Cold Light by John Harvey Page A

her?”
    â€œYou do know who I mean, then?”
    â€œCourse I know.”
    â€œAnd did you see her?”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œYesterday.”
    â€œYou know bloody well …”
    â€œNot at the Housing Office. Later.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œAny time.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou didn’t see Nancy at any other time?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNot that evening? Later yesterday evening? Christmas Eve?”
    â€œI told you, didn’t I? I never went out.”
    Michelle was hovering in the doorway. “How d’you want your tea?” she asked.
    â€œHow d’you think she wants it? In a bastard cup.”
    â€œI mean d’you want sugar?”
    â€œOne, thanks.”
    Gary turned away disgusted. He’s a kid, Lynn thought, younger than me. Stuck in this place with a wife and a couple of kids. Except she isn’t even his wife. And what is he? Nineteen? Twenty? Twenty-one? Is it any wonder he needs to shout? And at me. If Divine had come round instead, she thought, Kevin Naylor, he wouldn’t be carrying on like this. At least, not while they were here. The anger, he’d bottle it up for later.
    She remembered the flinch of pain on Michelle’s face. Karl’s bruising.
    Injuries consistent with the mother’s story that he had run smack into a door.
    â€œI’ll give a hand with the tea,” Lynn said.
    â€œNo need,” said Gary, but he did nothing to stop her going into the kitchen.
    Michelle poured in the milk first, UHT from a carton, then the tea. One tea bag, Lynn reckoned, for a large pot.
    â€œHow are the children?” Lynn asked.
    â€œSleeping, thank heavens. They got so excited earlier, you know, presents and everything.”
    â€œAnd Karl?”
    Michelle paused in sugaring their teas, spoon tilting in mid-air.
    â€œHow’s Karl?”
    â€œThe doctor said …”
    â€œI know what the doctor said.”
    â€œWell, then. That’s it, isn’t it? He’s fine.”
    â€œHe was hurt.”
    â€œIt was an accident. He …” Michelle’s eyes flicked towards the door in response to a sudden noise: the television had been switched back on.
    â€œThe sugar,” Lynn said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’re spilling the sugar.”
    Lynn took the spoon from her hand and began to stir one of the mugs of weak tea.
    â€œI never told him,” Michelle said in a rushed whisper. “I never told him anything about it.”
    â€œNever told me anything about what?” Gary said from the hallway, stepping into the room.
    â€œHere,” Lynn said, handing him a mug. “Your tea.”
    â€œNever told me anything about what?” Ignoring her, staring at Michelle.
    Michelle’s hand went to her throat.
    â€œWhen I was here yesterday …” Lynn began.
    â€œI never knew you was here yesterday.”
    â€œThat’s what Michelle meant,” Lynn said.
    Gary was all but ignoring her now, intent upon Michelle. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    â€œI don’t know. When you came home I was so pleased, I suppose I forgot.”
    â€œHow could you forget something like that? Bloody law …”
    â€œIt wasn’t important,” Lynn said. “I just dropped by, tell Michelle where you were.”
    Gary had put his mug down and now he snatched at it, splashing hot tea across his hand. One taste and he had dashed it down the sink. “What the hell d’you call that? Like bloody dishwater!”
    â€œI’ll make some fresh,” Michelle said, reaching for the kettle.
    â€œDon’t waste your time.”
    Between his sullen shout and a fanfare of television sound, came a whimpering from upstairs.
    â€œIt’s the baby,” Michelle said, setting the kettle back down.
    â€œWhen isn’t it?” Gary grumbled.
    â€œGary, that’s not fair.”
    Gary didn’t care; he was on his way back into the living