Something Hidden: A totally unputdownable murder mystery novel (Andrew Hunter Book 2) Page 18

  ‘Just… something to do with work. I didn’t know he was coming.’

  ‘You’ve gone white.’

  It took Keira to say it for Andrew to recognise that his heart was racing. He held his hands behind his back to stop her noticing they were shaking. She stared at him for a couple of seconds too long before nodding towards the main hall.

  ‘You’ve been great this morning. All the kids love you. These sessions are part of a pilot scheme and we’ve had a few people from the council milling around…’

  ‘I didn’t realise.’

  ‘I didn’t want to make you nervous but they’ve gone now, smiles all over their faces.’ She was beaming with excitement. ‘They were talking about helping us to expand into Lancashire and Greater Manchester, perhaps wider.’

  ‘That’s great.’

  She was bouncing on her heels, reaching for his hand that was thankfully not trembling any longer. ‘We’ve still got a few minutes, let’s go get a biscuit.’

  Andrew let her lead him, enjoying the warmth of her fingers against his. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her this happy. Despite her history degree, she’d always wanted to work with young people. At one point after they’d got married, she’d talked about doing a post-graduate diploma to get into teaching. The problem, as with anything, was the money. As a couple, they couldn’t afford it, and then they’d started to think about children of their own. This job gave her the opportunity to work with young people who needed help and she was clearly good at it.

  They continued into the hall and were on the way towards the refreshment stall when Andrew realised Keira had stopped. Her fingers slipped from his, leaving him standing by himself. Andrew followed her line of sight and felt his heart flutter. Iwan was one thing but the man glaring at him was another matter entirely: the person of his nightmares, the reason why he and his ex-wife didn’t have the life they had promised to each other.

  Andrew’s eyes met those of Keira’s father for the briefest second, before Edgar Chapman uttered two utterly terrifying words.

  ‘Hello, Andrew.’

  Twenty-Six

  Andrew had never been able to explain the magnetism of Keira’s father. It was something that couldn’t be taught, an intrinsic part of the man’s make-up that made him the centre of everything. When he walked into a room, people turned to look. When he spoke, they listened. He had a build similar to Iwan’s but it felt different because he was older.

  He and Andrew were opposites in so many ways. Andrew was instantly forgettable, a normal face among a sea of mediocrity. Even Aunt Gem thought people were out of his league but Keira was the person who’d seen him as something else. They’d met in bizarre circumstances, become engaged in marginally stranger, and then run away to get married. They were made for each other and he’d never find better.

  Keira’s father continued to stare at Andrew. He was always cleanly shaven, with a full head of swept-back black and grey hair, and bristling dark eyes that could switch from welcoming to dangerous in an instant. Andrew had rarely been welcomed by them and they were certainly not pleased to see him now.

  ‘It’s been a long time,’ Mr Chapman added.

  Andrew nodded, unsure what to say.

  ‘What is it? Eight years? Nine?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He demanded a specific answer: ‘Eight or nine?’

  Keira stepped between them. ‘Daddy.’

  Andrew cowered under his former father-in-law’s glare, breaking the gaze and staring at the wall, the window, the vat of orange squash. Any-sodding-where.

  ‘A word.’

  Mr Chapman was thankfully talking to his daughter, not Andrew, who could only watch as they moved into the back corner. Father towered over daughter, hands out of his pockets. Andrew couldn’t hear a word but the man’s body language said it all. He pushed himself onto tiptoes to appear taller; he arched his shoulders forward, trapping Keira in the cramped corner; he nodded sideways towards Andrew; raised both hands palms upwards. He wasn’t happy.

  Keira didn’t cower, maintaining eye contact and nodding along, not agreeing but not backing down either.

  Around them, the break was coming to an end, with groups of youngsters drifting towards their next activities and coffee cups being stacked next to the sink. Andrew glanced through the window to where he was supposed to be working. There were already kids looking back to the main building, wondering where he was. He had to go but he was fixed to the spot. Other people had started to notice Keira in the corner, perhaps not realising the man in the suit standing over her was her father.

  They’d been talking too quietly to be heard but Keira suddenly raised her voice, patting her father in the chest as she stepped away. ‘I can look after myself, Daddy.’

  She sounded annoyed, heading for the marquee, where Andrew cut her off.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  They glanced behind, to where Mr Chapman was making his way out of the main door, watching them over his shoulder.

  ‘He’s just worried,’ Keira replied. She was close to tears, her voice wavering, eyes beginning to go red. ‘After everything that happened, he’s worried that I don’t know what I’m doing.’

  She dabbed a tissue underneath each eye, smiling thinly, breaking Andrew’s heart. This was his fault.

  ‘He doesn’t want to see me hurt again,’ she added.

  Andrew started to reply but Keira was suddenly full of big, forced smiles. She peered over his shoulder towards the stupid Swedish man with whatever stupid problem he had. She squeezed Andrew’s hand before heading into the hall. She put a hand on the Arsehole’s shoulder. ‘How can I help…?’

  Twenty-Seven

  Sunday

  The four locks clunked open and then Gem opened her front door. She was wearing her Sunday best: a long pink dress covered in yellow and blue flowers that was probably older than Andrew, along with matching flat sandals. ‘I thought you said half past two,’ she frowned.

  ‘It is half two.’

  Gem turned around to check the clock. ‘You were brought up to be early.’ She headed inside, leaving Andrew to take off his shoes and relock the door. The kitchen smelled of roast dinner, making Andrew’s mouth water.

  ‘Is everything working?’ he asked.

  Gem flicked the kitchen light on and off, as if to prove the point. ‘He said it was something to do with the wiring. I hope he didn’t charge too much.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it – as long as everything’s working.’

  She moved across to a saucepan, peering over her shoulder and talking while she stirred. ‘Do you remember Douglas from the legion?’

  Andrew sat at the kitchen table, holding a hand down to ruffle Rory’s ears. ‘I’ve never been to the legion.’

  ‘But you know Douglas.’

  ‘I really don’t.’

  ‘Anyway, it was his grandson’s christening this morning, so he picked me up and we went to church. You’ll never guess who I saw there.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Guess.’

  ‘Gem…’

  And off she went. Andrew spent a largely frustrating two hours listening to Gem’s stories about what so-and-so at the legion was up to, or the latest rumours from bingo. He did his best to um and arr in the right places, slipping Rory a few pieces of lamb when he could. The pug lay at Andrew’s feet, apparently bored with the topic of conversation too. This was the reality of life: people living in their own little worlds and finding happiness from those around them. It dawned on Andrew that he could scoff all he liked but he didn’t have this. If it wasn’t for Jenny in the office and his clients, he would go days without talking to anyone. Of the two of them, who was the most pathetic – the woman who looked on the bright side of everything and had friends all over; or the man with the money still trailing around after a woman he’d dumped years before?

  ‘How’s your little friend?’ Gem asked as Andrew switched back into the conversation.

  ‘
Who?’

  ‘Jenny, of course. She was round here yesterday, sitting where you are, telling me all about what’s going on in her life.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. Just about her parents, her boyfriend.’

  She never told Andrew about those things.

  ‘You’ve spent more time with her than I have,’ Andrew replied. ‘I’ve not seen her since Thursday.’

  ‘You really should think about settling down—’

  ‘Gem—’

  ‘Find a nice woman, someone who knows how to cook. I’m sure there are plenty of women out there who’d like that flat of yours.’

  Andrew leant back, scaring poor Rory, as he squeezed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, wanting to be somewhere else. ‘We’ve been through this.’

  Gem was oblivious. ‘I know, I know – I just want you to be happy. You’re not getting any younger.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Take it from me, you don’t want to be by yourself when you get to my age. Reg’s next-door neighbour has a daughter who’s in her thirties. I can put a word in if you want?’

  ‘Please don’t do that.’

  ‘I’m only trying to help. She’s very pretty, well apart from the nose but Reg says she used to play rugby when she was younger. I’m sure she’d like you, though. Why wouldn’t she?’

  Andrew let her continue for a few minutes until he couldn’t take it any longer, interrupting with: ‘Wasn’t it Reg who knew the person that redid your wiring in the first place?’

  Gem seemed annoyed at being cut off. She’d finished eating and rearranged her knife and fork on the plate so they were in line with each other.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I’d like to speak to the person who did it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if he’s putting people in danger, someone should say something.’

  She stood, picking up her plate and carrying it to the sink, keeping her back to him. ‘He’s just a young lad trying his best. Everyone makes mistakes.’

  ‘You can’t make mistakes when you’re doing a job like that, otherwise people get hurt. I’d still like a word. Who is he?’

  Gem returned to the table, reaching across for Andrew’s well-scraped plate, not looking him in the eye. ‘Don’t you go worrying yourself.’

  ‘Kevin something – that’s what you told me last time.’

  She put his plate in the sink and started to run the water.

  ‘I’ll wash up,’ Andrew said.

  ‘Oh no you won’t – you’re a guest. You go and sit in the living room. I think there’s some car racing on the telly.’

  ‘What’s Kevin’s last name?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘I could go and ask Reg.’

  Gem spun around, hands covered in soapy water. ‘You’ll do no such thing, Andrew Hunter. It’s my flat and I’m telling you to leave things alone. I’m not as incapable as you think – now go in the other room and sit down.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re incapable.’

  She turned back to the sink, ignoring him.

  Andrew peered down at Rory, who offered some doe-eyed sympathy, before plonking his head on the floor again. With little other option, Andrew traipsed through to the living room, where Gem’s collection of tat seemed untouched. He flopped into the dog-scratched armchair and closed his eyes, knowing that hardly any of the weekend had gone as he’d wanted.

  He felt Rory trot in and begin sniffing at his feet, before settling. In the kitchen, Gem was singing a Buddy Holly song out of tune. Andrew wondered what Keira was up to. He should probably message her but the spectre of her father hung over them both.

  As he opened his eyes, Andrew felt himself drawn to a small stack of papers next to a snow globe from Vienna, a place that Gem wouldn’t be able to pick out on a map. Andrew stood, glancing through the gap into the kitchen to see his aunt starting to dry up, still in full voice. He crossed the room and started to sort through the pile. Gem wasn’t quite a hoarder but she wasn’t far off. The pile had mail from months back: bills; catalogues; flyers from supermarkets and the Bargain Booze around the corner; a voting registration form; two postcards from Italy and another from Spain; an invitation to the church coffee morning; more bills; a bank statement; and, finally, a handwritten invoice from the person who’d done a hatchet job on the wiring.

  The handwriting was abysmal, worse than Andrew’s, with the numbers and letters blending into one enormous, barely readable scrawl. After peeping into the kitchen again, Andrew used his phone to take a photo of the bill and then arranged everything into roughly the way it had been. As he turned, Andrew noticed Rory staring at him accusingly from the floor.

  He crouched and stroked the dog’s back. ‘You’re not going to tell on your Uncle Andrew, are you, pal?’

  Rory turned around, burying his head underneath the seat. Andrew’s weekend had been such a write-off that even the dog had turned against him.

  In the kitchen, Andrew apologised to his aunt for leaving early, saying that he had a few things to do for work before Monday. She fussed and protested, before letting him go with a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and a reminder that Reg’s next-door neighbour’s former rugby-playing daughter with the dodgy nose was single if he changed his mind.

  Outside, Andrew checked the photograph, just managing to piece together the information. Kevin Leonard had charged two hundred and fifty quid for the privilege of wrecking the electrics in Gem’s house. Andrew had no idea where she’d found the money but it had been signed off as ‘cash – paid’.

  He flicked through the dialled numbers in his phone until he found the one for the electrical company he’d paid to fix everything. After speaking to the person who’d put everything back together, Andrew was seething. The man told him that Kevin’s botch-job was so bad, the flat was a ‘fire waiting to happen’. Technically, Kevin had rewired – but he’d used cheap material and failed to earth it properly in the kitchen.

  Andrew hung up, returning to the photograph until he’d deciphered the electrician’s address and checked it against the map on his phone. He strode around the housing block, wanting to talk himself out of confronting the cowboy electrician, only to work himself up further.

  He could still feel the twinge in his wrist from where Iwan had squeezed it; still feel the humiliation at being patted on the head; that emasculation as Keira’s father marched her into a corner and told her exactly what he thought of her spending time with him.

  The uselessness of not being able to stand up for himself.

  By the time he was back at his car, Andrew could barely breathe properly. He wasn’t an angry person, didn’t pick fights, didn’t look for trouble, yet there were legions of people who wanted to demean him. He might not be able to match Iwan physically, not to mention his former father-in-law. Even those kids on the roundabout close to Joe with the shoes’ flat had taken the piss out of him. They were one thing, but this little shit, Kevin Leonard, couldn’t be allowed to keep putting people’s lives at risk, let alone charge them for the privilege.

  Andrew stormed away on foot, crossing through the nearby park and cutting into the adjoining housing blocks. He knew exactly where Kevin lived: on the scrotish estate that had exploded into riots the previous year. By the time he reached Kevin’s street, Andrew was almost running. He weaved around the parked cars, checking both sides of the road until he found the right number. He pounded on the door with his right fist, the noise echoing along the deserted street.

  Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.

  Low grey clouds hung over the street, threatening to rain but not quite managing it. The weather forecaster’s apocalyptic predictions of cold hadn’t come true; instead Manchester was looking as it always did. A car grumbled to life on the next street over, the exhaust flaring loudly.

  Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.

  A man’s voice sounded from inside. ‘All right, all right.’

 
The door opened to reveal a weasel of a man: pinched nose; stubble; twitching eyes that settled on a spot above Andrew’s head. He was somewhere in his early twenties, wearing a Scooby-Doo T-shirt. The house stank of cannabis, tobacco and stale pizza. Andrew didn’t exactly tower over him, but he was taller and brawnier.

  ‘Who are you?’ the man asked.

  Andrew stepped forward until he was in the doorway. ‘You Kevin Leonard?’

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘You rewired my aunt’s flat and did such a bad job, it could have caught fire.’

  Kevin plucked a can of Stella from a table next to the door, taking a swig. ‘Piss off, did I.’

  Andrew held up his phone. ‘I’ve got the receipt with your name and address. You charged her two hundred and fifty quid and could’ve killed her.’

  He stepped fully into the house, making Kevin stumble slightly. The smaller man edged backwards, still holding his beer can. ‘What about it?’

  ‘I want you to give her back the money. An apology would be nice, too.’

  Kevin laughed. ‘Yeah, right, mate. You high?’

  ‘Are you sorry?’

  ‘For what? It’s not my fault she lives in a shit-heap. Old people deserve what they get anyway, sitting on all that money, getting in the way. If that place had caught fire, I’d have been doing everyone a favour.’ A sneer appeared on Kevin’s face as he nodded at the door. ‘Now piss off.’

  Andrew didn’t move, continuing to stare.

  ‘Wanna be the big man, do you?’ Kevin said, having another swig from the can.

  ‘Give her back the money.’

  ‘Want to make me?’

  ‘If I have to.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  The words were out of Andrew’s mouth before he’d thought about them. ‘Go to trading standards.’

  In the history of threats, it had to be the lamest.

  For a moment, Kevin held Andrew’s gaze before he burst out laughing. ‘Christ, I thought you were going to try to beat me up. Trading standards?’