Jessica was about to reply that things were never that simple when she remembered visiting Joe Peters when his girlfriend Leanne was missing. He’d placed their baby in his lap and massaged his own upper arm. Their next-door neighbour had told Jessica that they fought physically as well as shouting at each other. Perhaps it hadn’t been the baby that had taken the toll on his arms; maybe they hit each other too.

And then she remembered that he wasn’t the only person she’d noticed nursing bruises recently.

33

Jessica walked into the maroon waiting room of Tim’s Taxis and took a seat. The smell of the furniture and feel of the velvet was so vivid that she could’ve been back in that working men’s club all those years ago, trying to figure out quite how people could become so angry over a piece of tape stuck to the floor. It was Saturday afternoon and raining, as ever, so a smattering of shoppers who had somehow figured out that the shop front with the lunchtime supplies sign was actually a taxi office were sitting around waiting for a lift home. In the back office, she could hear Tim talking into the radio. Jessica quietly showed her identification to the shoppers and asked them to leave.

Grumble-grumble-don’t-you-know-it’s-raining-out-there – and then the office was empty.

Jessica sat, running her hand across the tattered material of the chairs, listening to the rat-a-tat-tat of the instructions as Tim called them out to his drivers. In the background, there was commentary of a football match on the radio.

Tim’s voice rang out from the office: ‘Mrs Smith, your car’s here.’

After a few moments with no reply, he repeated himself, before appearing in the doorway. He stopped mid-sentence, taking in the almost empty waiting room, before noticing Jessica.

‘You’re back.’

‘Yep.’

Tim flicked his long hair behind him. He was wearing jeans, a checked shirt and a leather waistcoat, like a cowboy who’d taken a wrong turn somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic and lost his hat. ‘Hamish is off today. I think he might be at the football.’ He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Bloody United are one down.’

Archie would be fuming.

‘I’m not here for Hamish.’

‘Oh.’

‘Other half not around today?’

Tim’s features twitched slightly. ‘She has things to do on Saturday.’

‘Tell me about her.’

‘Why?’

Jessica stood and straightened her top, half-turning so he could see the earpiece she was wearing but deliberately not looking at him. ‘Because I’m asking.’

‘You heard us arguing the other day?’

‘Yep.’

Tim sighed, sitting on the dark red bench and resting his head in his hands. ‘I will never, ever, understand women. It’s like you’re a different species.’ Jessica said nothing, waiting. ‘I don’t know the official terms but she is mental. You’ve seen her, right? She’s stunning – I mean, what’s someone like her doing with someone like me? When we met a few years ago, it was at this rock night in this place just off Canal Street. They host them once a month or so and my band was playing.’

‘You were in a band?’

Tim looked up, half-smiling. ‘Metal – I’m on drums. We broke up in the summer because our lead singer wanted to go out to LA and try his luck with some band who’d put an advert on the Internet. Anyway, a couple of years ago, we were doing our thing. It’s just off the gay area, so you get a mixed crowd – straight, gay, old, young, queens, trannies, you name it. Normally you get your head down, bash away and hope for the best. It was a Sunday night and I noticed this blonde in the front row – just stunning. I say I noticed, but we all did – it’s not like you could miss her. After we were done, we walked off and the first thing anyone said was, “What about that girl at the front?” You know what it’s like with lads.’

He went quiet for a moment as the commentator on the radio went up an octave to describe a goal that would cheer Archie up wherever he was.

Tim undid his waistcoat. ‘Okay, maybe you don’t know what lads are like.’

‘I do.’

‘So you can guess the type of thing we were talking about. We were third on but it was a Sunday, so there wasn’t anywhere we could head out to for a few more drinks because it was closing time. Plus we had to load all our gear back into the van. I wouldn’t have minded heading down Canal Street – but one of the lads kept saying he didn’t want to get bummed.’

He caught Jessica’s eye, his lip curled upwards. ‘I know, right? It’s not the seventies any more – but that’s the way he was. We ended up going back into the main area of the pub and propping up one end of the bar. We didn’t have a big following or anything, but we wouldn’t usually have done that because people get a bit crazy at the end of the night and you’re just after a quiet beer with your mates.’

‘But the blonde was there, right?’

Tim’s slightly crooked features erupted into a full smile. He tucked his hair behind his ears and began fiddling with his waistcoat again. ‘Aye, she was. Our singer – the guy that went off to LA – he was there ordering rounds for everyone, flashing the cash, thinking she was there for him. You couldn’t talk to anyone because the final band was on and it was too noisy – but you could see it in the guy’s eyes that he thought he was onto a winner, except that every time he turned around to talk to the barman, she squeezed my knee.’

A blast of wind rattled the windows at the front but Tim was back in the moment. ‘After about an hour, the final band had finished and they called last orders. He held out his arm for her to cling onto as if he was going to take her home and she had no say in it – but she just smiled sweetly, gave him a wink and said, “I’m already sorted, thanks.” His eyes almost popped out of his head when she turned around, grabbed my hand and marched me out of the pub. Mine too, if I’m honest.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Mandy. The thing is, the pretty ones are always the mental ones, aren’t they? My ol’ dad used to tell me that when I was at school – ignore the prettiest ones, they’ll always fuck you up. Course, the only thing that fucked him up was the booze.’

Tim stood abruptly, making Jessica step back quickly, one hand close to her ear. Tim held his hands up to show he didn’t mean anything by it, nodding towards a filing cabinet in the corner of his office.

‘Do you wanna check out the top drawer? It should be unlocked.’

Slowly, Jessica crossed the room, not taking her eyes from him until she was at the cabinet. She slowly pulled the top drawer open, ready to leap back at any moment in case there was a nasty surprise in there. Instead, there were three bottles of vodka.

‘Take your pick,’ Tim called out.

Jessica took the one that had already been opened and returned to the office, handing it to Tim, who had sat again. He unscrewed the lid, took a breath, and then swigged heavily. ‘Course, he may have had a problem with this stuff but he had a point – you go out with a normal girl and it doesn’t take three hours to get ready to go out. You go out with a normal girl and she understands that money don’t grow on trees. She gets that when you’re in a band, it’s mainly playing dingy small pubs for a couple of hundred quid that you’ve got to split between you.’

‘Mandy’s not a normal girl?’

Tim laughed and took another mouthful, holding the bottle close to his nose and breathing the fumes. ‘How many girls do you know who look like that and are perfectly normal?’

Jessica shrugged – there was little point in arguing but she didn’t think looks came into it. Tim took the gesture as an admission that he was right.

‘Exactly, but that just meant she was the type of woman you couldn’t say no to. After a year or so, she wanted to get married and I went with it. I’ve never wanted to be married, never wanted kids, a house, any of that stuff. I just wanted to go on the road and play drums. Suddenly, there I was in this two-up, two-down wondering what the hell I’d got myself into.’