The Woman Next Door(50)

Jamie takes one last, almost lazy, roll in the water and then he is gone.





HESTER


I am very keen indeed to get away from here but Melissa is staring down at the water as though this was some sort of official burial. I even wonder whether I should offer to say a few words. But I quickly decide against this. She is upset and we are both very tired. For the first time I have the thought that she might have wanted to save that man.

I do hope she isn’t going to be consumed by the guilt. I hate to see her looking like this. There is really nothing to be gained from feeling like that.

She stares down at the water and, although she isn’t crying, she seems to have aged since yesterday. No doubt I have too, but I have less to lose.

‘Melissa?’ I say gently and touch her arm. She flinches, as though she has been scalded, and regards me as though I am a stranger. ‘I really think we should go, don’t you?’

She nods dumbly and swipes her face with the sleeve of her jumper.

‘I’m still okay to drive,’ I say hurriedly.

She doesn’t even protest.

In the van, I put the heater onto its maximum setting, but at first it just blows icy air into the cabin, so I turn it down again. We can’t leave straight away because the windows are fogged and it always did take a long time for them to clear. I remember Terry used to complain about it all the time.

Oh Terry, what would you think of me now? I wonder and get rather a thrill from this thought.

It really is unpleasant in this van. I’m never going to be able to see unless these windows clear. With a huff of irritation, I wind down the side window and then emit a small shriek because the man we saw a little while ago is standing right there, inches away.

He peers in at us. All we can do is goggle, mouths agape.

His eyes are an odd gold colour, like a cat’s. A tufty beard sprouts from a long chin and a hand-rolled cigarette dangles from his lip. He sucks on it and a strange, sweetish smell drifts into the car.

I don’t think I have ever been at such a loss for words. Is it all over for us? Did he see what we did?

I force myself to act normally and try to move my resisting mouth into both words and a faint smile.

‘Morning,’ I say.

At the sound of my voice, Bertie, who had been sitting on my lap for a short cuddle, pops up and greets the man with a fierce wagging of the tail.

‘Good morning, ladies,’ the man says in a surprisingly well-spoken voice, albeit one that is a little slurred. ‘And look at this little fella! May I stroke him?’

The way he speaks simply does not match his scruffy, hippy appearance. I would be checking my purse was still in my bag if I ended up next to this young man on a bus. I nod, stiffly, and he reaches in a bony white hand, with about ten leather bracelet things around a thin wrist, to stroke Bertie’s head with surprising gentleness.

‘What’s his name?’ he says, cooing at my delighted dog, who turns onto his back in order to receive more love.

‘It’s Bertie! I think he likes you!’ I say, brightly, although I fear I may be a tiny bit shrill.

I glance at Melissa. She is focused on the man with the rictus expression of someone in pain. I feverishly search my brain for some form of explanation for why we are here. But what possible reason could there be?

‘Good to see someone else here,’ says the young man, taking the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger in a way that also ill-fits his rather plummy accent. He takes a deep drag and blows the smoke out in a pungent gust that makes me cough. ‘Some of the best fishing in Dorset here, if you know where to look.’

‘Yes, I believe so,’ I say weakly. I still can’t think of any reason why we would be sitting in this car park at 6.30 in the morning.

‘We’ve been visiting family,’ I say in a gush. ‘Thought we’d have a break and admire the river.’ I’m cringing as I say this.

To my enormous surprise, he holds out the cigarette towards me.

‘Goodness, no thank you!’ I say with a small laugh. Imagine the germs, even if I did smoke.

To my astonishment, Melissa’s thin, pale arm snakes past me and she takes the cigarette from the man, still without saying a word. She takes it to her lips and draws deeply, then does it again, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

I can’t believe it has taken me so long to understand what is happening. Really, what is Melissa thinking? Not only has this young man seen us, but her DNA is now all over that marijuana cigarette.

I clear my throat loudly.

‘Well, we had better be going,’ I say, trying to remain cheerful-sounding even though fury is coursing through me like the hot drink I have been craving for hours.

Melissa hands the nasty thing back to the young man and smiles weakly as he grins at her.

Honestly.

‘Bon voyage,’ he says. ‘Oh and one other thing …’

My breath catches. ‘Yes?’

‘Your rear light is smashed. Did you know?’

‘Yes,’ I say on a long out-breath of relief. ‘I plan to get it seen to when I’m home.’

‘Good idea,’ he says. ‘The filth’ll pull you over for that.’ And with this he slaps the roof of the van, making us both jump. Then he swaggers off, drumming out some unknown rhythm on the leg of his baggy jeans.