the Millennium Falcon aside. Below it was a framed photo of Janet. It had been taken by a colleague when she’d been on some kind of work do. The table in the foreground was crowded with glasses. She was squashed between two people, talking to someone off camera, unaware her photo was being taken.
Sean loved the image because his mum looked so much like she belonged. Nestled among members of a team. The pleasure in her eyes.
He knew that, following her forced retirement, the camaraderie was the thing she missed most.
‘Is that your mum?’
Sean nodded.
‘I never really had the chance to say how sorry I was when—’
He waved a hand. ‘Don’t worry. It’s OK.’
The frame was cradled in her hand and he wanted to take it from her, afraid she might drop it. He wondered why the thought of that happening was making him feel so anxious. It was as if, alongside the image of her were memories, sealed beneath the glass. If it should break, they’d be lost forever, like water spilling into sand. He raised his fingers and it took her a moment to realize he wanted her to hand it over.
‘You miss her?’ she asked, holding it out.
‘Yes.’ His voice was husky. ‘I do.’ He regarded the image for a moment. The poster pinned to the pub wall directly behind her caught his attention. Poppies. He’d never noticed it before. Maybe the evening had been a fundraising event for the Armed Services. It took him back to the hill she’d died on. The poppies swept from the nearby war memorial by the buffeting wind. Blotches of red in the grass.
Katie was now studying the ceiling. ‘These older houses. So much more room.’
‘They have when there’s nothing in them.’
‘How do you feel about moving, Sean?’
He took a long breath in, mostly to give himself time to think. The reasons he’d settled on a flat in Ancoats hadn’t really been his. The estate agent had seen an unmarried professional man in his mid-twenties and made a load of assumptions that Sean couldn’t muster the energy to challenge. Losing his mum and finding himself on his own in the home they’d shared all his life had become more and more depressing. Within weeks of her funeral, it had become obvious he needed to get the hell out.
‘It’ll be good,’ he finally said. The apartment’s central location was undeniably convenient: work was a few minutes away. Less, if he got round to buying a bike. The apartment, with its stripped-back walls of brick, ceiling girders and solid wood floors, was very now. And the area itself was teeming with interesting little spots. The trouble was, Sean hardly ever drank and, after years of being there for his mum, wasn’t used to the noise and bustle of bars and pubs.
Katie lowered her eyes to look at him. ‘You could have sounded more excited.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m still getting my head around it all, I suppose. And with these murders – until we get somewhere with them – home’s going to be the office, anyway.’
‘How did knocking on doors go this evening? Much response?’
‘Yeah – not bad. We got a description of sorts. Could be the same character who keeps popping up.’
‘At the reservoir?’
‘No, the railway arch near Deansgate. A male, thirty-ish, wearing an army jacket. We went into the city centre trying to locate any of the rough sleepers who’d also pitched their tents under the arch. It was … interesting.’
‘I bet they thought you were there to hassle them.’
‘Correct. Anyone we approached, when we said it was to ask questions in relation to the murder of a fellow rough sleeper … I had one guy jump up. He said talking to us – if he was seen – could get him killed.’
‘Killed?’
‘Exact word he used.’
‘Sounds a bit dramatic. Can’t you try other channels?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Church groups or representatives of charities that work with the homeless?’
Sean glanced at her. ‘I like that.’
She looked pleased. ‘It’s going to be good helping you and DS Dragomir out.’
He wondered whether to mention what Magda had told him about the canteen. The fact Katie hadn’t been allocated the role; she’d volunteered for it. He wanted to believe things might be developing between them. Further than friendship. But he’d never had a girlfriend and – if he was brutally honest – didn’t have a clue what Katie’s intentions were. But he liked her. He really did.
‘So,’ she announced, ‘are we ferrying this lot out to your car?’
‘Yeah. And thanks for helping. Sure I can’t drop you back home?’
She wiggled the toe of a purple trainer. ‘Still got four miles to do for this to count as a proper run.’
‘Well, thanks for making it a stop.’
She crouched down and easily lifted the nearest box. ‘My pleasure.’