What Lies Between Us(27)

‘Jon Hunter,’ I begin, the words almost sticking in my throat.

He turns to look at me. The whites surrounding his grey irises are pinkish and framed by dark rings. His skin is so pale, it’s as if he hasn’t seen sunlight in years. His cheeks are sunken and he’s as thin as a rake, but despite these flaws, he is startlingly pretty for a man. He takes another drag from his cigarette and from its smell, it’s clear that it doesn’t contain only tobacco.

Saying nothing, he raises his eyebrows as if to ask, ‘And who are you?’

‘May I have a minute of your time, please?’

‘What about?’

‘My daughter.’

‘And she is?’

‘Your girlfriend.’

His expression tells me he is unsure who I am talking about, which indicates that either he and Nina aren’t serious, or he is not the monogamous type. His occupation suggests the latter. ‘Nina Simmonds,’ I clarify.

Momentarily, his bravado is replaced with defensiveness. ‘I don’t know what’s she’s told you, but—’

‘Please don’t insult me by denying your relationship,’ I reply, enjoying the feel of the upper hand. ‘I know that you two are dating. I’ve seen you both with my own eyes, canoodling in a pub.’

‘Canoodling,’ he repeats, and laughs at either the word or at me, I can’t be sure. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about, we’re not serious.’

‘I should hope not, she is a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl,’ I say. ‘But does she know that?’

‘Know what? That she’s fifteen? I’d hope so. Anyway, she told me she was eighteen so it’s hardly my fault.’

With my added confidence comes added frustration. ‘Don’t talk to me like I’m a fool. Does she know that she’s probably one in a long line of other gullible girls?’

‘Look, I’m really not comfortable with this conversation,’ he says. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want you to promise not to see her again.’

Hunter lets out another laugh and smoke gushes from his mouth. ‘You want me to promise? How about I go one better and give you a pinkie swear? Or a Brownie’s promise?’

‘Perhaps you would prefer it if I went to the police and reported you?’ I snap.

The smile falls quickly from his face. ‘I don’t think you’ll do that.’

‘No? Campbell Square station is a five-minute walk from here. I’ll go right now.’

I turn, then feel his hand on my shoulder. He swings me around. I’m about to protest but he speaks first, his face far too close to mine for my liking. I smell the tobacco on his breath.

‘I don’t think you will. Do you honestly believe Nina will appreciate you interfering?’

‘Eventually she’ll understand.’

‘Don’t kid yourself. All you’re going to accomplish is that you’ll see even less of her. She’ll hate you for breaking us up and she’ll keep running away from you to come back to me.’

‘She’s my daughter, not a toy for you to play with.’

‘She’s both. She tells me how much she hates being with you and how you drove her dad away. If I click my fingers, she’ll be living with me and you’ll be left with nobody.’

‘The police won’t allow that to happen.’

‘If they investigate me, then they’re also going to tell Social Services about the risk you’ve put her under by allowing her to sleep at my place.’

‘But I didn’t know she was with you! She said she was with a friend.’

‘It doesn’t matter. You see, your daughter is a pleaser, she likes to keep people happy. Not you, of course. But she’s terrified that I’m going to disappear like her daddy did. And that means she’ll do anything I say to keep hold of me. And if that means lying about you, then she’ll do just that. Fuck with me and I’ll fuck you right back.’

He releases his grip of my shoulder, takes a long drag from his cigarette and flicks it up into the air. It lands behind a clump of dandelions. ‘I assume we’ve reached an understanding?’ he says, and I’m powerless to do anything but nod.

‘By the way,’ he adds as he walks away, ‘it’s a shame you don’t have any more daughters. A year or two younger would’ve been just right.’

Then he winks at me and saunters back inside.





CHAPTER 21





MAGGIE


I’m alone when I spot it. It’s in the corner of the dining room, wedged between the carpet and the skirting board. Nina doesn’t use hairpins, so it must be an old one of mine that’s lain there for years. Perhaps she accidentally loosened it with the vacuum cleaner, which is why I can see it now.

Its positioning is too subtle to be another of her tests. Not like when she left her mobile phone on the dining-room table partially covered by her handbag while she was downstairs in the kitchen. I frantically dialled 999 only to discover she’d removed that little card inside that operates it.

I arrive at the conclusion that I’ve stumbled upon this by chance. Nina is preparing dinner so she doesn’t hear my chain rattling as I move to grab and keep it, like a magpie taking a shiny object back to its nest. I hold it up to the light; it’s metal and could be just what I need to remove this padlock from my ankle.