Sarah was still unconvinced. ‘Did Rory confront you with all this?’
‘Some of it,’ admitted HJ. ‘He was primarily interested in the family stuff, didn’t really mention Shona. He wanted his programme.’
Sarah felt her voice very calm. ‘You were alone with him, alone on Salisbury Crags, and he told you about his findings. You realised that the net was tightening.’
HJ looked shocked. ‘Sarah, what are you suggesting? You couldn’t believe that I had anything to do with…’
Sarah felt cold, tight. HJ was convincing but he was a showman. He’d always been an actor, which was what made him such an effective teacher. He’d admitted that Shona had come round to his house that night; Sarah had seen the poem, had seen how he was with young girls… All that stuff about the nanny was irrelevant, a red herring. And he’d been alone on the Crags with Rory.
She could see it in her mind’s eye. Rory challenging him, HJ coming towards him, Rory falling back…
‘Did you push him or did he just fall?’
Tom moved beside her and put her arm round her shoulders. Sarah shrugged him off and looked at her old teacher with disgust.
Kidd blustered. ‘It wasn’t like that at all! I wish I could prove it. Everything was being filmed, but unfortunately Rory’s camera was damaged in the fall.’
‘How very convenient.’
‘Sarah, you’re overwrought. This is ridiculous. You could equally well suspect Rory.’ He paused. ‘When I was reading The Seagull he did admit to me that he’d done something terrible in the past and that he was haunted by the memory.’
Sarah felt rage welling up in her. Kidd pressed on. ‘You must admit that Rory, brilliant as he was, was not completely normal. In fact, I’m convinced that he suffered from a narcissistic personality disorder. You can see it in his charm, his philandering, his total refusal to accept the consequences of his actions, his appalling treatment of you…’
Sarah stood up and stopped Kidd’s flow of words. ‘How dare you? How dare you try to deflect attention from your guilt by slandering his name! I’m going to the police and I’m going to tell them everything, everything about Shona’s murder and how you murdered Rory!’
*
Tom made Sarah a cup of coffee and brought it to her as she sat at the kitchen table. She was still shaking.
‘That man,’ she brought her hand down firmly on the table, ‘trying to implicate Rory, who isn’t here to defend himself. With everything he says Kidd just digs a deeper hole for himself. I’m more certain than ever he was involved in Shona’s death, and then he murdered Rory when he challenged him with the truth. Can’t you see it?’ She looked defiantly at Tom. ‘And when I speak to the police I’m going to tell them everything.’
Tom felt confused. Kidd was a good guy; he couldn’t believe he was a murderer. In some ways he could understand the poem. He’d heard enough jokes about the delights of young girls from people who were in no way paedophiles. He thought back to some of the girls he’d been with in South Africa, their long blonde hair and slender brown limbs. Some of them were still teenagers, and he felt ashamed when he realised how little he’d thought about them as people. They were just a bit of fun.
And there were those pictures in his father’s chest. They were far worse than HJ’s poem. He’d wasted so much energy worrying about his father – and then he’d turned out to be innocent. He didn’t want to make the same mistake with HJ.
*
The next morning Tom went out to buy rolls and came back with a bundle of newspapers. He laid them on the kitchen table. ‘Archie sent me a text and said I should look at these before you saw them. Here they are – they’re pathetic.’
Sarah picked up the first one, one of the red tops. It had a full-length picture of Mara O’Callaghan in a bikini, next to a story about ‘three times a night Rory’ who had comforted her after her appearance on his chat show. Mara explained that she had only come out in the press about this because she felt so guilty about Sarah. She hadn’t known he was married and ‘would never have gone to bed with him if she had known the pain it could cause.’ The hypocrisy made Sarah crumple the paper in disgust.
A rival tabloid had a gruesome air-brushed photo of Jennie next to the headline. Old Flame reignited at School Reunion. Sarah tossed it away without even reading it.
Worse was a local paper with two grainy photos of her in her car. In the first she was alone as she drove towards the Cowgate and then there was another with Tom driving her back. Grim-faced Sarah Dunbar leaves her £800,000 New Town flat for the first time since the revelations about popular chat show host Rory’s secret families, returning several hours later with a mystery male companion.
She shuddered and looked out of the window into the wide cobbled street below. She couldn’t see anyone. Who were these people and why were they spying on her?
Tom looked at the photos. ‘Sarah, perhaps I should make myself scarce until after the memorial service? It’s distressing for you to see this kind of thing.’
Sarah looked at him, shocked. ‘No, I need you here.’
Tom coughed and went on quickly, looking uncomfortable. ‘Actually, I know the timing is really not ideal, but I’m going to have to go back to South Africa. Now that I’ve decided to stay here in Scotland I must go and sort out a few things. And I have to tell Aunty Betty I’m going to stay in Scotland. She’s the only person left I really care about in South Africa. It shouldn’t take more than a week so I’ll be back here very soon.’
Sarah stared at him, numb with disappointment. Having him in her life gave her the strength to face everything. She wasn’t sure if she could manage on her own.
Tom put his arm round her. ‘I can begin in the Canongate Centre at the beginning of December so this seems the logical time to go.’
‘You’re still going to work for that…’ Sarah’s voice became shrill.
Tom held her closer. ‘I have to, Sarah. It’s not my dream job, by any means, but I’m fast running out of money. I need a job and I need somewhere to stay and this seems to kill those two particular birds with one stone. I hope it won’t be for too long, but I can’t afford to stay at the Regent any longer, and I’ll be glad to get out of Mrs Ritchie’s floral hell-hole. She doesn’t even offer me breakfast any more, as she ‘never knows when I’ll be staying’. She keeps giving me that dirty wee stop-out look,’ he added, hoping to lighten the atmosphere with one of the insults from their youth.
‘You can stay here,’ said Sarah quickly.
‘You know I can’t, Sarah.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘There is nothing I’d love more but you have to think of your family, and the memorial service, and the papers,’ he said, gesturing towards the photos.
‘When are you going?’
‘I’ve got an open ticket so I just have to see when there’s a seat available.’ He felt a heel, leaving Sarah now, but he had to go. ‘The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back.’
Sarah gave what she hoped looked like a brave smile although she felt empty inside. ‘I’ll miss you. Please come back very soon.’
Chapter 24
Tom landed at George Airport and drove his hire car along the beautiful Garden Route coast to Plettenberg Bay. Summer was starting here and the view of the waves crashing on the long beach at Wilderness was breathtaking. The purple mountains of the Karoo were silhouetted against the blue sky as sharp and clear as cardboard cut-outs.
When he arrived in Plett he drove to the Central Beach Bar. His old pal Jason was the manager and said he could crash there for a few days. He was leaning on the bar as usual and greeted him with the traditional African handshake. ‘Hi mate,’ he said, smiling broadly beneath his spiky blond hair. ‘How’s it going? Back for the Matric Rage then?’
They sat at the wooden table and benches on the warm sand and Tom took the cold Windhoek beer his friend offered. Tom explained he was just there for a short visit and not for the annual gathering of students letting their hair down after their exams.
Jason looked amazed. ‘You’re leaving us, just when Plett hots up,’ he winked, ‘in every way, and you’re going back to gloomy Scotland.’
Tom nodded. He didn’t want to say anything to Jason about Sarah or Shona. It was too precious to be reduced to bar-room banter. ‘So what’s new here in Plett, then?’
Jason got them both another beer and he brought Tom up to date. Tom stared out over the azure sea sparkling in the sunshine and wished he were back in Portobello.
*
Sarah sat at Rory’s computer, looking up DNA. She vaguely remembered reading about cold cases that had been solved years after the crime had been committed.
She read through Wikipedia and followed links to newspaper articles and campaigns which had thrown up miscarriages of justice. She could hardly believe what she was reading: there were so many cases where the wrong person had been locked up for unthinkably long chunks of their lives. This is what had happened to poor Logan Baird. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for him, being incarcerated for so many years.
Fascinated, she read that murderers had even been discovered by tests on members of their families through a partial familial match. She thought of HJ Kidd. He was considered a model citzen and no member of his family was likely to have been involved in a crime, so they wouldn’t be on the database. She was going to speak to the police. Perhaps they could get a DNA sample from him and then it would be proved.
She looked up as the light in the study became dimmer. Outside the high Georgian windows the greyness of the evening had crept subtly in. The fine sliver of the new moon was faint in the dusk and the street lights came on. Sarah switched on the anglepoise lamp and looked at her watch; she was surprised to see how long she’d been following links, reading newspaper reports. The afternoon had disappeared.
She got up and paced into the other room. The flat seemed very empty; she missed Tom. He was on the other side of the world, so far away.
Her mobile rang and she searched for it in excitement. Could Tom have felt the thought transference? She looked at the screen and saw that it was Nick.
‘Mum, are you at home? I’d like you to meet Olly. Can I call round with him?’
Sarah felt her mood lift immediately. ‘Of course.’
Nick carried on. ‘I don’t want to keep him hidden any longer and I think that the sooner you two meet the better.’
Sarah looked in the cupboard for wine and nibbles and wiped off a layer of dust she noticed on the coffee table. Hearing the doorbell she opened the door and heard voices and laughter as two pairs of footsteps came up the stairs.
Nick and Olly came through the door. They were about the same height and the first thing Sarah noticed was the ease of the body language between them. Nick kissed her and introduced Olly. He had unruly blond curls and an open freckled face with full lips and slightly prominent teeth. He smiled broadly; Sarah warmed to him immediately.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs Dunbar.’ He held out a good bottle of Italian red. ‘I hope you have the glasses ready and then we can have a glass of this to cement our friendship.’
‘Of course, there’s always a glass ready in this house for a bit of good friendship-cementing.’ Sarah took the bottle and Nick smiled gratefully at her before leading his friend in to the drawing room.
They sat down and raised their glasses. Sarah found Olly easy to talk to and noticed how relaxed Nick was, beaming at the two of them as they exchanged banter. Sarah felt happy. She hadn’t consciously worried about meeting Olly, but now she knew that this was one problem she didn’t have.
‘Is there going to be a lunch this Sunday?’ Nick asked.
Sarah hadn’t really thought about it but nodded her head, pleased the decision had been taken out of her hands.
‘I’d like to bring Olly along. How do you think Granny will react?’
Sarah laughed. ‘I don’t think she’ll turn one of her beautifully-coiffed hairs. She seems to have taken everything in her stride recently.’
‘That’s great. I’m going to bring Olly to the memorial service.’ He smiled at his partner. ‘I want everyone to know how lucky I am.’
‘I think that’s right. Welcome to the family, Olly.’
‘Thanks, Mum. It makes it all so much easier that you’re so positive. Of course, Lottie and Liam are great, and Abigail, too.’
Sarah felt a twinge of annoyance at the mention of Abigail’s name. Was she already so established in the family that she’d met Olly before Sarah had? She suppressed this unworthy feeling and asked Olly about his family.
‘We haven’t broken it to them yet,’ Olly said ruefully. ‘They’re a bit old-fashioned and I don’t know if they’ll be as open and accepting as you are.’ Sarah felt a glow of pleasure at the implied compliment and filled the glasses again.
The bottle was finished and another one opened before Nick looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. We’re going to have to go. We’re going to the Traverse and the play begins at 8.00.’
‘What are you going to see?’
‘A new play from one of the Young Writers’ Group. I can’t remember what it’s called.’ He gave Olly a questioning look.
Olly shook his head. ‘Me neither, but it will be interesting as we know a few of the writers and it’s always good to support them.’ He gave a wide smile. ‘And we can have a few drinks in the bar afterwards.’ He hesitated for a moment and then looked at Sarah. ‘Would you like to come with us? I know there are still tickets available.’
Sarah felt touched by his offer but shook her head. ‘I’ve had a really long day and fancy an early night, but I’d love to come another time. And I’m really looking forward to you both coming round on Sunday.’ Nick stood up and Sarah took the cue. She hugged Olly. ‘It’s so lovely to meet you. Have a great evening tonight.’
Nick shot her a grateful look and hugged her tight before they both left, smiling together with Nick’s arm falling naturally over Olly’s shoulder.
Sarah sat down again with the remains of the wine. She was strong, she could survive, she had two lovely children and she could make it.
*
Running along the shining sea-washed sands of the Robberg Beach, Tom thought about the night before. He’d been to see Betty in the exclusive, and hugely expensive, nursing facility high on the cliffs looking down over the Piesang Valley. Her strong face had lit up when she saw him and she’d beckoned him to her with her awkward hands, puffed up with arthritis. She looked like an inflated version of her former self, pumped up with cortisone, but still with a wicked sparkle in her eyes.
When Tom had told her that he was going back to stay in Edinburgh her eyes glistened brighter and she smiled. ‘I just want you to be happy. It’s all I ever wanted. I often worried that you’d lost your way here in Plett.’ She paused and her flabby frame was racked with coughing. She turned towards the window, her eyes looking far into the distance of memories. ‘I remember you when you first came to Plett, a troubled boy if ever I saw one. You were a rascal, but I couldn’t help loving you… You and your dear mother were my family after my darling Gus was gone. You were always so good to us two old ladies – I did worry that you stayed here because of us, didn’t fulfil your potential.’
Tom felt awkward. Straight-talking Betty. He’d never heard her speak like that before; it was so unlike her. She was no-nonsense and down-to-earth, the very opposite of sentimental. She held her hands out to him and he’d grasped them, kissing them. Smiling, she drifted off into her own medication-filled world.
He’d looked down at her strong, handsome features, now blurred by illness, and felt another part of his old life slip away.
The tide was going out, leaving the sand smoothly wet, glinting in the low rays of the morning sun. His feet pounded on through the waves crashing in. The sun sparkled blue, green, yellow on the lacy fringes of water on the sand.
The high Fynbush-covered dunes ran along the length of the beach. There had only been a few fisher
men’s cottages here when Tom first arrived in Plett, but now the skyline was dominated by new concrete palaces, with turrets and balconies, built by rich businessmen from Jo’burg but remaining empty for fifty weeks of the year.
Nestling in a hollow he saw a couple of low wooden houses, with open terraces running along their length and corrugated iron roofs. One of them had been his home for all those years. It had belonged to Betty’s family, which was one of the oldest in Plett, and she’d arranged the let. They were supposed to pay rent, but as Tom’s father drank everything he earned on the fishing boats in the bars on Central Beach, the rent had been forgotten and after his death Betty had always refused it. Her family owned most of the properties along this coast and she was happy to help her second husband’s relatives.
Tom’s feet hit the sand with a rhythmic ferocity as he thought of Betty’s nephew, Carl Van Wyk, a beefy lawyer from Pretoria who managed the family’s properties. When Tom’s mother died he’d sent Tom a letter telling him to leave the house immediately. Tom had asked him to transfer the tenancy to his name but he’d been told the property was to be pulled down and the land redeveloped.
Tom still felt the anger that had welled up in him when Van Wyk told him in his thick Afrikaans accent that he was to leave by the end of the month, and consider himself lucky that the outstanding back rent had been written off.
Tom was sure that Betty didn’t know about this and wouldn’t approve, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her, knowing how much it would upset her. So he’d stayed in Jason’s backroom and started to make arrangements to leave for Scotland.
He thought about Betty. How old was she? She must be about ninety and up until the last few months had been so active and alert. She’d formed a strong unlikely friendship with Tom’s mother, Betty so dynamic and Annie so passive, but his mother’s death had knocked some of the stuffing out of her. Tom thought back to Betty’s words the night before and wondered if she had been saying goodbye.
Sewing the Shadows Together Page 21
