Stone Cold Red Hot - [15]

“No.”

“And she never contacted any other friends?”

“Not that I heard. I haven’t seen the others for a few years now.”

“Have you got a number for Caroline Cunningham?”

“Yes, if she’s still there. Hang on.” She moved across to the shelves and flicked through a large leather bound book. Found what she was looking for and gave me the number.

“What about Maxwell, do you think she ever got in touch with him?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I doubt it. He’s still around, has a fancy restaurant in Sale, The Grove – I only know because they reviewed it in the Guardian. He’s done very well for himself.”

“Did Jennifer tell him she was pregnant?”

“No, it was awful, he’d broken it off just before she found out. He was playing the field, no intention of settling down. She wouldn’t have married him anyway, he was, childish really, very self-centred. She’d enough on her plate without him as well.”

“What’s his surname?”

“Jones, Maxwell Jones.”

I thanked Lisa and stood up. She picked up the photograph album and hugged it to her. “I still dream about Jenny sometimes, even after all these years,” she shook her head as if that were a failing.

“If you think of anything else, you’ve got my card.”

“And if you find her, give her my number, I’d like to hear from her. I bet we’d get on just as well as ever.”

As she saw me out I realised Lisa had made no mention of the press attention that she’d alluded to on the phone. I felt it would be crass to ask her about it at that point. It wasn’t any of my business. My business was to trace Jennifer Pickering and I wasn’t exactly hot on the trail.

The journey home was straightforward. The towns and villages either side of the motorway were clusters of lights. The major roads defined by ribbons of light like strings of beads spilt across the black fields.

I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere fast talking to Jennifer’s old friends. OK I had established that she’d been pregnant but that brought me no nearer knowing how to contact her. I reckoned my best bet lay with anything that Keele University could tell me. I’d still go ahead and see the remaining people on my list, it wouldn’t hurt to talk to them see if they could shed any more light on the mystery. She’d left home before the induction week at Keele, had she been to a clinic to have an abortion during that gap? Had she confided in any of her friends? Lisa claimed she and Jennifer were very close, if she’d not told Lisa would she have told Frances Delaney or Caroline Cunningham? Could there be any other reason for leaving home sooner than expected? I rolled my shoulders back, becoming stiff from the driving, noticed my hands were gripping the wheel a touch too tight for comfort, I made an effort to relax them. I pushed a tape into the cassette player, Ladies of Jazz, sang along to the smouldering lyrics, let the smoky voices lead me home.

Chapter six

The next morning was glorious. Sky like fresh paint, sun full of warmth. The sort of day for walking up hills, climbing on top of the world and marvelling. I made it to school, Tescos and the Health Food Shop in Withington. And spent most of the rest of it at the office connecting up with people who could tell me more about Jennifer Pickering circa 1976.

I got through to Caroline Cunningham who sounded to be lost in a heavy cold. I explained who I was, how I’d got her number and what I wanted to talk to her about.

“Honestly?” Her voice rose to a squeak.

“Yes, I’m talking to all her old friends and neighbours. Whereabouts are you?”

“Sheffield, are you coming from Manchester?” She began to cough.

I waited for her to stop before I replied and used the time to calculate whether I could make the journey there and back and be certain of being able to pick up Maddie and Tom. It was too tight, I didn’t need to kill myself over a visit to Caroline. “Yes, it would have to be Monday though, if you’d be at home.”

“Yes, there’s no way I’m goid in like this,” she coughed again to prove her point, “the doctor said take a week minimum. Bordig?”

It took me a second to translate. “Morning would be fine. I’ll aim to get to you about eleven.”

“OK.”

The phone was engaged at Frances Delaney’s house. I put a cross on my list, I’d try her again later.

I made a coffee and had it with the vegetable samosas and the tomato that constituted lunch. I washed the grease off my hands upstairs; the Dobsons let me use their bathroom. The shelves bulged with bathstuffs and cosmetics and towels were stuffed onto rails and hooks any old how. Four girls lived here and the array of bottles bore witness. I’d this to look forward to with Maddie – and teenage rebellion. I knew that the Dobsons had an easy time with their eldest – she was eager to travel and had been too busy earning cash for her adventure to be out clubbing it or in slumming around. It was different with their second girl. They were in the throes of teenage hell. The fact that both parents were teachers and had masses of experience working with youngsters hadn’t seemed to help at all.

Jennifer had been a typical teenager, eager to become independent, desperate to leave home. Her parents had disliked her clothes and the lifestyle she enjoyed but didn’t that just come with the territory? I was becoming more convinced that I would have to speak to Mrs Pickering eventually. If anyone could tell me the essential facts it had to be her: exactly when Jennifer had left her course at Keele, whether she’d given any indication whatsoever of where she was going, whether she talked about having a baby. After all at that point Mrs Pickering had deemed her daughter a disgrace. Hardly a term for someone who’d dropped out of an English degree. If I didn’t get any joy from Keele I would have to persuade Roger to let me approach his mother.