you, no. The allotment. Rain or shine, up there every day.’
Five or so minutes later he came into sight, astride an old boneshaker of a bike: donkey jacket – likely the same one that he’d worn all those years ago at the pit – cloth cap, boots, trousers tied fast at the bottom with string. Still a big man, he looked fit for his sixty-odd years, agile enough as he swung his leg over the saddle and lifted the bike up over the kerb, leaning it against the wall.
‘Police, is it? Been expecting you for yonks now, ever since inquest were opened an’ adjourned. Just some spotty-faced kid round taking a statement, stuff about Jenny, family history, what did I know about her disappearance. Knew bugger all, didn’t I? Same as you lot, I reckon.’
Turning back to the bike, he began unfastening his fork and spade from where they’d been tied to the crossbar.
‘Leave anything worth pinching up there an’ it’ll get nicked.’ He looked for a minute from one to the other. ‘Don’t suppose you’re here to tell me when her body’ll be released for a proper burial either?’
‘No,’ Catherine said. ‘I’m afraid not.’
He held her gaze a moment longer. ‘Aye, well, you’d best come inside.’
The house was small but tidy: boots lined up in the narrow hallway; pots on the draining board in the kitchen, waiting to be put away; not what you might expect, Resnick thought, from a bloke living on his own. If that’s what he was.
‘I’ll set kettle on,’ Hardwick said, shedding his outdoor clothes. ‘Best take a seat through there.’
On the narrow mantelpiece above the hearth was a framed photograph of Hardwick, his arms around three children, two boys and a girl, all happy, all smiling. Alongside, a young woman on the day of her wedding, the same girl grown, Hardwick beside her in his hired suit, beaming with pride.
No pictures of Jenny to be seen.
The tea, when it arrived, was dark and strong, as if he’d waved the milk at it, Resnick thought, and no more. Sugar decanted from the packet into an empty cup for the occasion. Hardwick helped himself to two spoonfuls and, after a momentary hesitation, added a third.
‘Thirsty work. This time of year, specially. Not that I’m complaining, mind.’
‘Keeps you busy,’ Resnick suggested.
Hardwick nodded. ‘Time hangs else.’
‘You live here on your own?’ Catherine asked.
‘Lad comes over a time or two. Colin, the oldest. Stays the night, sometimes the weekend. Side of that, just me, aye.’
‘You keep it nice.’
A smile rounded Hardwick’s face. ‘Margaret, lives a couple of doors down, she lends a hand. I see she’s not run short on fruit and veg, she pops in here couple of times a week, bit of dusting, hoovering, irons the odd shirt. Suits us both down t’ground.’
He supped some tea.
‘Colin,’ Catherine said. ‘We have an address in Derby.’
‘That’d be right.’
‘And Mary, she’s in Ireland?’
‘Aye, settled long since.’ He glanced round towards the photograph above the fireplace. ‘Met this chap when he was over working, went back with him. Galway. Just outside. Kids now, two of them. Boy and a girl.’
‘And Brian?’
Hardwick shifted in his chair. ‘Brian – you have to understand – he was always a bit wild, school an’ that. Sent home from lessons, getting into fights. I think . . .’ He looked down. ‘When Jenny . . . disappeared . . . I think he took it hardest. Him being the youngest, maybe, I don’t know.’
He wiped a large hand down across his face.
‘Truth is, I’ve not seen Brian since the wedding, our Mary’s wedding. We had this bust-up – he’d been drinking, goin’ on and on about Jenny, about his mum, how it was all my fault, her leaving.’
‘That’s what he thought had happened?’ Catherine said. ‘Jenny, that she’d left, left home?’
‘Course, that’s what we all did. When dust had settled, like. When we had time to think.’
‘And he blamed you?
Five or so minutes later he came into sight, astride an old boneshaker of a bike: donkey jacket – likely the same one that he’d worn all those years ago at the pit – cloth cap, boots, trousers tied fast at the bottom with string. Still a big man, he looked fit for his sixty-odd years, agile enough as he swung his leg over the saddle and lifted the bike up over the kerb, leaning it against the wall.
‘Police, is it? Been expecting you for yonks now, ever since inquest were opened an’ adjourned. Just some spotty-faced kid round taking a statement, stuff about Jenny, family history, what did I know about her disappearance. Knew bugger all, didn’t I? Same as you lot, I reckon.’
Turning back to the bike, he began unfastening his fork and spade from where they’d been tied to the crossbar.
‘Leave anything worth pinching up there an’ it’ll get nicked.’ He looked for a minute from one to the other. ‘Don’t suppose you’re here to tell me when her body’ll be released for a proper burial either?’
‘No,’ Catherine said. ‘I’m afraid not.’
He held her gaze a moment longer. ‘Aye, well, you’d best come inside.’
The house was small but tidy: boots lined up in the narrow hallway; pots on the draining board in the kitchen, waiting to be put away; not what you might expect, Resnick thought, from a bloke living on his own. If that’s what he was.
‘I’ll set kettle on,’ Hardwick said, shedding his outdoor clothes. ‘Best take a seat through there.’
On the narrow mantelpiece above the hearth was a framed photograph of Hardwick, his arms around three children, two boys and a girl, all happy, all smiling. Alongside, a young woman on the day of her wedding, the same girl grown, Hardwick beside her in his hired suit, beaming with pride.
No pictures of Jenny to be seen.
The tea, when it arrived, was dark and strong, as if he’d waved the milk at it, Resnick thought, and no more. Sugar decanted from the packet into an empty cup for the occasion. Hardwick helped himself to two spoonfuls and, after a momentary hesitation, added a third.
‘Thirsty work. This time of year, specially. Not that I’m complaining, mind.’
‘Keeps you busy,’ Resnick suggested.
Hardwick nodded. ‘Time hangs else.’
‘You live here on your own?’ Catherine asked.
‘Lad comes over a time or two. Colin, the oldest. Stays the night, sometimes the weekend. Side of that, just me, aye.’
‘You keep it nice.’
A smile rounded Hardwick’s face. ‘Margaret, lives a couple of doors down, she lends a hand. I see she’s not run short on fruit and veg, she pops in here couple of times a week, bit of dusting, hoovering, irons the odd shirt. Suits us both down t’ground.’
He supped some tea.
‘Colin,’ Catherine said. ‘We have an address in Derby.’
‘That’d be right.’
‘And Mary, she’s in Ireland?’
‘Aye, settled long since.’ He glanced round towards the photograph above the fireplace. ‘Met this chap when he was over working, went back with him. Galway. Just outside. Kids now, two of them. Boy and a girl.’
‘And Brian?’
Hardwick shifted in his chair. ‘Brian – you have to understand – he was always a bit wild, school an’ that. Sent home from lessons, getting into fights. I think . . .’ He looked down. ‘When Jenny . . . disappeared . . . I think he took it hardest. Him being the youngest, maybe, I don’t know.’
He wiped a large hand down across his face.
‘Truth is, I’ve not seen Brian since the wedding, our Mary’s wedding. We had this bust-up – he’d been drinking, goin’ on and on about Jenny, about his mum, how it was all my fault, her leaving.’
‘That’s what he thought had happened?’ Catherine said. ‘Jenny, that she’d left, left home?’
‘Course, that’s what we all did. When dust had settled, like. When we had time to think.’
‘And he blamed you?
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