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She gapes, there, her hands flat against a wall while her entire world seems to spin off around her. She’s about to charge at him, to ambush him, to yell, when he says, ‘Thanks. Thanks, Nic.’
While Jen’s lying husband emerges holding the takeaway, she collects herself. She needs to think. She wants to be sure she gains as much information as possible, rather than confronting him.
His footsteps slow when he sees her.
‘Hey?’ His smile is easy, but wary. He’s no fool. He knows she knows something.
‘What’s going on?’
He immediately understands Jen, and he knows what a warning those questions are. ‘That phone call? Nic? No …’ he says, an educated guess. ‘You don’t think …’
‘Show me your pockets.’
He looks once down the road, back at the Indian takeaway. Then at his feet. A bite of his lip, then he sets the takeaway down on the ground and does what she has asked. She walks towards him.
Two phones and the brown package containing the key tumble out into Jen’s hands.
She says nothing, merely waiting for an explanation.
‘I – this is my client’s phone, Nicola. And her car.’
‘Stop lying!’ Jen shouts. Her words echo around the street, bouncing back distorted. Kelly’s face slackens in shock. ‘You’re lying to me,’ she says with a sob that she can’t contain. For all her intentions, it has descended into the domestic she wanted to avoid. She can’t help being emotional with him.
He runs a hand through his hair then turns on the spot. He’s angry.
‘Burner phones and illegal transactions, Kelly.’
He doesn’t say anything, just bites his lip and looks at her.
‘All right – yeah. The package. It isn’t for a client’s car.’
‘Whose is it then?’
He goes silent again. Kelly often allows pauses to expand, choosing to say nothing where other people would speak. Somebody else always talks first. But, this time, Jen waits too, just looking at him across the quiet, dark street.
His eyes run across her face. He’s trying to figure out what she knows. He’s trying to work out how to play his hand. ‘The car is stolen, but it isn’t – what you think,’ he eventually says.
‘What is it then?’
‘I can’t say that.’
‘Why?’
He stops speaking again, staring down at his feet, evidently thinking.
‘What? Tell me or – we’re in trouble, Kelly.’ She holds a hand up. ‘I am not joking.’
‘I know perfectly well that you’re not joking,’ he says tightly. ‘And neither am I.’
‘Tell me what the fuck is going on, or I go.’
‘I …’ He paces again, another useless circle that seems to serve only to burn off steam. ‘Jen – I …’ His cheeks have gone red. She’s getting to him, she can tell. Her husband may be calm, but even he has a limit. Just look what he did in the police station on the night that started everything.
‘Just tell me who the key goes to. Just tell me who the guy was that you met just now.’
‘It’s … I’d tell you if I could.’
‘You don’t want to tell me what you’re mixed up in. Isn’t it as simple as that? You’re giving me a fucking no-comment interview, Kell.’
