by Agatha Frost
“Hear that, Mother?”
Janet grumbled but didn’t respond. Claire’s lips pricked into a smile as she gazed through the passenger window at the beautiful countryside passing by.
After parking in the hidden car park behind Marley’s café and the row of shops on that side of the square, they parted ways, her mother barely uttering a word.
“Your relationship with your mother reminds me of the one I had with mine,” Em commented as they walked across the car park, five feet away from Janet who had charged ahead. “Although I can see the twinkle in your eyes. Both of you. You love each other very much.”
“I do,” Claire said, smiling as her mother glanced back and offered a small wave before ducking into the post office. “She’s an odd one, but I wouldn’t change her for anything.”
“Perhaps she’s your grounding voice?” Em said as they crossed the quiet road, going up past the post office and onto Park Lane instead of into the square. “I think that’s what my mother thought she was for me, but she became my adversary.”
Though she didn’t want to, Claire couldn’t help but think about her mother’s theory as she followed Em across the road. Against her will, she was trying to find a crack in Em’s personality – although she hadn’t seen one yet.
They set off up the steep lane to the roundabout. Claire wasn’t sure where they were going, but they both stopped dead outside of the estate agents. A gritty, deep voice bellowed through the open door, turning the heads of all those in earshot. An elderly woman gasped, a group of teenagers in blazers laughed, but Em simply sighed.
“Not again,” she whispered.
Em charged into the shop without giving Claire a second to ask questions. She followed her in, glad to see Sally at one of the desks. She called her over.
“Dad!” Em cried, pulling a broad old man away from a desk. “You need to calm down and assess your behaviour!”
“Damn my behaviour, Emma!” the man cried, brushing her off. “This poisonous witch has been at her little games again! Is that the only thing you know how to do?”
Claire couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Ray Bridges, but he no longer looked anything like the man from her dad’s stories. Age had exposed him, leaving him unable to create the same air of menace he clearly wanted to exude.
“Speak, woman!” cried Ray, slapping both hands on the desk and knocking over a pot of pens; no one moved. “You didn’t seem to have any trouble spewing your nonsense in Marley’s Café yesterday. You were overheard!”
Em managed to pull Ray away from the desk long enough for Claire to see Fiona Brindle sat behind it. Back straight and shoulders relaxed, her stone-cold expression was the dictionary definition of ‘unbothered’.
“Emma, if you don’t remove him right now,” Fiona said in a loud and calm voice, “I will be forced to call the police. Knowing what we all know about your father, that’s the last thing either of you want.”
Ray let out a raspy growl, his fists clenching up by his face. Em rested her hand on one of his hands and pulled it down, his grip softening enough for her to slip her fingers through his and drag him out. His steps were reluctant, but between Em and the threat of the police, he moved all the same.
“Crikey, Claire!” Sally cried, trying to hold Claire before she could run off. “What are you getting yourself mixed up in?”
“I’ll explain later,” she said, pulling away from Sally as Em and Ray slipped from view. “Sorry!”
Claire hurried out, pulling the door shut behind her as she went. Further up the lane, Em led her father by the hand. Claire caught up at the same time they stopped in front of a concealed gate.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered as she followed them through, her steps now the reluctant ones.
Chapter Eight
The cottages on Sutton Street were some of the smallest in Northash, initially built to shelter the domestic staff of Starfall House. With only Diane and Colin counted as household staff now, the row of houses had long since ceased to perform its original purpose.
Being workers’ houses, they were small and crammed in. With no garden, the only view through the front windows was the old wall built to stop the rest of the hill sliding down and burying them. The branches hanging over the wall and limiting the sun had been a point of contention for all Claire’s neighbours when she’d lived there, although she’d been lucky enough to get light through the back, which most weren’t.
Claire gulped as continued towards the bottom of the row. She’d made a point not to visit the street since her eviction last summer after fifteen years of tenancy.
A thankful breath escaped Claire’s lips when they stopped at the door of the penultimate house. She caught up, wondering if she should peek through the window of her old cottage. Leaving had been painful, although looking back, her landlord had done her a favour. The trouble with hours being slashed at the factory started soon after, so she’d never have been able to afford the rent anyway.
Ray unlocked the front door and lumbered inside with Em’s help. Claire decided against glancing in at her old dwelling and followed them, closing the door behind her. Next door or not, the layout was identical.
A narrow, dark hallway ran to a compact galley kitchen at the bottom, with a tiny living room to the right. A steep and narrow flight of stairs went up to two bedrooms, neither particularly large, and a bathroom not much bigger than the one in the flat above the shop. It struck her just how spoiled she was living with her parents again.
Claire had kept her decorating simple and bright to create as much light as possible. She had even painted all the floorboards in the cottage white, nearly resulting in a premature eviction after only a month of renting.
Ray, on the other hand, had embraced the darkness. The walls were panelled in shiny, dark wood, and ornaments and dusty knickknacks filled every shelf and covered every surface. She followed the well-trodden path in the dark floral carpet into the sitting room, where Em was settling Ray in an armchair surrounded by stacks of books. The curtains weren’t open, and only dim table lamps illuminated the jumbled room.
“How about some tea?”
“I need something stronger!” he cried, puffing and panting, his face bright red as he tried to catch his breath. “The cheek of that woman!”
“I’ll make some tea.”
Em hurried past Claire down to the kitchen, which, even from a distance, looked filthy. Considering that a lady named Betty Spencer had been Claire’s next-door neighbour from the moment she moved in until the moment she left, Ray couldn’t have lived in the cottage long. Claire wasn’t sure if she should be impressed by how quickly it had degenerated into such a mess. Maybe her mother had a point about keeping things clean. That said, Claire wasn’t sure if her mother would have a heart attack or be excited beyond measure if she saw the state of the man’s living quarters.
While Em made tea, Claire lingered in the doorway, unsure if she should venture in. Ray hadn’t invited her inside, nor did he so much as glance at her. Instead, he stared seemingly at nothing, nostrils flared as he fought to catch his breath.
Em hurried back with a single cup of tea and placed it on a stack of books next to his chair. She perched on the sofa, leaving Claire at the door. She was grateful; the atmosphere wasn’t welcoming.
“What was all that about?” Em asked, clutching her father’s hands in hers. “Remember what we talked about? The worst reaction is an overreaction. When we consider our thoughts and process our emotions, we can make rational decisions that spare another person’s feelings.”
“Sod the woman’s feelings, Emma!” he cried, shaking his head and looking up into the corner. “She was spouting her mouth in the café yesterday, telling everyone as bold as brass that I killed Jane. Marley told me this morning when I went in for my usual tea. He didn’t want me finding out through the Chinese whispers. He’s a stand-up fella, that Marley. I have nothing against his folk whatsoever.”
“That’
s very modern, Dad.”
“As long as they don’t try to force it on me,” he said. “You know I can’t stand the food. I need to eat meat. Can’t stomach living off that vegan stuff, no offence, Em. I don’t know how you do it.”
Em chuckled and patted her father’s hand.
“Fiona had no right to say that,” she said. “I don’t like to talk ill of people, but her father’s disappearance created a cruel streak in her.”
“I would never hurt your mother,” he said, his eyes filling with tears as his bottom lip wobbled. “You know that, Emma? I wouldn’t have hurt a hair on your mother’s head.”
“I know.”
Em hurried past Claire and up the stairs, returning seconds later with half a toilet roll wrapped around her hand.
“Are we still going to meet this person?” Claire whispered as Em passed.
“We’re already here.”
“Oh.”
Claire hadn’t given much thought to who they were going to meet, but she’d assumed it would be a close friend or maybe another family member. She hadn’t expected the title of ‘closest to Jane’ to go to her lawless ex-husband.
“That woman is obsessed.” Ray blew his nose on the tissue as Em returned to her seat. “She’s never let go of the idea that I killed her damn father, and now this? I loved Jane.”
“I know that.” Em passed him the tea. “Fiona is a lost woman.”
“Lost her bloody marbles, more like!” he cried, rubbing at a nose that had obviously been broken several times and in several places with the tissue until his nostrils turned red. “The worst part is, I didn’t mind Eric. We’d play a game of pool if we were both in the pub at the same time. He was good for your mother.”
“We know that.”
“But nobody else wants to hear it!” He balled up the tissue and tossed it into an overflowing bin. “Police have already been round asking questions about Jane. They didn’t accuse me of anything, but they might as well have done. Their eyes said it all.”
“That’s why Claire is here, Dad,” Em said, beckoning Claire into the room. “She’s looking into what happened with Mum. She’s done it before.”
“You’re that candle woman, aren’t you?” He held out his hand to her, and she shook it as she passed. “I read about you in the paper. What’s your stake in all this?”
“Claire took over the tearoom,” Em answered as Claire settled onto the old sofa next to a bunched-up fur throw. “She’s turning it into a candle shop when the police return the keys.”
“I’m getting them today,” she said, resting her arm on the throw. “DI Ramsbottom called this morning.”
“That lump of a man makes the last fella look like damn Sherlock!” Ray said, nodding at Claire and pointing at the sofa next to her. “Careful of Sheeba. I think you’re sat on her tail.”
Claire flinched. A large head rose out of the fur throw, and two droopy eyes blinked at her from under shaggy hair. Realising it wasn’t a fur throw at all, she sat up, and a tail whipped out from under her. The dog panted a little, staring dreamily at Claire before flopping and tucking her head back. Claire wasn’t sure how long dogs lived, but she would have sworn Sheeba was the same age as Ray, only in canine years.
“About Eric’s disappearance,” Claire started, eager to ask questions now that she’d been accepted into the room. “Did you notice anything strange before he left?”
“Not a thing.” Ray shook his head. “If he made a run for it, he didn’t take anything with him. From what I understand, he went out for a walk one night and never came back.” He frowned. “Do you think it’s connected?”
“I don’t know,” Claire admitted, “but it keeps coming up, and my dad said I should follow my gut when patterns start . . .”
Claire’s voice trailed off, and she wished she hadn’t brought up her father. She wasn’t sure how the mention of DI Harris would go down. When Ray’s gaze narrowed on her, she felt as though he was seconds away from pressing a button to send her tumbling through a trapdoor. His eyes narrowed further before he slouched and relaxed.
“Nothing strange happened before he went missing,” Ray continued, his gaze distant as he stared into his tea. “Though, obviously it was strange when none of us had anything to go on to find him.” He shook his head. “I must say, I was shocked when Jane gave up looking for him as quickly as she did.”
“I always thought she was in denial,” Em said, pausing to exhale. “She never could face things head-on.”
“I thought that too.” Ray’s gaze locked on his daughter again, his top teeth biting down into his bottom lip. “Oh, I shouldn’t say.”
“Say what?” Em edged forward.
“I promised I wouldn’t.” Ray glanced up at the ceiling. “Forgive me, Jane. I promise I didn’t tell anyone while you were alive.” He inhaled deeply, his gaze returning to his daughter. “Your mother received some images in the post a week to the day Eric went missing.”
“Images?” Claire asked. “Photographs?”
“Yes, and she didn’t say what they were, so don’t ask me.” Ray tossed up both hands. “I tried to get it out of her, but Jane could give the silent treatment like no other. I stopped asking because she would never crack.”
“I wonder what they could be.” Em’s bottom lip curled inwards as she thought. “Did she not give you any hints, Dad?”
“She didn’t, but I’ve my own theory.” He ran his hand across his stubbly, loose jawline. “The look in her eyes when she told me she wasn’t going to look for Eric because of the pictures – I’d seen it before.” He glanced up at the ceiling as though silently asking for forgiveness again. “It was the look she had in her eyes when I admitted to my infidelity when you were a baby. It wasn’t the straw that broke the camel’s back; the back had been broken for years. She gave me more chances than I deserved, but that look never left me.”
“Oh, Dad.”
“Ironically, that’s when I realised how much I loved her,” he smiled sadly. “I saw how much I’d hurt her, and it hit me how much I’d blown things. I vowed to never have another woman look at me like that. And they didn’t, until that day when she mentioned the images. I asked if the pictures showed him having an affair, but she wouldn’t say. I threw out some other theories, and she wouldn’t confirm them either, but something about the sting in her voice when she dismissed the cheating theory told me I’d hit a nerve.”
Claire wasn’t sure if Eric’s infidelity to Jane was real or even relevant. Her gut had told her to ask about him, but the new information failed to point her in any clear direction.
“When did you last see Jane?” Claire asked.
“She came here the night before she left,” he said without missing a beat. “The knock of the door came around the same time the ten o’clock news started. She didn’t stay long. We said our final goodbyes, I apologised for being a pig one last time, and we parted ways.”
“And then I saw her around midnight,” Em reminded Claire.
“How did she seem to you?” Claire asked, noticing his fingers digging into the armchair. “Aside from excited?”
“A little under the weather,” Ray said with a shrug. “She thought she might have eaten something funny. She looked clammy, but she said she felt fine.”
“I noticed that too,” Em said, nodding. “I thought she was just cold in that empty flat while she waited for her taxi.”
“She refused to put any more money on the gas card,” he said. “Can’t blame her. Would have been a waste. She was supposed to be leaving at four.”
“In the morning?” Claire asked, glad to finally establish the cut-off time for Jane’s planned village exit.
“Cheaper flights,” he said with a nod. “That was Jane for you. A lifetime of her mother dangling that inheritance carrot in front of her made her frugal. She hoarded money as much as Opal ever did, not that she’d admit it. I’d say like mother like daughter, but you turned out fine, Em.”
Ray smiled at his
daughter without judgement in his eyes. Claire was glad Em had that from one parent, because the more she learned about Jane, the colder she seemed. Certainly colder than Claire remembered her being.
“We’ll leave you to it, Dad,” Em said softly as if she could feel his energy fading; Claire had noticed too. “Get some sleep, and stay away from Fiona Brindle, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good man.” Em kissed her father on the forehead. “I’ll be back tomorrow with your weekly food shopping. Best to stay in the house for a while, yeah?”
“Not like I’ve got anywhere else to be.” He tossed his hands out and looked around his chaotic cottage. “Not since your mother left. Well, when we thought she’d left.”
Em gave him another kiss before joining Claire in the hallway. While Em hurried for the door, Claire hung back and stepped into the doorframe again. Ray was already cracking open a can of lager pulled from somewhere.
“I don’t suppose you received any postcards?” Claire asked. “Supposedly from Jane after she was meant to have left?”
“Postcards?” he said, the derision loud and clear. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“It’s just something Opal said,” Claire replied quickly, not wanting to cause offence after the weary man had offered so much useful information. “Forget I said anything.”
“If you want a lead, Fiona Brindle is your best bet.” He slurped from the top of the foaming can. “She crashed Jane’s leaving party, and the pair hashed it out with an audience. Can’t remember who told me. All I know is I didn’t hear about it until Jane left.”
“It’s something to consider,” she said, the information confirming that Fiona Brindle was the next interrogation on her list. “Thank you.”
Ray stared at Claire out of the corner of his eye, his gaze suddenly steely and purposeful. “You look just like him, by the way.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
Like her mother eavesdropping at the shed earlier, Claire’s jaw flapped. Rather than digging herself into a hole, she followed Em out of the cottage. While Em locked the door, Claire stepped back into the road, her heart pounding.
