Don't Come Looking by AJ Campbell (always you kirsty moseley .txt) 📗

got friendly with the owner of a greasy café just off the High Street, near the station. The type where Formica tables and battered chairs meet the waft of fried food and over-brewed tea. Sometimes, when I’m really stretched and haven’t brought anything in from home, I succumb to his offering to buy me a sarnie. I don’t know why I bother. I never fail to regret it for the rest of the day.

‘Eva? You OK?’ Sasha asks.

‘I think this heat has got to me. I need a drink of water.’

‘Pop into the house. I’m about halfway through Jim’s session.’ She glances at her watch. ‘We’ll be done by quarter past.’

In the house, raised voices flow from the kitchen. Leaving the front door open slightly, I inch my way up the hall, knowing I shouldn’t be snooping, but that’s me. I seem to be doing it a lot lately. Through a gap in the door, I can see Harry and Luke and just about hear them over the sound of the radio.

‘It’s all right for you. Your mum and dad aren’t liars,’ Harry says in a voice hissing with venom. A missing father accompanied with exam stress, let alone the embarrassment of Saturday night, must have fuelled his anger.

‘Come on, mate. You’ve got to keep your shit together. All parents are dicks. Mine included,’ Luke says. He is scooched down beside Ralph. The dog has rolled onto his back, his paw sticking up in the air like a beetle.

‘Yours? What’ve they ever done to you?’

Luke is gently kneading Ralph’s belly. ‘Another story for another time, but they’re not the saints everyone thinks they are.’

‘How about a story for now?’

‘Look, we can’t allow parents to ruin our futures. They’re not worth it.’

There’s silence for a while, just the clink of ice cubes, and water filling glasses.

‘Do you reckon my dad has hooked up with another bird?’

Luke stops doting on Ralph and stands up, brushing hairs off his jeans. ‘Not something that would’ve ever crossed my mind. I’m confused about his departure as much as everyone else. I’m gutted in fact. Your dad has been more of a father to me than my own.’

His words don’t match his expression, and a disturbing glow lights his eyes. I shiver, despite the perspiration from the sweltering day creeping down my spine.

‘I can’t think why else he would’ve left. You know him well. Of all the dads we know, would you’ve put him as the one to have done this?’

Luke pulls out a stool from under the breakfast bar. ‘He’ll probably be back soon. Let’s get through these exams, and I’ll help you trace him. No one can go undetected for long in today’s world. You want me to go over this maths stuff Robbins went through with us yesterday?’

Harry remains seated at the breakfast bar, chin propped up in his hands with a “woe is me” expression shadowing his tired and pained face. Luke pulls a file out of his rucksack. He opens it and unclips some pages. ‘If we’re lucky, one of these questions will come up in tomorrow’s paper, the same as today.’

I sneak back to the front door, open it wider and slam it shut. ‘It’s Eva.’ I call out as I walk back to the kitchen.

Luke acknowledges me with a friendly smile, but I catch the way he stealthily pokes Harry in the ribs. I find a tumbler and turn on the tap as they collect their things and disappear upstairs.

Draining the glass, I pour myself another. As I’m drinking the second, I stop midway as the radio announces the news. This morning, two college students discovered the dismembered remains of a body by the river Cam, along The Backs in Cambridge.

Twenty-Three

I carry on listening, not wanting to think the worst. The body has yet to be identified. Police have cordoned off the scene, and forensic officers are combing the area. There is a mention of police dogs too, but Sasha barging into the house interrupts me hearing anything further. Her stricken face tells me I don’t need to ask if she has also heard the same news.

‘Sit down,’ I tell her, flicking on the kettle. More sweet tea is required here; perhaps something stronger.

‘They’ve found a man’s body in Cambridge,’ she whispers.

‘I heard.’

‘It could be him.’

‘And it probably isn’t.’ It takes me five minutes to calm her down. I’m convinced that it’s a coincidence, even though I can’t be sure.

‘I need to get back to Cambridge,’ she says, throwing her car keys into her bag.

‘What good will that do?’

‘I can identify him.’

‘But you don’t know it’s him. Anyway, they wouldn’t let you do that straight away, Sasha.’ My heart goes out to her. I know what it’s like to tread the fear that you could become a widow.

Not much I say can convince her. It’s as if she has already organised her husband’s funeral in her head, chosen the coffin, written the eulogy. She raises her voice, her cheeks reddening. ‘Go and take your husband to Art. Leave me to find mine.’

I step back as if she has shoved me. All I’ve tried to do is support her. But I know she’s not thinking rationally. It’s the stages she’s going through. The shock has subsided, and now the anger is intensifying. I try and console her, but she’s adamant she wants to be left alone. Sometimes that’s all you can do. I’ve been here umpteen times. People need time to make sense of how they are going to clean up the mess that has been catapulted their way. I squeeze her shoulder on my way out. ‘You know where I am.’

‘Eva!’ she calls out as I leave the kitchen.

I turn around.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to speak to you so harshly.’

I give her a straight-lipped smile before leaving her to her thoughts.

I’m still feeling queasy as I walk over to her studio. I glance over my shoulder and look up to Art and Annie’s house and the window where