The Girl Who Stole the Apple

‘Of course it bloody well wasn’t!’ He lurched up from the bed, so that he stood towering over her, swaying. ‘If I knew all the answers, I’d tell you.’ He was angry. The vein down the left-hand side of his face was pulsing in a way she remembered. She flinched in anticipation. Not that she had ever known Sam to be someone who would hit a woman. But she had pushed him hard and everyone, she imagined, had their breaking point. Yet all that happened was that he walked over to the bathroom and shut the door carefully behind him. She heard him talking to himself, his voice rising and falling like a wild sea. It had been so long that she’d almost forgotten that this was how he was.

‘Is Sam OK?’ Another voice, but behind her. Small and anxious. Maggie turned. Beth was standing in her doorway.

It was always ‘Sam,’ never ‘Dad.’

* * *

Evans arrived at the rendezvous ten minutes early, feeling like he had won the lottery. Not the jackpot, but a prize nevertheless. When Bowman had told him to stay behind, he had expected the worst. But Bowman’s bark had turned out to be worse than his bite.

‘This is your chance to make up for your stupid mistake, Evans,’ he had said as he handed over a small jiffy bag.

‘Deliver this tonight. Don’t ask any questions. And come straight home when you’ve done it. I want you on duty with Reid and Ashcroft in the morning. Without fail.’

So here he was, two hours’ drive away, parked in the road just outside the Jubilee Hotel, waiting for his contact to arrive.

‘Stay in the car. Don’t use the car park. She will come to you.’

Evans didn’t know her name. He didn’t know what she looked like. ‘Best if you know nothing,’ Bowman had said.

Evans watched. A couple were advancing towards him along the pavement, but they walked straight past. A young man in a bomber jacket, hands thrust deep into his pockets, followed.

Then someone tapped on the window. Evans jumped in alarm.

A woman peered in at him. She had a cigarette in her hand. She gestured at him. Evans let the window down.

‘Got a light?’

‘I don’t smoke.’

‘Not my lucky night.’

Evans picked up the jiffy bag from the passenger seat and passed it to her. ‘It is now.’

She took it and flicked the cigarette into the darkness.

‘Go home,’ she said.

Evans turned the car round and headed back towards the main road. He glanced in his mirror. The woman was still standing where he had left her.

CHAPTER SIX

Maggie woke to the comforting sound of water gurgling in the pipes. She lay on her back, eyes half open, soaking up the peace and wondering what time it was. There was no sound of Sam — snoring or breathing or talking — and no sense of his beanpole body in the room. Before she had gone to bed, she had wondered if he would try it on with her, and she had been a bit miffed when he hadn’t, not because she had wanted either him or even the temporary solace of sex, but because it would have been nice to have been asked. She wasn’t sure how she would have reacted if he had.

She heaved herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. That was when she saw that Beth was standing in the doorway, fully dressed in football kit. ‘When are we having breakfast?’

Maggie looked around. There was no sign of Sam at all.

‘He’s gone out,’ Beth said, reading her thoughts. ‘I’m hungry.’

Maggie showered as quickly as she could. Fifteen minutes later they were downstairs, in a huge restaurant with breakfast laid out on side tables and hotplates. Help yourself, the food said. So she did, to muesli plus some dried apricots and a dollop of yoghurt on top. She noted that Beth followed suit, but with a smaller helping. They sat together in a corner by the window, from where she could survey the whole room. There was no sign of Sam. She was tempted to ask the spotty young man who brought her a cafetière if he had noticed a very tall man eating earlier, but she decided against it. She told herself it was best not to draw attention to herself and Beth. Or rather, Matt. It was important to think of the girl as a boy or else sooner or later she would call her the wrong name and then someone would definitely remember them.

‘Well, Matt,’ she practised, ‘how about some bacon and egg?’

A pair of blue eyes regarded her warily. ‘That would be very nice,’ the child said, adding after a pause, ‘Mother.’

They sat eating their hot food in amiable silence, except when the child looked across and said, ‘This is delicious, Mother.’

‘Glad you are enjoying it, Matt,’ she replied, playing along.