just opened up the possibility of a fascinating and valuable find. I want you to track it down. And if you can’t manage that yourself, I want you to be glued to the side of the person who does.’
He pushed his hair back from his face in a gesture of exasperation. ‘But, Caroline, we’ve no evidence that the bloody thing exists.’
‘According to you, Jane seems to think so,’ she said, sweet reason in a sundress.
‘It’s just a crazy theory.’
‘Believe me, I’ve made some great finds chasing wilder geese. Look at it this way. Jane is in a unique position. She’s a Wordsworth scholar. And she comes from Fellhead. Now, in my experience, serious scholars don’t get worked up about things like this unless there is some spectacularly good reason. Bear in mind, Jane may not have told you everything she knows.’
Doubt chased surprise across Jake’s handsome face. ‘Why would she hold back? Are you saying she didn’t trust me?’
Caroline chuckled. ‘When academics have something they think might give them an edge, they trust no one. Sweetie, no matter how much Jane loved you, you can bet your bottom dollar that if she had knowledge that might be parlayed into professional stardom she’d have hugged it to her bosom. And this body in the bog could be the catalyst that gets things moving in a more urgent way.’
‘This is insane,’ Jake said.
‘No, Jake, this is business. If you seriously want to make a career of this, you’re going to have to be prepared to exploit your contacts and find ways to make sure that when something good turns up, you’re standing at the shoulder of whoever has their sticky hands on it.’
‘I get that,’ he said, feeling patronised and belittled but unable to find a way through to asserting himself. ‘What I don’t get is what you expect me to do. In practical terms.’
Caroline exhaled a thin stream of smoke. ‘Go and see Jane. Mend as many of your fences as you need to get alongside her. Be contrite. Tell her you read the story in the paper and it made you realise you were wrong not to take her theories seriously. Persuade her that she is the one and only person who can track down this bloody manuscript, and make her do it. That’s what I want you to do.’ She turned her head to look out across the bay, as close to irritation as he’d ever seen her.
‘I don’t think she’ll be very pleased to see me,’ he muttered.
‘Of course she won’t. You walked out on her. But you’ll do what it takes to get back in her good books, Jake.’
‘What do you mean, “what it takes”?’
‘Do I have to spell it out? Tell her you want to find this manuscript to spite me, if that’s what works.’ She smiled serenely. ‘I’ll leave it up to you.’
‘It won’t be easy.’
‘Use your charm, Jake. There’s not much point in having it otherwise, is there?’
As he remembered her words, fresh determination surged through Jake. He’d show Caroline he could be much more than a toyboy. He would make her take him seriously, whatever it took.
The shower had helped a little but Jane still felt raw and tender. She made them both coffee, swallowing a couple of painkillers while she waited for the kettle to boil. She wasn’t sure if what she was planning was the right thing, but she couldn’t see any alternative and she wanted to be as close to firing on all cylinders as she could manage. She took the mugs through and perched on the edge of her bed. ‘There’s someone I’ve got to go and see,’ she said. ‘I want you to wait here.’
‘Who you going to see?’ Tenille demanded. Having unburdened herself, her usual demeanour seemed to be reasserting itself.
‘Someone I think will be able to help.’ Jane hoped her tone would head off further questions.
Tenille stared into her coffee. ‘My dad,’ she said expressionlessly.
Jane tried to hide her surprise. Not long after Tenille had started hanging round with her, Jane had fallen into conversation at the bus stop with one of her neighbours, a young mother from a couple of doors down. ‘It’s none of my business,’ the woman had said, ‘but I noticed that Tenille hanging round your place. You want to watch yourself there.’
‘Why is that?’ Jane had bristled. ‘She seems like a bright kid.’
‘She’s bright, all right. But it’s her old man you want to worry about.’
Jane frowned. ‘I think you’re mixing her up with someone else. She hasn’t got a dad. She says she doesn’t know who her father is. Her mother always refused to tell her, and Sharon says she’s got no idea.’
The woman gave a contemptuous little snort. ‘If Tenille doesn’t know, she’s the only one. Everybody else round here knows the Hammer is her dad.’
Jane felt her eyes widen in shock. ‘John Hampton?’
‘That’s right. He’s always kept an eye out, but from a distance, like. Sharon doesn’t want her to know, see? I mean, you can see why, can’t you?’
Jane could certainly see why. She’d learned very early on that John ‘Hammer’ Hampton was the criminal equivalent of the mayor of Marshpool Farm. He was a serious gangsta, not some teenage wannabe. Drugs, sex and violence were his stock in trade and there was no doubting his grip on the illegal activities on the estate. Jane had heard stories of punishment beatings meted out to those who thought they could freelance on the wrong side of the law without giving the Hammer his due.
And now, here was Tenille openly acknowledging something Jane had thought was deeply buried. ‘You know about your dad?’ Jane said, stalling for time to get her head round this.
‘That he’s the Hammer?’ Jane nodded. Tenille shrugged. ‘I’ve sort of known for years. Somebody at school told me. I didn’t believe them at first. I didn’t want to, I suppose. But one day when Sharon was out, I went through her things. And stuffed right down the back of one of her drawers, I found a photo of my mum with the Hammer. He had his arm round her. They was smiling into each other’s faces, like they was in love or something. And then I knew for sure.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He’s never said a word to me, like. He’s always walked straight past me without a look. I figured he don’t want to know.’
‘Or else he wants to protect you,’ Jane said, reaching for a gloss that might give Tenille a more positive image of her father. ‘He must have enemies. By not letting on to you, it’s like he’s saying, “I could give a shit”, which means you’re a less attractive target to someone who wants to get at him.’
Tenille looked sceptical. ‘Or else he just don’t want anything to do with his bastard now the baby mother’s gone. It’s not like he hasn’t had his pick of other women since my mum died. He’s probably forgotten all about her by now.’
She was probably right, Jane thought wearily. But right now, talking to the Hammer was the only thing she could imagine restoring Tenille to safety. It wasn’t a comfortable thought. Her skin crawled with apprehension and revulsion. The things she’d heard laid at the Hammer’s door were not calculated to inspire a desire to spend time in his company. ‘We’ll see about that,’ she said, half to herself.
‘You
