Chapter 24

The next morning, while Maggie lay comatose, having drunk more than her fair share of the two bottles of wine from last night, Jack was in the kitchen having a whispered phone conversation with Foxy.

“No, no, that’s not what I said at all,” Foxy explained. He was stuck in traffic due to an accident up ahead, and was trying hard not to take that out on Jack. “I said that there’s no DNA match between you and the skeleton on my table. I did not say that the skeleton wasn’t Jimmy Nunn.” There was silence from Jack’s end of the phone, so Foxy continued. “You told me about an old shoulder injury sustained when Jimmy fell off a fence. This was confirmed by his medical records, and the skeleton on my table has an identical injury. We don’t have DNA on file for Jimmy Nunn, but his dental records, I’m certain, Jack, will show that this is him.”

Still no reply from Jack. Foxy’s car engine stopped and started as he crawled forward, no more than ten inches at a time.

“What does this mean for you, my friend? You thought he was—who? Your dad? I can tell you he’s not.” Foxy glanced out of his window. “Look, I’m just driving past a pile-up that’s going to keep me busy all week, but how about a drink later? You can ask me anything you need to.”

Jack left a note on the kitchen table underneath a plate of apologetic pastries: Something urgent came up. Back by midday. Sorry. X.

He had left Maggie stranded with no car, but he also knew that driving from his parents’ bungalow in Totnes to Fran’s house in Burnham-on-Sea would be the quickest way for him to get back to Maggie. He’d work out how to apologize properly on the return journey.

Fran was putting the bins out when Jack pulled up. She didn’t look particularly pleased to see him, but he didn’t care.

“We need to talk,” he said, standing over her until she had no choice but to invite him in.

Fran apologized for the mess, just as she had done the first time Jack visited. It would be have been unlucky for him to catch Fran on two terrible housework days, so he concluded that she and Clay always lived in this half-hearted squalor.

Not wanting either of them to be distracted, Jack declined a cup of tea.

“When Trudie left me with you, where did she go?”

Fran shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”

Jack believed her. “Why did she go? Was she worried, frightened?”

“She was very upset about something. She’d got a phone call a couple days earlier and that had put her in a great mood. She took you and her suitcase and off she went—to start a new life, she said. Not a thank you, or nothing. As soon as she didn’t need us anymore, it was like we never existed. But two days later she came back, tail well and truly between her legs. You were screaming, she was screaming—‘The bastard! I hate him! I hate him!’ We thought Jimmy had promised everything and delivered nothing again. The next day, she left you with us and disappeared for the last time.”