When You Are Mine(48)

‘I’ve talked to her mother and read the transcripts from her inquest. Dylan Holstein was investigating you.’

Goodall raises his voice, talking over me. ‘Is this some kind of vendetta? Or maybe you’re obsessed with me.’

‘I think you’re disgusting.’

‘And you’re the daughter of a scumbag criminal.’

The swapping of insults feels childish, like I’m back in the playground at my primary school.

Under his breath, but still audible, he mutters, ‘You seem to have forgotten your place in the food chain. You are a doe-eyed Bambi in a forest full of wolves, and when I come for you, not even your daddy will be able to protect you.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘Oh, no, I’m simply explaining the great circle of life, which is more like a daisy chain than a food chain.’

I hear a child’s voice, yelling ‘Daddy!’

On the far side of the road, Alison Goodall has emerged from the house. Her little boy is waving and Alison raises her hand to shield her eyes from the glare, unsure of who I am. Any moment now she’ll recognise me from our yoga class.

Goodall turns to me. ‘Don’t come near my family again.’

‘Leave Tempe alone and I won’t have to.’

I clip on my bike helmet. Goodall wraps his fingers around the handlebars. He raises the front tyre a few inches and drops it.

‘Is everything all right?’ asks Alison, still on the far side of the road.

‘Fine,’ he yells back. ‘See you tonight.’

I pull the bike from his grip and quickly spin away, pushing it along the footpath. At the next intersection, I climb into the saddle and begin riding home, replaying the conversation in my head. Up on the pedals, I push hard, driven by anger and frustration. I’m annoyed with myself and Tempe and my father, although I don’t know how he comes into this.

Having crossed the Thames, I’m almost home, riding along a narrow street with cars parked on either side, when I sense a vehicle behind me. Getting closer. Too close. I risk a look over my shoulder and see a flash of dark blue, but not the driver’s face. Out of my seat, I push on the pedals, looking for a gap between the parked cars. The driver is periodically flooring the clutch and revving the accelerator, making the engine growl impatiently.

Suddenly, I see a space and swerve left but can’t stop. I hit the gutter and the handlebars are wrenched from my hands. I am thrown forwards, head over heels, airborne. Tumbling. At the last moment, I roll onto my shoulder, protecting my head, which still smacks into the pavement leaving me stunned. I am lying on my back, looking up at rags of white cloud in the clear blue sky.

The Saab has stopped. The passenger window glides down. Goodall leans nearer. ‘See how easy it would be. I wouldn’t have to waste a bullet.’

*

Sitting on the sofa, I flinch each time Henry dabs disinfectant on my grazed elbow.

‘Ow!’

‘Sorry.’ He grabs another cotton ball. ‘You should file a complaint.’

‘With whom, exactly?’

‘His boss. Internal Affairs. He ran you off the road.’

‘Technically, I ran off the road. He didn’t touch me.’

‘He threatened you.’

‘It will be his word against mine. He’s a decorated detective. I’m Edward McCarthy’s daughter.’

‘Well, I’ll thump the bastard. What’s his address?’

Henry gets to his feet and looks for his shoes.

‘You’re not going around there.’

‘I don’t care if he is a copper. He can’t get away with running you off the road.’

‘Don’t you dare leave this house.’

‘I have to do something.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he hurt you and because I love you and because he wrecked my bloody bike.’

Wincing as I straighten my knees, I take his face in my hands, pulling him closer, kissing his lips.

‘I don’t need a knight in shining armour. I have this under control.’

Henry doesn’t answer, but I want to make him promise to let this go.

‘I’m not scared of him,’ he shouts from the bathroom.

‘I know.’

‘You should tell your father.’

‘Are you kidding? He’d go to war.’





26


‘He said that you’re not getting another penny from him. What did he mean?’

‘I have no idea,’ says Tempe.

‘And when he followed me on the train, he called you a parasite. Are you blackmailing him?’

‘No.’

‘Did you threaten to tell his wife?’

‘Never.’

We’re at the Chestnut Grove Academy, getting changed after a class. Curtains are breathing air and light into the changing rooms, swelling from the breeze and dropping again against the louvred windows.

‘When Goodall was arrested, he claimed that you were his informant and a sex worker.’

‘He was lying to cover his arse. I’m not a call girl. I would never sleep with anyone for money.’

‘I’m not saying you took money, but I saw the broken camera in the living room.’