Someone Else's Conflict (29 page)

‘No problem.' A bit of normality. ‘One more thing. Could you come and pick me up?'

‘Don't tell me; he's gone off in your car.' She could imagine Sue's expression. ‘Oh, of course I can. They can hold the fort here for as long as that'll take. Meet me on the square?'

As she tidied up ready to leave, Marilyn remembered what Jay had said that morning. Nothing like a bit of work to concentrate the mind. She wrote him a note with details of the pub and was about to tack it to the door when she hesitated, thinking of the prying eyes of Matt, the police or anyone else. She left it in a prominent place in the middle of the workbench, and made sure she left the door to the lobby unlocked. There were a couple of hours to go before Matt usually locked the main building, and in any case she intended ringing Jay again before long. Glad to be away, she walked over to the square to wait for Sue.

Chapter 24

Jay made himself slow down. She didn't have to lend him her car, after all, and he told himself to treat it with respect. He hoped she realised how grateful he was – about that and everything else. The way he'd lost his temper shamed him. Several times he'd got bogged down in his own concerns without a thought for what she must be feeling. He'd make it up to her. When things had settled down, he'd make it up to her. He wished she was with him now. She'd said she'd feel like a spare part, and it was probably a good thing he was on his own. Not just practically – talking on the phone to Vesna, a voice from the distant past, had made him feel strange and he'd inflicted enough strangeness on Polly recently.

They'd gone straight to the workshop from the builders' merchant, found Vesna's number in the phone book and reached her, as easily as that. She'd sounded surprised to hear him, and no wonder, but the accusation in her voice and in the things she'd said had saddened him. He told himself that someone going through what she must be experiencing would probably accuse anyone in sight. At least she'd come round enough to agree to see him, alone.

He'd set off immediately in the hope of missing the teatime traffic and found the tearoom, in a village on the outskirts of Bradford, with no problem. It was a similar kind of place to Polly's craft centre, in what looked like a collection of solid stone workers' cottages, except the feel of the area was more urban. He parked up and tried Vinko's number, still without success. He had about an hour to kill and set out to explore his surroundings. On one side of the main road some interesting-looking old streets led up the hill, and on the other a footpath headed down from the main road into a valley of scrubby fields bordered with dark drystone walls. He chose the solitude offered by the fields. A magnificent viaduct straddled the valley, beyond it glimpses of the outskirts of the city sprawling across its broad basin below in the clear autumn afternoon. The wind was keen on his face and in his hair and he pulled his jacket tight.

He hadn't been walking long when his phone rang. The ring tone, chosen with Vinko in a daft moment of closeness, was comforting and he was relieved to see the lad's name at last on the screen.

‘Jay? This is Vinko. You must stop phoning me.'

The abruptness brought him up short.

‘Sorry. I missed your calls this morning and thought—'

‘It doesn't matter. It wasn't a good time to talk. I…I want to talk now.'

‘Sure. Is something wrong?'

‘Wrong? Why wrong? I'll see you tomorrow, all right? Tomorrow evening. Come to my place at eight o'clock.'

‘OK. Though I was going to suggest—'

‘No, you listen to me. I've got something I want to say.' He paused and Jay thought how hesitant and distant his voice sounded over the phone. ‘I've changed my mind.'

‘What d'you mean?'

‘About…about you, Jay. I've had time to think. You lost my money and you gave me bad advice and no help to speak of. You didn't answer when I phoned. I can't trust you. Please leave me alone – but first,' the moment's pause seemed to last forever, ‘first I want you to bring my money. All that should be mine. That's why I want to meet tomorrow. Get the money and then come to my house.'

‘You're kidding, aren't you? Listen, I was going to tell you when I saw you, but—'

‘I know…I know what happened to my grandparents.'

The catch in his voice made Jay wonder if it was shock that was responsible for his sudden rejection. ‘I'm sorry, Vinko, I really am. How did you find out?'

‘I saw it in the newspaper. But that's not important to you. What's important here is we can't ask them about my money now. But remember, I know about your house. You can sell it, yes, but you can raise a loan on it now. Try to arrange it and bring the cash tomorrow.'

Jay's sympathy evaporated. ‘Is that the only thing that matters to you? I'm not—'

‘Shut up, Jay. You must give me my money. If you don't, I'll phone the police and tell them you went to my grandparents' house. I'll deny we were in Winchester.'

‘For Chrissake Vinko, what's going on? Is someone with you?'

‘No! Of course they're not! I trust no one. Like I don't trust you. I've got to look out for myself. Myself!'

His voice was rising and Jay thought it wasn't the first time that something he said had triggered pride expressed as anger in the lad. He took a deep breath. ‘Look, I'll come and talk. Where are you?'

‘Come tomorrow night – and bring my money. If you can't get it all, bring enough to show goodwill. Or I'll tell the police about you. And…and I'll visit Barton Mill.'

‘Am I understanding you right?'

‘Of course. You always understand me. Your woman can help me persuade you. So you'd be better off bringing my money tomorrow without that kind of persuasion, OK?' He hesitated again. ‘On your own – you know I've got a good view from my window. Don't bring anyone.'

‘I can't believe—'

‘Jay, please do this.' Vinko's voice dropped so he could hardly hear him. ‘And don't keep phoning. I…I'll send you a message if I need to. Do what it says.'

He hung up abruptly leaving Jay looking at a blank screen. His hand was shaking. He knew Vinko had been disappointed that he had no magic wand to wave, and that he'd found it hard to trust him or anyone, but this about-face sickened him. Why should it, he thought irritably; what did he know about anyone? Just because he was into his forties didn't suddenly make him a good judge of character. Especially not kids; what had he ever had to do with kids? He felt a wave of hurt and betrayal, wondering how he'd allowed it to happen, how he'd believed a thieving little bastard brought up to a life of crime could suddenly change just because a figure from his father's past turned up and showed him friendship. He hated himself for still being such a stupid dreamer, for the fact that Ivan still meant anything at all to him.

Although he doubted Vinko was anywhere near Holdwick, he tried Polly's number. She wasn't talking to him either. He looked at his phone wondering what on earth the things had been invented for if everyone kept them switched off. His hand was in his pocket reaching for his pipe when the ringtone nagged him again. Still thinking of Polly, he answered it eagerly.

‘Is that Jay Spinney?'

The unfamiliar male voice brought him up short.

‘Who's that?'

‘Detective Inspector John Abrahams of Keighley CID. Mr Spinney,' he paused, a question in his voice that Jay refused to answer, ‘we're hoping you can help us in connection with an inquiry. We need to ask you a few questions. I'm sure you can understand it's not the sort of thing I want to talk about on the phone. Would it be convenient for you to come into the station, here in Keighley? Or we could arrange to meet – where can we find you at the moment?'

‘I'll be glad to help but… You'll have to excuse me, the signal's really bad. If you could—'

He cut the call and stared at the phone. The crisp autumn air felt cruelly cold and bright. The stone wall running alongside the footpath seemed to conceal a multitude of threats, but at the same time guarded him from them. He switched the phone off completely before it could ring again – would he ever stop needing to run away? – and leaned back against the wall. The sharp stones dug into his back through his jacket, keeping him focussed. A cacophony of thoughts came and went like a badly-tuned radio station. But one thing was clear. Polly must have given them his number without even waiting for him to get back. Perhaps she believed she was acting in everyone's best interests, including his own. But without even hearing what he had to say? It hurt. It hurt that she didn't trust him, that he couldn't trust her. It hurt to feel alone, after he'd begun to think he wasn't.

He gazed up at the wide-open sky, washed-out blue with the occasional cloud. Not so different from himself, except his clouds were a red-tinged black. A plane was making its way to a destination he'd never know, leaving a sharp vapour trail. He suddenly saw hundreds, thousands of invisible trails criss-crossing the space. He got his phone out and stared at it. Could the police trace where he was from the stupid gadget? In a burst of pent-up anger and frustration, he threw it down and stamped it into the rough ground. He enjoyed the crunching beneath his boot. He'd never wanted one because he'd never had anyone to keep in touch with. Well, it seemed nothing had changed. He picked it up together with a couple of pieces of shattered screen and stuffed it in his pocket. He walked briskly back up the hill in an attempt to shake off the after-effects of the call. As he left the path and started up a narrow street he dropped the remains of the mobile down the nearest roadside drain. It made a satisfying splash as it hit the filthy water. Feeling strangely cleansed, he headed back towards the tearoom, trying to get himself back into a fit state to meet a woman he hadn't seen for years and who clearly didn't relish the thought of seeing him… Ready to talk with a show of conviction about something that was now pointless and a waste of her time.

Chapter 25

Jay got to the tearoom early. It felt like a homely place; safe. The atmosphere had a calming effect as soon as he stepped through the door. He quickly took in the other customers – two elderly ladies meeting over tea and scones; three young mothers with noisy toddlers – and established that Vesna hadn't arrived yet. After choosing a seat by the window he studied a couple of the watercolour views by local artists on the walls. Restless, he ran a comb through his windswept hair, trying to look nonchalant about it, even though the ladies, girls and children seemed unaware of his presence. In the elastic minutes spent staring out of the window at the cobbled courtyard, he wished he hadn't decided to wait before ordering a cup of tea. The waitress flashed him a look of sympathy as if he'd been stood up by a date.

He must have been distracted; Vesna was coming through the door before he saw any sign of her arrival. Jay knew her at once as she paused and scanned the room. This smart woman looked different from the girl he used to know, but he'd have recognised her even if he hadn't been expecting her. He waved and she walked over, smiling briefly. He was unnerved to see a fleeting resemblance to Vinko in her expression.

‘You're early,' they said together, and both laughed nervously.

He stood to greet her and as he did so glanced over her shoulder, checking beyond the signs in the windows.

‘I'm on my own,' she said, following his gaze. ‘I trust you are?'

He spread his hands in a gesture of innocence and she shook her head.

‘I don't know why I'm here. You try anything and I'll be straight on to the police.'

‘Try anything? What do you think I'm going to try?' He felt weary of it all, and irritation flooded his voice. Not a good start. Try again. ‘Though I don't blame you for being wary. Thank you for coming.'

As they sat down, he offered his condolences, which she quickly brushed aside.

‘I don't think it's really hit me yet. I'm doing my best to keep it that way, at least until…you know, until the police find out who did it.'

She gave him a piercing look.

‘Would I be here if I were guilty of anything?'

She laughed. ‘You could be bluffing. I imagine that's something you're good at.'

He felt as if either straight denial or lighthearted response would be equally damning and they sat in an awkward silence until the waitress came to take their order. As they waited for their teas and scones, he found himself asking what she was doing these days. She had a son and a daughter, and worked as a receptionist and secretary. She had a few days' compassionate leave and the three of them were staying with a friend as she didn't feel safe at home; Jay had been lucky to catch her as she called back to the house to check the post. When he told her in return how he made a living, he found her nostalgia-tinged laugh irritating and cosy in equal measure.

‘To tell you the truth I'd always assumed you'd be touring war zones as an aid worker for one of those relief agencies.'

She made him feel guilty that he wasn't.

‘I thought about it,' he said half-truthfully, wondering what to add that didn't sound cowardly or heartless. Her reply surprised him.