by Sue Nicholls
~~~
Next morning, rain hurled itself like sand against Sam’s window. Sleep had done him good. His head was clear and his bladder full. He pulled back the duvet to rectify the latter.
Later, holding a bowl of porridge, he padded barefoot to his painting. It was OK. The colours were exactly right for Golden Hour, that time of elongated shadows and exaggerated contrast that occurred in the moments before sunset. In the foreground, his brush had described the gardens of the building for which the piece was destined. Beyond the lawns and flowers, the soft yellow bricks and grey roof of the house were backed by trees, and far behind the trees, the hills of Lymeshire lumbered across the horizon. Sam resisted a powerful urge to pick up a brush and add the doves. Instead, he turned away to search online for the latest edition of the Chelterton Echo. The update on Kitty’s crash was now inside, replaced on the front page by stories of more immediate interest: the ram raid of a local corner shop and a stolen dog, whose pricked ears and lolling tongue grinned from the screen. Ignoring these articles, he scrolled down and read the short update on Kitty’s so-called accident. It seemed that the man who found Kitty was one Connor Blackmoore. Sam dragged an old phone book from under his bed and ran his index finger down its columns.
At first Mr Blackmoore was reluctant to talk, mistaking Sam for a journalist, but when Sam explained his purpose, his voice breaking as he described Kitty’s injuries, Connor was more forthcoming.
‘I was on my way home from a work do.’ His voice was candid, and Sam warmed to him. ‘I’m an aerospace engineer. Our senior manager was retiring, and I’d been to his leaving party. My wife is pregnant. Overdue, in fact, so I wasn’t drinking. We’ve been on tenterhooks, waiting. Thank God I wasn’t rushing home to take her to hospital, or I might have run…’ he paused, ‘Is it Kitty?’
‘Yes.’
‘I could have run right over Kitty.’
Sam paced the floor, frowning in concentration.
‘I was driving slowly. It was raining, and the road had that oily look.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Sam nodded.
‘I came round the bend, and Kitty and her bike were suddenly in the headlights. At first, I panicked, thinking she might be dead. I put on my hazards and moved the car as close as I could. I wanted to see what I’d be facing before getting out.’
Sam pictured the scene and put himself in the same situation, scared but knowing he had to do something. ‘You probably saved her life,’ he said.
‘Maybe I did. She was a mess. Her legs were twisted at weird angles, and her face was gashed and bloody. I put out my hand to touch her neck, and her heart was beating terribly fast. I was so relieved. I suddenly realised I should be phoning for an ambulance, and the police. My phone was in the car, so I threw my jacket over her and called 999.’
‘Where was the bike?’
‘Not far away. It was beside her, the handlebars facing the white line and the back end skewed towards the hedge. There was a gouge in the tarmac. I think the footrest made it. Beautiful old bike. Matchless, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ Sam thought of Kitty’s pride and joy and hoped it was repairable.
‘Will she be all right?’ Connor asked.
‘I hope so. They think physically she will mend in time, it’s her head injury that’s causing concern.’
‘Send her my best wishes,’ Connor said, and Sam promised he would, and made his goodbyes. Moments later, his phone beeped. A text from Connor. ‘Let me know how she gets on.’
Sam sent a thumbs-up emoji.
There was another beep. ‘Wife’s gone into labour at last!’
Sam was amused. He did not know the guy but was probably the first person to receive his exciting news.
For something to do, he swiped through the photos on his phone. There were several of Kitty. Here she was at Paul’s engagement party, hugging her dad, and here, astride the motorbike. Swiping down, Sam found a snapshot of the newspaper report that had announced Max’s release. In it he could make out a small picture of the man himself. Sam enlarged it with two fingers. It became blurred, but he could distinguish an attractive, lean male in his thirties. He wondered if he could find a better picture of Max in the Mauritian news report. It must have been good to enable the old fisherman to identify him. Finding the article might take a while, but Sam was glad of the distraction. He logged on, and for the umpteenth time, marvelled at the power of the internet. In the brief time since the invention of the Worldwide Web, it was staggering that one could type in ‘Mauritian newspapers’ and receive a list of the most recent editions of several publications? He sent emails to the English language ones, asking to see papers from the period in question; then he went again to his painting and was soon at work for what he hoped would be the last time.
When the light faded, he turned the painting to the wall and cleaned his brushes, then flicked on the kettle leaving a grey thumb print on its switch. He wiped his fingers on a towel, already covered in an abstract pattern of colours, which would never come out in the washing machine.
Without expectation, he flipped open his laptop to check his emails, and to his delight spotted one in good English from the Mauritius Times:
Dear Mr Roman,
Thank you for your enquiry. We have an extensive archive of past editions of the Mauritian Times, and I have included links to several, hoping you can find the particular one you seek.
Best wishes,
Lucile.
There were six files, each containing one edition of the weekly paper.
Tea forgotten, Sam sat at his machine and flicked through the documents, seeking a front-page headline. Sure enough, there it was: ENGLISH NEWLYWEDS IN CLIFF TRAGEDY. Underneath was a shot of a smiling Fee, and the story of the surprise wedding and romantic honeymoon. Another photo showed Fee and Max with Kitty outside a building that looked like some kind of chapel. Sam enlarged it and studied the small Kitty, all curls and ribbons, clutching a posy of flowers. What, he asked himself, had become of that feminine little creature with the open face and the ready smile? He shifted his attention to Max, handsome in his suit and looking genuinely happy. The story continued on page two, and he scrolled down to read it. There were details of Paul’s arrest and Max’s release. And another picture. Sam stared at it. He opened a new tab and typed a few words into the search engine, and when he found the email address he sought, he attached a photo, added three lines of text and clicked send.
55 SAM
The response from Mauritius arrived by email at six fifteen in the morning, and the ping of its arrival woke Sam from a ragged sleep. He blinked his phone into life and peered at the words on the screen with bleary eyes. What he read did not, by now, surprise him. It was the reason for his fitful night’s sleep. Now that he had confirmation, he had work to do but first he must visit his girl.
~~~
In the hospital, Sam leaned over the desk at the nurses’ station and addressed a stern faced, petite nurse in her late forties. The mug of congealed coffee and half eaten cereal bar beside her on the desk, suggested that she had been on the go through her break. ‘Any news?’ was all he said.
The nurse broke into an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, Kitty’s already got three visitors. They haven’t been here long. It’s her dad and mum and I think her sister.’
‘Father, Step-mum and step-aunt,’ Sam said. Not that it even mattered.
‘Oh. Sorry; I didn’t realise.’ The name on the woman’s badge was Maureen.
Sam shrugged. ‘How is she today?’
‘Much improved. She’s saying more and seems to recognise her dad at last.’
This was fantastic news, and Sam longed to go in. He approached the door to Kitty’s room and craned his neck. Cerys was there, holding Kitty’s hand while she slept. Sitting next to Cerys, Anwen was engrossed in a shiny new mobile phone. Paul, who according to Kitty hated hospitals, was behind the door. Only his hands were visible, flipping over pages of what looked like a glossy car magazine on his knees.
/> Sam glanced at the clock. It was ten sixteen. ‘I’ll sit over here and wait until they’ve gone,’ he said to Maurine, and lowered himself into a seat. Ensuring first that he was alone, he punched out a text message.
~~~
The minute hand on the clock behind the nurses’ station had travelled through one hundred and eighty degrees when two police officers, a man and a woman, both in their thirties, both dark-haired, strode into the ward, their deep blue/black uniforms vibrant in the pale presence of the sick. The ward grew quiet with expectation.
Sam got to his feet to greet them, and at the same time, Maureen, all business, bustled to intercept. ‘Staff Nurse, Maureen Child,’ she announced to the officers. ‘Can I help you?’
The man, a pleasant faced Asian with a port wine stain across his right cheek, met Sam’s eyes over Maureen’s shoulder. ‘Mr Roman?’
Sam nodded.
‘Waheed Ullah. Thank you for your message, Sir.’ He shifted his attention to Maureen. ‘We’re here to make an arrest, Maureen. Where can we find Kitty Thomas?’
The nurse grew an inch. ‘No way. Kitty mustn’t be upset. Are you seriously planning to arrest her?’
The question elicited a mild smile from PC Ullah. ‘No dear. Just show us her room, please.’
Maureen shook her head. ‘She’s extremely poorly. Could you not wait until this person, whoever it is, comes out?’
Sam interjected, ‘I’ll get them out if you like.’
The officer nodded. ‘Thank you, Sir.’
When Sam poked his head into Kitty’s room, Anwen grinned up at him. ‘Hi Anwen,’ he whispered, and hearing his voice, Kitty turned her head to look at him. Delighted, he said, ‘Hello you.’
‘Hi.’ Her hoarse but coherent reply made him want to dance, but for now, all he managed was, ‘I can’t come in - too many people...’ Then he looked round the door at Paul. ‘But Paul, the doctor says he wants a word with you. Maybe I could take your place for five minutes?’
‘Sure,’ Paul rose with indecent enthusiasm, and dropped the magazine in his haste to escape. Sam did not move until he was sure that the two officers had clocked Paul, and that Paul had seen them. It would have been good to watch the scene play out, but he pushed the door closed with his elbow and slipped into Paul’s vacated chair.
On the opposite side of the tent-like structure that still protected Kitty’s lower body, Cerys sat, flopped in her low chair, her belly rising before her like an over inflated beach ball and her face gleaming with sweat. Sam kept the sympathy from his voice as he said, ‘I think maybe you’re needed too, Cerys.’
While Paul’s wife struggled to rise, Sam transferred his attention to Kitty. ‘You’re awake then.’
Next to Cerys, Anwen made to rise too, but Cerys pressed her down. ‘You stay here, Lovely. I won’t be long.’ She squeezed past the bed and when she opened the door, she halted and gave Sam a startled look. He frowned up at her with a minute shake of his head and Cerys with her eyes wide open, left the room.
Sam dug a tenner from his wallet and handed it to Anwen. ‘Would you find us all a hot drink while we wait, and some kind of cake or a biscuit?’
Anwen pocketed her phone and followed Cerys. When her head also flew back to stare at Sam, he gave her a meaningful smile. ‘Off you go, Anwen, and shut the door. It’s noisy out there today.’
Kitty squeezed her face into what might have been a smile, and her eyes squinted from beneath the rim of her mummified skull. ‘Thank goodness. I thought they’d never stop fussing over me,’ she whispered.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like bloody hell, but at least my mind’s clearer.’
‘That’s a relief. Can I hug you?’
‘Nah, I hurt too much. You can blow a kiss if you must.’
He obliged with a gale of them, and she curved her lips into a brief smile. ‘Sam?’
‘Mm?’
‘Will you be honest with me?’
He wondered what was coming and braced himself to parry questions about the investigation. ‘If I can,’ he said.
‘Nobody will answer my questions. They keep telling me to concentrate on getting better. It’s so frustrating.’
‘The doctors seem pleased with your physical progress.’
‘OK.’ Kitty stared at him from deep in her pillows. ‘You would tell me if there was anything bad, wouldn’t you?’
‘I would. I’m telling the truth, I swear.’ He put his hand up as if taking an oath. ‘Nobody knew how your brain would be until you regained consciousness. You seem OK though, I’d say.’
‘Bit muddled still.’ She licked her lips.
‘Want some juice?’ At her nod, he took up a small carton of apple juice and poked the plastic straw between her lips. It was an unfamiliar and intimate act.
Kitty took a few swallows. ‘Thanks.’
‘Can you remember what happened to you?’
‘Not a thing... It was after Dad’s wedding, wasn’t it? I remember leaving the car park, it was dark and wet I think, but after that everything is blank until this morning.’
‘What do you remember about the time before the wedding?
‘I’ve been wracking my brain about that. Were we investigating Max’s case?’
‘We were.’ Sam beamed, preparing for more awkward questions. ‘Just checking to see how your brain’s doing. No point in me telling you stuff if you forget it five minutes later.’
‘I’ll be OK I think but you can tell me again if I forget, can’t you?’
‘I can. What would you like to know?’
‘About me first. Will I walk again?’
‘Yes. You haven’t broken your back, just your pelvis. And you had a nasty crack on the head and some internal bleeding in your brain, but that’s all sorted now.’
Kitty looked dubious. ’It doesn’t feel sorted. How long do I have to stay here?’
‘It could be weeks… Until your pelvis is fixed, and they can take this contraption off you.’
Kitty groaned. ‘Weeks! I won’t be able to bear it.’
‘You must, Kitty. Once your head is in better shape, I’ll bring you up to date on the case but until I get the OK from the doctor, you can listen to podcasts and watch that.’ He jerked his thumb at the tiny television, perched behind him on a stalk on the wall.
Kitty tried to nod, and winced.
‘Do you need pain relief?’ Sam was half out of his seat.
‘They’ll be bringing it soon. I must remember to keep my neck still.’ She fixed her eyes on a spider, welded to the gloss painted ceiling. ‘Are you allowed to tell me what happened?’
He did. She exhibited none of the Kitty-esque anger he had expected, and that made him sad.
Without moving her head, Kitty shifted her pupils from the spider to the door. ‘Where’s Dad gone?’
He hated to lie to her. ‘I think they had some appointment. Sorry, I didn’t pay much attention.’
56 ANWEN
On Sam’s instruction, Anwen pulled the door shut behind her. A few yards away, her sister was frozen with her mouth covered by both hands, staring at the drama playing out in the foyer. Paul, his venomous expression unfamiliar to Anwen who had seen cheerful and petulant in equal measure, was being arrested by an attractive Asian policeman. He was saying something she could not make out, and she sped to Cerys’s side in time to hear,
‘… caused the death of Fiona Owen, formerly Thomas, by pushing her to her death from a cliff, on the island of Mauritius.’
What? In a haze of confusion, Anwen wriggled her fingers between the taut side of her sister’s abdomen and her tense bicep. Cerys moaned and swayed, and Anwen gripped her arm, watching in dismay as the officers turned to lead her sister’s new husband from the building. ‘Where are you taking him,’ she shouted? ‘Can we come too?’
The second policeman turned to them with reassuring calmness. ‘Mr Thomas will be taken to Chelterton Police Station to be interviewed. I suggest you go home and organise a law
yer. There’s no point in coming to the station.’
‘Thank you,’ Anwen murmured. She extricated her hand and put an arm round Cerys’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze. ‘Come on, Sis, let’s go home. Paul needs our help. Have you got the car keys?’
‘Paul’s got them.’ Cerys whispered.
Outside, an officer was helping Paul into the rear of the car. Anwen trotted towards him calling, ‘Hey! We need the car keys.’
Paul raised his eyebrows to his captor, and on his nodded permission, dug in his pocket. As he passed the keys to Anwen, he muttered, ‘Tell Cerys not to worry. I didn’t do it.’
Anwen nodded and ran back to Cerys. Her sister was Anwen’s main concern now. ‘Paul says not to worry, he didn’t do it.’ She handed over the keys. ‘You sure you’re OK to drive? We can call a taxi.’
Cerys blinked into consciousness. ‘I’m OK Lovely, just shocked, like.’
They sat in rigid silence while the car stopped and started at junctions and lights. Anwen raked through her memory for anything she knew about Paul’s history. There was nothing, apart from what Kitty had told her, that Fee was murdered and that a man (Matt something?) went to prison for it. Kitty said this Matt - no, it was Max - still protested his innocence, even though he had served his full sentence.
She thought back to earlier. Sam had told her to close the door - that must have been to protect Kitty. Anwen understood that much. She longed to learn more from him, he must know something; he seemed unsurprised by Paul’s arrest. She stared through the windscreen, longing to talk this through with someone, but the only available person was sitting beside her.
At home, the house seemed too ordinary. Anwen flung her coat over the newel post, and for once Cerys did not tell her off. Instead, she stood in the hallway like a rundown toy. Anwen touched her arm. ‘You should sit down in the lounge… Do you want tea?’ Cerys sighed. ‘I wouldn’t mind something stronger.’
‘You shouldn’t, should you? Not while you’re expecting.’
Cerys flopped down in an armchair, ‘I suppose not. I’ll have water then.’
