Looking for JJ Read Free Page A

together. She returned to work and slipped the piece of paper into a gap between the till and the wall. When the man in the leather jacket came in the next day she waited until the rush was over and walked across to him, carrying the scrap with her.
    “You dropped this yesterday. I thought it might be important.”
    She held it out. It was criss-crossed with lines from where she had folded it. He looked surprised, pleased.
    “Thanks, darling. I wondered where that had got to.”
    “Are you a journalist?” she said, casually.
    “No.”
    “Only, I thought, what with the names, that you were investigating that girl. The one who’s just been released.”
    “Good spot,” he said. “Only I’m a freelance detective. I am looking for Jennifer Jones. Only not for a newspaper story.”
    He tapped his finger on the end of his nose and went back to his papers. Alice gave a rictus smile. Her lips were drawn across her teeth and she nodded her head as though he’d just said something pleasant. Inside though she had turned to dust. Going back behind the counter she found herself staring at him, a sudden, intense dislike stirring up inside her. She noticed his hair was greasy and his skin was pockmarked. His shoes were scuffed and the hem of his leather jacket had come down on one side. From where she was standing she could see him pushing the last crumbs of his Danish into his mouth with one hand while using the other to punch a number into his mobile.
    He was despicable and he was looking for JJ.
    If only he knew that he had found her.

 

     
     
    When Rosie came home from work a week later she found Alice sitting in a corner in her bedroom wrapped in her duvet. Beside her was a fan heater. It was three o’ clock in the afternoon and the curtains were closed and the room was in twilight. The air was heavy and hot. Rosie sighed, squatted down and pulled out the plug of the fan heater. Alice pulled the duvet around her more tightly and watched as Rosie stepped across and drew the curtains back, letting the daylight crash-land into the room. For a moment she looked as though she was going to open a window. The very thought of it made Alice feel cold, and she pushed herself back into the corner, the duvet up to her nose.
    “We need to have a chat,” Rosie said, in a no-nonsense voice.
    Alice had been waiting for it. It wasn’t the first time in the last seven days that Rosie had found her cocooned in her room. Up to then Rosie had made a laugh of it, treated it lightly, just one more of Alice’s little ways.
    But this was different. Alice had walked out of her job.
    She’d arrived at the Coffee Pot on time, in good spirits. She’d climbed into her overall and took up her position behind the counter looking out into the street beyond. She’d watched as a line of determined-looking people made their way towards the station, their heads down, their bags and briefcases in hand, some glancing at watches, fishing out travelcards in readiness for the machines.
    They’d looked so ordinary.
    She even served a couple: a frothy coffee to go, a croissant in a greaseproof bag; a large latte and camomile tea for the couple in the corner perched on the seats, grabbing a few minutes before their train.
    At eight minutes past eight she suddenly felt lightheaded. She looked down at her body. Thin. She was too thin, too lightweight. Like a piece of paper that the wind might blow away. Somebody was standing on the other side of the counter asking for something but she couldn’t answer.
    If they knew. If the woman with the flapping ten-pound note knew who she was talking to. If she had any inkling that she was centimetres away from Jennifer Jones, JJ, the girl from Berwick who had spent six years in prison for murder. What would she say? Would she be so bright and pleasant, commenting on the good weather as she asked for her black coffee and pecan biscuit?
    Alice mumbled some words, but honestly she had no idea what she was saying. I am not