‘He’s AWOL, then?’
‘Uh huh. Nobody knows where.’
‘Somebody must know. His mum? His girlfriend?’
‘Mum neither knows nor cares. Girlfriend, ditto. Actually, nobody’s seen her in a while, but one of the kids said she was supposed to have moved to Manchester. I don’t know if it’s true.’
‘Right. Nobody’s in touch with her, then?’
Jenna sensed from Kayley’s slight hesitation that she was digging too deep. She needed to keep things more casual.
‘Not that I know of. You haven’t changed career and turned private eye, have you?’
Jenna laughed, hoping fiercely that she wasn’t caught in a blush.
‘Sorry. Just trying to get my head around Bledburn. It’s changed, you know. It was never this …’
‘Hopeless?’ suggested Kayley.
‘I hate to say it, but …’
‘Yeah. I hate to say it too.’
Jenna drained the last of her tea.
‘Listen, Kay, it’s been so good to see you again, but I have to get going. I’ll be in touch about that talk and I’ll call the council about that money for the recording studio, too. You know I’ve bought Harville Hall?’
Kayley put her mug down with a thump.
‘No. I didn’t know that.’
‘I’ve been thinking. Maybe I’ll start the Gala up again. Bledburn needs something like that – a celebration.’
‘Ah, the Gala. That used to be highlight of the year, didn’t it? Proper funfair, great music, like a festival. And you’re not wrong – we could all do with a celebration. Listen, thanks. This means a lot. So you’re sticking around then? Not hopping off to LA any time soon?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘You must have a screw loose.’
Kayley’s laughter echoed after Jenna as she left the club to cross the basketball court to where she had parked the car.
But there was a problem. The wheels were on bricks, and minus tyres.
‘Oh shit,’ she moaned, banging the bonnet and clutching her forehead. She had believed Kayley and Auntie Jean when they told her the estate had gone downhill, but not to this extent. She would need an emergency tyre fitter, but where the hell she would find one, she hadn’t a clue. She was about to turn around, and go back to ask Kayley’s advice, when a figure emerged from the back door of the pub over the road and crossed the forecourt, waving at her.
‘Fancy bumping into you here.’
‘I could say the same thing.’
It was Lawrence Harville, in a pinstriped suit, carrying a briefcase.
‘Business,’ he said briefly. ‘Listen, about the other night …’
‘You do look rather businesslike. And yes, you owe me an apology, a massive one.’
‘I’m sorry
. I behaved inexcusably. I don’t expect you can forgive me, but I’d like the chance to make amends.’