onto the plate. “When I got the job it was just me, Pat and Paul Bowman, the Peter Stringfellow lookalike in charge of advertising. The old editor had been doing everything else himself for years, until he dropped dead at his desk from a heart attack. I had to work my arse off to turn the thing around. But it was good to do it, you know,” she picked up her glass, took a contemplative sip. “We’ve come a long way.”
“And before then?” Sean asked.
“I worked on a national for five years,” she said. “From news reporter to section editor. But, you know – not much chance of ever becoming an editor there.”
“Still,” said Sean, wondering why she would have made a move to a dismal backwater like this. “Must have been a bit of a culture shock coming here.”
“Not entirely,” she smiled.
Sean lifted a triangle of pastry to his mouth, tasted warm, crumbling feta and spinach inside. It didn’t take long for them to clear their plates.
“But what about you? I mean, I’ve done my research about why you’re here,” Francesca said. “I understand why you want your insight. But,” she looked up again without missing a beat, “shall we order our main course first?”
“I know what I want,” said Sean, as Keri appeared soundlessly by his side. “A big plate of moussaka,” he said, looking up at the waiter.
“I’ll have the same,” said Francesca. “You won’t be disappointed.”
Once Keri had gone, she leant forward in her seat, long fingers curling around the stem of her glass. “So what have you got that’s new?” she asked. “Forensics, I presume, DNA? Nothing that anyone’s actually come forward and said?”
“Correct,” he nodded. “You didn’t imagine there was any chance of that happening?”
She shook her head. “Too many people’s lives were ruined,” she said. “When you’re in a small town like this and the spotlight falls on you for such a terrible reason, the collective shame is unbearable. They offered up their sacrifice twenty years ago and expected to get left alone in return. You won’t find many who’ll want to go raking it over.”
“Not even the editor of the local paper?”
The question hung on the air as Keri placed plates of moussaka down, topped up their glasses and left them to their meal. Sean took a few forkfuls. Francesca was right; he wasn’t disappointed. For a while, they ate in silence, and he savoured every mouthful.
“Is it good then,” she eventually said, “what you’ve got? Do you think it’s enough to change the story? To risk stirring up the hornets’ nest and everything that’ll go with it?”
Sean blinked away the memory of Corrine Woodrow’seyes, the sudden wave of fatigue that ran through him at the memory, triggering the ache in his legs that the food had been helping him ignore.
The shadow of a young man stepping out from under the trees
…
“The evidence suggests I can,” he said.
They stared at each other across the table. Then Francesca turned her head, gazed out of the window, into the night. “
Ta en oiko me en demo
,” she murmured.
“What was that?” Sean asked.
She turned back to face him. “Then you’re going to need help, aren’t you?” she said.
8
Because the Night
September 1983
“If you could have anything,” said Samantha, “anything in the world, what would you most want?”
Corrine’s eyes opened and she squinted against the sun that was warming her as she lay on the soft slope of a dune. Still slightly queasy from the combination of the rides and all the ice cream they had put away afterwards, she had almost drifted off in this sheltered hollow they had found among the North Denes.
“Dunno,” she said, drawing in her bottom lip. “I s’pose … I’d like today to go on forever.”
“Oh, come on,” Samantha shifted herself from her back to her elbow, turning to face her new friend. “That can’t be it – you must want something more, surely?”
Corrine’s mind
“And before then?” Sean asked.
“I worked on a national for five years,” she said. “From news reporter to section editor. But, you know – not much chance of ever becoming an editor there.”
“Still,” said Sean, wondering why she would have made a move to a dismal backwater like this. “Must have been a bit of a culture shock coming here.”
“Not entirely,” she smiled.
Sean lifted a triangle of pastry to his mouth, tasted warm, crumbling feta and spinach inside. It didn’t take long for them to clear their plates.
“But what about you? I mean, I’ve done my research about why you’re here,” Francesca said. “I understand why you want your insight. But,” she looked up again without missing a beat, “shall we order our main course first?”
“I know what I want,” said Sean, as Keri appeared soundlessly by his side. “A big plate of moussaka,” he said, looking up at the waiter.
“I’ll have the same,” said Francesca. “You won’t be disappointed.”
Once Keri had gone, she leant forward in her seat, long fingers curling around the stem of her glass. “So what have you got that’s new?” she asked. “Forensics, I presume, DNA? Nothing that anyone’s actually come forward and said?”
“Correct,” he nodded. “You didn’t imagine there was any chance of that happening?”
She shook her head. “Too many people’s lives were ruined,” she said. “When you’re in a small town like this and the spotlight falls on you for such a terrible reason, the collective shame is unbearable. They offered up their sacrifice twenty years ago and expected to get left alone in return. You won’t find many who’ll want to go raking it over.”
“Not even the editor of the local paper?”
The question hung on the air as Keri placed plates of moussaka down, topped up their glasses and left them to their meal. Sean took a few forkfuls. Francesca was right; he wasn’t disappointed. For a while, they ate in silence, and he savoured every mouthful.
“Is it good then,” she eventually said, “what you’ve got? Do you think it’s enough to change the story? To risk stirring up the hornets’ nest and everything that’ll go with it?”
Sean blinked away the memory of Corrine Woodrow’seyes, the sudden wave of fatigue that ran through him at the memory, triggering the ache in his legs that the food had been helping him ignore.
The shadow of a young man stepping out from under the trees
…
“The evidence suggests I can,” he said.
They stared at each other across the table. Then Francesca turned her head, gazed out of the window, into the night. “
Ta en oiko me en demo
,” she murmured.
“What was that?” Sean asked.
She turned back to face him. “Then you’re going to need help, aren’t you?” she said.
8
Because the Night
September 1983
“If you could have anything,” said Samantha, “anything in the world, what would you most want?”
Corrine’s eyes opened and she squinted against the sun that was warming her as she lay on the soft slope of a dune. Still slightly queasy from the combination of the rides and all the ice cream they had put away afterwards, she had almost drifted off in this sheltered hollow they had found among the North Denes.
“Dunno,” she said, drawing in her bottom lip. “I s’pose … I’d like today to go on forever.”
“Oh, come on,” Samantha shifted herself from her back to her elbow, turning to face her new friend. “That can’t be it – you must want something more, surely?”
Corrine’s mind
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