––––––––
‘Hemmings has been very helpful. He’s not stupid.’
Jonathan sat cross-legged on my lounge carpet. It was as if I’d only seen him yesterday; the hallmark of a good friend. ‘Have you any idea what happens to a grass in those places?’ he carried on.
I nodded. I did. Although I suspected it wouldn’t happen to Hemmings, because yes, he was clever; as Margaret had pointed out.
‘But nothing has happened to him, he hasn’t even been moved to an isolation area. What have you found out? I know you’re investigating this. I bet Harry Broomsgrove wants an exclusive?’
Jonathan’s smile was wan. He picked carpet fluff from his trousers, nervously raked his hair and put the collection of fluff in the waste bin. ‘We can’t report on this, just yet. Don’t ask me why; I have no idea whose pockets are being filled. It’ll come out soon, though. Harry has already suggested I make a visit to Sam and Bridget ... An exclusive with Hemmings’ parents, to get the interview before the story breaks properly.’ He paused. ‘We may not get the story first but we’ll have a follow-through ready.’
‘It’s good of you not to request an interview with me.’ I touched his hand.
‘No way. I’m hesitant about your aunt and uncle, to be honest. You don’t mind?’
‘No, I don’t. I feel for them, really. Can’t be easy.’
‘Hasn’t been easy for you.’ He pushed a stray curl behind his ear. ‘Have you seen anything of your mum and dad?’
‘I see my dad reasonably regularly ...’ I knew my face betrayed me.
‘All well?’
‘Not sure. We feel uncomfortable with each other. I think Dad misses the “doting daughter”.’
‘What’s changed? Is it because of Joe?’
‘In a way.’
‘You don’t want to talk about it, do you?’
‘Not at the moment but, one day, I’d love your ear.’
‘And your mother?’
‘Don’t see her.’
‘At all?’
‘No.’
He took a breath. ‘I did a bit of research ... in prep for the Bridget and Sam article. I didn’t realise Margaret had been a teacher.’
‘Why would you? She gave it up years ago.’
Jonathan was doing his job. I had to be careful with Jonathan. I looked at him, the softness of his hair that shone dark in the afternoon light, the defined jaw, the kindness that was so easily expressed in his face, his keen eye for motivation, for a change in emotion, or character.
‘I don’t intend on putting anything in the article about Margaret looking after Hemmings when he was a child, although Harry would wet his pants if I did.’
I sat down opposite him. ‘It’s good of you not to.’ I wanted to tell Jonathan about my mother and the last time I’d seen her. It had been three years, but her words were as piercing as the reverberant noise from clinking crystal wine glasses, still ringing on inside my head. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch,’ I said instead. And I was.
‘It’s OK, I understand.’ He didn’t understand; how could he? I didn’t, really.
He carried on, ‘I thought the job was going well ... from what I’ve heard. Your resignation came from nowhere.’
‘Have you spoken to Tom?’
‘A short conversation.’ He smiled. ‘He doesn’t do journalists.’
‘He’s protecting me.’
‘So?’
‘So?’ I repeated.
‘Why?’
‘I need a break. I plan on having a short holiday.’
‘And then?’
‘I don’t know...’
He surveyed me. ‘You look ...’ His voice trailed off. ‘What’s going on, Rachel? You can’t spend the rest of your life getting obsessively fit.’
‘We all deal with things in different ways.’ I caught his eye. ‘How are you and Michelle?’
‘We’re divorced.’ His tone was flat.
‘I didn’t know.’
‘I tried to call, over a year ago now.’
‘I’m sorry I’ve been a crap friend.’
‘It was always on the cards with Michelle and I. But I thought you and Liam would survive this. I really did.’
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Did you? He finally admitted to an affair.’
‘Twat.’
I laughed out loud. ‘He is a bit.’
‘Did he reveal who with?’
‘Someone I don’t know.’
Jonathan looked away. ‘So, this is it then? You, running, and mindless keep-fit classes?’
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘And you’re going to sit back and allow Hemmings to be sent, probably in the not too distant future, to a step-down unit? Because I think that could happen.’
‘It’s out of my hands now. I’ll accept what will happen. As you’ve said, I need to get on with my life.’
He stood up and walked towards the window. ‘The Hemmings thing – you should speak to your barrister.’
‘Liam did.’
‘You can’t be alone, Rachel, not all the time. And finishing work, is that such a good thing? Just take a long holiday, Gillespie’ll understand. Why don’t you come to London, stay in a hotel, I’ll take you out.’
I glanced at him. ‘You asking me on a date?’
He reddened. ‘Come on...’
‘Only teasing.’ He fiddled with his watch strap. ‘Stop it, Jonathan,’ I laughed.
‘Sorry. Nerves.’
‘I’ll come to London soon; that would be good.’ I was good at telling untruths, according to my dad. But I found it difficult to lie to Jonathan. My heart ached and I wondered how Michelle could have let him go.
‘You should.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I have to go.’
I saw him out, returned to the kitchen and sat down. There was nothing Jonathan could have told me about what was happening in Littleworth: I knew everything. I’d met with Razor four days after our interview at the station, a day after I’d resigned, and he’d been a mine of information. We agreed that was to be our last meeting; from then on I’d use the secure email address only. A ripple of anxiety had woven through me at Razor’s astuteness. A convicted criminal understood me better than I understood myself. Razor’s information had encouraged me to make my own subtle investigations into Hemmings and Littleworth, and moved me forwards.
Joe visited me the evening of the day I’d met with Razor, trying to encourage me to stop pursuing my revenge on his murderer. Was it Joe, or was it the core of my old self that I heard? I’d tried to grasp the popcorn-laden air, but Joe had already disappeared.