“Well, what you have found out at least means that I need to talk to Anne again.”
Isobel nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Yes. I don’t know what else I can tell you.” She stood up. “I’m sorry – I’m really very tired. It’s been quite a day. I must go.”
Peter and Patricia stood and accompanied her to the door.
“Thank you, Isobel,” said Peter. “I really do appreciate you taking time off from your sabbatical to help with this. At least now I can ask Anne some questions and see what she says. Have a safe trip back to Ireland – and I’ll talk to you then.”
“Goodbye. I hope what I’ve done will be of use – sorry it’s been so inconclusive.”
Isobel gave both Peter and Patricia a gentle hug and left.
On the journey back to Hammersmith those questions dominated her mind, chief among them being: why was there no emotional atmosphere? Peter might be right that there was something going on here, and that it could be spousal control and abuse. But something else was still bothering her and she hadn’t been able to put it into words. She needed to clear her head. This trip, rather than giving her confidence and adventure, had actually really upset her.
Isobel’s sleep was fitful that night. She dreamt she was walking in a street, then a garden and then a forest and each time there was someone just out of sight. There was no feeling of threat, rather it was a feeling of someone waiting for her to become aware of them, to look further, to search for them, to see just a little bit further.
Chapter 7
Wednesday 23rd May
Isobel arrived home to Ballycastle, emptied her case, let the family know that she was back and then headed for the beach. She pounded across the mile of sand towards the cliff of Fairhead which stood dramatic and proud. It looked like a forehead. Isobel wished her head was as resolute and sure. She climbed over the Pan’s rocks and found the Devil’s Churn, a hole in the rocks where the water surged up as the tide came in. On the stones around this opening there were, according to local tales, seven faces on the rocks. Isobel had only ever found three of them, and that was as a ten-year-old, thirty years ago. Today, however, she couldn’t see any, reminding her that there was still something going on with the Banks that she felt was eluding her. Her own past experiences told her that feelings like this were important and often led to insights – but at the moment there was no clarity coming. Her eyes filled with tears of frustration and inadequacy. Maybe if she was well and wasn’t so rusty she would be clearer and quicker. Rather than this trip and job giving her confidence, it had made her feel inadequate.
When the tears had passed she sat on, listening to the advance and retreat of the sea, no longer searching but resting, almost lulled by the repetitive sound. Moving eventually, she walked over the rocks to stand closer to the edge. Suddenly, she saw on the rock ahead of her the clear image of a face.
Isobel grinned then stood still. Maybe it was the same with regard to the Banks. She needed to reboot and keep looking, maybe in a different place, a different way – extend the search.
She walked back across the beach, her feet moving slowly over the sand, matching her reflective mood.
Dave was waiting for her outside her front door. “How did it go?”
“All right.”
“Peter told me he was grateful that you came over.”
Isobel made a face and opened the door, leading the way inside.
“What’s on your mind?” he said.
“I think I ran away.”
“But I encouraged you to go. I thought it would help. Sorry.”
Isobel touched his arm. “No, I mean I think I ran back home. Instead of waiting to get full clarity on the situation, I just bailed.”
“No, Peter said you helped. He is clear about what he can do now, he says.”
Isobel grimaced. “I don’t think it’s at all clear.”
“Well, clearer then – and Peter’s happy – so what more can you do?.”
“Dave, I’m thinking of going back tomorrow if I can get a flight.”
“What?” He stood back, aghast. “For goodness’ sake, why? What can you do if you go back that you didn’t do this time?”
“I can do some more digging and maybe –”
“Three flights in a few days, after months of taking care of yourself – you’re going to wear yourself out on a wild goose chase.” Dave paced up and down.
“No.” Isobel laid a hand on his arm and looked into his eyes. “It’s not a wild goose chase. There is something we are missing. I can feel it. I’ve no proof but, just like Peter did, I can sense something.”
“Like what?”
Isobel spread her hands and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I have no facts to prove it but there is something wrong.”
Dave looked at her, frowning.
“I’m going to finish what I started, Dave. I’m going to chat to more people and see if I can find out where this sense of discomfort is coming from. Let’s call Peter so I can talk to him.”
In the end they set up a Skype call with Peter and Patricia at the office.
“Peter, have you done anything about the Banks?”
“No, not yet. I was busy today and didn’t get round to contacting Anne.”
“Good, can I ask you a few more questions?”
“Sure, anything that might help.”
“Right – did Anne Banks seem afraid of Thomas, to you?”
Peter scrunched up his face. “Well, not really, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t.”
Isobel nodded. “Setting aside the fact that it resonates personally for you, why do you think, of all your cases, that this one has got to you?”
“Now that is a good question.”
Isobel grinned. “I think so too. So tell me the answer.”
Peter spoke slowly as his thoughts coalesced. “Well, usually a mediated settlement is negotiated to ensure the best outcome for the children, or in this case the child. And, I suppose, with the Banks, it just feels as if this divorce settlement is not about Tommy and what’s best for him, but about Thomas getting everything.”
There was a tense silence.
“Exactly, a good summation.”
“Yes, I think that is it. It feels as if Thomas Banks is in charge of everything and maybe that’s why I’m worried about coercive control. It feels like he’s pulling all the strings.”
“Have you ever spoken to Anne alone?”
“No, but I intend to, to satisfy myself as to whether there is coercion. I realise that Anne may not tell me, she might be too afraid.”
“Look, Peter, I am concerned. There is something strange going on between that couple but I’m not convinced that it is coercive control or spousal abuse.”
“Is this back to the emotional atmosphere?”
Isobel made a face.
“So what do we do?” he asked.
“We need more information and I’m thinking of coming back tomorrow to see what I can find out for you.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not – I’m volunteering.”
“Where would you start?”
“Maybe go and talk to her family. That would help me build up a picture of Anne which might clarify what is going on. Do you have an address?”
“Yes, it was on the marriage certificate. Her father is dead but her mother, as far as I know, still lives in the same house. It’s in Petersfield.”
“How far away is that?”
“About an hour and a half on the train.”
Patricia said, “I’m bringing up flights now. There’s a seat on the morning flight at ten to eight from Belfast city airport landing in Heathrow at twenty past ten.”
“That sounds good.”
“You could stay with me this time, Isobel,” Patricia said. “I’ve a sofa bed that’s really comfortable. It might make things easier for you.”
Isobel tensed but knew that this was practical. “Thank you.”
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bsp; “I could organise a rental car for you to collect in the airport – then you could go straight on to Petersfield.”
“Good idea,” Isobel said.
“Patricia is great at organizing. I would be lost without her.”
Patricia blushed and lowered her head. She saw Isobel watching her and flushed more darkly. “Give me your phone number and I’ll text you my address,” she said, “and if you send your email address then I can forward you the bookings for the flight and the car.”
Isobel met Peter’s eyes. “So, we find out as much as we can as quickly as possible.”
He nodded. “Yes, the more information I have before I speak to Anne the better – otherwise it’s likely she’ll say no there’s no coercion and then asking would be just a tick-box exercise.”
“How long until the divorce papers are signed? You were planning for next week, Wednesday, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Patricia said.
“There are a couple of other places where we can get information,” Isobel said. “Firstly, the school – they’ll have known Anne and they may also be able to tell us if Tommy has changed. Tommy has been dealing with an alcoholic mother and that may have shown up in his behaviour. It would be good to know if they noticed anything or were concerned. Obviously, because of confidentiality, they won’t want to talk so it’s probably more in the line of gossip that we would hear anything. I’m wondering if you and I could do that, Patricia? Perhaps you could pose as a prospective parent with a child Tommy‘s age?” Isobel grinned. “You know, your asthmatic son who is now miraculously better and maybe about to change schools due to problems brought on by a father who is drinking and who has now left the family home?”
Patricia laughed. “My poor son has had so much to deal with!”
“Exactly. I can be your supportive friend. You could always say that you met Anne some time back and she recommended the school. Basically, a fishing expedition but, you never know, we might be able to pick up something from someone. You could ask for a tour, you get the general idea?”
Patricia was nodding enthusiastically, her eyes bright. “What are we going to do about my work?” she asked, looking at Peter.
Peter frowned. “I’m already putting the company in a difficult position with this and I don’t want you to jeopardise your job as well, Patricia.”
Patricia shook her head. “I know. I’ll tell them that I have to go to the dentist and am taking a half day, always assuming that the school will agree to see me.”
“If you’re sure,” Peter said.
“One hundred per cent. I’ll check with the school first thing. Perhaps Friday afternoon is a good option to suggest. I can angle for it, saying it’s the easiest time for me to get off work and that I’m very worried about my son and keen to find an alternative for him. If they agree then I’ll start the toothache story on Thursday afternoon.”
Isobel nodded, satisfied. It seemed clear that Patricia was relishing the challenge of what they were doing, not to mention enjoying spending more time with Peter, outside of the office.
“There are a few other possibilities,” she said. “I could talk to Aaron, Anne’s hairdresser – I really wanted to do that last time but he wasn’t there that day. I’m going to call at close of business on Thursday or Friday and see if I can have a private chat with him, maybe hear some gossip. Perhaps over a drink. I think a glass of wine might create a cosy confiding atmosphere. The only other place I can think of is the rehab centre. Again, we might not get much because of confidentiality but I would like to see the place and get a feel for it. Do you know which place Anne went to?”
“Yes,” Peter said. “I made a note of it.”
“It’s not too far from Petersfield actually,” said Patricia.
“Maybe I can take it in when I’m down there then. So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow evening when I get back from Petersfield.”
“Thanks, Isobel,” Peter said. “I feel better knowing that we’re doing our best to find the truth.”
“Me too. Bye.”
Dave was waiting in the kitchen for her. “Well?”
“I’m on the early flight in the morning from Belfast –”
“Isobel –”
“I have a one-way ticket. I’m going to do a bit more research and then I’ll be home. It’ll only take a few days. I’ll probably be home at the weekend.”
“But –”
“Dave, I feel better already. I’m doing the right thing here.”
He sighed. “OK. Keep in touch.”
She smiled. “I will.”
Lying in bed, Isobel let her mind wander over what she’d heard. This was when she had her best ideas – when her mind was jumping from subject to subject, event to event, free-associating. Then, unexpectedly, as if her brain had been working on it, suddenly it could put the pieces together and see a picture.
Years ago she had read a book called Blink by Malcolm Gladwell. In it, an expert came to the Metropolitan Museum, looked at a new acquisition and, despite the carbon-dating tests that had been done, knew it was a fake. In a way, Peter had picked her for the same sort of reason. She didn’t know what was wrong yet, but she knew that there was something off. Hopefully, over the next few days, she was going to find out what.
Chapter 8
Thursday 24th May
Isobel was driving out of Heathrow Airport car rental at midday in a black Nissan Micra with a satnav. Patricia, efficient as ever, had emailed a copy of the marriage certificate. Anne Banks, née Graham, even though she lived in London had got married in a little church near home in Petersfield. Her father was listed as deceased at the time of her wedding as was Thomas’s father. The witnesses were recorded as being Claire Graham, a relative, maybe a sister or cousin of Anne’s and Brian Poole, presumably known to the groom. Isobel planned to speak to Mrs Graham and Claire if she lived nearby.
When the satnav told her that she had arrived, she was looking at a terraced house on the outskirts of Petersfield. There was a central green and around that a semi-circle of twenty houses. Donna Graham’s house was Number 12. It had a small garden in front with beautiful roses which surprisingly, and not so commonly, gave off a delicate perfume. The front door was painted a strong green with a shiny brass knocker.
As Isobel waited on the doorstep, she realised that she was nervous.
The door swung open, revealing a woman, tall and willowy with blonde hair now silver pulled back in a loose chignon.
This was definitely Anne’s mother.
“Hello?”
It was a question.
Isobel smiled. “Hi, I’m Isobel McKenzie.”
“If you’re selling something I’m not interested.”
Isobel had heard the expression ‘a face like she was sucking a lemon’ but had never witnessed it until now. She took a steadying breath.
“I’m a friend of Anne’s. She mentioned growing up here a number of times.” She hurried on. “I’m sorry, I just passed the road end and saw the sign and recognised it and on the spur of the moment decided to call.”
Mrs Graham flexed her facial muscles in what might pass for a smile, opening the door slightly wider. “Have you seen her recently?”
“Only briefly, the other day, but we didn’t have time to talk much. I do know that things aren’t so good with her . . .” Isobel paused, allowing a silence.
Mrs Graham rushed in to fill it. “I know. Poor Thomas has had a lot to put up with – me too, if the truth be known.”
Isobel struggled to keep her face neutral. “It’s all so upsetting.”
Mrs Graham swung the door open wider. “It’s almost too much for a poor mother to bear. Come in, come in.”
Isobel followed Mrs Graham down the narrow hall, past a sitting room to the kitchen at the back. She took a seat at the table while Mrs Graham busied herself filling the kettle and readying cups and a teapot.
“Such an ungrateful girl! I can’t believe it – divorcing poor Thomas. I know he thinks it
’s for the best and he has been through the mill, but I was hoping that she would get herself sorted in that rehab place and that they could stay together.”
“Did you know Anne was drinking, Mrs Graham?”
“Call me Donna. No, not until recently. Did you?”
Isobel shook her head. “Only recently. How long was that going on, do you know?”
“Well, it’s hard for me to say.” Donna played with her teaspoon. “As you probably know, Anne stopped associating with her family –” She paused.
Isobel, guessing that she didn’t like being seen in a negative light, said, “Oh no, I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, I thought she would have told all her friends how bad I was. I’m glad she didn’t. I was widowed when the girls were young – eight and six.” Donna wet the tea and, setting it on a tea stand, sat down at the table. “I did my best to manage on my own but it was really hard. When Anne was seventeen and started dating Brian Poole, I thought she would settle down and marry him.”
Isobel bit her lip to stop herself exclaiming in surprise. After a moment she smiled at Donna and nodded, her mind racing.
Donna poured the tea and moved the milk jug and sugar closer to Isobel. “Brian was a nice enough boy, but I was delighted when she left him and decided to move to London. I never got the chance to do those exciting things. She worked in London for a few years, coming home less and less and then she rang and said that she wanted to bring down her new boyfriend. Thomas is great, so kind, so successful, so good-looking, the sort of man you could depend on. Anne got married here. In fact, Brian was Thomas’s best man.”
“Was that not a bit unusual, having an ex-boyfriend for the best man?”
“I thought Anne would have told you all of this.”
“No, she never mentioned dating Brian. How did he end up as the best man?”
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