He talks more about school and his teacher, Mr Carter, whom he adores, while munching his biscuit. He has ink at the tips of his fingers and his nails are bitten down.
‘Do you want to talk to Nanny now?’ he says.
I nod and say goodbye, blowing him kisses and wishing I was there to give him a hug. The screen blurs as he hands over the iPad to my mum. The top half of her face appears on screen so all I can see is her strawberry-blonde fringe and green eyes.
‘All right, love?’
‘Mum, I can’t see your mouth!’
‘Oh … right. Hold on.’ She moves the screen down. ‘Is that better?’
‘Yeah, much.’
‘How are you getting on? What’s it like there?’ she asks, and I fill her in on everything that’s happened so far. My mum should have been a journalist herself; she’s even nosier than I am. She asks for a tour of the cabin so I turn my phone around to show her the kitchen and the living area, then the bedroom. ‘It’s smart,’ she says approvingly.
‘I miss you all, though. I miss Finn,’ I say, returning to my armchair. I’ve been away with work before, usually just a night, and Finn hasn’t really worried about it. But this is the first time I’ve been away since the split and never for so long.
Mum has now moved into the kitchen and is standing in front of my pale grey Shaker-style larder. I know she’s left Finn on his own so we can talk freely. ‘You’ll be home Friday. Make the most of it. Everything is under control here.’
‘Have you spoken to Gav much?’ I ask.
‘Only about Finn. I get the sense he doesn’t want me poking my nose in.’ I suppress a wry smile. I know she’d like nothing more.
‘I’m trying to give him space, Mum. But I’m running out of patience. I don’t know what to do. And this morning …’ I hesitate and lower my voice. ‘I thought I heard a woman.’
Mum grimaces. ‘What do you mean, heard a woman? Heard a woman doing what?’
‘Laughing. Quite early, before school.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘Look, Gavin isn’t stupid enough to have a woman spend the night, if that’s what you’re thinking. Not with Finn here. Stop being paranoid. It was probably the TV or radio.’ She is smiling as she says it but her voice is stern.
‘You’re right,’ I say. Mum has made me feel better, like she’s been doing since I first had my heart broken when I was twelve and the boy I fancied called me Rat Face. Maybe it had been the radio. In any case, I have to forget about it for now.
I pull up in the pub car park at just gone 7 p.m. It’s stopped raining and I’m still wearing my big chunky green jumper and my jeans from earlier but with my smarter wool coat now it’s dried. I pull my bag over my shoulder and walk purposefully into The Raven. I scan the wooden tables and the comfy checked sofas but I can’t see DS Crawford, just an older couple in the corner and two women chatting on one of the sofas. I go to the bar and order a glass of white wine and lemonade from an old guy with a nose ring. I’m just handing over my debit card when the door opens letting in a gust of fresh air and DS Crawford comes in. He’s a bit older than he appears in his photo, tall and rangy and his hair looks like he’s just walked through a wind tunnel. He pats it down self-consciously. He has an air of dishevelment about him, like he’s been rushing around all day.
His hazel eyes light up when he sees me. ‘Jenna?’
‘Hi, yes, you must be DS Crawford.’
He thrusts out a hand to shake mine. He smells of rain and woodsmoke. ‘Please, call me Dale. Great to meet you. If you find a table I’ll grab a drink and join you.’
I choose the table in the corner next to the leaded window and shuffle onto the padded bench seat with my back to the wall so I have a view of the door. I take two large sips of wine. Dale crosses the room, pint in hand, and takes a seat opposite. He sets his glass on the table and shrugs off his black wool coat revealing a shirt and a tie that’s askew.
‘So, Jenna. I hear from Brenda you’re making a podcast.’
‘That’s right.’ I explain a little about it while he listens. ‘It’s for BBC Sounds and it’s the first I’ve done, although I’ve been a reporter for over fifteen years.’
‘So Brenda told you I’ve recently been assigned to the case?’
‘She did. I just wondered, why now? Have there been any developments?’
He arches one of his expressive eyebrows. ‘Not really. This happens every now and again. It’s never been closed but now with more funding …’ He waves a hand. ‘I won’t bore you with the red tape.’ He picks up his pint and takes a long gulp.
‘So they decided to bring in the cold-case expert,’ I say, smiling.
He chuckles. ‘Ha. No. It’s been twenty years. A fresh pair of eyes and all that.’
He’s being modest. I’ve read all about the cases he’s helped solve and some were high-profile.
‘And you come from Stafferbury?’ I’d read that too.
He lowers his glass. ‘Yep. My dad still lives here, in one of the retirement flats, although I moved away a while ago now with my wife – ex-wife.’ He flushes slightly. ‘But not that far. Devizes. Do you know it?’ I shake my head. ‘I used to drink in here as a teenager.’ He looks around wistfully. ‘It’s changed quite a bit. It was a dive back then.’
He must surely have known the girls. I try to guess his age, but it’s hard because there is no grey in his thick hair and only a few lines around his eyes. He could be a few years younger than me. I decide to ask him.
‘Yes. I did know them a bit.’ He coughs. ‘I was in the same year at school as Katie and Tamzin.’ I calculate that he must be a year older than me. I’m surprised.
‘And did you know Olivia or Sally?’
He swallows, his eyes glued to the menu. ‘Um. Not really, no. They were in the year below.’ He picks up a menu from a stand in the middle of the table. ‘I’m starving, and I’ve hardly had time to eat today. Do you mind if I order some food? Do you want anything?’
Now I think about it I could do with something to eat.
We decide on pizzas and Dale goes to the bar to order, insisting it’s on him. As he walks back I notice he’s wearing pale blue socks with little white penguins on them underneath his smart suit trousers that are just a tad too short. For some reason the sight of them puts me at ease.
He slides back into his seat and grins. ‘Shouldn’t be long.’
‘So,’ I say, leaning back against the wall, regretting taking the uncomfortable bench seat, ‘you were saying you were at school with Katie and Tamzin.’
‘Uh. Yeah. That’s right. But then I went to university in Edinburgh and it was while I was there they went missing.’
I play with the stem of my wine glass. ‘There was something Brenda mentioned that I wanted to ask you more about.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘She said Olivia reported that she was being followed in the days leading up to the accident.’
He pulls a thread from the cuff of his powder blue shirt. ‘Yes. She said to the police she saw a man driving a white van. So the police interviewed all the men in the area who drove a white van and none fitted the description. There was building work going on at the time, so it might not have been a local. But there was hardly any CCTV around in Stafferbury in 1998 and Olivia didn’t know the registration plate. So it all came to a dead end.’ He hesitates as though wondering whether to continue. ‘And then it was thought, perhaps, that she was lying to maybe hide her own guilt.’