Читать книгу Don’t Say a Word: A gripping psychological thriller from the author of The Good Mother - A. Bird L. - Страница 15

Chapter 8

The pub is crowded when we get there. Pinstriped suits jostle with polo shirts to be served by a too-relaxed barmaid. I almost turn round and leave then and there – we’ll never get a drink on time. I mustn’t be late for Josh again. But Tim waves us to a table ledge and says he’ll get us a drink in no time.

‘Vodka and Coke,’ I say. Tim raises an eyebrow at me. What, am I meant to be on the dry white wine here? Fuck that. ‘A single,’ I tell him. ‘I’m driving.’

I follow Dan to a trio of bar-stools. As we clamber up, our knees brush. I pull away, too quickly.

‘Are you OK?’ Dan asks me. I think for a moment he means the knee-brushing. But he doesn’t. It’s the meeting.

‘I’m fine,’ I say.

He looks at me closely. ‘If I offended you, I’m sorry.’ He pauses a moment. ‘But I don’t think I did, did I?’

I flick a glance at him. ‘No,’ I say.

‘I know it’s a serious case, Jen. I take it seriously, don’t worry. I’ll do my bit for Rhea.’

‘I’m glad,’ I tell him. If I need to pretend that’s what happened, fine. That upset me too. Just not as much as thinking Bill had blabbed, that I was in a room of people who Know.

Dan smiles at me and I can feel the warmth of our connection starting. Rebuilding.

Then Tim reappears with the drinks.

We clink our glasses, although I don’t know why.

‘To Rhea,’ says Dan.

Tim nods sagely. ‘Yes. To Rhea. Well said.’

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. What are your counsel doing now, Rhea? They are clinking glasses in an overcrowded pub. And what are you doing? Sitting in a cell wondering when you’re next going to see your daughter.

‘I should get going,’ I say.

‘Oh, already?’ cries Tim. As if I’ve made up my son, made up my caring responsibilities.

‘Minesweep for me, Dan?’ I ask him.

‘With pleasure,’ he returns. ‘See you soon. Take care.’ This time we both know that we’re going for a kiss on both cheeks. ‘I’ll call you,’ he says softly into my ear. I wonder if he means about the case.

‘Let me escort you out,’ Tim says.

‘There’s really no need,’ I tell him, but he’s already on his feet.

Outside, I’m ready to go, but Tim takes my elbow slightly and pulls me away from the doorway into the quiet side street.

‘Jen, I really am sorry about before. And look, about you having to leave early – it’s difficult for you. Lucy giving you a dressing-down the other day, you getting on with Dan just now but having to go … well, look, I don’t want to speak out of turn again. But I can recommend a very good child minder.’

‘I can’t afford a child minder, Tim.’

‘Well, you should be able to, Jen. Let me put in a word with Bill. Least I can do. And I’ll message you her details.’

‘OK, but I really think –’

‘Of course, of course, it’s up to you. Just think about it, OK? Keep your options open.’

‘Thanks, Tim. I appreciate it.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I don’t want us getting off on the wrong foot, you know. I’m looking forward to having your input on this case. We’ll catch up when I’ve spoken to Rhea again. And we can use that murky past of yours, yes?’

I feel a chill again. I laugh. He laughs back.

‘Good, you see – we can laugh about it now. I’m such a chump. Always misjudge situations. Look, I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good evening.’

‘Thanks, Tim. I’ll type up my notes of the con tomorrow.’

‘Good stuff. Say hello to the little one for me.’

And so we part.

I haven’t had enough vodka to feel a warm fondness for him. But I am grateful. Again. There was a glow with Dan. If I had a child minder – or even a babysitter – I could have stayed there a little while. And if he does call me (about me, not about the case) I could do something other than lunch or an invitation to read a bedtime story to a ten-year-old. So yes, I’ll think about it.

Back at the office, I put the Rhea Stevens file in the boot of my car. On a whim, I flick again to her photo. I stroke it with one finger. ‘We’ll help you,’ I say.

Tim, Dan, and I. We’ll make a good team. I know we will.