A Darker Shade of Blue Read Free Page A

tea from the machines inside and they sat there on the cold, worn stone, scarcely talking as yet. Darren Pitcher was smoking a cigarette, a roll-up he had made with less than steady hands. What was it, Whitemore thought, his gran had always said? Don’t sit on owt cold or you’ll get piles, sure as eggs is eggs.
    â€˜Got yourself a new girlfriend, I hear,’ Whitemore said.
    Pitcher flinched then glanced at him from under lowered lids. He had a lean face, a sickly pallor, a few reddish spots around the mouth and chin; strangely long eyelashes that curled luxuriantly over his weak grey eyes.
    â€˜Emma? That her name?’
    â€˜She’s all right.’
    â€˜Of course.’
    Two young black men in shiny sportswear bounced past them, all muscle, on their way to the gym.
    â€˜It serious?’ Whitemore asked.
    â€˜Dunno.’
    â€˜What I heard, it’s pretty serious. The pair of you. Heard you were thinking of moving in.’
    Pitcher mumbled something and drew on his cigarette.
    â€˜Sorry?’ Whitemore said. ‘I didn’t quite hear …’
    â€˜I said it’s none of your business …’
    â€˜Isn’t it?’
    â€˜My life, yeah? Not yours.’
    Whitemore swallowed a mouthful more of the lukewarm tea and turned the plastic cup upside down, shaking the last drops onto the stone. ‘This Emma,’ he said, ‘she’s got kids. Young kids.’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜Young boys.’
    â€˜That don’t … You can’t … That was a long time ago.’
    â€˜I know, Darren. I know. But it happened, nonetheless. And it makes this our concern.’ For a moment, his hand rested on Pitcher’s arm. ‘You understand?’
    Pitcher’s hand went to his mouth and he bit down on his knuckle hard.
    *
    Gregory Boulevard ran along one side of the Forest Recreation Ground, the nearest houses, once substantial family homes, now mostly subdivided into flats and falling, many of them, into disrepair. Beyond these, the streets grew narrower and coiled back upon themselves, the houses smaller with front doors that opened directly out on to the street. Corner shops with bars across the windows, shutters on the doors.
    Emma Laurie sat on a lopsided settee in the front room; small-featured, a straggle of hair falling down across her face, her voice rarely rose above a whisper as she spoke. A wraith of a thing, Whitemore thought. Outside, a good wind would blow her away.
    The three children huddled in the corner, watching cartoons, the sound turned low. Jason, Rory and Jade. The youngest had a runny nose, the older of the boys coughed intermittently, open-mouthed, but they were all, as yet, bright-eyed.
    â€˜He’s good with them,’ Emma was saying, ‘Darren. Plays with them all the time. Takes them, you know, down to t’Forest. They love him, they really do. Can’t wait for him to move in wi’ us. Go on about it all the time. Jason especially.’
    â€˜And you?’ Bridget Arthur said. ‘How do you feel? About Darren moving in?’
    â€˜Be easier, won’t it? Rent and that. What I get, family credit an’ the rest, s’a struggle, right? But if Darren’s here, I can get a job, afternoons, Asda. Get out a bit, ’stead of bein’ all cooped up. Darren’ll look after the kids. He don’t mind.’
    They walked down through the maze of streets to where Arthur had parked her car, the Park and Ride on the edge of the Forest.
    â€˜What do you think?’ Whitemore said.
    â€˜Ben could be right. Darren, could be the making of him.’
    â€˜But if it puts those lads at risk?’
    I know, I know. But what can we do? He’s been out a good while now, no sign of him reoffending.’
    â€˜I still don’t like it,’ Whitemore said.
    Arthur smiled wryly. ‘Other people’s lives. We’ll keep our fingers crossed. Keep as close an eye as we