‘I’ll go and find a table a bit closer to the fire, shall I? There’s a good one over there. I can hang myself over it and have a quiet steam,’ he winked at me but I pretended I hadn’t seen it as I made my way to the bar. Despite my embarrassment I felt a bit fuzzy and giggly. He was a nice guy actually: funny, I could tell he was comfortable taking the piss out of me and I liked that. I smiled as I chanced a look round. He’d found a seat in a corner nook and, with a shock, I realised why this place had made me think of Dan. I’d been in this pub before.
With him.
A squeeze of something sour churned in my stomach. I suddenly recognised the wooden settle and the sepia photographs of the aproned coopers, arms folded, flat caps staring unsmiling into the camera lens. I’d not only been here, I’d sat in that exact seat.
Oh God.
I took a breath.
You never say no to seeing me. I remembered that teasing lift at the corner of his mouth. I loved his mouth.
Why would I? I’d said. I love seeing you… I love you, in fact.
The words had left my lips without me wanting them to. I remembered the deep burn and thrill of having spoken them out loud.
That’s all a bit full-on, isn’t it Lucy? Don’t spoil it. Things are good as they are, there’s no need to mess it up.
The pain had twisted like a razor-sharp barb. I watched his beautiful mouth articulating each syllable. I learned to hate his mouth. I learned to hate what came out of it.
‘Yes, love, what would you like?’ The barmaid shocked me back.
I ordered the drinks and paid for them feeling acutely self-conscious. My heart was racing inexplicably, and I was aware that my jacket must be all crushed at the back and then wondering why the hell I was bothered. I carried the glasses over.
‘So,’ Paul went to take his pint. ‘What were you doing at the nick?’
I nearly toppled both drinks. ‘How the hell do you know that?’
‘Ooops! You okay there?’ He rescued his glass from my clutches and sucked the drips from his fingers. ‘I was visiting and I thought I might’ve seen you leaving the wing. Have I got that all wrong?’
‘You were visiting?’
He laughed. ‘Ah, yes, sorry. No. I have to come up on occasions and supervise some of the clinical interviews. I even do one or two occasionally. I’m the senior psychologist now, although I used to work in prisons full-time.’ He sipped his pint as things began to fall into place.
‘Ahh!… The infamous Dr Webb!’
He blinked in surprise. ‘Hell, am I famous?’ he looked at me over the rim of his glass.
I shook my head and laughed. ‘No… Well, maybe… In the right circles.’ I resisted all impulse to mention the Simon Gould case. I didn’t even want to think of it.
‘And how about you?’
I picked up my glass. I shook my head while swallowing. ‘Just a paltry Probation Officer. Your name crops up a lot in the reports I read – mostly prisoners in the London nicks though.’
‘Ah,’ he nodded. ‘I’m based at Head Office, but I travel all over the country dealing with some of the interesting cases.’
Interesting. I felt a tiny itch of irritation.
‘So tell me then, who did you say you were seeing in Ravensmoor?’
‘I didn’t.’ I was suddenly aware that might sound abrupt, and blushed.
‘Gould. Pre-release interview.’
‘Ah yes, Gould. I’ve spent a lot of time with Gould. He’s a fascinating case.’
‘To some I suppose.’ Why the hell had I just said that?
I detected a smile at the corner of his lips. I felt a hole begin to open up in front of me.
‘But I see you don’t.’ He picked up a beer mat and ran a thumbnail down one edge.
I swallowed. Right now, I could not afford to start challenging a senior psychologist, particularly one I’d only just met. Even I knew that.
‘No, not really.’ The itch moved into my spine.
His grey eyes searched mine. ‘I can see why. I would think Gould found you threatening. You’ll have scared him a bit.’
He peeled a thin top layer of card. It lay curled on the table.
‘He’d be aware that you had all the control, and he wouldn’t like that. He would immediately want to find ways to undermine you. He’s a very astute individual. But it’s a feral intelligence. It’s instinctive: like an animal. He can smell vulnerability. But of course—’ the ruined mat landed on the table. ‘I can tell he wouldn’t have got anywhere with you,’ He picked up his drink, sipping a little off the top.
‘But you supported his release?’ The words came out before I could stop them and he paused, clearly a little shocked.
‘Me? Christ, no.’
‘But I thought—?’
‘Absolutely not.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘I’ve made it quite clear to Gould, to the parole board, and to anyone else that would listen that I still believe him to be a danger; that’s why I’ve advised very stringent release conditions. I want him on a tight leash, and I can see by your face that you do too.’
I watched his face: so impassioned, so alive, so clear. I smiled and put my glass down.
‘Let’s not talk about work stuff anymore, shall we?’
‘You know what, you’re absolutely right!’ He slapped his hands on the table. ‘Did you want another?… Vodka, was it?’
‘Sorry?’ I glanced down to find my glass was empty. ‘Oh!’
He had stood up and was moving towards the bar before I could answer. I realised that I hadn’t had anything to eat since lunchtime and the alcohol was already going to my head. I took a surreptitious glance at him while he was waiting to be served. He was leaning on one elbow and his crumpled cuff had shunted back. It showed his watch and the breadth of his wrist. His hand briefly touched his neck. The fingers were beautiful: square and slightly tanned. I immediately looked away, scared in case he caught me staring.
He came back with the drinks, settled himself and then winced a bit sheepishly. ‘Sorry about all that… before…’ He scratched his chin. ‘I have a tendency to put people on the spot a bit. I’m a tad inquisitorial by nature…’ He grinned ruefully. ‘Just tell me when I’m doing it and I’ll back off. So, come on then. Tell me all about you. Your accent for instance – where’s that from?’
‘Oh, round here – but I’m based in London now.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Highbury,’ I smiled. ‘But I work in Hackney.’
‘Ah, Highbury, I know bits of it.’ He smiled back. ‘Nice. I’m in Belsize Park. Do you have family?’
‘A mum and sister. Mam’s ill. Dementia.’
‘Oh, sorry to hear that.’ He looked genuinely concerned. ‘You know you said “Mam” not “Mum’. It’s nice.’
‘So how about you?’ I deftly changed the subject. ‘Where are you from?’
He sat back a little and put down his glass. ‘My family are from Hertfordshire originally, that’s where I grew up. But they’re all gone now, I’m afraid. I never had any siblings, and no cousins, even – None that I’m aware of anyway. I’m afraid I don’t come from very long-lived stock… Oh! And talking of not living very long… Are you starving? I am. Do you fancy dinner or something? I wonder what they do here?’ He squinted up at the board on the wall behind.