I took the opportunity to make my escape, and fled.
Freddy came home from his first day back at work in a positively cheerful mood, swooping Ivy into his arms from where she had been laying contently on the conservatory floor beneath her baby gym, guarded by Pippadee.
‘I’m not going to face any charges,’ he announced. ‘The police phoned today.’
‘Oh, that’s such a relief,’ Pearl cried.
‘Who did you speak to?’ I demanded.
‘I dunno, I didn’t get the guy’s name, he just said I wasn’t going to be charged with anything, although I might be called to give evidence if it goes to court.’
‘But won’t that be dangerous?’ I demanded, ‘Testifying against an international drug smuggling gang?’
‘Would you rather I was charged with aiding and abetting them?’ Freddy retorted. ‘How would that look when I apply for full custody of Ivy?’
It seemed as if the tables had been turned. He was now being the sensible one and I was acting totally irrationally.
‘Oh, and he also said you’re not to worry.’ He added it almost as an afterthought.
‘Who said I wasn’t to worry?’
‘The guy on the phone,’ Freddy replied.
I stared at him. ‘What?’
‘He said, tell your sister not to worry. Although I didn’t think you were going to be charged with attempting to drown Pete Wendle, not now he’s come out as part of Max’s little gang.’
Nick. At last a glimmer of hope. It had to be Nick. Not to worry was pretty ambiguous. More clues would have been helpful. ‘Did you recognise his voice?’
‘Oh, I know what you’re thinking,’ Freddy said, ‘but it wasn’t your Nick. He was Northern, wasn’t he? This guy definitely didn’t have an accent. In fact, he sounded quite posh.’
‘Nick can sound posh when he wants to,’ I argued. ‘Give me your phone. I want to check the number.’
‘The number was withheld,’ Freddy said, shaking his head. He tossed the phone towards me. ‘Sorry, Becs, but you’re more than welcome to check, if you don’t believe me.’
I didn’t want to believe him. Nick knew where I was. He knew how to contact me, so why hadn’t he? Didn’t he realise how much I cared? Didn’t he understand how much his silence hurt? One cryptic clue that he was still alive – if that was it – in nearly a week wasn’t enough.
‘You know what you should do,’ Pearl said, patting my arm in solidarity. ‘Work, sweetheart. It was my cure-all. Immerse yourself in your job. Concentrate on finishing Stella’s memoirs and starting that biography Anita’s passed on. Start at eight in the morning and work ‘til eight at night. It got me through my dark days. It might do the same for you.’
I didn’t want to admit Pearl might be right, but two days later the pain of ‘losing’ Nick had been temporarily lessened by a burst of enthusiasm for completing Stella’s story. I was actually itching to get started on my fictitious family boat-building saga, but I couldn’t justify beginning that until I cracked on with my paid work.
I kept my appointment with Tilly Markham, a slim petite woman in her mid-thirties. We met on neutral ground at a coffee bar in Southampton. Tilly explained that Tristram and his sister had been told by their father that Stella had wanted nothing to do with them. He had fed the children lies, cut Stella out of their lives, and ensured they believed she had chosen Chloe over them.
With everything else around me falling apart, it didn’t occur to me not to try and reunite Stella’s family.
‘From what I understand, it wasn’t like that at all,’ I told Tilly. ‘Stella desperately wanted to keep in touch, but Owen wouldn’t let her. He made a big thing out of his cheating accusation, which was nothing but a technical complaint by another team. And then, when he’d failed to discredit her for that, he used her relationship with Chloe to turn everyone against her. Friends, relatives. They all took his side.’
‘I had no idea,’ Tilly said. She had brought along her daughter Ella – a few months older than Ivy, and equally as placid and adorable. I had to stem the tide of broodiness; over the years I’d told myself I didn’t want children. I was self-sufficient, self-contained, I’d had Freddy to lavish with affection, I had my godchildren, but Ivy’s close proximity, coupled with Rita’s pregnancy, had awoken those dormant maternal feelings. My embittered hormones had become rampant.
‘Do you think Tristram would be prepared to meet Stella?’ I asked, watching enviously as Tilly bounced Ella on her knee. ‘And what about Emily? Are you in contact with her, too?’
‘Oh yes, she’s a nurse in Portsmouth. Neither Tris nor Em have much to do with their father, to be honest. We see him at family occasions, birthdays, Christmas, but he’s not the easiest man to get on with. I don’t think Emily would take a great deal of persuasion to come round, to agree to meet her mother. I can’t believe we left things as they were, we should have been more pro-active. The trouble is, the longer you leave a wound to fester, the worse it gets.’
‘I can relate to that,’ I said.
‘I think Tristram should see Stella first, before we involve Emily,’ Tilly suggested. ‘Boys do tend to be more forgiving, don’t they?’
‘Do they?’ I had no idea. I offered to have a chat with Tristram to prepare the ground. ‘Do you think we can arrange to meet up again in a couple of weeks?’
‘Good idea,’ Tilly said. ‘I’ll have to check my shift pattern. Tris and I are juggling jobs and childcare. We never seem to have the same days off, but I’ll give you a call when I get home and I’ve studied the diaries.’
‘You work in the prison service, too?’ I asked.
Tilly laughed. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m in the police. I’m a family liaison officer on the island. I work with victims, people caught up in crimes, those left bereaved. Believe it or not, holding families together in times of strife is supposed to be my specialty.’
‘Oh, I believe it,’ I said, because I believed in karma, in good things happening to good people, and I had been good. I had been patient and industrious, and I’d concentrated on my job. But there was only so much weight one pair of shoulders could bear, and I couldn’t let the opportunity slip through my hands. ‘Before you rush off,’ I said, ‘I know it’s a bit of a long shot, but I don’t suppose I could ask you a favour?’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Six Weeks Later
Wednesday lunchtimes were always quiet in The Ship of Fools. I sat outside on the terrace overlooking the river, soaking up the late summer sunshine.
‘You want another one?’ Stella asked, picking up my empty glass and tipping out a drunken wasp.
I glanced at my watch. ‘Maybe just a small one,’ I said.
It was only my second visit to the pub since Pearl’s wedding, and Stella was very keen to retain my custom.
‘Have it on the house,’ she said. ‘It’s good to have you back in circulation.’
It felt good to be back, too. I’d hardly left Rivermede in the last few weeks, apart from taking the occasional walk along the river with Ivy, or to stock up on groceries. Judy’s Romanian cleaner remained on permanent loan, but the house was proving far too big for Pearl to manage on her own and I was already resenting the crown of head chef. With JJ’s legal bill likely to run into thousands, Jack had resigned himself to selling the marina. I didn’t see why Rivermede couldn’t go under the auctioneer’s hammer, too. Freddy was hurriedly taking driving lessons, but for now JJ was acting chauffeur.
Our doorstep conversation regarding his paternity issues remained unresolved. Fortunately for me, but sadly for her, Norah Morland had taken to her bed the day after JJ and I had had our confrontation. Norah had never fully recovered from the trauma of her collision with the cesspit evacuation lorry, and she had subsequently passed peacefully away in her sleep. By the time JJ returned from a futile trip to Jersey to save his marriage, Norah’s bungalow had been cleared by the council and all evidence of JJ’s relationship to Gerry Kimble destroyed.
‘Have Pearl and Jack started the honeymoon yet?’ Stella asked.
‘Yes. I finally managed to convince her it was safe for her to go,’ I smiled. ‘They’re cruising around the Far East as we speak.’ I glanced at my watch again.
‘You’re looking anxious, Becca,’ Stella said, ‘are you sure everything is all right?’
‘You know me,’ I smiled. ‘I can always find something to worry about.’
‘Well, at least you’re putting weight back on,’ Stella remarked. ‘When we first saw you a few weeks back, you looked positively peaky.’
‘Don’t tell Pearl,’ I laughed. ‘She’ll have me back on the pre-wedding diet. Maybe I shouldn’t have that second drink after all.’
‘Go on with you, it’s only a soda water,’ Stella grinned. ‘I’m bringing it right out,’
She disappeared back into the pub. Out on the river, a lone canoeist was heading upstream, paddling against the outgoing tide. Freddy had talked about buying a kayak, something he and Ivy could do together when she got older. He seemed quite settled now in Kerridge, bearing little resemblance to the feckless young man who had arrived from London just months before. He’d requisitioned some space in Aidan Chapman’s workshop, disappearing for hours with Ivy in tow. Apparently, he’d already sold two pieces of ‘nautical art’. He’d even asked Stella about renting The Solstice. ‘We can’t stay at Rivermede forever,’ he said. ‘We need a place of our own.’
Pearl had looked dismayed when he’d mentioned the idea of moving out. ‘But who is going to look after Ivy for you, when you’re at work?’ she demanded.
‘She can go to nursery. There’s one in the village,’ Freddy said. ‘Or I’ll pay a childminder.’
‘Ivy should be with family,’ Pearl was adamant. ‘Becca, don’t you agree? Family is always best.’
I conceded my mother had a point. ‘If you want to be more independent, you could always move into the stable block,’ I suggested.
‘How would that help?’ Fred asked. ‘You’ve only got one bedroom.’
‘Maybe I could move out to The Solstice instead.’
The perfect writer’s retreat. The idea took hold and refused to go away, sustaining me during long lonely days. In between my furtive scribblings about scandalous south coast river folk, I made a start on transcribing Skype interviews with Ian Tate, who revelled in recounting anecdotes from his trade union glory days, naming and shaming politicians still alive and those long-dead, careers he had ruined and wives he had seduced.
The tide was high, and the River Deane looked its best as it curved through the countryside, the lost reminders of its past, just like its more recent illegal activities, well hidden beneath its still waters. It was almost impossible to imagine this serene stretch of coastline had paid host to Max van der Plaast’s illicit business dealings and the horrific events of his capture.
‘Here you go,’ Stella said, placing the glass of soda water on the table. ‘The last of the big drinkers. Are you going to start quizzing again soon? The Twitchers need you. It gets boring when the Bloodhounds win every week.’
‘I might,’ I said. ‘I could do with some light relief.’
‘My book getting you down?’ Stella looked put out.
‘No, you’re nearly finished,’ I assured her. ‘I’ve a couple of other things on the go right now, but the one I should be concentrating on, the one I’m getting paid for, is proving to be not nearly so enjoyable.’
A car pulled into the pub’s empty car park.
‘More customers,’ Stella said. ‘A bit late in the day, but I best get back to the bar.’
‘No, Stella, wait here,’ I said. I recognised the couple getting out of the car, even if Stella didn’t. Tilly carried Ella on her hip while Tristram looked up and caught my eye. I beckoned him over.
‘Friends of yours?’ Stella raised her eyebrows.
‘We’ve only become acquainted quite recently,’ I said. ‘But I believe you might have met before.’
As the apprehensive trio made their way onto the terrace, realisation dawned. Stella reached out and clutched hold of the table. I stood up and took hold of her arm for support.
Tilly spoke first. Tristram seemed equally as lost for words as his mother. ‘Hello Stella,’ she said. ‘My name is Tilly, and this is your granddaughter, Ella.’
‘My granddaughter?’ Stella turned to me, her face a mixture of perplexed, befuddled joy. ‘I’m a grandmother?’ She edged around the table.
She didn’t need my support any longer. ‘Oh my goodness, my dear boy, how you’ve grown.’ She stumbled forwards while Tristram stooped to take her in his arms.
‘Hi Mum,’ his voice broke. Stella laughed, and then she cried, and then she laughed again. She looked to each of us in turn, incredulous, delighted, overcome. ‘Oh my, I’m a grandma,’ she repeated again.
Tristram placed his daughter in Stella’s arms.
‘Oh Becca, you did this? You did this for me?’ Stella couldn’t control her emotions, her voice quivered, her eyes filled with tears. ‘You found them? Where’s Chloe, can you go and fetch Chloe?’ She shook her head, wiped away the tears, sniffed. ‘No, not Chloe. You won’t want to meet Chloe, will you? Not the right thing to do, must do the right thing.’
‘No, Mum, it’s fine,’ Tristram said. ‘We’d love to meet Chloe, wouldn’t we, Tilly? But first, I think what we’d all like now is a drink.’
‘Silly me,’ Stella said, balancing Ella on one hip and wiping her face with her apron. ‘Of course we must have a drink. At least you’re in the right place for that. Come inside. Oh my goodness, Becca. How did you keep a secret like that?’
‘I’m very good at keeping secrets,’ I smiled.
She continued to hold Ella while Tristram followed her into the pub. Tilly hesitated.
‘Are you coming in with us?’ she asked.
I shook my head. ‘I think it’s a private moment,’ I replied. ‘I’m going to slip away, but we’ll be in touch, yes?’
Tilly nodded. ‘Did you get any messages?’
‘Oh yes,’ I said, ‘thank you.’
‘Good luck,’ she said, and gave me a hug before following her family into the pub.
I’d orchestrated one happy ending. Now it was time to write my own. Two weeks after I’d first mentioned my predicament to Tilly Markham, she’d sent me an email. I’ve found your man. I’ve been assured that he is alive and kicking and is currently recuperating at a rehab centre in the north of England.
Tilly had told me not to raise my hopes. She confirmed Uncle Laurie’s supposition that Nick couldn’t afford to jeopardise an ongoing investigation by communicating with potential witnesses. The whole case against the drug smuggling cartel could collapse. Nor could he afford to risk his own personal safety. A man like van der Plaast had far-reaching tentacles into the criminal underworld. Nick’s identity had to be protected.
She had been sympathetic and realistic, promising to pull strings to find out what she could, but nothing more. As a parting shot, she added that if our relationship was as strong as I believed, a man like Nick, used to covert operations, would find some way of contacting me.
Be patient, she urged, these things take time.
I checked my phone daily, hourly, every fifteen minutes, waiting, hoping, daring myself not to look. I interrogated Freddy when he came home from work to ascertain if he’d received any more messages. I reminded myself each morning of the sensitivity of the situation, of Nick’s injuries, of the whole hundred and one reasons why I hadn’t heard from him, and then I received a new follower on Twitter - ATwitcher. At last the lines of communication were open.
As snippets of information began to filter through, I felt guilty that I’d thought of my own predicament as opposed to Nick’s. His injuries had been life-threatening. He’d lost a great deal of blood. It was little wonder I hadn’t heard from him.
He wasn’t physically able to leave hospital to come and see me, but as soon as he could, he would, h
e promised. He could only text during Q’s visits, borrowing his brother’s phone. His direct messages made me smile; he sent emojis and Snapchat photos which made me feel lightheaded, like a teenager in the first throes of love. During one of Q’s visits, he was able to make an excuse to visit the bathroom, and we were able to talk at last. The very sound of his voice, so solid and reassuring, sent waves of relief crashing through my body. My knees nearly buckled beneath me. We were going to be okay.
‘How long before I can see you, Nick?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know.’ Nick was honest enough not to make promises he couldn’t keep. ‘There’s all sorts of issues involved here, Becs. Police procedures.’
‘Can’t I come and visit you?’
‘I’d love you to,’ he said, ‘but they wouldn’t let you in.’
‘Can’t you sneak out and see me?’
‘I’m at the other end of the country.’
‘Can’t you fabricate an excuse? Some sort of family emergency?’
‘They know I don’t have any other family.’
‘But you do. You have me. You have us.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? Are Freddy and Pearl desperate to see me, too?’
‘Freddy and Pearl would love to see you, Nick, but that’s not what I mean. Something’s come up. Things have changed.’
The situation had changed. I was changing, rapidly. I was putting on weight and I was barely eating a thing. I couldn’t remember the date of my last period, although I’d never been particularly vigilant at keeping a check on these things. Nick and I had had unprotected sex. I was no better than Freddy.
Just before I’d set out for The Ship of Fools to reunite Stella with her son, I received the message I’d been waiting for.
‘Saturday at six. The Solstice. Q is springing me out of jail. I’ve got a twenty-four-hour pass.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I spent most of Saturday trawling through the first draft of Ian Tate’s manuscript, determined to keep my mind occupied. I took Pippadee for a long walk, far longer than she was used to – so far, in fact, that I ended up carrying her home. Ivy accompanied Freddy to Chapman’s Wharf. Rivermede was eerily empty and quiet.
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