Lying in Wait(45)

When Gerry spotted me in Scanlon’s three weeks later, he asked for a quiet word. ‘Someone gave me a rise,’ he said.

I pretended not to know what he was talking about.

‘I got an extra thirty pounds in my dole last week.’

‘Did you? Well, our staff make mistakes all the time. If I was you, I’d keep that to myself.’

‘Really? Will I not get into trouble over it, like?’

‘Not at all, not if it was our fault. I’ll be turning a blind eye anyway.’ I winked at him and tapped my nose. He offered to buy me a pint, but I declined and rejoined Bridget and the others. I had done a small thing to make him happy. As he raised his glass to me from the corner of the bar, I felt good.

I stuck to my weight-loss programme, and gradually the chins began to disappear again and my feet came into view. At first, I had walked everywhere. Running was out of the question because I wasn’t able for it and people would laugh at me. I did exercises in my bedroom and then Mum bought the Jane Fonda Workout book for me for Christmas, which was pleasing in many ways. After a short time, very strangely and without too much effort, my appetite nearly disappeared. I was suddenly a bundle of energy with too much vitality for sleep. I got up earlier and went to bed later. I can’t explain what happened. It was as if a switch in my brain had flipped. I was eating a quarter of what I had been used to. Which was probably what a normal person should eat.

‘Is it my imagination, or are you thinner than you were when we got together?’ asked Bridget one Saturday morning, post-coital. I hadn’t told anyone in work of my weight-loss plans, though my reduced lunch portions had been noted. In the six months we had been dating, she had never once mentioned my weight. I appreciated that. It was as if she had never noticed. I was grateful.

I was delighted by her question. ‘Yes, I think I have,’ I said. ‘I’m trying to be healthier anyway.’

‘Well, I think you’re very handsome, no matter what you weigh.’

We weren’t the type of couple to be romantic with each other or to pay compliments like that, so I was a little taken aback. It dawned on me that I should then say something positive about her. ‘You’re pretty cute too.’

She beamed.

I had developed a sense of obligation to her and she could be good company sometimes, but I felt no genuine love for her, just a warmth and a fondness. I hoped it could become something more real.

Of course, one night we bumped into Helen when we came out of the cinema. She was on her way from the pub with a gang, quite drunk.

‘Well, for fuck’s sake, look who it is! Where’s the rest of you?’ she bellowed.

I introduced Bridget as my girlfriend.

‘Girlfriend?’ said Helen with an unnecessary degree of incredulity.

‘Yes,’ said Bridget confidently.

‘Riiight,’ she said, winking at me, ‘so you’re getting the ride, then? Sure, come on back to my flat, I’m having a party. I just graduated, I’m a fucking nurse! Can you believe it!’

I politely declined but she insisted on writing down her address and phone number in case we changed our minds, and then she ran off, roaring up the street after her friends.

‘Who was that awful girl?’ said Bridget.

‘Just an old neighbour. She is awful, isn’t she?’

We laughed and I kissed Bridget on the mouth, grateful that she was no Helen. Everything was going well between us. We were a solid couple.

Until I met Karen in August 1985.





12


Karen


I waited a few weeks after Yvonne told me what James had said about a murder suspect. I guess I was learning to accept the truth. It wasn’t entirely a surprise, but thinking it and knowing it were two different things. Annie was dead.

O’Toole was still in the same job. My letter of complaint had been ignored all those years ago, or maybe they were never going to take seriously a complaint from the sister of a junkie prostitute. He knew about my letter though. He smiled broadly in my face when I went to see him.

‘Well, there you are now. You just get prettier all the time.’

I smiled sweetly at him. I had gained confidence after a few months of modelling. I was prepared to use it.

‘Declan’ – I used his first name – ‘I just wanted to check if there were any further developments in my sister’s case.’

‘Do you now? As I recall, you weren’t too happy with us before. As I recall, you complained about how I made my enquiries.’

‘I know, I’m sorry, it was a difficult time. I was on edge.’

‘You sure were.’

‘I was sorry to hear that Detective Mooney died.’

That seemed to touch him, and he passed a hand over his eyes.

‘A very sad business. He was a good lad, young James.’

‘He was. I believe he had a suspect in mind for my sister’s murder?’

O’Toole leaned back in his chair. ‘I don’t know about that.’

‘Yes, someone that you and he questioned.’

‘And who told you that?’

I shook my head, not prepared to give away my source.

‘That was all in Mooney’s head. He had a big imagination.’

‘I’d like to know who the suspect was. I heard he was a high-powered guy.’