Twenty Twelve by Helen Black Page B

tongue over his teeth. ‘Is this going anywhere?’
    ‘I didn’t think so, until I spotted an entry for a parish council newsletter. You know the sort of thing: neighbourhood watch, applications for an extended bar licence for the St Mary’s Catholic Mothers’ pie and pea supper.’
    Clem sighs.
    ‘Then I noticed an entry for a planning application. The local authority wants to change the use of one of their buildings. It’s currently housing a debt advisory service but they want to swap it over to a residential unit for young people with drug issues.’
    ‘I’m sure the St Mary’s Catholic Mothers are overjoyed about that,’ says Clem.
    ‘Not exactly,’ I say. ‘But therein lies the rub. Until five years ago it
was
a residential unit. Not for drug addicts, but for teenagers in care.’
    Clem doesn’t respond, which I take to be a good sign.
    ‘And guess what the unit was called?’ I’m so pleased with myself, I can’t contain a smile.
    ‘The Orchard,’ he says, somewhat stealing my thunder.
    ‘It sounds to me like Miggs might have lived at the unit, that he met this Ronnie character in there. What do you think?’
    ‘It’s possible.’
    ‘I thought maybe we could check the records, find the details.’ I’m on a roll now. ‘I mean, I know they’d be out of date now, but it might give us some clue as to how to find him . . .’
    Clem puts up a hand. ‘Hold it right there.’
    My mouth is still open.
    ‘I’m grateful for this, it’s a good lead, but you have to leave it to us from here,’ he says.
    My face falls.
    ‘I was with the PM and Benning this morning,’ he continues.
    Shit. Is this Clem’s way of telling me I’m fired? ‘Did you tell them about last night?’ I ask.
    ‘Of course not.’
    ‘Thanks,’ I whisper.
    ‘I didn’t do it for you,’ he says. ‘But the upshot is they’re under the impression that only they and I know about Ronnie, and that’s the way they want it to stay.’
    I look down at my hands. A moment ago I was elated, taking charge of my own destiny. Now I’m being told what to do like I’m a silly child. Again.
    Clem stands to leave, smoothes down his jacket. ‘Do you understand what I’m telling you, Jo?’
    It’s the first time he’s called me by my first name.
    ‘Do you understand me?’ he repeats.
    The feeling of disappointment, familiar and itchy, sticks in my throat.
    ‘Completely,’ I say.

 
Chapter Seven
    Nathan Shaw felt the world tilt
.
    It was as if he was standing right on the very edge, looking down into a heap of nothing. Sometimes, when he was very drunk, he had the exact same feeling and had to hold the bathroom walls to stop himself falling into the bowl. His mother would shake her head and mutter about being more responsible, but his daddy would just laugh and tell her that boys needed to let off their steam. Oftentimes, if the beer made him sick, Nathan would swear off it. Those good intentions didn’t make it past Friday night, though. Still, he was pretty sure he wasn’t drunk now. Only had one goddamn bottle
.
    ‘Nathan, can you hear me?’
    He squinted up at the voice
.
    ‘You stay with me now.’
    It was George, leaning over him, big old flaps of fat swinging around his jaw
.
    ‘You listening to me, boy?’
    Nathan nodded that yes, he was listening, couldn’t do much else with George up in his face
.
    ‘You need to press on tight,’ said George. ‘Understand?’
    Nathan smiled, didn’t want to admit to the senior officer that he couldn’t take his drink. Then his eyes started to close
.
    ‘Nathan!’
    A hard slap stung his cheek. Hell. He hadn’t actually been sleeping, just shutting up shop for a second. Such a hot day. Couldn’t George understand that?
    George slapped him again. ‘I’m talking to you, boy.’
    It was the noise more than any pain that forced Nathan’s eyes open. When he saw George’s face, he knew to keep them open. The old man looked more than frightened. He looked terrified. Like those