Gardners, Ditchers, and Gravemakers (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 4) by Oliver Davies (best black authors txt) 📗

“I got it not long after the court case was all sorted. Went back to Lin Shui, she even gave me a discount,” I recalled happily, taking another sip of beer.

It was a beautiful design. I’d carried it around with me for a while until, on the anniversary of my mother’s death, I wandered into the tattoo parlour with Sally for moral support. Now it sat on my chest, not far from my heart, and though it had hurt like hell, I was very fond of it, and Sally had enjoyed my blatant discomfort. I think she’d taken photographs, but they were never to see the light of day, not unless she wanted to be pushed into a pond again. I’d even gone so far as to put Lin’s original drawing in a little frame and keep it. It was somewhere in the house now, lost with all the other mementoes that I kept littered around the place, on shelves and mantle pieces and chests of drawers. I ought to find it, really. Ought to clean the house altogether, in fact.

Liene still looked at my chest, her eyes tracing the shape that she knew lay under my shirt. The bird and its lily. Her smile faded slightly. “Will you ever tell me?” She asked quietly, hesitantly. “About what happened with your mother?”

My breath caught slightly, and I looked away from her gaze, over to the fire that crackled. I watched the flames for a moment, the reds and oranges flickering in the dark hearth, her question rolling around my head. My hand was slightly clammy in hers, but she didn’t pull away, so neither did I. I took a deep breath.

“Eventually,” I answered, looking back at her. “It’s not a nice thing to talk about. Very people actually do know quite what happened.”

Very few, thinking about it. Sally and Elsie, of course, Tom and Mike knew the rough details, as did Sharp and Crowe. Mills undoubtedly had an inkling. We’d worked together too long for him not to. Other than that, those few people who’d known me so long, the people I considered family, the only other person who knew was,

“Jeannie,” Liene said, startling me. I looked at her, watched as she ducked her face, her free hand drawing in the condensation on the table left by her drink. “Jeannie knows.” She spoke quietly, and I frowned at the sad tinge to her voice.

Shuffling closer, I put my glass down and squeezed her hand, making her look up at me.

“I’ve known Jeannie for at least ten years now,” I told her, meeting her stare and not breaking it. “Longer, in fact. She picked up bits and pieces over that time, pieced together what happened. It’s what she does for a living,” I reminded her. “When you know someone that long, whoever they are, they tend to learn these things about you. Whatever you tell them, whatever happens between you.”

Liene nodded and swallowed. “Should I be worried?”

“Worried?” I asked.

“About Jeannie?”

I ignored the ever-present twinge the sound of her name caused me and shook my head. “I haven’t heard from her in almost a year,” I said. “Radio silence other than those flowers.” For all I knew, she’d run off to Estonia or something, married a millionaire or a farmer, and I would likely never see her again.

“What if she came back?” Liene asked, a taunting glint in her eye. “What if she waltzed through those doors right now and asked you to go with her?”

I smiled at Liene, tightening my grip on her hand, “I’d tell her tough. I’m here with you.”

Liene laughed lightly and pulled away from me, picking up her drink and watching me over the rim of the glass. She looked almost wary, and I couldn’t really blame her, not when it came to Jeannie. We’d known each other too long for us to be completely estranged. So, I gave myself a mental kick in the arse and leant closer to her, my arms braced on my knees.

“I will tell you,” I assured her. “About my childhood, about my mother, all of it. Just, in my own time. Give me that, just a little bit of time?”

“All the time you need,” she replied.

And yet, there was a part of me that wasn’t sure that I wanted to tell her. I liked where we were, not so deep in each other’s business, not knowing every little thing. My past was my past. Dredging it up was no easy feat, and I rarely ever mentioned my mother aloud to anyone. The only person who ever mentioned her to me was Elsie. Liene was the sort of person not to care about that, the sort who made you talk about things, bring them into the light, clear the air. It was something about her that I admired, but some things stayed buried inside.

“So, what happened to the girls?” Liene asked. “Abbie, her daughter?”

“Last I heard, they were all doing well. Grace started school, Paige left her annoying job,” I recalled with a little laugh, remembering her outraged face whenever she mentioned them. “They’re safe, and happy.”

“All anyone needs,” Liene murmured, glancing down at her phone.

“Needs and wants are different, though,” I said. “You’ll get the grant, Liene,” I assured her.

As if on cue, her phone rang, and she jumped, nearly spilling her drink all down herself. I reached over and gently pried the glass from her hand as she flipped the phone over, looked at the number and then up at me with wide eyes.

“Go on,” I urged her. “Answer it.”

She bit her lip, standing up and pressing the phone to her ear as she walked to the door and stepped outside. I watched her go, then turned back around and tipped my head back against the seat, eyes closed, listening to the gentle noise of the pub surrounding me.

I hadn’t thought about that summer for a while. It all seemed a bit hazy, the