‘At least she’s not the only member of the family to have made a spectacle of herself at the school,’ Will said.
‘That was uncalled for,’ Charlotte protested. ‘If you remember, I was trying to do something similar when I accosted that man outside the school gates. My intentions were good, even if the outcome was embarrassing.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Will said gently. ‘I’m just really bothered by all of this. It’s not like Lucia. And this chap with the tattoo, he sounds like he might be trouble.’
‘You can’t dismiss people because of the way they look,’ Olli said.
‘I know that Olli, I see enough of it at the college. It's hard for us oldies, you know. Me and your mum have managed to make it to our fifties without having anything pierced, dyed or tattooed. When we were young, people dressed like that were punk rockers, and they were often damned violent as well. This guy is as likely to be the local vicar, but I can’t help but be concerned. If he was the local vicar, Lucia wouldn’t be behaving like this, would she?’
‘I guess not,’ Olli admitted.
‘How did the school deal with it?’ Charlotte asked.
‘As well as could be expected,’ Olli replied. ‘Lucia was hiding in the toilets. The school counsellor went to find her and brought her to see the head teacher. They patched me up in sickbay and then we had an inquest. They couldn’t raise you or dad on your mobile phones, so they told Lucia they were going to suspend her for one week. It’s a bit more than a week, actually; it’s the remainder of this week and all of next week.’
‘The letter is over there,’ Will said, nodding towards the kitchen counter.
‘Are you okay, Olli?’ Charlotte asked. ‘Did you get hurt?’
‘No, I’m fine; it was only a slight knock. You know what school’s like. They had to record it all in the accident book, check me for concussion, make sure I’m not allergic to plasters and all the rest of it. They were just covering their arses.’
There was silence as they all considered the events of the day.
‘I’m going to head back to my room if that’s okay?’ Olli said. ‘Homework waits for no man!’
He left them in the kitchen and Charlotte pulled up a chair opposite Will.
‘What a day!’ she said, grateful to sit down. ‘I’m ready for bed.’
‘We’re not done just yet,’ Will said, looking up at her. ‘I need to speak to you about Nigel Davies. Why do you appear to be happier spending time with him than with your own family at the moment?’
Chapter Fourteen
Day Four: Friday
Charlotte was feeling guilty when the alarm woke her up on Friday morning. It felt like she was failing everybody. There were fires all around her that needed putting out and she hadn’t managed to extinguish any of them. A morning in the kitchen with Isla, serving the guests and chatting about their planned excursions for the day, was just what she needed.
‘Thanks for covering for me yesterday, Isla,’ she said, as she fastened a clean pinafore. The guest house worked like clockwork most days, enabling her to come and go as she pleased. She was aware Isla was becoming slower and, in spite of her vow to die in the job, it had struck Charlotte that she ought to consider some succession planning. She needed to think about getting that immense manual inside Isla’s head transferred to a new and younger member of staff; but where would she find somebody as dependable as her?
‘No problem,’ Isla replied, managing the hob like a pro, ensuring that the fried eggs were runny, the bacon perfectly grilled and the toast crisp but not burnt, just as the guests preferred it. ‘How are we looking for bookings over the weekend?’
‘Fairly busy,’ said Charlotte. ‘Just one room free, otherwise it’s a full house. Barry McMillan’s room was professionally cleaned yesterday while I was out, so that’s also available now.’
It felt like Isla had something on her mind. Charlotte lingered in the kitchen a little longer than she needed to, giving her friend ample opportunity to get it off her chest.
‘You know our little chat the other day?’ Isla asked, not meeting Charlotte’s eyes. She pretended instead to be intent scooping the hot oil from the frying pan over a fried egg. ‘This chap wants his egg hard you said, that’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Mr Levens, he likes his yolk completely hard. Like rubber is how he described it.’
‘I didn’t mean to be evasive about your questions. It’s just that… well, my early days working at this guest house were not all as happy as they are now. I used to come here as a customer too. The downstairs lounge used to be a restaurant; it was very busy back then. The dates get confused sometimes, that’s all.’
‘I didn’t mean to be pushy, Isla. I’m sorry if you felt I was. We’ve had a lot of pressure on with Barry McMillan’s death, and there are other things going on with the family, as I’m sure you already know. Lucia is proving a bit of a handful at the moment. My mind’s elsewhere, that’s all. I’m sorry.’
‘I’m worried about George,’ Isla said, out of the blue. ‘I think he’s keeping something secret from me. I’m worried that he might be ill.’
‘Oh, no, I’m sure he’s not,’ Charlotte began, then recalled her private conversation with George. Flustered, she couldn’t stop herself uttering the next words.
‘I’m sure he’s okay; he certainly hasn’t said anything to me.’
It was another lie. It was getting harder to keep track of them all.
‘Please don’t keep anything from me, if he’s trying to protect me,’ Isla said. ‘I want to know if there’s anything wrong. I never thought I’d find this joy with someone like George so late in life. If it’s going to be torn away from me, I want to know. I can’t face losing him. I couldn’t live with it again.’
Charlotte waited to see if she was going to say any more. Every now and then she would sense a deep sadness in Isla. She saw it at that moment, as she dished up Mr Levens’ rubbery egg. She could only speculate as to its cause, but it might be something family-related, most likely a child. She was certain Isla had had at least one child from the references she made to Lucia and Olli. She’d been around children; she knew what they were like.
The phone in the hallway started to ring.
‘Can you whisk those out to the lounge, Isla? I’d better take that.’
It was just after nine o’clock. Will and Olli had departed already, and Lucia hadn’t shown her face yet. That suited Charlotte. She’d take Lucia out for lunch after the press conference. They could have a proper chat then. She’d follow all the advice in the books; no confrontation, no accusations, just active listening as they referred to it.
Charlotte went to answer the phone.
‘Hello, Lakes View Guest House; Charlotte Grayson speaking.’
‘Hello, is that Charlotte Grayson as in Will and Charlotte Grayson?’
It was a woman’s voice with a strong hint of a north-east accent.
‘Yes, that’s me. How can I help you?’
‘I’m sorry it’s short notice, but do you have a room available tonight and Saturday? I may extend beyond that, but I’ll decide when I’m there, if that’s okay?’
Charlotte consulted the bookings. She could accommodate the booking and, except for Barry McMillan’s room, that gave them a full house for the weekend. She’d decide where to put this guest later. She was relieved that they didn’t have any events in the lounge that weekend. It was always all hands to the pumps whenever that happened.
‘Yes, I can book you in on those dates. If you decide to stay, we’ve also got a couple of rooms free throughout the week. Whose name shall I book it in?’
‘Mrs Bowker. Daisy Bowker.’
Charlotte took down her details, went through the credit card procedures and secured the booking in the online management system.
‘Just one last question,’ Charlotte said. ‘What’s your reason for visiting Morecambe? Leisure or business?’
‘A bit of both,’ Daisy replied. ‘I’m resear
ching my family history. I’ve got a relative whose last known whereabouts were in Morecambe. I want to see if I can track him down.’
Charlotte’s interest was piqued.
‘Now that sounds interesting,’ she said. ‘We have a lovely local library and I can recommend the local historian to you; he’s excellent. Jon Rogers is his name. He seems to know everything there is to know about Morecambe. I’m not sure if he works Saturdays, mind you.’
‘Well actually, I wanted to book in at your guest house for a reason. I read about you and your husband online in a recent article about the guest house. I don’t think you’ve had it very long, have you?’
Charlotte tensed up. This woman had sought them out rather than selecting them at random from a list of search results, as most guests did. She hesitated as she answered, nervous to find out more.
‘Yes, we’ve been here for some time now. What was it that caught your eye? That story has been read by a lot of people. It’s amazing how far the local newspaper travels.’
‘Well, I saw that you and your husband met at the Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp in the eighties.’
Charlotte’s stomach tightened and she started to feel sick.
‘Yes… that’s right. It’s been demolished now; they’re building houses on it.’
‘So I’ve read,’ Daisy continued. ‘It looks like it’s a big project, from what I’ve been able to work out. I’m trying to find somebody connected with the holiday camp, but it’s proving to be quite some task.’
Charlotte tried to silence the alarm bells that were sounding inside her head. Thousands of people had passed through the Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp over the years. Some were staff, but most were holiday-makers. She scolded herself for being too jumpy. This woman would come and go; there was nothing to worry about.
‘Have you managed to track down the electoral roll or the phone books from the time? They can be useful,’ Charlotte suggested.
‘Oh yes, I’ve been through all the usual channels,’ Daisy replied. ‘I’m used to doing research like this. Most people are much easier to find, but my half-brother is proving to be the proverbial needle in the haystack. He moved from Jesmond in 1984 and then I lose track of him completely. It’s unusual for somebody to slip below the radar like that, particularly in these days of digital records. He even seemed to evade the Poll Tax, and that took some doing.’
Charlotte knew the answer to her question already, but she had to ask it; she had to know. They hadn’t even considered the possibility of a marriage breakdown, a broken family and a half-brother or half-sister. That prospect had passed them by completely.
‘It sounds like you’ve got quite a task ahead of you,’ Charlotte said, trying as best she could to keep her voice steady. ‘Sandy Beaches was such a huge place, it’s unlikely that I’d have met him. What was his name, just to be certain?’
‘It was Bruce. My half-brother is called Bruce Craven.’
Chapter Fifteen
It was as much as Charlotte could do not to scream down the phone when Daisy Bowker revealed her identity. She needed to speak to Will, but he’d be at the college, either chatting in the staff room or with his students already. This was getting too close. The woman would be in their home. She could almost feel Bruce Craven’s breath against the back of her neck. It was paralysing.
‘Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Isla’s voice shook Charlotte out of her silence.
‘I’m fine, Isla, just another booking. Is George coming to the guest house any time soon? I could do with having a word with him.’
She had to warn Will and George. They needed to get their stories straight. Daisy Bowker had to meet a dead end when she visited Morecambe. If she didn’t, who knew what a storm she might create?
‘You know George. He’ll be in and out, no doubt passing when he takes Una out for her walk. Shall I tell him you need to see him?’
‘Yes, please do that,’ Charlotte said. ‘It would be good if he could pop in before Friday evening.’
Daisy Bowker would arrive at the hotel after four o’clock the next day. She’d want to know all about the holiday camp and their time there. They would have to agree to answer honestly, up to the point where Bruce disappeared that day. And they couldn’t say a thing about her brief fling with Bruce. Daisy would never let it go if she discovered that connection. She’d ask all sorts of questions: what was he like, what did he talk about, who were his friends? It would never end. Sooner or later, they’d be exposed.
Daisy Bowker had to hit a brick wall when she visited. If she didn’t, it would all blow up in their faces.
Charlotte checked the time. She had over an hour before Nigel Davies came to pick her up. Will had given her a hard time about her new friend the night before. He wasn’t suggesting an affair, but he was concerned about the amount of time she was spending with him at the expense of being there for Olli and Lucia.
‘They need us to be more available, now they’re teenagers,’ he said. ‘The toddler stage is easy by comparison; the trouble they can get in at their age is far more harmful.’
Charlotte brought him up to date with what Jenna had said. She also explained why she was like a dog with a bone over Barry McMillan and Fred Walker.
‘It’s all getting too close for comfort, Will. This situation makes us vulnerable. The more we get involved with the police, the more likely it is that one of makes a slip. I’m working with Nigel to protect our family, not to abandon you all.’
In the end, Will got it. She even got an apology from him. He’d felt pangs of jealousy, and he had—only for a moment—wondered if there was anything going on between her and Nigel. There wasn’t. Charlotte was certain of that in her own mind. Nor did she think that Nigel was attracted to her. But there was a professional spark there; they worked well together, as colleagues might.
She found the journalistic process absorbing. It was like being in the police, only without the same level of information about suspects and evidence. She enjoyed the increased access that Nigel got as a reporter, and the excitement too.
The guest house brought in the money that they needed, helping her transition from a near-nervous breakdown to being a fully productive member of the family once again. It had spared her from having to return to teaching to help pay the bills. But the investigative work she’d done with Nigel Davies fired her brain, providing a glimmer of something else, possibly a change in direction.
Charlotte cleared the dining room, wiped the tables and checked on Isla. She was chatting to the cleaners who were just clocking on for the day. They helped with the set-up for the evening meals while guests were clearing out of their rooms.
‘I’m heading upstairs,’ Charlotte said. ‘Give me a shout if you need me.’
There was something she wanted to do while Olli was out, without his knowledge. She didn’t want to spook the poor kid. He’d had enough to deal with after his run-in with Lucia.
She was pleased to see that Lucia wasn’t out of her bed yet. With a day off school, she’d no doubt be in there until midday. Charlotte left a note on the kitchen table asking her daughter to text her if she wanted to meet up for a late lunch in town at one o’clock or thereabouts.
Then, feeling like a burglar, she took a torch from underneath the sink and crept along to Olli’s bedroom door. Slowly and as quietly as possible, she pushed down the door handle and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. This was Olli’s private sanctuary; she knew better than to go prying around a teenager’s bedroom. She moved over to the half-door that led to the roof space.
Placing the torch on the floor, Charlotte knelt on the carpet and opened up the door. They’d thrown her old teaching folders and lesson notes in there when they moved in. She wanted them out of the way, so she wouldn’t have to look at them.
Olli ran light on possessions; his life was in the cloud. No more were the books, CDs, LPs and videos of her youth. Most of Olli’s possessions were stored on his l
aptop hard drive, so apart from clothing and school textbooks, his room was sparse.
She’d forgotten what the roof space looked like. She seldom entered Olli’s room and barely had cause to think much about that space in the building. She pressed the light switch and was delighted that the bulb still worked. It illuminated the area well enough, but there were still some dark areas in there, for which she’d need the torch.
Charlotte was just about able to stand up straight once she was inside. It was tight with boxes, so she began to move them out into Olli’s room, to make space to move around properly. She didn’t even know what she was looking for; she just needed to get a sense of what had happened to Piper in that place.
Before long, she’d moved all the boxes out. It felt good to be safely away from the clutches of teaching and able to throw all those things into the tip now. She’d move them into the living room, then get rid of them as soon as possible. It would feel cathartic throwing them into a skip at the local waste disposal unit. Good riddance.
With the roof-space now empty, except for a few bits and pieces that Olli had saved from his toddler years, Charlotte turned on the torch and began to have a good look around. The joists were boarded over, so there was no trying to avoid putting her foot through the ceiling. The roof felt above her head was dusty, and the red brick wall housing the chimney breast was dulled and home to several cobwebs.
She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to be a terrified teenager, restrained and no doubt gagged to ensure her silence. There was no place to wash, just a simple sink in the corner of Olli’s room which looked like it had been there for some years. The half-door would have been closed. If her captors were especially cruel, they’d have turned off the lights and left her in darkness. It didn’t bear thinking about. The poor girl must have been scared out of her mind.
Circle of Lies Page 8
