Текст книги "Scarred for Life"

Автор книги: Kerry Wilkinson

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

‘Nothing, I’m asking if you’ve seen them. Adam says he remembers them being there when he got home from work yesterday.’

‘Are you asking if I nicked them?’

‘No, I’m asking if you’ve seen them.’

Somewhere outside a pair of birds were singing to each other, probably complaining about the weather and wondering when it was time to go south. A car blazed along the street in front, wheels spinning as they weaved in and out of the parked cars in a rush to get to the next give way sign. Elsewhere, a lawnmower chugged its way into life, spluttering burnt fuel into the atmosphere as its owner took advantage of the temporary respite from the rain.

Inside, there was only silence as the two women stared at each other. Jessica was good at this game – she had played it enough times – but this was different because now she felt like the guilty one. Bex might have been thinner than she was, perhaps not as strong, as fast, or as experienced, but she was definitely better than Jessica at this.

Without a word, Bex stood, turned, and thundered her way out of the kitchen, up the stairs.

Jessica followed, halting at the bottom of the stairs: ‘Bex, wait . . .’

Thump, thump, thump, slam!

Bex ran down the stairs so quickly that she stumbled on the bottom one, only just righting herself before falling. She was wearing a pair of jeans but hadn’t done the button up and they were flapping loosely underneath the top she’d been wearing when she turned up on Jessica’s doorstep. She was clasping her rucksack, glaring daggers at Jessica as she turned it upside down and emptied everything onto the hallway floor.

Thick socks, fingerless gloves, three identical long-sleeved cotton tops, a T-shirt, a pair of jeans, a rolled-up fleece, half-a-dozen pairs of knickers, bras, more socks, two pairs of balled-up thick dark tights, a metal spoon, a bobble hat, a scarf, a toothbrush, a fork, a knife, a tin opener.

Into the side pockets: a small pair of scissors, a handful of rubber bands, a much stabbier knife that clanged off the wall as Bex threw it in Jessica’s general direction.

Jessica stood looking at the sharpness of the blade as Bex dropped the empty bag on the floor and began turning out her pockets, ignoring Jessica’s protestations that it wasn’t necessary.

A scrunched-up twenty-pound note, a ripped fiver, a handful of coins and a hair tie.

‘There!’ Bex shouted, fastening her trousers and straightening her coat. ‘That’s all I own. Most of it’s nicked. If you want to take it back to the shops then fine – but I didn’t take your stupid candlestick things.’

‘I’m sorry, I was just asking.’

Bex began bundling the items back into her bag, far more haphazardly than the way she’d described before. Jessica crouched and picked up the blade: one single piece of metal with a thick handle that slotted all too comfortably into her palm. The blade wasn’t particularly long but it was wide and ferociously sharp.

You don’t know who she is, Jess.

Bex held her hand out, wanting the weapon.

‘Why have you got this?’ Jessica asked.

Bex spat the reply. ‘Why do you think?’ When Jessica didn’t answer immediately, Bex snatched it away. ‘You think I go around robbing people with it?’

Jessica tried to say no but she’d seen too many reports of knifepoint robberies to think differently and she’d only just finished dealing with Bones. Bex saw the hesitation and then the anger in her eyes was replaced by tears. ‘That’s what you think of me?’

‘No, I . . .’

Bex finished cramming her belongings into her rucksack, stuffing the knife into its side pocket, and slinging the bag across her back. ‘Forget it. What do you think it’s like being a girl on the streets by yourself? Do you think you tell someone to piss off and they turn around and do it?’

‘I know it’s not like that!’

Bex pushed past Jessica with her shoulder and opened the front door but Jessica pushed against it, trying to force it closed again.

‘Please don’t go.’

If Jessica had been in any doubt about how Bex had managed to get away with picking people’s pockets, then the teenager showed her once and for all, slipping underneath her arms and gliding through the door in a single fluid movement before Jessica could lay a finger on her. In a flash, she was outside.

Jessica began to follow but Bex was already halfway along the path, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out the front-door key Jessica had given her. She stopped momentarily, throwing it as hard as she could in Jessica’s direction before running away from the house and along the street.

30

Adam arrived home in the early afternoon, reminding Jessica that he’d told her the previous evening he was on a half-day. He knew instantly there was something wrong but Jessica could barely get the words out. She could deal with criminals, threats, bodies, horrendous interviews with witnesses and most other things the job threw at her – but knowing her big mouth had sent Bex back onto the streets to fend for herself was too much to take.

She’d tried to follow but Bex hadn’t got by for the length of time she’d been on the streets by being careless. She had headed into the narrow alleyways that ran along the back of the houses opposite Jessica’s and disappeared. Jessica knew a little about where Manchester’s homeless community congregated but doubted Bex would be appearing there any time soon; not to mention the fact she had to work late that night.

Together, Adam and Jessica hunted through every room of the house but the silver candlesticks that had belonged to his grandmother had definitely gone. Adam asked if they could have been burgled but the more obvious things thieves would have taken – the television, the laptop – were exactly where they always had been. Jessica didn’t own much jewellery, certainly nothing expensive, but they checked the bottom drawer of the dresser on Adam’s side of the bed. As well as a pendant she’d had since she was a child, it was where they kept their passports and paper driving licences. Everything was there, but Adam insisted things weren’t right, saying he’d left them stacked in a different order. Jessica didn’t know either way, but he was anal about things like that so she had no reason to doubt him.

The obvious conclusion was that Bex had been through their things but Jessica didn’t believe it. Why would she? As for the candlesticks, neither Jessica nor Adam knew if they were worth anything; they’d been kept as a reminder of everything they’d lost in the house fire and almost as a joke because they were so archaic and unlike anything they would otherwise own. Jessica had never lived on the streets but she knew the type of thing that would be sold for cash – and there were enough items around the house that Bex could have got money for if that’s what she wanted.

All of that left the disturbing question of what exactly had gone on. Whoever had put the letter with the symbol on through her door knew where she lived – but Jessica had no idea who had left it, nor what they might have broken into the house for. Jessica knew she should tell Adam about it but it was another example of the job following her home and she was carrying too much guilt about that as it was.

The final part of the puzzle was revealed as they checked the doors and windows – the back door was unlocked, even though Adam insisted he’d locked it. That was something that couldn’t be pinned on Bex because she’d only ever had a front-door key.

Someone, somewhere had it in for them. Or, perhaps more specifically, her.

Jessica twiddled the dial on the side of the passenger’s seat and jolted the rear of the seat backwards until she was as horizontal as she could manage.

‘Ow!’ DC Archie Davey squealed from behind her, hastily trying to yank his legs out from underneath her seat.

‘I told you I was going to have a quick kip.’

‘You didn’t say you were going to slam your fat arse into my legs.’

In the driver’s seat, DC Rowlands sniggered childishly.

Jessica twisted around in the seat, tying herself up in the seatbelt and nearly strangling herself. ‘Pardon?’

Archie was still shuffling onto the other side of the back seat, rubbing his knees. ‘Nothing.’

Their unmarked CID pool car was parked in the shadows of a side street leading away from the main road that was still blocked by roadworks in the area where Jessica suspected Cassie and Grace had disappeared. It didn’t look as if the workmen digging up the road had done anything since the last time Jessica had been there.

Jessica closed her eyes but the glare of the constantly changing traffic lights from the other end of the street still burned through her eyelids.

A woman’s voice crackled across the police radio. ‘It’s sodding freezing out there.’

Without opening her eyes, Jessica pressed the button to respond. ‘It’s November in Manchester, what do you bloody expect?’

A second woman’s voice erupted from the speaker: ‘I honestly think I might lose a nipple if I have to keep walking around in this. Can I borrow a coat?’

Jessica still didn’t open her eyes. ‘Will you all stop moaning?’

In fairness to the three constables chosen to walk along the main road, the mercury wouldn’t have been bothering many, if any, numbers above zero. Each woman strutted along the quarter-of-a-mile stretch beside the area that was dug up, turning left into the next street and then looping back to the unmarked van at the beginning, where a cup of tea and a bloody huge coat awaited them. Then it was the next woman’s turn. Between the three of them, they were wearing enough material to completely clothe one of Fat Pat’s thighs.

Each of the three was wired up, primarily so their complaints could be piped directly back to the car containing Jessica, Archie and Dave, and to the backup van with two constables, a sergeant and the driver.

‘Easy for you to say,’ one of the constables shot back, ‘you’re not the one traipsing up and down with your arse hanging out of a skirt.’

Archie sat up straighter in the back seat, trying to peer around Jessica towards the deserted main road, knocking the back of her seat in the process.

Jessica shot him a dirty look. ‘She only said the word “skirt” – it wasn’t an invitation.’ Dave’s head had bobbed up like a startled meerkat’s too. ‘It’s only Joy Bag,’ Jessica added. ‘You see her every day at work.’

‘There’s that new one too,’ Dave replied, turning to Archie. ‘What’s her name?’

‘All right,’ Jessica interrupted. ‘It’s not a fashion show. We’re supposed to be here looking for some nasty bastard, not gawping at anything female with a pulse.’

There was a short pause before Dave replied. ‘If that’s the case, then why are you trying to go to sleep?’

‘What might appear to your untrained eye to be an attempt to sleep is in fact a careful refining of my thought process. Anyway, that’s why we’re a team – you do the looking out for nasty bastards, I do the careful planning.’

‘With your eyes shut?’

‘Exactly.’

A couple of minutes passed with only the merest complaint from Jane as she set off for her lap of the estate. Just as Jessica was beginning to relax, Archie cut the silence. ‘You know what the problem is, don’t you? Our lot aren’t slutty enough. Northern girls are tough – they’re not walking home in skirts and tops, half of them are out in their underwear. It’s all the rage nowadays.’

‘He’s right,’ Dave said.

Jessica hoiked her chair back into position and jabbed a finger in Dave’s direction. ‘As if you know what girls are wearing nowadays. When was the last time you went out on the pull and didn’t end up home alone? The only crush you’ve got is on him.’ She poked a thumb towards Archie in the back seat to prove her point. ‘Now – can you please all stop talking because you’re steaming up the windows and I can’t see a bloody thing.’

Jessica wedged her head into the gap between the seat and the window and closed her eyes again but she could sense Archie and Dave exchanging a look.

She was trying to focus by thinking of anyone who wasn’t Bex. Somewhere in the frozen city centre, the teenager was trying to find a safe spot to sleep. No wonder she kept a knife close to hand.

More complaining over the radio – this time because the heels were making Jane’s feet hurt.

Jessica blinked her eyes open. ‘What time is it?’

Dave’s phone lit up the front seat. ‘Twenty to ten.’

‘Have you got any money on you?’

‘Dunno, maybe a fiver?’

Jessica sat up straighter and held her palm out. ‘Let’s have it.’

Dave delved into his coat pocket and pulled out a scrunched-up note. ‘What for?’

Jessica grabbed it and reached towards the back seat. ‘Arch, you awake?’

‘Aye.’

‘I’ve got a really important job I’m going to trust you with – take this money, head directly down the road, second left, first right and keep going until you see the row of shops. Ignore the pizza place and first row of shutters, then follow your nose. I think I saw a chippy down there. I’m large chips, battered sausage and gravy, Dave’s small chips, and get whatever you want.’

‘With a fiver?’

‘I’m sure you’ve got a few quid on you. Whatever you do, don’t forget my sausage and don’t let them scrimp on the gravy. Now – chop, chop; most places around here close at ten so get a move on.’

Archie grumbled his way out of the back seat, complaining that he hadn’t spent all the years in uniform and training just so he could end up on the chip run but Jessica told him to stop moaning, else she’d get him tarted up in a short skirt to patrol the estate and see how he liked it.

Icy air whooshed into the car as Archie opened the door, only for him to be shouted at for making Jessica cold.

When it was just the pair of them, Dave angled himself in the driver’s seat until he was facing her. ‘You’re on one tonight . . .’

‘It’s been a week for it.’

‘I’ve not had time to look at your symbol since we last spoke.’

‘Don’t worry about it – we’ll get there. Izzy said the day crew have been snowed under today too. They’ve been interviewing everyone at the rowing club’s party for a third time, making sure they’ve not missed anything. They’ve also had someone trying to sort out the number plate thing for this case but Hamish has been out in his taxi today, so every time he’s out picking up a passenger, his number plate flashes up on our system. There are so many places you can buy a plate from nowadays that it’s not as if we can narrow down when our guy might have cloned it.’

‘Basically, we’ve got nowhere?’

‘Precisely – that’s why we’re here.’

Over the radio, Jane announced that she was back in the van, as one of the other constables asked if she really had to go out in the cold. Jessica’s reply was an unsympathetic ‘stop whingeing’.

‘Do you really think we’re going to get anything doing this?’ Dave asked.

‘Of course not. It’s probably the superintendent panicking that we’ve not made any progress so he needs us to look pro-active.’

The radio sparked to life again, the constable speaking quietly: ‘Bloke in a hoody looking a bit weird on the other side of the road.’

‘Probably Archie,’ Dave mumbled.

They waited for a few seconds until she added: ‘It’s all right; he’s just taking a piss in someone’s garden.’

It really had come to something when that was considered ‘all right’, but it wasn’t as if they could go charging in and arrest him for it when they were trying to remain in the shadows.

‘How’s it going with your granny?’ Jessica asked.

‘I told you before—’

‘Yeah, yeah, she’s not a granny. Anyway, how’s it going?’

‘She broke it off. It was probably for the best. With her further up north, neither of us fancied the travelling and it wasn’t really worth it. We had a good time. Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump you if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘I’d be more worried about you jumping Archie with the way you make eyes at him.’

At the other end of the street, the traffic lights flicked from green to amber back to red again, bathing the car in a bright chestnut glow.

Jessica closed her eyes again. ‘Where is Archie with those chips?’

‘He’s only been gone a few minutes.’

‘He could’ve run. I’m starving here.’ Jessica expected a comeback regarding the size of her arse but it didn’t happen. When she glanced sideways at Dave to make sure he was listening, his face was pressed against the misty glass. ‘You’re not licking the windows again, are you?’

Dave frantically rubbed the condensation away and pointed to the end of the street. ‘Can you see that van?’

‘I had my eyes fixed, remember?’

‘Look at the logo on the side.’

Jessica leant across the handbrake, pressing her elbow into his thigh accidentally and squinting into the night. ‘Is that . . . ?’

Jessica wasn’t sure but Dave sounded certain: ‘It’s your logo.’

31

The traffic lights changed to green and the van surged forward, sending a cloud of exhaust fumes hurtling into the air.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Jessica shouted, trying to untangle herself from the seatbelt again. ‘Follow that van.’

Dave was clumsily trying to turn the key. ‘What about Archie?’

‘He’s going to have a lot of chips to eat. Go – quickly – they’re getting away.’

Dave stalled the car, much to Jessica’s annoyance, and then finally made the engine squawk to life, before bunny-hopping away from the kerb and accelerating to the end of the street, then turning onto the main road. In the distance, the van was racing away from them at a speed well above the 30 m.p.h. limit.

Jessica was straining against her seatbelt, trying to get a better view of the van. ‘You do know the accelerator pedal’s on the right?’

‘I’m on it! It’s not my fault the car’s shite.’

‘Do you need to swap seats?’

‘God, no. I’ve not recovered from the last time.’

‘So put your foot down then.’

Dave did just that, shutting Jessica up as the back of her head bounced off the headrest and he raced across a junction. Being Manchester, Jessica’s agitation was entirely misplaced as the van quickly ground to a halt at another set of traffic lights. Dave eased off the pedal and Jessica radioed the backup vehicle to say they had been called away to follow up an alternative line of inquiry. She consoled them by saying that she had specifically asked Archie to treat them to sausage and chips and that they could thank her later.

Just as they eased in behind the van, the lights turned green and it accelerated again. Jessica reached forward and wiped the condensation away. The rear door of the van had once been white but the lower half was now covered in a grimy layer of filth. Someone had fingered the words ‘Your mum’s dirtier than this’ into the muck but the top half was almost clean, the three-pronged logo stencilled clearly into the upper corner. In crisp, dark letters, a company’s name was equally clear next to it: ‘BUNCE ’N’ BUILDERS’, along with a website and a phone number.

Jessica picked up her phone and started tapping away, complaining about the reception, and telling Dave to make sure he followed the van without making it look like they were following it.

‘It was only a minute ago you were telling me to floor it,’ he complained.

Jessica ignored him, skim-reading the company’s official website. ‘It’s just a normal building company with the usual “phone-this-number-if-you-want-us-to-rip-you-off” spiel. There’s no address but there is a list of made-up awards. What type of people give out awards to building companies? “The winner of this year’s best brick award goes to . . .”’

‘They’re out a bit late, aren’t they?’

‘They probably disappeared for lunch and got carried away.’

‘I suppose they could be returning it to the depot?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘It’s a Friday night. Some places have a fleet of vans that they leave in a central place for the weekend. It’s still late to be out and about but it’s only likely to be the company’s owner working this late if it’s a one-man operation.’

‘How do you know so much about builders?’

‘Not building; my dad was a plumber. He used to have to drop a van off every Friday night at his boss’s house and then pick it up again on Monday morning.’

‘Does that mean you could’ve been a plumber?’

‘I suppose.’

‘What happened? You turned up on time for the first day of training and they failed you on the spot?’

Dave burst out laughing but kept an eye on the road and followed the van around a corner, following a sign for Chadderton and the M62.

Jessica’s phone burst to life, with Archie’s name flashing up. As soon as Jessica pressed the button to answer, the DC’s voice screeched through. ‘What happened to you?’

‘Important business.’

‘I’ve got a giant bag of chips here.’

‘So what are you complaining about? There’s a van of underdressed constables who’ll treat you like a conquering hero if you share with them.’

There was a pause as Archie digested her words before responding. ‘Good point.’

The line went dead, with Jessica staring at the blank screen before repocketing it. ‘He sounds happy.’

Dave continued to focus on the road, easing off the accelerator so that he didn’t get too close to the van. ‘Lucky sod.’

Just as Jessica thought the van was about to join the motorway, it took a turn, heading onto a country road with no street lights. Dave dropped back further, steering carefully along the tight turns as the rows of houses were replaced by trees and high bushes. They drove in silence, both unfamiliar with the area. After five more minutes, the van’s brake lights glinted brightly in the dark as it slowed to a near halt. Dave had no option other than to keep driving past the address but Jessica managed a solid glance at the sprawling mansion set back from the road before it was gone. She continued to watch through the rear window as the van pulled off the road onto the driveway. Dave slowed and performed an impressive one-handed U-turn and then turned the headlights off as he eased the car back the way they had come, parking under the shadow of a tree on the opposite side of the road from the house.

The only light came from the faint glimmer of the moon trying to fight its way through the clouds and the glow from within the house. Jessica got out of the car, stepping into a muddy puddle and flinching as it squelched through her socks. She hauled her foot out of the sludge and crept across the road, sticking to the shadows until she was standing next to the gatepost.

Dave slotted in behind her. ‘What are we doing?’

‘Shhh. I don’t know yet.’

The driver of the van had already climbed out and was using a remote control to raise the door of a wide garage on the right-hand side of the grounds. His feet crunched distractingly across the gravel as Jessica took in the scene.

The house was enormous – three storeys high and twenty windows wide. At the front were a fountain and a turning circle. Jessica couldn’t look at properties this large without thinking of a different mansion . . . a different time. She blinked the drowning feeling away, pinching the webbing between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, forcing herself to focus. This was a different house.

Dave must have noticed because he placed his hand in the small of Jessica’s back and leant in closely. His voice was barely a whisper. ‘You okay?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

She meant it.

There were no clues as to whether the house had a number or a name. Jessica could see neither in the grim light. From inside the garage, bright white lights illuminated three other vans parked side by side, exactly as Dave had predicted. Each of them had the three-pronged curved logo in the corner with ‘BUNCE ’N’ BUILDERS’ and the contact details; the only difference was in the level of muck that was attached to the back doors. Parked next to the garage was an old Vauxhall that looked utterly out of place set against the splendour of the rest of the property.

After easing the van in front-first, the driver stepped back out, watching as the door hummed into place. Jessica could see only a silhouette of someone short with broad shoulders and heavy-looking boots. He stood for a few moments staring up at the house and then shrugged, walking briskly towards the front door, tossing the keys from one hand to the other and back again. Somehow, Jessica knew that it wasn’t his house and she wasn’t surprised to see him pushing the keys through the letterbox and then striding back towards the Vauxhall.

Jessica grabbed Dave’s hand and pulled him away from the gatepost, back across the road. ‘Quick,’ she muttered, waiting for him to unlock the car. Behind them an engine growled to life, headlamps raging bright across the road, illuminating the side of the car and the hedges beyond.

Dave fumbled with the key fob, panicking as he plipped the doors open. ‘Shite, he’s going to see us.’

He started to head for the driver’s side, but before he could move any further, Jessica already had the rear door open and shoved him inside. She launched herself after him, tugging the door closed with her foot. The lights from the Vauxhall dipped down and then up as it bumped over a grate at the front of the property, giving the driver an almost perfect view through their car window. Jessica put the palm of her hand over Dave’s mouth and then leant forward, kissing the back of her hand and staring into Dave’s eyes. He was so surprised that Jessica could see the red veins blistering out from the whites as the car lights hung on them for a few seconds before the vehicle turned and headed off along the road.

Jessica used the back of the front seat to heave herself up. ‘What?’ she said, scraping her hair out of her face.

‘Was that really necessary?’

‘I didn’t want him to think we were watching the house.’

‘So you’d rather he thought we were dogging?’

‘You wish – I only had a second to think.’

‘And your first thought was to make him think we were copping off by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere?’

‘Well, I didn’t hear you coming up with anything; you were too busy panicking.’

Jessica opened the door and climbed out, straightening her clothes. Dave followed sheepishly, brushing his hair forward with his hand.

‘What’s up with you?’ Jessica asked.

‘Nothing – apart from the elbow I got in the ribs.’

‘Stop complaining and get a move on. If we’re lucky there might be some chips left.’

‘What are you going to do about the logo?’

‘I don’t know yet – but if you can haul your arse out of bed tomorrow morning, then I know a cracking place we can get breakfast.’

32

The rest of the night’s operation had gone exactly as Jessica had expected: lots of moaning, no results and, perhaps more importantly, a closed chippy, no leftover chips and no one wanting to take the blame for eating the battered sausage. Jessica had no idea why anyone had thought their attacker would be prowling the area night after night after getting away with it twice, but that was far from the only thing going on at the station which she didn’t have a grasp upon.

At a little after two in the morning, Jessica called a halt and they headed back to the station tired and cold. Jessica sent a text message to Garry Ashford, caught up on some of the paperwork that seemed to be breeding on her desk, and then snatched a few hours’ sleep at home before attacking her alarm for doing what it was meant to and heading to the supermarket cafe.

Garry Ashford was already sitting at their usual table, empty mug stained by milk froth in front of him next to a well-scraped plate showing hints of baked bean juice. The relative calm of the weekday crowd had been replaced by weekend chaos, with children running in all directions shrieking as if possessed, pushchairs blocking every spare piece of floor where there might have once been space to walk, and plates, cups and cutlery stacked on every table. Meanwhile, frantic, suicidal-looking members of staff tried to take orders, clean the tables, and not break their ankles on the various toys that had been dropped around their feet.

Jessica swayed around a double pram, stepped over a plastic keyboard, trod on a soft giraffe, almost kicked a lad who dashed across in front of her seemingly from nowhere, and finally fell into the chair next to Garry.

‘We need a new meeting place,’ she said as a baby started wailing just behind them.

Garry looked her up and down. ‘You look like you’ve been sleeping in a bush.’

Jessica rubbed her eyes but didn’t have the energy to stop herself yawning. ‘I’m on lates, so spent most of the night in the passenger seat of a car.’ She nodded over Garry’s shoulder, to where Dave Rowlands was trying to extricate himself from the attention of two under-sevens, who were blocking the way into the cafe, demanding a toll. A boy had his hand out as Dave panicked, wondering whether he should give the kid a pound, or simply barge his way past.

Garry picked up his empty mug, clearly disappointed. ‘How does it feel that one of your constables is in the process of being mugged by a primary school child?’

‘I’m surprised it’s taken this long. Twelve’s the new sixteen – they’re shooting up in the school toilets and impregnating each other, so seven’s the new twelve. They’re probably part of some international smuggling gang.’

Dave was saved by the children’s mother finally noticing her little shites weren’t peacefully sitting next to her. She limped across the cafe wearing light grey leggings that were so tight they were almost grafted to her skin, then grabbed her boys by the arms, dragging them away as Dave apologetically ran the gauntlet of the rest of the cafe. He finally took a seat next to Jessica and Garry, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands. His hair was flat and unstyled, eyelids drooping heavily.

Garry puffed out a breath. ‘You look worse than she does.’

‘It’s too early.’

‘It’s almost midday.’

‘I didn’t get to bed until six and I’m working again tonight.’

Garry held his empty mug up. ‘This is a real day out, isn’t it?’

Jessica couldn’t stop yawning but took the not-so-subtle hint and stumbled her way across to the counter, ordering three cappuccinos, four espressos, two full English breakfasts, a caramel shortcake slice, a chocolate éclair and a scone. Her digestive system was going to hate her for it but after a pair of the espressos and half the breakfast, she was feeling almost human. Even Dave had perked up after working his way through his half of the food and his two espressos. Garry had wolfed down his scone in less time than it had taken Jessica to realise that there was a baby on the table next to them eyeballing her.