knew in my heart had run its course, and probably the reason I was making excuses for him now, to Mum â and to myself.
âItâs a long way for him to come and see me,â I said now, lamely. âThirty miles each way . . . when he has start times in the middle of the night . . . I canât expect him to do it.â
âHmm.â Mumâs lips made a tight line.
âWhat?â
âIf he thought anything of you heâd find a way. Iâm sorry, Sally, I know itâs not what you want to hear, but itâs my opinion you deserve better. You should kick him into the long grass once and for all and find someone who treats you properly.â
I pulled a wry face.
âEasier said than done. Iâm not twenty any more â or even thirty. Most of the eligible men out there have been snapped up, and the ones of my age come with a lot of baggage.â
âYouâre a lovely girl, Sally!â
âYou would say that. Youâre my mother.â
âItâs no more than the truth. Youâre pretty . . .â
âHave you noticed the crowâs feet round my eyes?â
âYouâre bright and kind,â she went on as if I hadnât spoken. âDonât try to tell me that there isnât someone out there who would treat you a whole lot better than Tim does.â
âOh Mum . . .â
ââIâm saying no more on the subject.â Mum checked her mirror, overtook a removals van that was taking up most of our side of the road. âJust donât put all your eggs in one basket, is my advice.â
âDid you say that it was one of the girls who lived in the flat who has a café now in what used to be the electricals shop?â I asked, anxious to change the subject.
âThatâs right,â Mum confirmed.
âDo you know which one? No â hang on, I think I can answer that myself. The one Brian Jennings was stalking worked in an estate agentâs office, but her flatmate was apparently a chef.â I flicked open my note book, checking. âLisa Curry.â
âI really wouldnât know,â Mum said. âIâm not one for stopping for a cup of coffee and a bun in the middle of my shopping.â
âNo.â I smiled. Socializing in High Street cafes wasnât Mumâs style, and in any case the cake tins at home were always full of delicious cakes sheâd baked herself. Mumâs Victoria sandwiches and rich fruit cakes were to die for.
âIf Iâd finished at the newspaper offices in time Iâd have popped in for a coffee myself,â I said.
Mum sucked in breath over her lip.
âI wouldnât think sheâd want to start talking about the fire when sheâs got a café full of people.â
âMaybe not, but I shall definitely want to speak to her sometime, get her take on what happened,â I said âI need to find Dawn Burridge too. One of the newspaper reports said sheâd gone home to Dorset, but I suppose itâs possible that once the trial was over and Brian Jennings locked up she might have come back. Her job was here, after all.â
âI really couldnât say, Sally. But itâs five years ago, remember, since it all happened. Sheâs probably married with a family.â
âMaybe. Is Lisa? Married, I mean?â
âItâs no good asking me, Sally. I donât know anything about them really. Iâm not going to be much help to you, Iâm afraid.â
âNever mind. I can find out.â
My journalistic juices were running, my head full of the story. For the moment Iâd forgotten all about Tim.
Which was really just as well since I had a nasty feeling heâd forgotten all about me too.
I spent the afternoon sorting the notes Iâd made and organizing them on to Dadâs computer. Heâd finished working on his accounts now, the relief evident when he came down for a scratch lunch of
Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton