Before Renee could say no the Crane sisters linked arms with her and pulled her along, asking how she was doing.
The Star and Garter in Cambridge Heath Road had a large rear yard with tables and was decorated with a beautiful array of late-spring flowers in pots and hanging baskets, but the snug where the upright piano was positioned was where they all congregated. The landlord greeted them with a sherry on the house. Laid out on tables were sausage rolls, sandwiches and bowls of jellied eels, prawns and cockles. On the bar counter there was a pint glass with a bit of paper stuck to it saying ‘Eddie RIP’. Nancy shoved the remainder of the money she had collected into it to pay for the booze, and others who hadn’t seen her before the funeral dropped in £1 notes.
Renee spotted the piano. It had been too long, longer than she could remember, since she had last played one. She couldn’t read a note of music but was always able to play any tune by ear and had been popular on Sundays at their local when she and Clifford were younger. Sunday was the only day they’d get out as a family for a booze-up. She’d sit and play a medley of songs while everyone sang along, and her two young boys were content with a bag of crisps and a bottle of pop whilst playing tag or hide-and-seek outside with the other kids. They were days when Renee wasn’t browbeaten and the drudgery of her life didn’t wear her to the bone. Back then she, Clifford and the boys were a happy family. Renee knew that Clifford and John would be upset that she’d gone to the pub having told her to go straight home after the burial, but stuff ’em, she thought, looking forward to a sing-along and a knees-up.
Back at the section house Jane couldn’t shrug off her feelings of bewilderment and humiliation. She began to chide herself for being so unprofessional and knew if she hadn’t been so besotted with Bradfield she’d still be at the station working in the incident room. Just thinking about it made her feel worse; she didn’t want to sit in her room moping about and feeling sorry for herself. She put on some make-up and brushed her hair, then decided to go over to the Warburton Arms to see who was about for a drink.
To her surprise the pub was not that crowded for a Sunday night before a bank holiday, although it was only just after seven o’clock. She made her way to the bar and sat on one of the stools.
‘White wine and couple of ice cubes, please, Ron.’
She nearly fell off her stool when someone gave her a hug from behind.
‘Hi! It’s me, Sarah Redhead. I’m only here for a quick G and T as I’m on night shift at ten. Tonight will no doubt be like a Saturday as it’s a public holiday tomorrow. Saturdays are always busy, what with all the punch-ups, and you can guarantee there’ll be some drunks falling over and cracking their skulls open.’
Sarah perched on the stool next to Jane, who for the first time was actually pleased to have her as company. She was incredibly loud-voiced and launched into a bizarre story about a corpse with a glass eye, which had fallen out and dropped down the drain in the mortuary.
‘You won’t believe what they popped into his eye socket as a temporary replacement.’
Jane shrugged. ‘A marble?’
‘No, that’s too small. It was a table-tennis ball they cut in half, and they used some felt tips to draw an eye in the middle.’ She shrieked with laughter.
Jane cringed. ‘Did it work?’
‘Well, yes and no. It was OK until the grieving widow turned up to identify the body and couldn’t understand why the false eye had changed colour. She had a closer look and fainted. Well, the upshot was…’ She looked over Jane’s shoulder, spun around on her stool and shouted, ‘Julian! JULIAN!’
Jane recognized Dr Harker immediately as the forensic scientist whose lecture she’d attended. She blushed, remembering Lawrence teasing her about how she’d known about fibre transfer.
‘Hello, it’s Sarah Redhead, and this is Janet Tennison. Janet, this is Julian Harker.’
‘We’ve met. How are you,
‘Let me get you a drink, Julian. Is that a pint of lager?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘And another white plonk for JANE and G and T for me, but I would appreciate a slice of lemon this time. On my slate, if you would be so kind, Ron.’
Ron told her to help herself to the lemon while he poured the pint. Julian gave Jane a small smile and raised an eyebrow as Sarah leaned over the bar to pick up a small saucer of lemon slices. He drew up a stool to sit beside her as Ron placed their drinks on the counter.
‘You have been such a stranger, Julian, and sadly I’m on night duty so I can’t stay too long,’ Sarah told him.
‘That’s a shame,’ he said limply.
