Jayne was out looking for Henry again.
The day had started with a stretch and a groan on Dan’s sofa and a stumble to the shower in baggy knickers, a creased T-shirt of Dan’s and socks that had half worked their way off her feet. Yeah, it must have been hard for Dan to resist her as he rushed out, stopping only to leave a note on the coffee table that read Collect the witnesses. I’ll call you when they’re needed.
Business as usual, then. She’d changed into her court suit and blouse and the clock had crept to nine thirty. If she left it too long, Henry would be opening his first can of strong lager. She didn’t expect him to stay dry, but she wanted to at least have a chance of controlling him and keeping him functional.
The streets didn’t seem as threatening in the daylight as she drove to where she’d been the night before. It was a bad part of town but the mornings were slower than at night. Just long rows of houses, boards covering some of the windows. In others, curtains hung drab and dirty. Wheelie bins cluttered the pavement, all different colours, making the street look like a giant child’s playset. There weren’t many cars, and the ones that clogged the pavement were dented and scuffed.
She drove past the playground where Henry had been the night before and parked further along. She wished she’d put on her normal clothes, because even though it was late spring the winds blew in hard there, adding to the desolation, the street facing north towards a high hill.
They’d been able to find an address in the file, scribbled on the back of a letter. Henry’s door was faded blue wood with glass panels running up the centre, two of them broken. Jayne knocked. The noise bounced back as echoes.
She waited for a few seconds before knocking again, this time louder. No one came to the door.
She stepped back and looked up at the window. The curtains were closed, but that didn’t mean anything. She guessed that Henry didn’t run an orderly house.
A woman opened the door in the next house along, a cigarette in her hand. Her skinny jeans hung from her hips and her cheeks had a hollowed look that gave away one thing: drugs.
‘He went out earlier,’ the woman said, her mouth not much more than a dark hole in her face, her voice a whiny drawl.
‘Do you know where?’
‘No, but he was in a hurry. He doesn’t normally get up that early, usually I hear him, and he comes round sometimes for something to eat.’
‘Okay, thank you,’ Jayne said, and at that moment she realised why people like Henry stayed there. For all of its grime and despair, it was a support network, with people around him who looked out for each other, who didn’t judge, all of them doing their best just to get through another day.
That didn’t help Jayne though. Henry had beaten her, scurried out so that she couldn’t get him to court, and unless she found him in the town centre somewhere, she would let Dan down.
All she could hope for was that Mickey played along. If they lost him too, any plan to shift the blame towards Lucy would be gone.
There were signs of occupation at Mickey’s house as Jayne pulled up outside, a glowing lamp visible through the net curtains. At least someone was in.
She’d tried calling Dan, but his phone was switched off.
She knocked on Mickey’s door and didn’t have to wait long for an answer, as the sound of feet shuffling to the door was followed by the rattle of the lock. It was Mickey’s mother, who smiled and said, ‘Hello, love. He’s been waiting for you.’
Jayne tried to hide her relief. She didn’t want to arrive at court with both witnesses missing. He followed Mickey’s mother along the hallway and into the room at the back. She gestured for Jayne to sit down and then shouted up the stairs, ‘Mickey? Your lady-friend is here,’ and then, ‘do you want a drink before you go?’
‘No, but thank you anyway.’ Jayne looked round the room as she waited. The fireplace was old, with cheap brown glazed tiles that surrounded a gas fire with fake coals, which had undoubtedly replaced a grander fire and mantle that a new owner would want to put back in. Glass bells lined one shelf, and on another there were photographs of Mickey and his mother together. On holiday. At Christmas. When Mickey was younger and slimmer. There were pictures of young children on a bright foreign beach grinning under sun hats.
‘Your grandchildren?’ Jayne said, pointing to the photographs.
‘Yes, the little darlings,’ she said, and her eyes glazed over. ‘I don’t see them much, not after the split. I’ve tried calling, but she puts the phone down.’
‘What about Mickey? Does he see them?’
‘Not at all. He’s been told to stay away, and he does, but it breaks my heart. His too.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘We’re doing our best. One day at a time.’
‘When I was here before, you said the previous lawyer was shouting. Can you remember what about?’
‘I didn’t catch all of it, but she was angry. You seem so much calmer. I like you.’
Before Jayne could respond, Mickey came down the stairs, his nervousness audible in the slow drag of his footsteps. When he came into the room, he was wearing a navy suit with an unbuttoned white shirt underneath. Jayne was surprised when she saw how a slight shimmer of stubble made him look quite handsome.
‘Is this all right?’ he said, looking down at himself.
‘You look fine,’ Jayne said, smiling.
Mickey’s mother shuffled over to him and smoothed down his jacket. ‘You look more than fine. You’ll do that poor girl proud. Tell them what you know. It’s important.’
He looked at Jayne and said, ‘Is it usual to be nervous?’
‘Yes, it’s natural, but you won’t be giving evidence today. It’s all about showing that we have you. Let Dan take care of it all.’
‘But what if I mess it up or if I’ve got it wrong?’
‘Have you got it wrong?’
‘I know what I saw.’
‘Just stick with that and you’ll be fine. I’ll be with you.’
He took a deep breath and turned to his mother. ‘Will you be all right here, on your own? I might be gone all day.’
‘Don’t you worry about me. Now go. We’ll talk later.’
Jayne headed to the door, keen to get Mickey out of the house, but she had to wait as he hugged his mother. She tried not to roll her eyes with impatience.
Mickey squeezed past her to get to the door, too close to her in the narrow confines of the hallway. His cologne was strong, as if he wasn’t used to putting it on and had been generous in his spraying.
‘After you,’ he said, as he opened the door.
Jayne stepped into the street, allowing Mickey the unnecessary chivalry, and walked over to her car.
Once he’d settled in his seat, Mickey said, ‘Are we going to court straight away?’ There was a sheen of perspiration on his forehead.
‘Not quite yet. There’s one other witness to look for.’
He put his hands on his knees, his posture rigid. ‘How long will it take?’
‘We’ve plenty of time.’
Mickey looked out of the window.
As she set off, he kept his attention away from her.
She noticed his hands were gripping his knees, his fingers white.