His Silence - Chapter Ten

I slip on my Nikes, tying the laces in a double knot. There’s something weirdly satisfying about tying shoe laces. Strangely it always makes me think of Mum. An image her walking around the kitchen, murmuring numbers to herself filters through into my head. If ever she messed up she’d have to go right back to beginning again. Only when she’d completed her task, did she smile. Looking back now, it’s more than likely she had a severe case of OCD.

‘Just heading out for a run,’ I call out to Emma and Michael, who are both in the living room watching EastEnders, one of the soaps Emma’s religiously watched for years.

‘OK, dinner will be in about half an hour,’ Emma calls out to me.

The herby aroma of sausages wafts towards me from the kitchen.

I yank the door open and step out onto the driveway, a slight breeze hitting my face, and crisscross the drive to avoid the puddles, as I break into a jog. A run was definitely needed today after going out with Callum last night. Callum kept bombarding me with texts until I said yes. It was a fun evening, to be fair, even if I did have too many Porn star martinis, which Bea suggested we get, and then she’d dragged me up to sing a horrible version of Bohemian Rhapsody at Karaoke, which I still can’t get out of my head. Michael could do a much better job. He was in a band in his twenties, they even had some small success, and he hasn’t forgotten how to sing. A memory passes through my mind of one of the last gigs he did, back when I was eight. He’d called me up on stage to a round of applause and I’d tentatively got up, squeezing the fabric of my dress. Then he’d dedicated his final song of the night to me.

At least, last night, I could forget about what happened earlier at the prison, for a couple of hours, even if I did murder one of the most popular songs on the planet, but it didn’t stop Harvey’s words to me, cramming my mind when I tried to get to sleep later. How can he be innocent?

I keep my head down to stop the wind stinging my eyes. Callum and I hadn’t discussed the visit to Raven House, while we were out last night. I feel like I’m putting too much of a burden on him already and we haven’t even gone. I turn left, passing the lily covered pond on my right as I pick up pace. Harvey’s face fills my mind; the way how he spoke filters into my sub conscience as he’d pleaded with me to believe him. I curl my fists. Another voice crams into my head as I surge onwards. But what if he is innocent? What if he is? Can you live with yourself if you don’t do anything?

‘Danielle.’ I come to a stop, breathing hard. The Old King’s Head is to my right. Jordan, the dark haired Scottish guy, who works behind the bar, is getting out of his blue Ford. He waves to me.

‘Hey, Jordan,’ I say, smiling.

I wait for a car to pass in front of us before heading over the road to join him.

‘How ya keeping?’ he asks, flinging his car door shut. ‘Haven’t seen you and your family in here in ages.’

‘Oh, I was up here with some of friends a couple of weeks ago,’ I say. ‘It was a Monday.’

‘Ah, Monday’s my day off,’ he says, grinning at me. ‘That’s why I didn’t see ya.’

‘I keep saying to Michael we need to come up here for a meal, I’ll mention it to him when I get back and get something booked up.’

‘Someone was asking me about you the other day,’ Jordan says, locking his car.

I frown at him. What the hell? ‘Someone was asking about me?’

‘They were in the pub. Think it must’ve been a couple of days ago now. Some geezer on his own.’

Some geezer on his own. Shit, the man I saw in the pub the night after my birthday, the man I thought was staring at me. What if it was him?

‘Did he say what his name was?’ I ask, stepping forward. My heart’s bouncing against my rib cage.

Jordan shakes his head. ‘Soz, didn’t get that information off of him.’

‘But what did he ask you?’ I say, my words coming out thick and fast.

Jordan’s eyes narrow. ‘Well, he . . . he asked if I knew you. He gave me your full name. I told him I’d known you for a few years, but just as a frequent customer. He then started asking who you came here with.’

I shake my head. It could’ve been a reporter, Jordan has no idea about my past; I haven’t told him anything. My eyes fix on a guy wearing a chef’s uniform lugging a bin out of the pub just beyond Jordan in the car park.

‘Can you remember what he looked like?’ I ask. Don’t get angry, don’t get angry. I try my best to keep smiling.

‘Erm, brownish hair, bit of a beard, that’s all I can remember, soz. I couldn’t spend long chatting to him as I had other people to serve. He didn’t hang about either. I haven’t seen him in the pub since.’ I run my tongue around the inside of my mouth. It sounds exactly like the guy who I saw. ‘Crap, I shouldn’t have said anything to him. You don’t know him.’

‘Don’t worry, Jordan, you weren’t to know, but please, if anyone, or if he comes back, can you please not say anything.’

‘Danielle, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine.’ I reply. ‘I’ll catch you later, Jordan.’

I break back into a jog and round the corner, past the bus stop and the red brick cottages on the high street. I need to get back. I don’t care if I’ve only been out for ten minutes. I glance over my shoulder. Jordan will be getting set up inside the pub by now. He can’t be here now, the bloke from the pub?

There’s only a woman walking a golden retriever behind me, and a couple of teenagers waiting in the bus stop. There’s no one who stands out. I hold my hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, and open them again. What does this man want with me?