by Penny Kline
‘I do hope Arthur didn’t exhaust you. He can be quite rude, and moody, but ...’
‘Not the Arthur I know. He’s charming. I’m very fond of him.’
‘Are you? He likes you too, says you’re very perceptive. Perceptive! The words they come out with. We’ll sit in the conservatory, it’s tidier.’
Jane chose a basket chair, a mistake since it creaked if you moved a muscle. Not that Willa would notice. She was walking up and down, happily oblivious to the fact that Jane had seen the conservatory before, from her view in the garden. Had the teacher’s outfit been thrown away? The handcuffs were back behind the jars of herbs and spices while Jane decided how best to dispose of them.
‘I still can’t believe it, Jane.’
‘I’m sorry? Oh, you mean, poor Noel.’
‘It was an accident, wasn’t it? You don’t think ... no, it can’t have been. We were so close. Sometimes ... well, you knew him quite well, didn’t you ... he could be quite ... not deliberately hurtful, just tactless. You know how he loved to joke. Anyway, I’d never have harmed a hair on his head.’
The lady doth protest too much, methinks. ‘I wanted to talk about Arthur, Willa.’
‘Yes, I knew he must have done something. Did he give you the money? If he kept it for himself—’
‘He didn’t. The reason I’m here, he’s convinced you want him to follow in his father’s footsteps.’ She paused to make sure she had Willa’s full attention. ‘But he says he has a dislike of blood.’
‘Blood?’ Willa sat down heavily.
‘And illnesses. I said I was sure you’d understand. Teenage boys are traditionally incapable of voicing their worries and sometimes it’s easier to talk to a ... to someone outside the family.’
Willa’s face flushed scarlet. She thought Jane was interfering, had influenced her son, turned him against his chosen profession. She had a temper and if Jane was not careful she would lose it. In the lane at the back of the houses, someone was calling to a child. Not Tricia Tidewell – the voice was far too reasonable. Then a dog barked and Jane took it as her cue to speak again.
‘Talk to him, Willa. He’s afraid you and Brian will be angry.’
‘I had such high hopes.’ Willa sat down. She had slumped in her chair like a popped balloon. ‘Not an artist.’
‘No, not an artist, although it’s a shame he had to give up painting and drawing. Computer science I think. I’ve looked it up and it’s a very reputable subject. He wants to work in the games industry.’
‘The what?’
‘People who design computer games. And you can work in films too, I believe. Computer-generated images. Arthur’s educated me on the subject ... Were you asleep? Did I wake you?’
Willa ran her fingers through her hair, what was left of it. ‘Noel’s death ... it was such a shock. I was so upset. Was it suicide, Jane? He didn’t love that woman. It was all a terrible mistake. If you’d seen how worried he was. I tried to help but ... oh, Jane, your friend, was it sudden?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Her heart, was it?’
‘A stroke. Why didn’t you want Brian to know about the tuition?’
‘Oh that. He thinks I’m too pushy, a pushy parent, that’s what they’re called, but Arthur would make such a good doctor, a consultant, not a GP, and you have to get three ‘A’s and he wasn’t doing his school work, just playing games on his computer. Brian thinks I did it.’
She should have said “did what?” Instead she was silent.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
‘I did. This has something to do with your friendship with Noel?’
‘I loved him.’
‘I see. And Brian thinks you pushed him off the balcony?’
‘You’d guessed.’
‘No one pushed him, Willa, he lost his balance.’ On her way to Willa’s, Jane had been wondering why Corinne had only now remembered seeing Dave on the afternoon of the accident. A way of trying to incriminate him? Of protecting herself?
‘I expect you think Brian’s the easy-going type,’ Willa was saying. ‘He’s jealous, possessive, always been the same. He said he was miles away that afternoon, having a walk but ... I blame that Corinne.’ Willa’s hands were tightly clasped. ‘People think she’s so ... I tell you something, Jane, she’s not the air-head she likes to make out. Scheming, that’s what she is. She wormed her way into Noel’s life and forced him to ... classic.’ Her face was contorted with fury. ‘Made sure her husband found out what was going on so Noel felt obliged to take her in.’
‘That doesn’t sound like Noel.’
‘Oh, you didn’t know him like I did. He was kind. And sensitive. He hid that side of himself but the two of us – we confided in each other. He understood, hated hurting people. I don’t know what I’ll do without him. If you ask me, he’d had enough of Corinne and was planning to kick her out so she .’ Willa flopped forward, bumping her head on a bamboo table. ‘Oh, Jane, it’s all so awful. I loved him and if it hadn’t been for Corinne .’
‘Arthur, Willa. You must talk to him. About his school work and his plans for the career he wants to follow. There are university courses ... Willa?’
‘Shall I tell the police – about Corinne?’
‘No.’
‘But why should she get away with it?’
Jane rose from her creaking chair and stood, looking out at the overgrown garden. No sign of Rousseau. That was something. ‘I told Arthur I’d talk to you, Willa, and I also told him I was sure you’d understand. Don’t let me down.’
Jane expected an angry response, but Willa was beaten, done in. ‘They say grief makes you lose your mind.’
‘You haven’t lost yours, Willa, but if you knew Noel so well, you must be aware that he liked to take risks, cavorting about, swinging on scaffolding and the like.’
‘I was down at the shopping centre when it happened. I bought a pair of shoes, and a swimming costume. Swimming’s good for you. And two scarves and a pair of those knickers that hold in your stomach. You’re sure that’s what happened?’
‘Certain.’
‘In that case it won’t matter if I tell you about Brian’s boots. He said he’d been for a long walk, walked across a muddy field, but the mud was from our garden. I saw him stamping about in the flower bed. He was lying, Jane, about his walk, and it’s my fault because ...’
‘Don’t give it another thought.’ Jane had adopted her head-of-department voice, and Willa responded like a child, glad someone else was going to take responsibility for its ill-advised behaviour.
‘No, all right. No, I won’t. And I’ll talk to Arthur. Oh, I think I owe you some money.’
‘Don’t worry about that, but if you’re agreeable I believe it would be beneficial to continue with the tuition for a week or two, just to make sure he gains grades that allow him to stay on for his A levels.’
‘Yes, yes of course, whatever you think best. Thank you so much. For everything. I’ve got one of my heads so I think I’ll go upstairs and lie down for a bit.’
‘Good idea.’ Jane let herself out of the house with what would have been a sigh of relief. But for the story about Brian’s muddy walking boots.
THIRTY-FIVE
Three parcels for the couple who lived four doors up. According to Gus, they were both estate agents. Say no more! Jane had looked up “shopaholics” online – it was now called “compulsive buying disorder” – and apparently, it was not the goods people wanted, but the frisson or, scientifically speaking, the release of adrenalin they experienced as they approached the till. Or, if shopping from home, when they pressed “buy”.
Jane disliked the current craze for defining greedy or irrational behaviour as an illness. Apparently, in the case of shopaholics, excessive buying was the result of an inability to tolerate negative feelings. Fucking nonsense, as Eddie would have said during the period, a few months before she moved into The Spruce
s, when her conversation was peppered with expletives. One of the advantages of living alone was that you could swear to your heart’s content. If Jane’s neighbours could hear her they would be shocked to the core. They thought she was a dried-up old spinster – how wrong they were – but “fucking” was not her word of choice. It was over-used. Swearing like a trooper, although these days it was builders. Jane had once heard a builder say, “Move that fucking rubbish, you fucking fucker.” On the other hand, Mark and Lee, still working on next door’s loft conversion, were extremely well-mannered, and as considerate as their job allowed them to be.
Time to pay a visit to Dave in his workshop. To her shame, she was almost as curious as Simmy to discover what had befallen her mother. Dave was unlikely to tell her the truth but she might be able to persuade him what a bad effect his silence was having on his daughter. If Corinne was right, and she had drowned, why not tell the child? She would understand.
When she found Dave, he was cleaning a copper coal scuttle.
‘Sorry to intrude.’ Jane pushed open the workshop door. ‘Time for a quick word?’
He yawned. ‘Take a pew.’
His legs were curled under his metal chair and his feet moved in time to the music. Turned down low, which was a relief. Perhaps he was always relaxed when he was in the workshop. Perhaps there was another reason. He had worried Noel would tell Simmy the truth about her mother’s death. Now it would remain a secret.
Jane took a pew, literally. It must have come from a church that had given up the ghost. It was dusty, possibly oily, and she hoped it wouldn’t mark her skirt, since it was one she was rather attached to.
The workshop was a stone’s throw from the house, almost literally, in a gap between two houses in the adjoining road. Jane had no idea why the ramshackle place had been put up there. Had a bomb dropped during the war? Possibly a row of garages had been turned into one long shed.
‘I knew you bought and sold furniture,’ she said, ‘but I hadn’t realised ...’ She pointed at the coal scuttle.
‘Came across it at an auction.’
‘ The one you attended the day Noel ... will it fetch a good price?’
He kept his head down, rubbing away. ‘How can I help?’
‘Oh. Yes. I wondered if you saw Noel go into your house.’
‘I left just after one.’ He looked up to make sure she had grasped the significance of the time. ‘Old couple who died within days of each other. Some other stuff too, but mostly it was a house clearance. Cops asked where I’d been. Asked you too, I expect.’
‘I think Corinne may have been the last person who saw him.’
‘How’s she doing?’
‘Much as you’d expect.’ She was going to add: “I have a feeling she’s tougher than we think,” but decided against it. ‘Poor Simmy was very shocked. Well, we all were. Gus was out too, taking photographs. Birds and insects. For a competition, I think.’ She was talking too fast, swallowing her words. ‘You know, the smell of this place could easily become addictive. Wood and varnish, and something else. Methylated spirits, is it?’
‘Loft conversion’s going to be let to two blokes in a band.’
‘Yes, you said. Are you sure? Mrs Garcia told you?’
‘Noise is likely to reach your house too.’
Jane sighed. ‘I doubt if anything has been fixed up yet. Still finishing touches to be completed, decorating and such.’
Dave gave a hollow laugh. ‘Vibration through the floor. When Noel told Gus ...’
‘When? When did Noel tell him?’
‘Day before the accident.’
Jane sat on her hands to stop them shaking. Dave knew why she was there and was going to make it as difficult as possible for her. Blood from a stone. Should she tell him she knew his wife had drowned? That Corinne had told her? ‘Simmy talks to me sometimes.’
‘So you said.’
‘I’m glad she’s friendly with Arthur. He’s a nice boy, thoughtful.’
‘Boys his age are never “nice”.’ He reached for his tin of tobacco.
‘Anyway, I just wanted to say, it would help if you could talk to Simmy about her mother. I’ve no idea what happened, it’s not my business.’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘Yes, well, I’d better go.’ She had lost her nerve, despised herself. ‘Rousseau will be wanting his dinner. If he comes into your garden, let me know.’
Dave turned over the coal scuttle, inspecting it for any stains he might have missed. ‘Cats have territories. So do human beings, but with human beings they’re in their heads. No-go areas and watch out anyone who tries to invade them.’
Was he having a dig at her, or was he dropping another heavy hint about Gus’ response to the threat of a pop group practising above his head? Was it even true that Noel had talked to Gus the day before he died? Dave might have a good reason for pinning the crime on his neighbour.
‘Just before I go —’
‘You put ideas in Sim’s head.’
‘What makes you say that?’ His voice had a mocking tone and Jane reacted angrily. ‘Why can’t you put her mind at rest. She only wants to know what happened. No, it’s no good looking like that. I tell her to talk to you but she says you won’t listen, won’t answer her questions.’
He struck a match.
‘It’s preying on her mind.’ Now she had started she was going to see it through. ‘Making her imagine all kind of things.’
‘What things?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She sat down, this time on a chair.
The cigarette had gone out. Dave struck another match. ‘Pity about Noel. Cliff Accident by Eileen Dover. I leaned ov—’
‘Yes, I’ve heard it before.’
‘What about this one then? Rusty Bedsprings by I. P. Knightly?’
‘Please talk to Simmy. I expect she’s mentioned the computer game she and Arthur are planning. Based on Greek myths. Poor Noel is a rapist and pillager although I daresay what happened has put an end to that particular game.’
‘What about you? Do you figure in it?’ Dave stood up, rubbing his back. Simmy was going to be taller than her father, and where Dave’s eyes were deep-set, Simmy’s were large and spaced well-apart. Simmy said there were no photographs of her mother in their house and, for the first time, it crossed Jane’s mind Dave might not be her biological father. Was that what all the secrecy was about?
‘We were on holiday,’ he said, ‘in Cornwall.’
Jane opened her mouth but he put up a hand to stop her. ‘I’d hired a boat.’ He held a match to his roll-up. It took a long time to get going. ‘Wind got up and it started to rain.’ He closed his eyes, remembering. ‘We should never have started out, but, as usual, I thought I knew best.’ He balanced his roll-up on the edge of a table, an old one, pitted and scratched, a permanent fixture in the workshop. ‘Water was rough and there were currents.’
‘You were staying in Cornwall, you say?’
He stared at her. ‘Do you want to hear or not?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sorry.’
‘I thought I could save them. I tried to save Cass. Tried to save them both.’
‘The boat overturned?’
‘She could swim but it was cold and ... Sim was only two, so I had to ... I thought Cass’d be all right, thought she’d be able to make it to the shore.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Jane felt shivery. ‘But you saved Simmy. Oh, Dave, how dreadful, what a tragedy. If I’d known ... I wish I’d known.’
‘Moving here was supposed to be a fresh start. Simmy attended a day nursery until she was old enough to start at school. Better than spending time with me.’
‘No, don’t say that. She’s a sweet girl, a credit to you.’
‘Now you know why I can’t tell her. She’d never forgive me. I suppose I could have made up a story; a traffic accident, fatal illness.’ The roll-up fell off the table. He stamped on it, covering his face with his hands.
‘It wasn’t your fault, D
ave. It was no one’s fault.’ It was the first time she had seen him show any emotion, apart from mild irritation, or once or twice a flash of anger when Noel announced how another loft was going to be converted.
‘I told Simmy when she was little, when she was too young to understand, but ... since then ... it’s never seemed the right time ... she never asked, not until ...’
‘Corinne says Noel read about the accident in the local paper, when he was staying in Polperro. I don’t know if he said anything to Simmy. Or Corinne did. No, I’m sure it wasn’t Corinne.’
‘You thought I’d tossed him off the balcony.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Didn’t shed many tears when I heard what’d happened. He’d promised not to tell Corinne but —’
‘And I’m sure he kept his promise. I’m so sorry, Dave, but please talk to Simmy, she’s a sweet girl, she’ll understand, I know she will. If it had been possible, you would have saved both of them. I’m so sorry. It was just one of those terrible accidents that nobody —’
The workshop door was flung open and Simmy rushed at Dave and wrapped her arms round him, almost knocking him off his chair. She must have been listening outside. How much had she heard? Enough.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Jane murmured, ‘so dreadfully sorry.’ But she was not needed anymore. It was time to leave them in peace. Dave hadn’t killed Noel – she was almost certain of it – but somebody had.
THIRTY-SIX
Jane sat in the garden, staring at the flowers. Begonias, snapdragons, foxgloves, and a blue morning glory that had wound its way up the drainpipe next to the water butt. The euphorbia – Eddie’s choice, not hers – was getting out of hand. Fetching a pair of secateurs, Jane held it back with one hand and snipped with the other.
Rousseau was missing, again, but she had more important things to think about. It was one of those days when the whole world seemed against her. At times like this, she became so self-absorbed she forgot other people had their own troubles, and the nice woman from number fifteen might have failed to smile because she was worrying about her health, or her finances, or any number of other problems.
