Cold as Ice (Willis/Carter #2)(46)

‘You’re doing a good job, Tracy. No one gives you a rule book. You just learn along the way.’

‘That’s what Danielle said to me. There isn’t a right way of doing things.’

‘She’s right. Has Steve got any kids?’

‘God no.’

‘Not keen, huh?’ Jeanie smiled.

‘You know what? We’ve never really sat down and said, shall we?’

‘Did he know about Danielle?’

‘Yes – well he knew I had a baby but we didn’t talk about it much.’

‘What was it like when you gave her up? You were very young?’

‘I was fifteen.’ Tracy’s voice came out shrill. She took a breath, closed the suitcase and sat on the bed. ‘It was very difficult. I came from an ordinary family; I was one of two kids. My sister never did anything wrong.’ Tracy sat on the edge of the bed and tucked her hands beneath her thighs. Jeanie could see Tracy didn’t have a lot of practice when it came to talking about her past. Tracy looked up at Jeanie. Her eyes distant, sad. Gone was the super-efficient Tracy, in control. The fifteen-year-old, caught out and cracking up, sat before her on the edge of her girly white satin bed. ‘I was just unlucky, I guess. The first boy I felt deeply for and I ended up “up the spout”. I left it too late for an abortion; I had no idea what was happening to my body. My parents had never really told me much. I’d have done that if I’d had the choice – got rid of it – I mean, I was just a girl. I knew nothing about parenting. I lost so much schooling. My academic side just came to a standstill. I suppose . . . if I’d been really bright, really keen, I might have made it to uni but . . .’ She shrugged. ‘It wasn’t really talked about. It wasn’t on the cards.’

‘It must have been a difficult time.’

She didn’t look at Jeanie.

‘Devastating. My mum and dad were so upset. They couldn’t look me in the eyes after that.’ Tracy’s hands spread out along the satin bedspread as if she looked for comfort in its silky touch. ‘No more princess for me!’

‘They helped you in making the decision to give Danielle away?’

‘She wasn’t called that then. I named her Clare.’ Tracy flashed a look Jeanie’s way then smiled, embarrassed. ‘Yes they decided, with me, that I was too young. I couldn’t have coped. They decided it was best.’

‘Did you think it was?’

She shook her head. ‘I did at the time, or rather I didn’t know what to think.’

‘But you picked yourself up afterwards and went back to college?’

‘Yes, sort of – we papered over the cracks. We tried to behave like it never happened. I went to do a course in beauty therapy and I met Steve. He was doing a mechanics course. My parents were really anti him in the beginning but he was a friend more than anything else and I needed that.’

‘Is he still?’

‘What?’

‘A friend? The love of your life?’

Tracy gave a half smile but didn’t answer.

‘Marriage is hard work, isn’t it, Tracy?’

‘Yes. You need to do it when you’re young, that’s for sure. You compromise then, don’t you? You’re willing to bend an awful lot to accommodate someone. Too much, really. Then, before you know it you’ve lost yourself and you kind of hate them as much as love them.’ She turned her face away. ‘But you can’t imagine life without them, that’s the trouble. You get caught in a love trap.’

Jeanie could see Tracy’s reflection in the window, she could see that she was thinking hard what to say; her expression was a sad one.

‘Love loses something along the way, doesn’t it?’

Tracy shut the case and looked earnestly at Jeanie. ‘I certainly wouldn’t do it again.’ Jeanie smiled. They looked out at the street outside. ‘Is Jackson safe?’

‘Yes. I don’t think he’d come near Jackson here.’ Jeanie smiled. ‘You’re doing a good job, Tracy.’





Chapter 19


It was midday when Carter left Tracy’s house; he drove to Camden and parked up on a quiet residential street with a smart-looking row of Victorian terrace houses. He walked along to the end of the terrace and smelt the bonfire as he turned up the driveway and walked past a battered-looking van.

He rang the doorbell and waited. No one came. He walked to the edge of the house and heard the crackle of the bonfire as flakes of soot drifted past him. Carter knocked on the side gate and tried the latch. He called out:

‘Mr Foster?’

‘What do you want?’ came the reply.

‘A word.’ Carter opened his warrant card and showed it above the garden gate.

The gate opened and a man stood wiping his hands on a rag. Behind him was a long garden with a clump of trees at the end and a smoking bonfire in the middle. ‘Gerald Foster?’ It struck Carter that Foster was a tough-looking man. He was over six foot. His frame was still upright and strong. He would have put his age at fifty. Foster wore heavy-rimmed glasses covered in a layer of dust. They were ones that had come back into fashion, clear at the bottom, black and heavy at the top.

The man nodded but he didn’t move from the gate.

‘I won’t keep you long, can I come in please?’