Don't Come Looking by AJ Campbell (top 100 novels of all time TXT) 📕

‘What’s going on? Are you in trouble?’ he asked.

Me in trouble? Me? I didn’t answer. The guy needed to show a bit more intelligence.

I’m sure I saw him trembling. A tiny spasm in his neck twitched his jawline. Then the nervous leg-bounce started, which rewarded me with an inner sense of achievement. His shoes, polished to a high gloss, kept catching the light as his leg jounced. ‘Luke? What’s going on?’

I huffed and puffed. ‘No, Pete. I’m not the one in trouble here.’ I swivelled my phone around so I could deliver his ultimatum. ‘I thought you’d like to see this little collection I’ve assembled for your enjoyment. It starts in Covent Garden a few years back. Do tell me what you think of it. I love hearing feedback on my work.’

He caused less fuss than his wife. After asking me what I wanted, he left in a hurry with the departing words of, ‘You’re gonna pay for this.’

‘No, Pete,’ I called after him, ‘You’re the one who’s going to pay.’

Thirty-One

DAY 11

Jim’s tone is unusually forceful. ‘You need to stay out of this. I’m worried about you. Nothing good can come from you being involved.’

‘I’m telling you. The dog lady is having an affair with the redhead who lives opposite.’

‘What proof do you have?’

I can’t answer him. ‘Something’s going on. I’ve seen him coming out of there too many times now, minus a dog.’

‘What does Sasha have to say about it?’

‘I haven’t mentioned it. She’s got enough on her plate.’

‘You’re spending a lot of time over there.’

‘She needs me.’

His voice lowers. ‘So do we.’

I sigh heavily. ‘I know. But they’ve been so good to us. Think of all the things they’ve helped us with over the past few years.’ I mention when they looked after the kids last summer so we could take a long weekend in Spain, the number of times Hannah has babysat, and the problems Marc has fixed around the house that would have cost us a packet to a pay a professional to do. ‘The least we can do is be there for them in their time of crisis.’

‘Still no word of him?’

I shake my head. ‘Nothing at all. Just a load of strange goings-on.’

‘What are your plans today? The boys are coming over tonight, don’t forget. It’s Mick’s birthday.’

‘Fine by me. I’m going to carry on with my list of jobs. Gill is off to meet her friend again for lunch. I’ll cook an early dinner. Fancy a stir-fry?’ He nods his approval. ‘I’ll drop in to see Sasha this evening once Mick arrives.’

‘Let’s go out to dinner tomorrow.’

‘I don’t feel we can do that to Gill. It’ll be her last night with us. What about lunch today?’

‘Deal.’

After dropping the kids at school, the morning passes in a blur of mundane jobs between showing a plumber and roofer the areas that need fixing. If Marc were around, I wouldn’t be bothering. He would have fixed these problems for us. An hour before school pickup, Jim and I head up to the High Road for a late lunch. To a family-owned Italian restaurant we often visit on my days off. I love it here, sampling their freshly prepared pastas and salads and browsing around their onsite deli. I never fail to leave without one goodie or another: a tub of their special stuffed olives or an exotic cheese we’ve never tried before. Isabella is in the same class as Aida – the owner’s great-granddaughter – and they have the occasional play date together.

Two salads and a slab-sized herb focaccia arrive when my phone rings. I glance at the screen. ‘It’s Rob,’ I murmur. What does he want?

Jim tuts. ‘You’re meant to be on annual leave.’

I lift the tab on my can of drink.

‘He shouldn’t be bothering you when you’re on holiday.’

‘It must be urgent otherwise he wouldn’t.’

He rolls his eyes, giving an understanding smile. ‘Go on, take it.’

I reject the call. ‘It’s fine. I’ll catch him another time. Let’s eat.’

Later, at home, I’m playing with Isabella when Rob tries to catch me again. But I miss the call, and then he doesn’t answer when I phone him back. I wonder what he wants to speak to me about.

Gill arrives, rosy-cheeked from her lunch uptown. The kids beg her for a story. ‘Baths first,’ I say, only to receive a volume of abuse about how unfair I am.

‘Leave them to me. You have the evening off,’ Gill says.

‘This is becoming a habit.’ I smile. ‘I did want to go and see Sasha for a while, if that’s OK. I won’t be long.’

‘Fine by me. I’m beat, to be honest. We can spend the day together tomorrow.’

Mick arrives with a face full of smiles and a mouthful of optimism. ‘Happy birthday,’ I say, handing over a card and a bottle of whisky Jim and I picked up on the way home from lunch.

‘How’s my favourite copper?’ he asks, the same as he always does. ‘Tell us about your latest arrest.’

‘I would, but I’d have to kill you,’ I tease him with my standard reply, pecking him on the cheek.

I tidy up the kids’ toys – clearing away astronauts and robots from Joe’s Playmobil space station and stuffing the pieces of Isabella’s Spirograph set back into their box – as I listen to Jim belly laughing at one of Mick’s filthy jokes. I smile. It’s good to hear the joy in his mood. The sessions with Sasha and Art seem to be doing some good.

When I get into the car, I text Sasha to tell her I’m on my way before trying Rob. It goes to voicemail. I sing along to a Lady Gaga playlist, entirely out of tune. When I’m nearly there, along Balham Hill, the traffic slows, and I notice a young man shrugging off a large backpack. He throws it into a black cab. He’s holding his jacket hood over his head but releases it before stepping inside.