by Anne Cassidy
She folded the letter up and put it in her bag and began to eat her roll, which had got hot sitting in the sun.
“Hi!”
She looked up. It was Jimmy. He was smiling down at her.
“Hello!” she said.
He sat down beside her, nudging up so that she had to move along on the rock. Then he put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a kiss on the side of her face. She pretended not to notice and stared at his bare feet on the sand.
“Where are your shoes?”
“In my bag. I like walking along the beach with no shoes on.”
He was wearing cut-off jeans and a vest. He smelled of salt as if he’d been in the sea already that day. His skin was the colour of honey.
“The sun’s bad for you,” she said, taking his arm from around her shoulder and holding his hand between hers.
“You look hot and uncomfortable. Not the best beachwear.”
He was looking at her uniform.
“I’m on my lunch break. I don’t usually come to the beach dressed like this.”
“I like it when you wear a lot less than that.”
Kate couldn’t help smiling at that, but threw his hand back at him and stood up.
“Some people have to earn money.”
He stood up and put his hands up in the air in surrender. “I’m sorry, my parents have money. They don’t allow me to gain useful employment.”
“I have to get back to work.”
“Can I walk with you?”
“No, best not.”
“You’re ashamed of me!”
“I have to get back!” she said, with feigned impatience.
“Can I at least tell you why I came? Barbecue at ours Wednesday night.”
“Wednesday? A work night? Ah…but you wouldn’t know about that.”
“It’s the last week of August. How much more of this weather are we going to have?”
“Good point.”
“You’ll come?”
Kate nodded and he leaned down and kissed her lips, pausing for just a second, the tip of his tongue touching her teeth. Then he reversed away from her, stepping into the cold frilly waves. He waved and walked off in the direction of the harbour. She watched him go with confused feelings. He was a sweet boy and she liked him a lot. She didn’t want to hurt him.
Now wasn’t a good time to be starting any kind of relationship
Not when she’d decided to leave Exmouth and go and live in London.
Nineteen
Exeter was busy. Kate had bought a few things and was feeling tired. She went to a cashpoint and withdrew money. Then she headed for a coffee bar and sat down, placing her bags on the seat opposite. She drank her coffee and stared through the window at people walking by. Her eyes followed a young woman passing, in a hurry, patting at her hair. Kate touched her own hair. For most of the first year of university it had been short and blonde but then she had allowed it to revert to its natural colour and had grown it. It sat on her shoulders and was easy to manage. When she moved to London she would have to have it cut and styled.
There were other things she would need to do. It wasn’t just a case of dressing up, having a new wardrobe or different hairstyle. In order to establish a life somewhere else she would need a place to stay. She’d already looked on the web at house shares, focusing on the section where people sublet their rooms for short periods. A couple of places appealed to her. One for two months and one for six weeks. Both of them sounded as though they needed someone urgently; that way there would be less chance for them to investigate references.
In less than a week she would be in a B&B in London going to see the short lets and starting a new life. All she needed was a new identity.
Before getting the bus back to Exmouth, she went into a bookshop to buy an A–Z of London. She walked around the non-fiction section and found a small paperback edition. Holding it in her hand she drifted a little, browsing the displays and the shelves. She found herself drawn towards the cookery section. There were piles of cookery books everywhere, many of them discounted, with photos on the front of chefs who had become celebrities.
Kate had a sudden memory of sitting in a kitchen in Croydon with Rosie, who she had lived with for nearly nine months two years before. Rosie’s kitchen had been the hub of her flat. Even though it was tiny everything happened there. There was always some baking going on, the smell of cooking wafting through the rooms. Kate’s favourite had been Rosie’s biscuits and her fairy cakes which her mother, Kathy, an Irish woman, called wee buns. They sat in tiny pleated paper cups, smaller than muffins, only a couple of mouthfuls of warm sponge topped with butter icing. It only took Rosie a moment to throw some eggs, flour and sugar into a bowl and mix it as Kate (Alice, then) separated the pleated paper cases, ready for the mix to be spooned in.
Kate picked up one of the glossy hardback books on the table in front of her. It was heavy, substantial, hundreds of recipes and photographs of dishes. On the cover was an attractive young woman, her hair carelessly pulled up on top in a bun, strands of it escaping and curling round her jaw. COOKING IN A HURRY! was the title.
Rosie never hurried when she cooked. Rosie never hurried anything.
Kate felt her throat stiffen. Rosie was in the past. They had been close, but although Rosie had said that she would come and visit Kate at university once she was settled in, she never had. She’d written some letters (I prefer this to the dreaded emails!). She’d sent her a birthday card and a poetry book (My favourite poet when I was a young woman). She’d explained how busy she’d been and how nervous she was to make any contact in case someone followed her and found out about her new identity (I’d hate to be the cause of any disruption to your new life).
Kate had smiled at this. As if someone would still be watching Rosie. In the end she’d decided to visit her the previous year, during her first summer break. It was a trip that she’d wished she never taken.
Kate got off the train at Croydon. It was a hot day and she felt overdressed in jeans. She combed her fingers through her hair, feeling the stiffness of the mousse she’d used. It was longer now than when she’d lived with Rosie. She was also wearing her glasses, black frames with no prescription lenses. It had been a disguise that she had liked. Over her shoulder was a bag which held her sleeping things and a change of clothes. She was hoping to stay over at Rosie’s. She left the station and walked for a few moments, pausing outside a coffee bar. It was the place where she had worked for some months while living at Rosie’s. In a year it had changed completely. It was no longer called The Coffee Pot. It had been taken over by a coffee chain and had tables and chairs out on the pavement. She walked on along the high road. It was Saturday lunchtime and the streets were quite busy. People were no doubt heading for the shopping centre. She kept going until she saw Rosie’s street. A feeling of anticipation was building up inside her. She wondered what Rosie would say. My goodness, Kate, is it really you! She knew she would hug her because that’s what Rosie was like. Right from the first moment they met Rosie gave her a bear hug. You’ve lost weight! Aren’t you feeding yourself down at university? she might say. She would bring her up to the flat fussing all the time and pull her into the kitchen and the kettle would come on and the biscuits would come out. I’m still baking. Really I should be on a diet, Alice. I’ve put on loads of weight. She might call her Alice by mistake, but that was all right because it would only be the two of them.
Kate had reached the corner of Rosie’s street. She walked along it, a spring in her step. A woman came out of a house on the other side. It was someone Rosie had nodded to whenever she saw her and Kate hesitated, knowing that she could be recognised. The woman walked past her though without a glance.
She went on, feeling pleased. At Rosie’s door she rang the bell. There was no answer. She rang it again and glanced at the adjacent door, the flat beneath Rosie’s. Kate wondered who lived there now.
There was no sound at all from Rosie’s flat, no footsteps
coming down the stairs. Rosie was out. Kate frowned. She’d not considered that possibility. Why not? It was Saturday, there were any number of places where people went on a Saturday. But Kate had relied on the fact that Rosie mostly liked to stay in. Her work as a social worker was draining and she had always said that she needed a day to recover. She could usually be found watching the various cookery programmes on a Saturday morning, her feet curled under her on the sofa.
Kate moved away from the door and began to walk back up the street. Just then she saw a familiar figure turn the corner. She smiled, knowing it was Rosie straight away because of the clothes. A long full skirt and a loose blouse over the top. The colours clashed but Kate knew Rosie would not care about that. She took a deep breath and waited, anticipating Rosie’s change of expression when she saw her.
But Rosie had stopped and turned around as if someone had called her name. Seconds later she was joined by a teenage girl. Kate was about thirty metres away so she couldn’t hear what was being said but she could hear the tone of the conversation. Rosie was making little exclamations, surprised and delighted. The teenager was talking rapidly, holding out bags to show Rosie. They started to walk down the street and Kate saw the teenage girl slip her arm through Rosie’s so that the two of them were joined, walking in unison.
Kate felt something dark flutter in her chest.
It was clear in a second. Rosie had another girl living her; a foster placement; a teenage girl who needed a home. The girls who come to me are either mad, bad or sad, Rosie had once said, only half as a joke. Kate had been bad; a girl who had killed another child. She had found refuge in Rosie’s big skirts. Which was this girl? Sad? Abused at home, needing space to finish her studies? Was she mad? Anorexic? Depressed? Rosie was an island where such girls could go. There was a van across the road and Kate headed for it. She stood beside it and pretended to be looking at her phone as Rosie and the girl passed on the other side. Rosie didn’t look round; she was too absorbed in what the girl was saying. Kate could hear her now.
What time is Kathy coming round? Did you say seven? And then we’ll order the takeaway. That way I can show Kathy my new things before we eat. And she’s bringing the photos of Majorca. I can’t wait to see them but I bet I look a sight with that sunburn! I want to put a couple on Facebook. You should come on Facebook, Rosie. It’s where everyone’s meeting people now. That way you can get to know new people….
The two of them turned into the path up to Rosie’s flat. Kate watched as their backs disappeared through the front door. It closed and she exhaled as if she’d been holding her breath for a long time. Kathy, Rosie’s mother, had an apartment in Majorca. She had asked Kate to go too, but she had never had the chance as this girl had.
After a few moments Kate walked back to the station, bought a coffee and got on a train heading out of Croydon.
Now Kate was waiting in a queue to pay for the A–Z. She was feeling tired and looking forward to getting back to the house and having a rest. She got the cash out for the book and as she handed it over she was startled by a small pile of paperbacks on the counter next to the till.
Children Who Kill, by Sara Wright.
She put her hand out and touched the cover. She had this very book at home, buried under some clothes in a drawer.
“Card payment?” the sales assistant said.
“No, cash…”
“That book is half price with any purchase over ten pounds.”
The sales assistant smiled apologetically. Her A–Z only cost £7.99.
“That’s OK, I didn’t want it,” Kate said, handing over the money.
“It’s actually pretty popular. I guess it’s the lurid title. Grabs your attention. Plus we have the writer giving a talk on it tomorrow evening at seven.”
Kate frowned. Sara Wright would be here in Exeter?
“Promotional tour. I guess her publishers are keen to sell it.”
“Thanks,” Kate said.
She took her purchase and walked towards the exit. She thought of the last time she’d seen Sara Wright in Rosie’s flat. Then she’d been wearing a suit and looking thin and tall and sharp. Kate had never much liked her. When she found out who she really was she’d felt a mixture of fear and rage towards her. Now, her book was finished and she was edging into Kate’s life again.
Maybe Kate should write a review of it. Tell her what she thought of the story of Jennifer Jones.
Twenty
Kate was about to get changed in order to go out. She had half an eye on the television set in her room as she chose something to wear. The local news was on and there was an item about Jodie Mills. She stood very still and watched the presenter say that a local man had been arrested and charged with her murder. The police were not releasing the man’s name, the presenter said, but local sources had named him as forty-two-year-old Martin Johnson who worked in one of the caravan parks on Sandy Bay. This information made Kate sit down on the side of her bed, her shoulders tense.
Did it make it any better, knowing who had murdered Jodie Mills? It did for the family, Kate was sure. Maybe it also made the community feel safer knowing that this man had been arrested and charged.
It should have made Kate feel better but it didn’t. She should have felt a moment’s delight knowing that the police would realise that they had been too hasty, that they had trampled all over her life because of something she had done in the past. There would be no apology, DI Lauren Heart had made that clear. Kate slumped back on the bed. She plucked at the duvet and grabbed at the corners, pulling them round her so that she was covered up. She knew that the police would consider themselves entirely justified. She pictured DC Simon Kelsey, his hair gelled stiff at the front, like wire; his sneering voice in her ear, You’re no stranger to a crime scene. How would he react to the news? Most likely he would shrug off the memory. What was it to him? Another day’s work and in the end they had arrested and charged someone. What would it matter to him that Kate’s little world had been shaken?
And yet how could she even think about her pain against the murder of a nine-year-old girl? Was this to be her future? Living in the shadow of two dead girls? She closed her eyes and turned over, pulling the duvet with her.
The barbecue was well under way when Kate arrived.
“Sorry, I forgot the time,” she said, breathless.
“No matter,” Jimmy said and pulled her through the house to the back garden.
His housemates and other friends were sitting on a variety of chairs and cushions. Someone had strung fairy lights across the back of the house and there was a home-made barbecue on the patio, bricks stacked in a circle and what looked like the tray from the grill across the top of it. A coffee table was alongside it with paper plates and a kitchen roll for napkins. Jimmy did speedy introductions. The new girl, Karen, was there and she smiled at her. The smell of meat cooking was strong and Kate realised that she was hungry.
“I walked past the tourist information office today. I didn’t see you there,” Jimmy said.
“I had the afternoon off. I was in Exeter, shopping.”
“Is this what you bought?” He looked down at her clothes.
“No! These jeans are old and so is this top!”
“So you dressed up in your oldest clothes to come and see me?”
He was grinning. She tried to straighten the hem of her T-shirt. It was wonky. She should have changed but after the television news she hadn’t the heart to do it.
“Still looks good to me.”
He reached across and ran his finger down the side seam. It gave her a tingle across her chest. She gulped down some beer.
“I needed a few things. I’m going away for a couple of weeks with some university friends,” she said. “Camping in Exmoor.”
“Two weeks? You never said,” he said.
“It was a last-minute thing.”
“But I saw you yesterday. You didn’t mention it then.”
“I still wasn’t sure then.”
>
“Oh, right…”
He seemed put out. Kate knew she had hurt him.
“Someone dropped out,” she said, softly. “Everything’s paid for so I said Why not?”
Jimmy seemed about to say something else but they were joined by a young man with a can of beer at his mouth. He was unsteady. It looked as though he’d been drinking all afternoon.
“What have you heard from young Becky?” he said, ignoring Kate’s presence.
“Not much,” Jimmy said, looking awkward. “She says it’s freezing cold on the island and the wind blows in four directions at once.”
“That’s Scotland for you. When’s she coming back?”
“After Christmas.”
“You and her? Getting back together?”
“No!”
Jimmy looked at Kate, his hands out in a helpless gesture.“Col,” he called, “come and take Rob away from me in case I do him some damage!”
“Point taken. I’ve opened my mouth in front of this young lady. I’ve put my foot in it.”
Col appeared, looking harassed, a long-handled spatula in his hand.
“Come on, Rob. There’s a deckchair over here with your name on it.”
“Sorry,” Jimmy said.
A couple got up off some cushions that were on the grass. Jimmy took Kate’s hand and pulled her over and they sat down. Kate had her back against the garden fence. It felt cooler there, further away from the barbecue. There was food cooking and she wondered whether to get some. She was comfortable though, her hand cupping the cold beer can. The garden seemed darker here, the fairy lights shining brighter. She felt relaxed, comfortable, her earlier thoughts about Jodie Mills receding.
“The holiday was a really good deal,” she said, gently.
