Drew is waiting for me where I left him, drinking green tea in the cafe, my Elizabethan pirate washed up at a Formica table in Westminster. ‘How is he?’
I sit down and blow out a stressed breath. Being cheerful is taxing sometimes. ‘He might not walk again.’
‘Bugger.’
‘But otherwise he’s doing OK. He kind of asked me to go back to him.’
‘Did he?’
‘Only in an “I know you won’t but I wish you would” way.’
‘And what did you reply?’
‘What do you think? No, of course. Even if I weren’t in love with you, I’d still find it poison to live with him. But he has an illusion that we could be a good thing together, now the misunderstandings are cleared away.’
‘But you know it’s an illusion, right?’
‘Of course. There’s been far too much of that around. Emma pretending to be Ali. Jacob pretending to be a private eye. Lizzy pretending to be a decent human being. The only person not pretending was Michael, and we all thought for a while he was a serial killer behind the mask.’
‘I thought you said you never believed it.’
‘I had a few bad moments. I’ve never claimed to be consistent. Anyway, I’ve had enough of other people’s fantasies; I want to live a real life with you.’
‘Now that sounds like something I can get behind.’
‘Drew, I’ve been thinking, can we offer to bury Jacob?’
‘Jacob?’
‘Yes. He’s in danger of being forgotten in all this. I know he set me up and everything, but he was set up himself.’
‘And got dead.’
‘And got dead. He lost his kid too. In fact, every way you look at it, his situation sucked out loud. A conspiracy theorist who finally had a conspiracy come true, but it cost him his life. And I doubt anyone else will step in to give him a funeral once the police release his body.’
‘Well, I suppose I can give you a staff discount.’
‘Drew!’
‘Yeah, of course we’ll do it. Won’t cost much because as an eco-terrorist he’ll want the cardboard recycled coffin, won’t he?’
‘Stop it, I’m serious.’
‘I think I am too. Yes, we can give him a decent send-off. Are you ready to go?’ Drew stands up, jingling his keys.
‘Yes. I’m not a fan of these places. Too much for my imagination to picture going on behind closed surgery doors. Frankenstein and so on.’
‘Muppet.’ Drew’s gaze lifts to focus on something behind me.
‘What?’ I turn.
Max Tudor is standing there, suit, briefcase, the whole works. Oh God, not now. ‘Jessica, I saw the news about Harrison, so I thought I’d find you here.’
‘Who’s this, Jess?’ asks Drew.
Max holds out a hand. ‘Max Tudor. I’m a lawyer.’
‘He’s a snake. Don’t shake his hand.’ I don’t want Drew touching him.
‘Jessica?’ Drew is trying to make sense of this.
‘Come, come, Jessica, that really isn’t very nice of you.’ Max makes to sit beside me but I stand up, arms folded across my chest.
‘I told you I’m done with being nice to you.’
He looks over my head. ‘Did your little girlfriend tell you about our arrangement?’
‘Don’t you dare!’
He puts down his briefcase on the table. ‘I have to say she is very creative in bed – not that we ever did it in bed.’ He leans towards me, voice lowered. ‘I have some very invigorating footage, not to mention photographs, in my briefcase. So unless you want me to get them out right now, what do you say? Tonight? My place?’
I close my eyes briefly. I see that it’s one of those moments where I get to decide what kind of person I’m going to be. I know what I should do – not take the easy way out, because that’s not really easy – but I don’t know if I’ve got the courage. I can feel Drew behind me, full of questions.
Remember who you want to be, Jessica.
I open my eyes and drop my arms to my side. ‘Max, I’ve only one thing to say to you: go fuck yourself sideways. I’m not doing that with you anymore.’
He gives me his shark’s smile and reaches for the briefcase.
‘As for your photos and the rest, publish and be damned. I’m not ashamed. I expect I’m fucking beautiful in them and you’re the old man who has to blackmail a woman to get sex – who comes out of this worse?’
His eyes narrow. ‘But the rent…?’
‘Fuck that too. Sue me and I’ll explain in great detail just what you’ve been asking for in payment.’
Drew comes around the table. ‘This guy’s been making you have sex with him?’
‘I broke it off when we… you know, but yeah, basically, that’s the situation.’
‘Well, screw that!’ He slams his fist into Max’s stomach and follows through with a punch to the face. Max stumbles back and crashes into the display of cupcakes as various customers scramble to safety. Drew takes my hand and leads me to stand over the crumpled lawyer.
‘If you want to make an issue of it, you wanker, like she said, sue me!’ Drew strides out, pulling me along at a rapid pace before security arrives.
Once we get outside, I jump him, legs around his waist. ‘Drew, what was that?’
He laughs, very pleased with himself and deservedly so. ‘That was me defending my girl.’
‘Oh my God, you are so going to get laid when we get home.’
‘Then we’d better hurry.’ He kisses me and drops me back to the ground. ‘You’ve got to stop these fuckers exploiting you.’
‘Oh, I will. I promise that’s the last mistake.’
We head out of the hospital to where he’s left the moped, our trusty steed.
I climb on behind him. ‘Ready.’
On a powder-blue moped, winking with shiny possibilities, we ride over Westminster Bridge towards Big Ben and turn west for home.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to Debra and Matt Walker for telling me about murder investigations as part of their work for the Metropolitan Police. Any procedural irregularities are entirely my own!
Thanks too to Alan Schwarz, author of ADHD Nation: The Disorder. The Drugs. The Inside Story. This is the book that started me thinking ‘what if…?’
About the Author
Joss Stirling owes her existence to Scotland Yard. In the early 60s, her father, a hotshot detective in the Metropolitan Police, met her mother, a 19-year-old girl from East London and the Yard’s most inept filing clerk (her verdict). Love over the criminal records led to marriage and children. Unlike the police detectives you see on TV, Joss is pleased to report that they are still happily married (to each other).
Joss was born on the borders of East London and Essex and grew up in the area. Leaving Essex behind for Cambridge, she went on to have careers in British diplomacy and as a policy adviser on conflict and arms at Oxfam. Somewhere along the way she also gained a doctorate in English Literature from Oxford University. More recently she has written for children and young adults, winning national awards in both categories. She has published over fifty novels that have been translated into many languages. She lives in Oxford.
This is her first novel for adults.
Joss Stirling, Don’t Trust Me
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