Jayne was surprised at how nervous she’d been as she got ready. She hadn’t brought many clothes, and certainly nothing for what she’d call a date.
Was it a date? She was unsure, but the flutters in her stomach told her how she was thinking about it.
She’d paused with the foundation and make-up brush, wanting to conceal her bruises and black eye, but in the end she thought it would look worse, that she was covering up for a man’s violence. She’d done enough of that in the past and didn’t want the evening ruined by sideways glances and whispers from the other tables.
She arrived late to the restaurant, a fish restaurant, on the other side of the harbour to her hotel, and he’d been staring out of the floor-to-ceiling windows towards the fishing boats twinkling and swaying in the darkness, strings of lights moving like Christmas trees in the breeze.
He behaved like a gentleman, standing when she approached the table and taking her coat. He’d already ordered the wine, white, but she didn’t mind the small acts of chivalry. Against a history of violence and a succession of meaningless one-night stands, it felt sort of charming.
The evening had been small talk at first, just jokes about other people in the restaurant and then chatter about cases Chris had been involved in. It was as if they were avoiding the subject of why Jayne was in Brampton.
They were halfway through the main course – fish, of course – when her attention was drawn again to the harbour. There were shouts and bangs as the catches were thrown onto the pier, a spotlight glaring. Gulls cried overhead, as always, looking for scraps and throwaways.
Chris followed her gaze. ‘Not as many as there used to be. There were plenty of trawlers when I was growing up, and I’ve heard tales of how wild it got when they returned from seven days out at sea, but it just became too hard to make a living.’
‘The world changes.’
‘But does it improve? This town used to be vibrant. Now, it’s all pubs and second-hand shops.’
‘It’s not too great away from here. The place where I used to live, Highford, is just like this, except it doesn’t get the sea views.’
‘Where is it?’
‘In the hills. That’s the best way to describe it. It’s a place you chance upon rather than choose to go there.’
‘You said used to.’
‘I headed for the bright city lights. Manchester.’
‘Is it what you expected?’
She pulled a face. ‘It’s as if everyone else gets the brightness. I’m not sure I’ve found what I’m looking for yet.’
‘I get the feeling that Brampton isn’t it.’
She smiled. ‘I can see why people like it. It’s pretty and scenic. A bit cut off from everywhere though, and I want to go somewhere that isn’t always battling against hard times.’
‘You could leave Manchester.’
‘You could leave Brampton.’
As they ate, Chris talked about Brampton, what it had been like to grow up there, just filling in the gaps in conversation. Jayne enjoyed listening to him. She liked his enthusiasm, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke, even if she knew it covered a deep sadness over his sister. Jayne started to think further ahead, wondering what would happen when the meal ended. She knew which way she wanted it to go.
Chris sat back and took a drink of wine. ‘Let’s talk about you.’
She laughed. ‘No, let’s not.’
‘Come on. What made you become an investigator?’
She looked towards the boats again, not yet ready to disclose her history. There was something calming about him, though, reassuring. And he was attractive too, his teeth white and straight, his eyes bright whenever he smiled. She didn’t think telling him how her last boyfriend had ended up on the wrong end of the knife she was holding would be a good way to spend the evening.
‘I was at a loose end,’ she said. ‘I knew a lawyer and he suggested it.’ It was a version of the truth.
‘And how do you find it?’
‘Like most jobs, sometimes routine, sometimes interesting. I’d taken some time away from it, working in a supermarket, but my services were needed again, so ta-da, here I am. Now it’s my turn. Did you join the police because of Ruby?’
He let out a deep sigh. ‘I saw what one person’s violence can do to a family. The victim isn’t the only one who’s hurt. My parents were never the same. They became vacant. That’s the only way I can describe it. Whoever killed her took away a part of them, and me, and that piece is never put back. All it takes is something on the news about a missing child, or Ruby’s birthday or Christmas, and my mother cries. Not in front of me, because she pretends that life moves on, because that’s what everyone says, that time heals, but it doesn’t. She got used to the pain, that’s all, but it’s always there, just beneath the surface.’
Jayne reached out and put her hand over his. He looked at it for a few moments before putting his other hand on hers. His grip was strong. She blushed, which surprised her.
‘And your father?’
‘He became reflective. That’s the best way I can describe it. In the same way that my mother cries, he goes for long walks or stares into the garden. He became smaller when she was killed. Not physically, but in himself, because in his eyes he’d failed in the one thing he thinks he should have done, and that was to protect Ruby.’
‘And you wanted to protect others, by joining the police?’
‘That was the idea. I’ve learned that it isn’t as simple as that. People are complicated and too many see us as the problem, not the solution.’
‘But you still help some. You can’t rescue everyone, just like your father couldn’t protect Ruby from everything. Sometimes life just turns out badly. You can’t make plans. Like this, tonight,’ and she squeezed his hand, ‘I thought I was coming to some small dead-end town, and here I am, enjoying a meal with you.’
‘I’m enjoying it too.’ He leaned in. ‘Where next? Brampton doesn’t have much of a nightlife.’
‘Do you live far away?’
‘A short walk.’
‘Let’s get a bottle and go to yours.’
‘I don’t normally feel attracted to people with black eyes and swollen cheekbones.’
‘Just be gentle with me,’ she said, and laughed as she scraped her chair back.
They didn’t say much as they walked. He put his arm round her. She pushed him away. ‘Don’t squeeze my ribs.’
They held hands instead, tentative and shy, until they reached his small cottage on a narrow crescent, with small windows and low doors.
‘It’s an old fisherman’s cottage,’ he said, as he took her coat and hung it up. ‘Built before the Victorian tourist boom.’
‘I like it. Quaint.’
As she walked into the room, the first thing she saw was a picture of Ruby, who she recognised from her Internet research. It was the prominent picture in the house.
She went over to it.
Ruby looked so innocent, in a patterned dress, sitting in long meadow grass. The sunlight behind her made her hair glow.
‘That was a month before she was murdered,’ he said, coming up behind her. ‘Mum and Dad arranged for a photographer to take the pictures. She was so pretty, my mum thought she could be a child model, which is why they had the photographs done.’
‘What did Ruby think of that?’
‘She was a young child. She didn’t think much about anything.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What are sorry for you?’
‘For your loss.’
He took her hands. ‘It was a long time ago. I keep her picture there to remember the good times, not the grief that followed. It’s… what’s the word? Cathartic, that’s it.’ He pulled her away from the picture. ‘I’ve got some wine in the fridge. I’ll get some glasses.’
‘Wine can wait.’ And she kissed him, standing on her tiptoes to reach him.
His kiss was gentle as he responded, until Jayne’s became firmer, her need driving her, wanting him to take her to his bed, to feel her body on his, his hands pinning hers down.
As he led her upstairs, neither of them said a word.