Doggerland (Sam Applewhite Book 2)

by Heide Goody

  “Even in wintertime?” said Bernard doubtfully.

  “Donkeys needed exercise,” said Strawb.

  “That’s another potential winner we’ve got there.” He put the details into the spreadsheet. “It’s between you and Polly.”

  “What about Janine?” said Margaret.

  Janine had not returned.

  “She’s probably gone for a five mile run,” said Strawb. “Mad that one.”

  Janine appeared at the doorway. She was red in the face but she didn’t look like she’d been for a run of any sort. Polly thought she looked set to burst into tears.

  “Margaret,” she said tremulously. “Can I have word?”

  Margaret’s eyes narrowed.

  “It’s that Sam woman,” said Janine.

  “Did she complain about us?” said Strawb, voicing rising in nascent annoyance.

  “She’s been looking at the CCTV!” Janine hiss-whispered.

  Polly could not help noticing Janine’s eyes flicking repeatedly in her direction, as though she in particular was not meant to hear this.

  “She asked me what I was doing,” said Janine. “I told her I was going for a run but I don’t think…”

  Margaret sighed and turned her gaze to Bernard. “I’m a light sleeper,” she said witheringly.

  Bernard didn’t seem to have any clearer idea what was going on than Polly.

  32

  Staging an escaped animal drill sort of demanded a zoo, or similar, for them to escape from. Skegness was short on actual zoos. There was the aquarium in town, the exotic animal sanctuary out Stickney way, the falconry centre up towards Manby, and Seal Land in Anderby Creek. DefCon4 was the security contractor for Seal Land and Sam had spent more than her fair share of time up there after accidentally kidnapping a seal. Sealnapping was an unlikely crime, but it had been a very naughty seal and Sam considered the animal to be at least fifty percent responsible.

  She drove the few miles to the isolated village of Anderby Creek, armed with questions, and spoke to Guy. Guy was the guy to speak to about animal control. Guy wasn’t the only guy at Seal Land, but he was definitely the guy she needed.

  Seal Land backed directly onto the beach and, in winter, the Siberian breezes coming in from the east seemed to pool in its compound walls. Even the Jackass Penguins looked cold.

  Sam walked with Guy as he pushed a barrow of hay round to the alpaca enclosure behind the misty-windowed tropical butterfly house.

  “Sounds daft if you ask me,” he said.

  “I am asking you,” she said. “Why’s it daft?”

  “Those animal drills. Don’t they have them because of all the earthquakes in Japan? You know – the zoo might fall apart a bit and animals escape. We don’t have them in Skeggy. If we build a wall to keep animals in, we’d expect them to stay kept.”

  “I haven’t told you where he’s building it yet,” said Sam.

  Guy hoisted the rectangular bale and, with a thrust of his muscly arm, tossed it a distance into the alpaca’s grassy paddock. The mop-haired alpacas, Ant and Dec, trotted over and nibbled experimentally.

  “Where’s he building it?” he asked.

  “You don’t want to know. Not even sure if I’m legally allowed to tell you. But are you saying you never have animals escape?”

  “Oh, we do. Dec here went for a wander when this gate was accidentally left open. Here…” He led her back up a way to the goat enclosure. “We had a pygmy goat who was fond of jumping out. Climbed up on his friend’s back, used him as a platform. We got rid of them to a farm in Worksop.”

  “Both of them.”

  Guy gave her a disgusted frown. “They were in it together. Equally guilty. And then, of course, we’ve got your friend and mine.” He turned to the nearest seal pool. A fat grey seal rolled in its depths. With a twist of his body, he jack-knifed upwards and broke the surface.

  “Hello, Larry,” said Sam.

  Larry the seal twitched his whiskers and looked sharply from one human to the other, floating like a corpulent oligarch in his luxury pool.

  Larry honked at them – “Blaaaark!”— which sounded very much like the seal equivalent of “Give me all your fish and no one gets hurt.”

  “Whatever we do with him, he tries to undo,” said Guy. “We release him into the wild, he comes back up the beach and terrorises the locals. We keep him here and he tries to smash his way out.” He pointed out the gate into the pool area. It was four feet high and so thickly covered in steel braces and supports that it was practically all metal. “If we try to send him off to another reserve or sanctuary, he is such a monumental pain in the arse that he gets sent back, as you know full well.”

  “So, you do have animal escapes.”

  “Only due to human error or rogue animals.”

  “For which my employer requires me to run an escaped animal drill.”

  “Their money might be better spent on decent staff training and some higher fences.”

  “Point taken,” she said. “Still…”

  “You want my advice?” said Guy. “Riot gear for the staff, or cricketing pads if you can’t stretch to that. Big panels or nets to block off avenues of escape. And a vet on hand. We used to have Sacha out here twice a month to tranquilise Larry, before he disappeared. Had to switch vets. So, a vet for tranquilisers. A medic to give tetanus shots and antibiotics to staff if they’re daft enough to get too close.”

  “This is great stuff,” said Sam, making notes on her phone. “I don’t suppose I could ask…”

  “What?”

  “We need a place to actually hold our mock drill.”

  Guy laughed. “Way I hear it, you’re as much of a disaster magnet as Larry here.”

  “Is that a no, then?”

  Larry, seeing there were no fish forthcoming, snorted a spray of water at them and dived back under the surface.

  33

  The Christmas decorations went up early at Otterside. Polly sat in the south lounge that morning and watched the staff erect the tree.

  “When I was a boy,” Jacob said to her, “decorations went up on Christmas Eve and not a day earlier.”

  Polly looked at the lengths of tinsel and patterned foil chains that adorned the walls. “I think it’s perfectly nice. And what if it’s early? It gives everyone something to look forward to.”

  The tidy little man looked horrified. “No. You should never look forward to Christmas.”

  “What?”

  “Statistically, it’s the day you’re most likely to die. That and your birthday.”

  “That can’t be right. How does Death know when your birthday is?”

  Jacob shuffled to the edge of his seat as though about to divulge a great secret. “It’s all to do with expectation and holding on.”

  “Holding on?”

  He nodded. “Mind over matter. People who are near to death might see that their birthday or Christmas or the birth of a grandchild is just around the corner and they ‘hold on’. Keep going until the big day and then—” he sagged “—they let go.”

  “I’ll try and avoid holding on then,” said Polly.

  “And then,” said Jacob, “there’s the dangerous changes in behaviour one might exhibit at Christmas.”

  “I wasn’t planning on dancing on the tables.”

  “Overeating. Drinking. Excess.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind a little excess every now and then,” she said. “As long as I don’t overdo it.” She spotted Erin entering the room. “Besides, I’m going to be on my best behaviour this Christmas. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Jacob nodded. “I have a committee meeting to get to.”

  Polly stood up to greet her niece.

  Erin gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, a hug that barely touched her shoulders, if anywhere, and a kiss that missed by at least four inches. “Can’t stay long,” she said, which had become her standard greeting.

  “Work busy?” said Polly.

  “Places to be,” agreed Erin. S
he made a show of looking round as she sat. “This looks nice. Festive.”

  Polly nodded towards Jacob, who had moved off to observe the chess game going on in the corner. “Jacob was just telling me how much likelier people are to die at Christmas.”

  Erin frowned unhappily. “Does this place have a record of Christmas-related deaths?”

  “Not just here. Everywhere.”

  Erin was unconvinced. “You shouldn’t listen to what these old people say. They talk nonsense half the time.”

  “Me included?”

  Erin gave her a steady appraisal. “Been looking after yourself recently?”

  “I have. You been looking at the activities on my bill?”

  “I don’t snoop, Aunt Polly,” Erin tutted. “I have a bit more respect. Confidentiality. How have you been? Any more lapses?”

  It had been weeks but Polly knew what she meant. The confusion. The poor young man she’d shouted at in the supermarket.

  “Those pills you gave me worked a treat,” said Polly. “I finished the ones you gave me over a week ago. Can you get me some more?”

  Erin shook her head. “I should think the infection has cleared up. We shouldn’t overuse antibiotics.”

  “Antibiotics?” said Polly. “I thought they were dementia tablets.”

  Erin tried not to look condescending, or perhaps chose to let a modicum of condescension shine through. “Dementia tablets? What would they be, Polly? Donepezil? Memantine?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not the doctor. I’m—”

  “You had a urinary infection. That was all. It can cause agitation, confusion, even hallucinations in the elderly.”

  Polly tried to think. “We sold my house.”

  “You sold your house.”

  “For a knock down price.”

  “For a speedy sale.”

  “I was moved in here.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But it was all fixed with some antibiotics?”

  “We discussed it. We thought it was for the best.”

  This was not how Polly had remembered the conversations over the preceding months.

  “You were struggling,” said Erin. “You couldn’t maintain the house. I was coming over every other day.”

  “Once a week, maybe…” Polly murmured but she suddenly couldn’t marshal her thoughts, find any certainty in her memories.

  “And you’re happy here,” said Erin firmly.

  That much was true. Polly was happy here. Day to day, the move to Otterside had been a positive one. The other residents were a social bunch, a right laugh. And yet, like a stone caught in her shoe, something did not feel right.

  “I want to see the family at Christmas,” she said. “I haven’t seen Jack and Iris since—”

  “I sent you those photos on the family WhatsApp group.”

  “I don’t have WhatsApp, do I?” said Polly.

  Erin tutted. “You see? Family’s for all year round, not just Christmas. So, I was thinking, Christmas Eve or the day before?”

  “For what?”

  “To see the family.”

  “Am I staying over?”

  The look that flickered across Erin’s face was naked disgust. “No,” she said fiercely. “To meet up. Exchange presents.”

  “Am I not invited for Christmas?”

  Erin sighed. “It’s a busy day. The kids get up early. There’s presents. A roast to do. I’m cooking for seven this year.”

  “Seven…”

  “David. My practice partner. It’s our turn. We’d love to have you over, but….”

  “Not enough chairs?” said Polly. She meant it bitterly but the upset robbed it of any punch.

  “No, silly,” laughed Erin. “It’s just very busy and we don’t want to spoil your little routine here. The dance classes, the yoga. You’ve really settled in.”

  “You said you hadn’t looked.”

  “And they do a lovely Christmas dinner here, don’t they?”

  “But my family…”

  “They love you very much,” said Erin with patronising emphasis. “I’ll get the children to do you a card. A lovely Christmas card.” She looked at her watch and attempted to appear surprised. “Must be off.”

  “Work,” nodded Polly. “Sure.”

  “Iris’s nativity play,” said Erin. “Yawn, eh?”

  “That’s this afternoon? I could—”

  Erin was shaking her head. “It’s a ticketed event, Polly. And you’d only be bored.” She stood and smiled. “Glitter.”

  “What?” said Polly.

  “I’ll get them to put extra glitter on their card to you. That will be nice, won’t it?”

  “The fuck it will,” said Polly, once Erin had gone.

  34

  While Margaret and Strawb waited for the third member of the resident’s social committee to arrive, Strawb considered the four jigsaw pieces in his hands. He pushed them round like Chinese worry balls for some seconds before selecting one and putting the other three back in his pocket.

  “What’s that for?” said Margaret, giving him a sly look.

  “Shush. Here he comes,” said Strawb, sitting up perfectly straight in a very poor effort to appear casual.

  Jacob walked into the north lounge, sat down at his usual chair and opened his minute-taking book in front of him. He checked his FitMeUp watch against the clock on the wall and nodded with satisfaction.

  He looked at Strawb. “Is there something wrong with you?”

  “Trapped wind,” said Strawb.

  “To business,” said Margaret. “It is the annual outing to Candlebroke Hall for the Christmas Fayre tomorrow. The coach is booked.”

  “It is,” said Strawb. “And I’ve requested our specific driver.”

  “Very good. We’ve got forty one residents booked to go. Polly Gilpin?”

  Strawb nodded. “She jumped at the chance. Think we might even have a spot of fun on the back seat on the way home—”

  “Disgusting man,” said Jacob.

  “—By which I meant we might have a bit of a sing-song. You’ve got a dirty mind, Jakey boy.”

  “Question is, does Strawb need to have a meaningful conversation with her?” said Margaret.

  Jacob leafed back through the notes in his book. “As you know, this isn’t an exact science,” he said, which is what he had said the last dozen times they’d had a discussion about inviting a resident to join their most select of circles. “However, there are a lot of strong positives. Polly Gilpin is clearly not averse to breaking rules. The midnight trip to look at the golf course, swapping her resident’s card with Alison, our fitness tracker fun. From what you say, Strawb, there’s been plenty of other examples from her life.”

  “Is it enough?” said Margaret.

  Jacob sucked a backward whistle, like a mechanic assessing a dodgy motor. “There’s a lot of negativity between her and the niece. Witnessed the two of them meeting just now. Just the mildest suggestion that she was tricked into selling her home to move here.”

  “Did the niece profit from that?”

  “If not financially, then certainly socially. Have the aunt shipped off to the retirement village so she can abdicate responsibility.”

  “Whatever the case,” said Strawb, “old Poll’s got a lot of pent up anger.”

  Margaret nodded approvingly. “And we can use that. I say we go ahead.”

  “Right-o,” said Strawb. “What could go wrong?”

  Jacob gave him a shocked look. “Quite a lot really. She might tell someone. We could go to prison.”

  Strawb dismissed the notion with a wave. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Even though Sam Applewhite has been snooping around?” said Jacob.

  Margaret considered the two men and how, caught between the carefree optimism of one and the joyless realism of the other, she had always felt like the fulcrum on a set of scales, the balance between opposite excesses. In truth, it was where she felt happiest. Justice, with her scales a
nd her sword, not blind but with eyes wide open.

  “It is decided,” she said. “Next, we still have a couple of open slots in the social calendar between now and the end of the year.”

  “You got the entertainment booked from your friend at Carnage Hall?” said Strawb.

  “Friend of a friend,” nodded Margaret. “All in hand. We need to fill in some minor things. Thursday afternoons in the south lounge.”

  “Poker tournament?” suggested Strawb.

  “No one will play with you,” said Margaret.

  “Cos I’m too good.”

  “Because you think it’s an excuse to act like you’re in a wild west saloon.”

  “Because I brought hats?”

  “I think it was the chewing tobacco and spittoon which put them off.”

  Strawb tutted. “Board games then?”

  Margaret pursed her lips and looked from one man to the other. “It appears that Jacob here has confiscated a number of them.”

  “It doesn’t appear I have,” said Jacob haughtily. “I have. Monopoly—”

  “I love a bit of Monopoly,” said Strawb.

  “Aside from the fact that you borrowed the money for the poker tournament, there’s no point in a game which favours blind luck and the rich.”

  “Sounds like real life.”

  “And Cluedo?” asked Margaret.

  “No one solves a murder by bumbling around a house and loudly accusing people until one of them confesses,” said Jacob.

  “Ah, I do like a murder though,” said Strawb. “What about a murder mystery movie marathon on the big screen telly?”

  Margaret raised her eyebrows, intrigued.

  “Murder on the Orient Express?” suggested Strawb.

  “Which version?” said Jacob.

  “Does it matter? It’s the same story in them all.”

  “Or we could watch Strangers on a Train.”

  “No, I don’t think that would be appropriate,” said Margaret, then realised this was one of the rare occasions when Jacob was joking. “I see.”

  “Speaking of mysteries,” said Strawb, “look what I found on the floor immediately outside Chesney’s office.” He placed the jigsaw piece he had been holding on the table in front of Jacob.