TWENTY-FOUR

Dave was returning from his workshop and the expression on his face told her it would not be a good time to mention Simmy’s mother. And surely even Simmy would realise her problem had to be put on hold for a day or two. Dave’s hands were occupied, rolling a cigarette, and his phone was balanced between his shoulder and ear.

‘Too right.’ He gave a short, unpleasant laugh. ‘No, not a chance.’ Then, spotting Jane, ‘Ring you back when I’ve fixed a date.’

‘Had a busy day, Dave?’

He lit his roll-up. ‘Simmy been bothering you?’

‘She’s never a bother. I’m fond of her, she’s a sweet girl.’

‘Depends what mood she’s in. How are you? Bad luck you were the one that found him. I was at an auction. Other side of town.’

There was something different about him but she was unable to put her finger on what it was. He looked older, his face more lined. How old was he? It was something she had never thought about, along with avoiding examining his expression too closely, for fear it elicited a comment from his sharp tongue. What are you up to, Jane, checking on the neighbours, making sure we toe the line, don’t put our bins out on the wrong day.

‘Saw the Molloy boy leaving your house,’ he said. ‘He and Sim play computer games, at least that’s what she says they do.’

‘You’re not implying ... I’m sure there’s nothing like that. I expect Simmy’s told you they’re devising their own game.’ Cronus, the bad father, who ate his own children. ‘Arthur says she’s very good at IT. It will stand her in good stead.’

‘You think so?’

‘I do.’

On the opposite side of the road, the old man from number twenty-four was drawing a line of chalk round a pile of dog shit. Not the work of Lucky, from number twenty-six – the turds were large, could even be human. Jane shuddered and Dave noticed and gave a gnome-like chuckle.

‘Been to India?’

‘No, have you?’

‘Years ago. They think we’re too squeamish. Some parts you have to step your way through shit. Get used to. Can get used to anything.’

‘That may be true. Perhaps not anything.’

‘Once you’ve got a kid it puts an end to foreign travel.’

‘I don’t see why. You could take Simmy with you.’ Jane was trying to picture Dave “years ago”, a student perhaps, on holiday with Simmy’s mother. ‘A holiday would do you both good. Simmy mentioned a caravan in Cornwall.’

Dave stared at her. His deep-set eyes were intimidating and Jane suspected he intended them to be. ‘ Yes, well, some of us have work to do.’

‘Of course, but you need a break now and again.’

‘Away from the scene of the crime you mean.’ He jerked his head towards the loft conversion. ‘Mrs Garcia been back?’

‘I haven’t seen her.’

‘Gus says she’s going to let the loft to a band. Two members of some rock group. One of them plays the drums.’

‘Are you sure?’

He grinned. He was joking. But she would take his words at face value, call his bluff. ‘Oh well, if you’re right, I believe there’s something you can do to deaden the sound. They’re called mutes. I think that’s the right name. They had a programme about noise pollution and disruptive neighbours.’

‘Watch a lot of telly, do you?’

‘It was on the radio. You have one in your workshop, I believe, so you can listen to jazz.’

‘If I get much more work, I’ll have to take on a partner.’

‘Really? You must be doing well.’

‘Not what Simmy thinks. She thinks I should get a proper job. With some big company that paid me a monthly salary. And have some idiot telling me what to do.’

‘Is that what she said?’

‘I expect someone put the idea in her head.’

‘Not guilty, Dave, I wouldn’t dream of discussing your work with your daughter.’

He laughed, an unpleasant sound, and drew on his roll-up. Overtly, a harmless conversation but Dave had a way of turning everything into a battle of wits. Jane found it irritating. Her only aim was that poor Simmy should have a holiday by the sea, a break from Faraday Road. But was that really her aim? These days she noticed every tiny sign – a barely perceptible pause, a cough, the interlocking of fingers – but she was the guilty one, interfering in people’s lives as she attempted to gather what, in all probability, was irrelevant information. So Dave had been at an auction. What auction? She could look it up on her tablet but finding a date and a venue would not prove Dave had been there.

Tossing his roll-up into the gutter, he ran one of his grubby fingers down the grooves in the lamp post. Was there something he wanted? Was he sounding her out? Perhaps he thought she knew something about Simmy. Simmy and Arthur. Teenagers had sex at an earlier age these days, earlier than in her day, but not earlier than Romeo and Juliet. Had Romeo and Juliet slept together? Was it implied in the text? She thought not.

Tricia Tidewell had joined them, holding the baby, but minus the other two. ‘Liam’s gone to a holiday club and Pippa’s at a friend’s house. Hello, Dave, I haven’t seen you for ages, not since ... Terrible, wasn’t it, and poor Jane was the one ... Ian and I had gone out for .’ She seemed incapable of finishing a sentence. ‘We didn’t know him well but he was ...’

‘You’re talking about Noel?’

‘So it’s just you and Ada this morning.’ Jane said. ‘That’ll be nice.’

Tricia gave her a grateful smile. Had she come out of her house, hoping for a friendly chat? If she had, she had chosen the wrong moment. Jane glared at Dave and he grinned back and Tricia brightened visibly.

‘I was talking to Simmy, Dave, and she told me you’re going to Cornwall. How lovely.’

‘We’re not.’

‘Oh, I must have got it wrong. I love Cornwall, don’t you, Jane? Although it does get rather crowded in August. Ian and I had our honeymoon in Mevagissey, do you know it? It was in the spring but it was still quite busy, but I didn’t mind, I like lots of people about, I’m not one for empty spaces. Is “Simmy” short for Simone?’

‘No.’ A shadow crossed Dave’s face. ‘That’s what she was christened. Well, not actually christened.’

Fortunately, Ada put an end to any more, simultaneously pulling her mother’s hair and kicking her in the ribs. ‘I’d better give her a snack. She’s horrible when she’s hungry. Nice to see you Dave. And you Jane.’

‘Oh, Tricia.’ Jane dreaded the reply but she had to ask. ‘You know you said Liam saw someone going into Dave and Gus’ house.’

‘Did he? When?’

‘I’m not sure. I just wondered if he noticed who it was.’

‘Doubt it. He’s only interested in cars. Knows all the different makes. Toyotas, Vauxhalls, Saabs. Ticks them off in a notebook. Good for his writing skill. Is that what you think, Jane? Yes, I thought you would.’

Farther down the road, Gus and the woman from number twenty-two were deep in conversation. Who was she, and why did she have to wear that hideous hat? Not that it had put off Gus. From the look on his face, she could have been his dearest friend.

‘Jane?’

‘Oh, sorry, Dave, did you say something? Even if you don’t want a holiday it would be good for Simmy. Noel’s death was such a shock, the first death of someone she knew well I imagine.’ But even as she spoke, she realised her mistake. ‘What I meant ...’

‘Don’t look like that, I know what you meant. She was only two and a half when her mother died, can’t remember a thing.’

Now was her chance, but from the look on his face, eleven years had done little to soften the blow of his wife’s death. Jane warmed to him a little. His gruff exterior was a defence from pain. She should have realised, should have felt more well-disposed toward him. Had Noel known what happened to his wife and threatened to tell Simmy, and a furious Dave had ...

No. Anxiety about Eddie was making her irrational. Noel’s death had been an accident. Of course it had. Except would he have been silly enough to lean over the balcony and lose his balance? Why take a risk when there was no audience? His leaps in the air, and swinging from the scaffolding had always produced a gratifying response, mostly laughter. But alone in the new loft conversion ...

Jane pictured the fall from two floors up. Landing on Dave’s patio, fatally injured but not quite dead. Pushed. A single whispered word. His last utterance – a plea for her to uncover the culprit responsible. Or to tell the police.