toll Jack’s death had taken on her life, but then at the end, when the reporter had asked her if she had a message for the hundreds of people currently hurling abuse outside the City Hall, Lucy’s reply had been a flippant ‘Tell them to shout louder.’ In front of her in black and white, she could see her mother’s point.
And yet, that newly awakened angry voice inside her whispered, why shouldn’t they carry on? Why shouldn’t taxpayers and voters and any citizen in fact have the right to raise their voices against such a gross miscarriage of justice? Parents who feared for their own children knowing there was a vicious child killer on the loose? Lucy felt something burning in her that had lain dormant for too long. She had needed to speak out. If that caused trouble, well whose fault was that? She hadn’t released Terry Prince. The hot wave of hatred that came over her at the shape of his name in her mind made her bow her head and clasp her hands together as if to contain it.
Under the table Ricky reached for her hand and squeezed it and Lucy smiled at him, grateful. Sometimes Ricky was older than his years, and she drank him in for a moment; his handsome face and lanky body, growing too fast but with the promise of filling out one day. A shame he insisted on covering the bloom of youth with a too-big baseball cap perched on his head and jeans that hung nearly to his crotch.
‘I’m going out,’ he announced, breaking the tense silence, ‘I’m going to play Xbox at Tyler’s.’
Lucy nodded. ‘Ring me…’
‘…when I get there and before I leave, yeah I know.’
‘Do you want me to drive you?’
Ricky scowled, his face showing exactly what he thought of that suggestion.
‘No! It’s only round the corner.’
He kissed her on the cheek and left, leaving Lucy staring after him until her mother’s words cut through the unease that would linger around her until Ricky returned.
‘Don’t smother him, Lucy. He’s a young man now, in his own mind at least.’
Lucy turned a stricken face to her mother, her blue eyes seeming to take over her whole face.
‘Mum,’ she said matter of factly, ‘I lost a child.’
Danielle said nothing, just watched her daughter, a moment ago so full of wrath, now anxiously worrying at her nails, and remembered how in the aftermath of Jack’s murder Lucy had seemed to fold in on herself over and over until there was nothing left. So did I, she thought, I lost my child too.
Matt jogged up the stairs to Carla’s apartment, a bunch of lilies in one hand. A poor peace offering no doubt, but after two days of the silent treatment Matt knew he had to make some kind of gesture. He had never known Carla to be silent for two hours, never mind days, and when she had failed to even answer her mobile to him that morning he had begun to wonder if there was something seriously wrong. Having seen the interview with Lucy Randall in the paper the day before, he guessed Carla would be seriously put out that another reporter had pipped her to the post, but even so three whole days of sulking seemed excessive.
As he reached the doors and passed the flowers from one hand to the other to press Carla’s number, he felt a gnawing sense of dread at seeing her that in turn made him feel sad. What had happened to the days when they had looked forward to seeing each other, when they had actually enjoyed each other’s company? They seemed a lifetime away.
Matt shook off his nostalgia as Carla’s voice rang out a hello through the intercom.
‘Can I come in? I want to talk.’ There was a silence that even through the intercom system managed to convey frostiness. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he added, even though the nature of his job – and his own regular need for solitude – meant that going three days or even weeks without seeing each other wasn’t unusual. She didn’t answer, but the buzzer went and the door in front of him clicked to signify his welcome.
Carla, as he expected, curled her nose up at the lilies but took them anyway, and bustled around putting them in water and arranging them without saying a word to him as he stood awkwardly waiting.
‘Carla, I’m sorry,’ he began, though as usual he wasn’t quite sure what he had to apologise for. She straightened and looked at him, her full mouth pursed. She was wearing a ridiculously tight, low-cut top and Matt had to tear his eyes away from her breasts, his cock twitching at the thought of burying his head in them. It had been a while.
As if reading his thoughts, Carla crossed her arms across her chest. She looked lovely, her hair curled and face carefully made up, as if she had pre-empted his arrival.
‘No, Matt, I’m sorry. This clearly isn’t working. You’re selfish, egotistical, and clearly don’t appreciate what you’ve got.’ She uncrossed her arms and motioned towards herself, displaying again what he was apparently not appreciating. Matt sighed.
‘Carla, we’ve been over all this before. I’ve always made it clear how I feel. If that’s not enough for you, then I’m sorry.’ He realised that he was sorry. For all her faults Carla was a good woman, and certainly did deserve better than a short-on-time, commitment-shy cop. Even so, her next words weren’t what he was expecting.
‘Well, it’s not enough. So I’ve found someone who is.’
Matt gaped at her. In two days? Even by Carla’s standards, that was pretty quick. It dawned on him that the display of cleavage and shiny hair weren’t meant for him after all.
‘Okay,’ he nodded, determined to be grown up about this. ‘Well, I hope we can be friends.’ Did anyone even say that any more? The phrase sounded false even to him.
He didn’t ask the question Carla obviously expected – or wanted – him to ask, but she answered it for him anyway.
‘It’s Jacob. The new editor from work. You’ve met him before.’
Matt remembered him, a stuck-up, pretentious public schoolboy type who looked vaguely like Brad Pitt and was all too aware of that fact. Perfect for Carla.
Carla stepped away, her arms folded again but an anxious expression on her face. She expected him to be angry. It dawned on him that Carla had probably lined Jacob up as his replacement long before their current clash. Had maybe been sleeping with him all along. Matt waited for a rage of jealousy or sadness to overtake him, but it didn’t come. In fact, the only emotion slowly creeping up inside him was relief.
‘I’m happy for you,’ he offered, realising he meant it. It wasn’t the reaction Carla expected – or perhaps wanted – as she glared at him with her eyes narrowed.
‘You mean that don’t you? You really don’t care.’
Matt took the raising of her pitch to be his cue to leave. He walked over and kissed her on the cheek before she had time to react then turned to leave. Carla darted in front of him.
‘That’s it? You don’t have anything to say?’
He looked down at her, seeing how sharp her features were, how in the overhead light her thick make-up looked like a mask across her face, and thought that no, he had nothing to say to her. In fact, he felt strangely empty of either feeling or words.
‘What do you want from me, Carla?’
She
