Tracey Briggs turned to Fanshaw in a rage as sudden as it was furious. ‘Well, ‘husband’? How come you sound so reluctant now, when you’ve been happy enough to sample the merchandise for the last six months?’
‘Really, Tracey, that’s uncalled for.’ Professor Fanshaw stood looking affronted, as if one of his first year students had dropped a fart in front of him. ‘Need we discuss this now? I would far rather discuss it when we are alone.’
‘I bet you would.’
‘Tracey, be reasonable. Let me just show the police out and—’
‘No. They’re going nowhere. I might just need them as witnesses.’
‘Witnesses? Witnesses to what? Your display of temper? You say you’re now a lady, then act like one.’
‘But it seems to me as if this lady suddenly isn’t good enough for you. What is it, Eric? You want some nubile sixteen-year-old in your bed? Is that it?’
‘No, of course it isn’t. For goodness’ sake, Tracey. You’re showing yourself up. Worse, you’re showing me up.’
‘Oh, and we can’t have that, can we? Professor Fanshaw and his little acolytes—what would they say if they could see your common-law wife shrieking at you like a fishwife? I could tell them something, all right. They wouldn’t think so much of you then, would they, even though you’re being so reasonable now.’ She flew at him, fetched him a right-hander that had him rocking back on his heels, and screamed. ‘Get out, you bastard! Get out!’
The Professor and hastened to obey this virago. His nose gushing blood, he ran for the door, pushing the police officers before him. ‘Come on, come on, before she starts on you.’
Before they could gather their wits, the Professor hustled them out of the front door, and the door was slammed shut after them with such force that it vibrated in its frame.
The professor had retreated halfway down the drive, before he stopped to try and staunch the flow of blood. Soon, one hankie was sodden, and Rafferty gave him another. That was soon bloody, and Mary Carmody yanked the useless hankie away, gripped the top of his nose tightly, and thrust his head back. Soon the blood had slowed to a trickle, and the professor removed her hand.
‘Thank you, my dear. I think it’s stopped now. My goodness. Who’d have thought she’d turn so violent? But after Joey—’ He came to an abrupt halt.
‘You were saying, Professor?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘“But after Joey”, you said. What did you mean?’
‘Oh. Er, I just meant, Tracey must have been more affected by the death of her husband than I thought, that’s all.’
Rafferty was convinced he had meant something else, and that the professor refused to meet his eyes, confirmed it. Did he have proof that Tracey had killed her husband? If he did, he wasn’t saying, for now anyway. Clearly, the man was in shock, and after being on the receiving end of one of Tracey’s right-handers, he couldn’t blame him.
‘Well',’ said Rafferty. ‘I suppose the next thing you’ll want to know is how to get her out of your house, so you can live there again.’
‘I certainly do.’ The professor looked expectantly at him. ‘Especially as it has been your unwarranted intrusion that has transformed that woman into a fishwife. Such violence. So unnecessary. Any suggestions?’
This started Llewellyn off on one of his lecture modes. The professor seemed more than happy to listen, so Rafferty left them to it. He retreated a few paces with Mary Carmody who’d also heard one or two lectures too many.
‘Quite a girl. Who’d have thought she packed such a punch?’ Rafferty grinned. Fortunately, his back was to the professor, so he didn’t risk an outraged Fanshaw reporting him to Bradley for conduct unbecoming an officer of the law. His grin broadened, threatening to break out into abandoned laughter that couldn’t be concealed, so he grabbed his second spare hankie and made coughing noises into it. When he’d got himself under control, he approached the professor. ‘What’ll you do now? Find a hotel for the night?’
‘No. They’ll find me a room at the university here. I’ve visiting privileges here at Essex.’ He looked back at the house, and his expression hardened. ‘But I want that woman out of my house, and out of my life. See to it, will you?’ And with that, he climbed in his car and drove away.
Mary Carmody and Rafferty looked at one another, and laughter erupted. Soon, they were hanging onto one another, while their howls echoed down the quiet street.
Llewellyn glanced from one to the other, and shook his head. ‘I really don’t know what you find so amusing.’
Between more laughter, Rafferty mopped at his tears and said, ‘I don’t suppose you do, Dafyd. I don’t suppose you do.’ He calmed momentarily. ‘But it’s clear to me that the professor knows more than he’s telling. Let’s just hope Tracey doesn’t murder him before he tells us what it is.’
***
A correct and rather withdrawn Llewellyn dropped them both at their respective homes.
‘I suggested the professor drop into the station tomorrow if he wants to press charges against Mrs Briggs.’ He directed one of his more disapproving glances at Rafferty. ‘I would suggest it would be altogether unwise for you to make yourself available.’
‘Very unwise, Dafyd. I think you’d better see him, don’t you?’ Rafferty climbed from the car, said goodnight, opened his front door and went inside, where the remembered look on Llewellyn’s face started him off again. Until Abra came out and shushed him, fearing he would wake Neeve. He retreated to the living room, his shoulders still shaking. But at the sight of Mickey slouched on the settee, his laughter stopped. ‘You here again?’
‘Oh, no, there goes Neeve. I’d just got her settled.’ With a harassed look, Abra left the room. Rafferty followed her, and caught her just as she passed the kitchen door.
‘How long’s Mickey been here?’
Abra pulled a face. ‘All afternoon. Talking about Tara and sobbing. He’s the one that got Neeve all upset.’
Rafferty, thoroughly sobered now, thought: and then he’d come home and woken her again. He watched Abra, as with a weary sigh, she went upstairs. He could hear the baby’s wailing cry as he listened to Abra’s footsteps cross to the baby’s room. He was beginning to recognise her different cries, and this one sounded as if it would run and run. He sighed, went in the kitchen, and put the kettle on.
Sure enough, five minutes later, Abra came down, carrying a shrieking Neeve. ‘She won’t settle.’
From the living room came the sound of a smashing glass, and a curse. Rafferty presumed Mickey was helping himself to another whiskey.
‘For God’s sake, Joe, please take him out, or I’ll never get her settled.’
‘Go out again?’ He stared at her, in dismay. ‘But I’ve just come in.’
‘Either that, or you tell him Tara’s got a new man. But you must realise this can’t go on. Not when I’ve got a new baby to cope with.’
He saw that Abra was on the point of tears. He abandoned the tea-making, swallowed the riposte that was on the tip of his tongue, took a deep breath, and took her in his arms, baby and all. This caused Neeve to shriek even louder, and he hurriedly backed away. ‘All right, sweetheart. Tell you what, we’ll put Neeve in her pram, and walk round to the pub. It’s a nice night, that’ll send her off in no time. You get her ready, and I’ll make Mickey stir his stumps. All right?’
Abra nodded, and heaved a sigh of relief. He gave her a quick kiss, promised to come back with a takeaway, then went into the living room.
‘All right, Mickey?’
His brother grunted in reply. Rafferty saw he’d found another glass, and left the smashed one on the floor. He hardened his heart. No way he was dossing down here again, or Abra would be stuck with him half of tomorrow as well.
‘Fancy going down the pub? Or let me put it another way: we’re going down the pub. Get your shoes on. And you won’t need your car, we’re walking.’ No way he could let him drive the car, anyway, the state of him.
At least Mickey put his shoes on without any argument. Just as well, too. Because, from the whiff off his feet, Rafferty doubted he’d taken a shower since Tara had split up with him.
Abra had put Neeve in her pram dressed as she was, which made sense. That way she’d be all ready to be put in her cot when he managed to get her off. If he got her off. She was crying fit to bust now. He shouted to be heard above the racket. ‘See you later, love.’ He kissed her again, and wheeled the baby out, before Mickey had even realised what was happening.
But once outside the house, with the door shut, his brother said, ‘We’re taking the baby? I thought Abra—’
‘You thought wrong. Abra needs a break.’ From both of you, he nearly added. ‘Come on. It’s not far. And you look as if you could do with some fresh air.’
At least Mickey made no other objection. He didn’t say anything at all. Accompanied by a now only grizzling, Neeve, and a sullen Mickey, they made it to the pub on the corner. Luckily, it had a big beer garden. Rafferty left Neeve with Mickey while he went to get their drinks.
When he came out, Neeve’s grizzle had changed to a full-blown piercing cry again. ‘Christ. What did you do to her? I leave her with you for five minutes and you set her off again.’
‘Me? I didn’t do anything. I never touched her.’
Rafferty took Neeve from the pram, settled her against his shoulder, and rocked her. Soon the shrieks had subsided to little sobs. ‘Here’s what you should have done, bro. I don’t know which one of you is the baby here, you or her. It’s about time you manned up, Mickey. I don’t suppose you’ve even been at work today.’
‘What of it? I can take a day off, can’t I, without anyone’s permission?’
Mickey was a self-employed carpenter/joiner, and a good one. He had a great little business, too. But if this kept up he’d soon have no clients left.
‘You might be self-employed, Mickey, but you want to make some effort, even when other parts of your life are shit. You can’t keep not showing up, or your business will go before you have even noticed. Aren’t you supposed to be working on Cartwright’s job? He won’t long stand for you leaving him in the lurch.’ He’d heard enough about Jerry Cartwright to know he was a stickler for the importance of a job being done just so.
Mickey lurched to his feet. ‘Who do you think you’re giving your orders to?’ He thrust a chair out of his way. ‘I’m out of here. I’m going to a pub where a man can drink in peace.’ He swallowed his drink in one gulp, gave Rafferty a filthy look, and staggered off.
Rafferty looked after him, shouted, ‘Mickey, come back.’ But all he heard was rapidly retreating footsteps. He scowled. ‘Be like that, then, you daft bastard.’ He looked at his drink, then shrugged, and like his brother, downed it in one.
He gazed down at Neeve, and gradually his face broke into a smile. She’d dropped off at last. ‘It’s a good job you’re able to sleep through rows, because there are plenty of them in our family.’ But to be on the safe side, he put her back in the pram, and wheeled her around the streets for half-an-hour, before he went home.
He found Abra on the settee, sound asleep, a pile of invitations to Neeve’s christening abandoned on the coffee table.
Rafferty went up and put Neeve into her cot. There wasn’t a murmur from her. Rafferty smiled tiredly. ‘That’s my girl.’ He stood watching her for a few minutes, but she was sound, so he crept out and went downstairs again. He slumped in a corner of the settee, and soon he was sound asleep. He was only woken by Abra stirring.
‘Come on, Joe. Come to bed, or you’ll be fit for nothing in the morning.’
He dry-scrubbed his face, and heaved himself to his feet. ‘I forgot the takeaway. It was Mickey’s fault, storming off like that.’ He sighed, and his glance settled on the coffee table. ‘I see you’ve made a start on the invitations.’
‘Yeah. I know it’s only the family, but I thought I’d better get them done. It’s only a few days off, after all. So what was wrong with Mickey? Did you tell him Tara’s got a new man?’
‘Not exactly.’ He shuffled guiltily. He knew Abra was right and he should just come out and tell him straight. He didn’t tell her why Mickey had departed in such a humour, and Abra, half-asleep, didn’t ask. He had half a suspicion that Mickey wouldn’t show his face at Neeve’s christening. And, at the moment, he didn’t greatly care.