فصل 47

47

NICKIE

Jeannie said it was about time someone did something about all this.

“Easy for you to say,” Nickie retorted. “And you’ve changed your tune, haven’t you? Used to be that I was supposed to keep my mouth shut, for my own protection. Now you’re telling me to throw caution to the wind?” Jeannie was silent on that point. “Well, in any case, I’ve tried. You know I’ve tried. I’ve been pointing in the right direction. I left the sister a message, didn’t I? Not my fault if no one listens to me. Oh, too subtle, am I? Too subtle! You want me to go around shooting my mouth off? Look where talking got you!” They’d been arguing about it all night. “It isn’t my fault! You can’t say it’s my fault. I never meant to get Nel Abbott into any trouble. I told her what I knew, that’s all. Like you’d been telling me to. I can’t win with you, I really can’t. I don’t know why I even bother.”

Jeannie was getting on her nerves. She just would not shut up. And the worst of it—well, not the worst of it, the worst of it was getting no bloody sleep at all, but the second worst of it was that she was probably right. Nickie had known it all along, from that first morning, sitting at her window, when she felt it. Another one. Another swimmer. She’d thought it then; she’d even thought about talking to Sean Townsend. But she’d done well to hold her tongue there: she’d seen how he reacted when she mentioned his mother, that snarl of anger, the kindly mask slipping. He was his father’s son, after all.

“So who, then? Who, old girl? Who am I supposed to talk to? Not the policewoman. Don’t even suggest it. They’re all the same! She’ll go straight to her boss, won’t she?” Not the policewoman, so who? Nel’s sister? Nothing about the sister inspired Nickie with confidence. The girl, though, she was different. She’s just a child, Jeannie said, but Nickie replied, “So what? She’s got more get-up-and-go in her little finger than half the people in this town.”

Yes, she would talk to the girl. She just wasn’t sure what she was going to say yet.

Nickie still had Nel’s pages. The ones they’d worked on together. She could show the girl that. They were typed, not handwritten, but surely Lena would recognize her mother’s words, her tone? Of course, they didn’t spell things out the way Nickie had thought they ought to. It was part of the reason they’d fallen out. Artistic differences. Nel had gone off in a huff and said that if Nickie couldn’t tell the truth, then they were wasting their time, but really what did she know about the truth? They were all just telling stories.

Are you still here? Jeannie asked. I thought you were going to talk to the girl, and Nickie replied, “All right. Keep your hair on. I will. I’ll do it later. I’ll do it when I’m ready.”

Sometimes she wished Jeannie would shut up and sometimes she wished more than anything that she was here, in the room, sitting by the window with her, watching. They should have grown old together, getting on each other’s nerves properly, instead of bickering over the airwaves like they had to now.

Nickie wished that when she pictured Jeannie, she didn’t see her the way she was the last time she came to this flat. It had been just a couple of days before Jeannie had left Beckford for good, and she was pale with shock and shaking with fear. She had come to tell Nickie that Patrick Townsend had been to see her. He’d told her that if she kept on talking like she had been, if she kept on asking questions, if she continued to try to ruin his reputation, he would see to it that she was hurt. “Not by me,” he said, “I wouldn’t bloody touch you. I’ll get someone else to do the dirty work. And not just the one fella either. I’ll make sure there’s a few, and that each of them takes his turn. You know I know people, don’t you, Jean? You don’t doubt that I know people who would do things like that, do you, girl?”

Jeannie had stood right there in that room and made Nickie promise, made her swear she’d leave it alone. “There isn’t anything we can do now. I should never have said anything to you.”

“But . . . the boy,” Nickie said. “What about the boy?”

Jeannie wiped the tears from her eyes. “I know. I know. It makes me sick to think of it, but we’ll just have to leave him there. You have to be quiet, say nothing. Because Patrick will do for me, Nicks, and he’ll do for you, too. He’s not messing around.”

Jeannie left a couple of days later; she never came back.