Twenties Girl - Kinsella Sophie - Страница 37

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I can see Sadie digesting this.

“I remember people living on the streets,” she says, her eyes distant. “After the war. It seemed as though the country would never find its footing again.”

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t sell that in here.” I notice a girl in uniform escorting the Big Issue seller out of the sandwich shop. “We do appreciate the work you do, but it’s company policy…”

I watch the man through the glass door. He seems utterly resigned to being ejected, and after a moment I can see him offering copies to passersby, all of whom ignore him.

“Can I help you?” I realize a cashier is calling out to me, and I hurry forward to the till. My credit card has lodged itself right at the bottom of my bag, so I take a while paying and lose track of where Sadie is.

“What the-”

“Bloody hell! What’s going on?”

Suddenly I become aware that all the cashiers are exclaiming and exchanging looks. Slowly, I turn around to see what they’re looking at. I don’t quite believe my eyes.

There’s an exodus of customers from the shop. They’re all piling out onto the pavement and accosting the Big Issue seller. I can see some holding several copies in their hands, others thrusting money at him.

There’s one last customer remaining in the shop. Sadie is floating next to him, her face intense, her mouth to his ear. A moment later, with a startled look, he puts down the sushi box he’s holding and hurries to join the throng outside, already pulling out his wallet. Sadie just stands back and watches, her arms folded in satisfaction. After a moment she glances at me, and I can’t help giving her a huge beam.

“You rock, Sadie!” I mouth. The next moment she’s right beside me, looking puzzled.

“Did you say I’m a rock?”

“You rock!” I pick up my bag and start walking. “It means… you’re great. You did a really good thing.” I gesture at the customers outside, all milling around the Big Issue seller. Passersby are now joining the crowd to see what’s up, and the seller looks overwhelmed. We watch them for a moment, then turn and start heading down the street together, an easy silence between us.

“You rock too,” says Sadie in a rush, and I look up in surprise.

“I’m sorry?”

“You did a good thing too. I know you didn’t want to wear this dress tonight, but you did. For me.” Her gaze is resolutely ahead. “So thank you.”

“That’s OK.” I shrug and take a bite of chicken wrap. “It wasn’t that bad in the end.”

I’m not going to admit it to Sadie, because then she’d crow over me and be unbearable. But actually, this whole twenties look is kind of growing on me.

Kind of.

Things are on the up! I feel it in my bones. Even this second date with Ed is a positive thing. One has to seize one’s opportunities, like Uncle Bill said. And that’s what this is all about. Going to the Business People dinner will be a great chance for me to meet loads of senior professionals, give out my card, and impress people. Natalie always said she had to be “out there” and keep her profile up. Well, now I’ll be “out there” too.

“Kate!” I say as I enter the office on Monday morning. “I need all my business cards, and I need to buy one of those little holders, and I need all the back issues of Business People-” I break off in surprise. She’s clutching the phone with one hand and circling the air wildly with the other. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the police!” She claps her hand over the receiver. “They’re on the phone. They want to come and see you.”

“Oh, right.”

A chunk of ice seems to descend nastily into my stomach. The police. I was hoping the police might just forget all about me.

I glance around to see if Sadie’s here, but there’s no sign of her. She was talking about some vintage shop in Chelsea at breakfast time, so maybe she’s gone off there.

“Shall I put them through?” Kate is agog.

“Yes, why not?” I try to sound confident and unconcerned, like I’m someone who deals with police matters every day. Like Jane Tennison or someone. “Hello, Lara Lington speaking.”

“Lara, it’s DC Davies here.” As soon as I hear her voice, I have a flashback to myself sitting in that room, telling her I’m a speed walker training for the Olympics, while she took notes, her face utterly impassive. What was I thinking?

“Hi! How are you?”

“I’m well, thanks, Lara.” She’s pleasant but brisk. “I’m in the area and was wondering if I could pop by your office for a chat. Are you free now?”

Oh God. A chat? I don’t want to chat.

“Yes, I’m free.” My voice has risen to a petrified squeak. “Look forward to it! See you then!”

I put the receiver down, hot around the face. Why is she following this up? Aren’t the police always supposed to be chasing car fines and ignoring murders? Why couldn’t they ignore this murder?

I look up to see Kate staring at me, her eyes like saucers. “What do the police want? Are we in trouble?”

“Oh, no,” I say quickly. “Nothing to worry about. It’s just about my aunt’s murder.”

“Murder?” Kate claps a hand over her mouth.

I keep forgetting how murder sounds when you just drop it into a sentence.

“Er… yes. So, anyway! What were you up to over the weekend?”

My distraction ruse doesn’t work. Kate’s boggled expression doesn’t change; in fact, it becomes even more boggled.

“You never told me your aunt was murdered! The aunt whose funeral you went to?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I nod.

“No wonder you were so upset! Oh, Lara, that’s awful. How was she killed?”

Oh God. I really don’t want to go into the details. But I’m not sure how else to get out of this conversation.

“Poison,” I mumble at last.

“By who?”

“Well.” I clear my throat. “They don’t know.”

“They don’t know?” Kate sounds totally outraged. “Well, are they looking? Did they take fingerprints? God, the police are useless! They spend their whole time giving you parking tickets and then someone’s actually murdered and they don’t even care-”

“I think they’re doing the best they can,” I say hastily. “They’re most likely giving me an update report. In fact, they’ve probably found the culprit.”

Even as I’m speaking, the most horrific thought is hitting me. What if that’s true?

What if DC Davies is coming here to tell me they’ve found the man with the scar and the plaited beard? What do I do then?

I have a sudden image of a gaunt, bearded man with wild eyes and a scar, locked up in a police cell, banging on the door, shouting, “You’ve made a mistake! I never knew the old lady!” while a young police officer watches through a two-way window, folding his arms in satisfaction and saying, “He’ll crack soon enough.”

For a moment I feel quite hollow with guilt. What have I started?

The buzzer goes, and Kate leaps up to answer it.

“Shall I make some tea?” she says when she’s pressed the buzzer. “Shall I stay or go? Do you want moral support?”

“No, you go.” Trying to stay calm, I push my chair back, knock over a pile of post with my elbow, and scrape my hand picking it up. “I’ll be fine.”

It’ll all be fine, I tell myself fervently. It’s no big deal.

But I can’t help it. As soon as I see DC Davies walking in the door, with her clumpy shoes and sensible trousers and air of authority, I can feel my calmness disintegrating into childlike panic.

“Have you found the murderer?” I blurt out anxiously. “Have you locked anyone up?”

“No,” DC Davies says, giving me a strange look. “We haven’t locked anyone up.”

“Thank God.” I subside in relief, then realize how that might sound. “I mean… why not? What are you doing all day?”

“I’ll give you some privacy,” says Kate, backing out, while simultaneously mouthing “Useless!” behind DC Davies’s back.

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