by Liz Fenwick
‘I know. Very rude of you to say so.’ I grin at him. ‘I never learn.’ I shrug. I’m not hungover. I had burned through all the alcohol in my system long before I confronted Allan. Then I had cried out anything else that had been left in me.
‘Allan seemed to have a bee in his bonnet last night too.’ Tom shakes his head. ‘Haven’t seen him hit the bottle like last night in a long time,’ he says with a sideways glance at me. Does he know? My stomach drops, but there is no way he could be aware of what he is about to find. As his eyes study me, I see the black of Allan’s dinner jacket a few feet in front of us at the base of the cliffs. He has landed closer to the base than I had imagined. But then I hadn’t had to use much force. In fact, thinking about it, hardly any at all.
‘Christ.’ Tom grabs my arm. ‘Sorry, don’t look, Joan.’ But it is too late. The sight of my husband broken on the rocks will stay with me forever.
He takes his jumper from around his shoulders, bends to his knees and gently covers his friend’s head and shoulders pausing briefly. I didn’t think I had any tears left, but the devastation on Tom’s face as he rises and turns to me breaks me in two and I double-over in pain.
74
Diana
5 August 1962, 7.15 a.m.
‘Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, dormez-vous, dormez-vous?’ Diana sang, thinking she should change the words to make the song especially for Daddy. She and Mr Hoskine had searched the whole garden but there was no sign of her father. She tugged Mr Hoskine’s hand and asked, ‘Should we help check the beach?’
‘Can’t hurt.’ Mr Hoskine continued humming as they walked to the gate onto the coastal path. She hoped that today the Venns wouldn’t be around and she would be able to spend time with Daddy and Mummy and maybe Uncle Tom. The other guests would begin to leave today although tomorrow was the bank holiday. Mrs Hoskine said rain was forecast so today would be a wonderful day for swimming and some beach cricket. Maybe it would be good if a few of the guests did stay for that. It was always more fun with lots of people playing.
A bird hopped onto the path just before they were about to walk down the steps. Diana smiled. ‘Morning, Mr Magpie.’ It tilted its head and gave her a good look before it flew away. Below on the beach she could see Jacob, the fisherman, with a policeman. ‘What’s happening, Mr Hoskine?’
He frowned as they reached the bottom step. Jacob and the policeman walked up to Mummy who was in Uncle Tom’s arms. Diana squinted. The policeman bent down to something behind them. Mummy was shaking her head. Diana watched the policeman. Had someone had an accident? The policeman pulled Uncle Tom’s jumper off what he was looking at. She froze for a moment then yelled, ‘Daddy.’
Her legs took a moment to move and she evaded Mr Hoskine’s hand. The sand was hard to run on, but Daddy needed her. He was hurt.
‘Diana, stop!’ Mummy ran to her and Diana kicked and squirmed as Mummy held her fast. Uncle Tom and Jacob all stood shoulder to shoulder and she couldn’t see Daddy, she needed to see him to tell him she loved him. She hadn’t meant to lie to him. She should have told him the truth that she had told Mummy she’d seen him kiss Mr Venn.
Still holding her tight, Mummy put her on the sand. ‘Stop. Diana, look at me.’ She turned her head and saw Mummy’s red eyes. Diana fell to the sand. Mummy bent down to her and picked up her hands.
‘My love, you can’t go to Daddy.’
‘I need to.’
Mummy swallowed.
‘He needs to know I love him.’
Mummy wrapped her arms around her. ‘He knows that my love. He loved you.’
‘Why can’t I talk to him?’
Mummy took a deep breath. She hugged Diana even tighter. ‘Daddy is . . .’
‘Daddy’s right there lying down.’ She pointed.
‘No, Diana, he’s . . . gone to heaven.’
‘Heaven?’ Diana frowned then she looked Mummy straight in the eyes. ‘He’s dead?’
Mummy nodded, and she pressed her lips together like she was cross. Daddy was dead, and it was Diana’s fault.
‘Mr Hoskine can you take Diana up to the house?’
‘Come Diana, let’s go.’ He held out his hand and she took it. With each step she repeated in her head daddy’s dead, daddy’s dead, daddy’s dead. She looked over her shoulder. Uncle Tom’s jumper covered Daddy’s face. It was all her fault – she’d lied.
75
Lottie
5 August 2018, 7.30 a.m.
The tide was still out, and Alex hadn’t said a word since they had left his grandmother’s. Yet Lottie knew he was bursting to speak, and she wasn’t ready to listen. This playing sleuth was hard, but harder still was knowing only a half truth. Or thinking of the dolls on the birthday cake, it was as though Lottie had opened the largest one, but she wasn’t able to loosen the grip the middle doll had on the smallest. Years ago when she’d found them, Gran had opened them. She sighed.
Leaving Alex by the wall, she walked to the rocks by the cliffs. From here the watchtower was nearly invisible. At the moment, on the furthest rock sat a fisherman. She made her way out to him. He turned as she approached. ‘Lottie Trewin, I’m so sorry to hear your grandmother’s not well. She’s a fine woman.’
‘Thanks, Jacob.’ She perched on the edge of a rock and peered into his bucket. ‘Much luck?’
‘Not bad. Enough for dinner tonight anyway.’ He grinned. ‘I see you’re spending time with young Alex again.’
‘Not like in the past.’ She blushed, thinking of Jacob once finding her and Alex in a state of some undress in one of the tenders pulled up onto the beach. She looked at him closely and said, ‘You were the one who found my grandfather.’
He nodded. ‘Your mother was asking me about it and now you are.’ He reeled in his line and rebaited it. ‘They are hungry this morning but cautious.’ He cast the line. ‘It was a long time ago. I never will forget. But I’ve learned somethings are best left in the past.’
‘Is that what you told Mum?’
‘Yes. Told her there was never any good in digging up dead bodies. Things always stink.’ He chuckled. ‘Don’t think she paid any attention. She’s spent her whole career uncovering the awful things in life.’
Lottie couldn’t deny that.
‘The bow?’
‘Pat’s been talking.’
She nodded.
‘Mr Trewin had a bow in his hand when I found him.’ He sighed. ‘When I came back with Pat, it was gone.’
‘What happened?’
‘Don’t know. But it don’t matter now.’
Lottie frowned.
‘Best to look for the good.’ He smiled, and his sun-worn face lit up. ‘Alex is coming for you.’
‘Thanks, Jacob. Good luck with the fishing.’
He waved and she met Alex on the rocks. ‘Not letting go?’
She shook her head.
‘Are you better off for what you know?’ He held out a hand when she slipped on a slime-covered rock.
‘I wasn’t given any choice. Gran wanted me to forgive her and Mum too. We did, but neither of us knew what she was asking.’
‘If you had would it change what you said?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’ She looked up to Boskenna glowing white in the morning sun. ‘I don’t know, but I see Gramps is awake.’
‘Don’t trouble him with this.’
She turned to him. ‘I know you care for him. I love him, but he was here, and he went along with Gran’s lies.’ She squinted, trying to see what Gramps was doing but it was just too far for her to focus. Something wasn’t right. She just didn’t know what. ‘That tells me he knows something, maybe not everything. But he’s no fool.’ She walked across the sand.
‘Lottie!’ Alex stood feet apart and hands at his side lightly clenched. ‘Wait.’
She stopped and turned to him.
‘When you find your answers, what will you do?’ He walked towards her.
‘What does that matter? As you’ve pointed out,
Gran won’t be with us for much longer.’
‘Will you tell your mother?’
She looked at him and then the gentle waves caressing the sand. ‘After the fiasco of ten years ago, I promised her I would always tell the truth . . . if asked.’ She swallowed, thinking of what she hadn’t told anyone here. But they hadn’t asked. She hadn’t lied.
‘Is this an answer she really wants to hear?’
‘Not my decision.’
‘That’s where you are wrong.’
She began walking again. She knew now that Gran had killed Allan, but she didn’t have the reason. Would she have done it because of the affair? Jealousy was a strong motive.
Reaching the house, she found Gramps walking out of the kitchen.
‘Morning, Lottie.’
She went to him and hugged him. ‘Gran?’
‘The nurse is here.’
She nodded and took his arm, leading him into the snug. Once he was settled, he gave her a piercing look. ‘What’s troubling you?’
Lottie sat and looked down at her hands and locked her fingers together. Alex had more than indicated that she shouldn’t ask Gramps, but in her heart she knew he held all the answers.
‘Out with it, Lottie.’
She looked up. She’d heard that phrase from him so many times, but never had it been so difficult. His expression was guarded. He knew.
‘Why did Gran kill Allan?’
He gasped.
Lottie regretted her words. She picked up his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Gramps. I didn’t mean to be so blunt but . . . she asked for my forgiveness and then confessed.’
‘She said she killed Allan?’ He leaned back, releasing her hand.
‘No.’ Lottie thought through exactly what happened. ‘She said she had no choice then confessed she’d killed “him”.’ She sighed. ‘I pieced the rest together.’
‘Oh.’ He sank back into the chair looking as if someone had taken the stuffing out of him.
‘You knew.’
He glanced at her then to Alex who had appeared at the door. ‘Your mother has gone to talk to Pat. I’ve called him and warned him.’ Alex shook his head. ‘I should have thought of that before.’
‘Why?’ She looked from Gramps to Alex then back again. He didn’t answer.
‘I’m going to tell her.’ Gramps picked up her hand again.
‘Fine, I may head to Pat’s too, then.’ Alex sent her a funny look as he left.
‘You knew all this time?’ She asked, staring at Gramps. None of this made sense. In her head she’d pictured a moment of anger, jealousy.
Gramps nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I saw it happen.’
‘What?’
‘Things are rarely what they appear.’ His face fell.
‘Gran murdered her husband and you witnessed it?’ She shifted on the sofa. ‘Were you Gran’s lover?’
‘No, I’d only met her a few hours before.’
She rubbed her hand across her face. None of this added up. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘If I explain, will you tell your mother?’
She closed her eyes thinking of the conversation she had had with her yesterday. ‘I don’t know. Don’t you think she has the right to know what happened to her father?’
He sighed. ‘Joan told me that Diana had forgiven her, accepted her love and Joan found some peace in knowing that.’ He wheezed. ‘That moment was fifty-six years in the making. She loves Diana so much that what she did destroyed her.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘All she could see was what she’d done to Diana, and that drove a wedge further and further between them and to be honest, between Joan and everyone . . . except you.’
She frowned.
‘She loves you, Lottie. She gave you the love she couldn’t give Diana.’
Lottie stood and spun around. ‘She loves you, too.’
‘Yes, in the end she did – because I knew. She didn’t have to hide the trauma within.’
‘I don’t understand.’ She ran her fingers through her hair.
‘Joan was a spy.’
Her legs wobbled. Of all the things he could have said, this was one she hadn’t expected. ‘What?’
‘Yes. And brilliant at what she did.’
She sat back down and studied his face. ‘Come on. Gran was a cultural attaché, a socialite.’
‘Which meant she had access to people’s homes.’
‘What?’
‘In Moscow she wasn’t snooping on her own people, she was the main contact for a double agent, but before that she kept tabs on our side.’
‘I still don’t understand.’
‘Her father was a career diplomat and her mother the ultimate hostess. Joan was “family”.’ He held up his hand to make the quotation marks.
‘So . . . Gran spied on friends?’ She ran a hand through her hair.
‘When asked, yes.’
She studied him. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’
‘Sadly, it was necessary in our world. The Cold War was real.’
She squinted at him seeing him anew. ‘Were you a spy?’
He sighed. ‘Not as such. I was a handler.’
‘Were you Gran’s?’
‘I was about to be. The double agent was a joint operation and the handover took place here hours before Joan acted.’ He squinted into the distance.
‘Was that why she killed him?’
He nodded. ‘Allan had turned, honey-trapped.’
‘Honey-trapped?’ She frowned.
‘Allan was a very handsome man and although he wanted other children, she told me he wouldn’t touch her when she was pregnant. During one of the failed pregnancies, he had an affair and they held it over him to get to Joan to discover who the Soviet double agent was.’
She sank back against the cushions. ‘She didn’t have any choice.’
‘No, she didn’t. But it killed her.’ His hands shook.
‘But she had you.’
‘That took years, but she never forgave herself for taking Allan from Diana.’
‘Oh.’ She tried to absorb it all, but her tired brain was swimming. ‘And Alex, is he a spook too?’
Gramps pressed his lips together for a moment then said, ‘He’s a friend.’
She assumed that was code. Alex had served in the Navy – maybe it had been in intelligence. ‘Speaking of friends . . . this Tom Martin?’
‘He was Joan’s handler, and Allan’s, but Allan had betrayed him and that’s why I was brought in.’
‘How did Tom take it?’
‘Not well. Although he was never told the truth, he was smart enough to work it out.’ He patted her hand. ‘He left the service, returned to academia, did a PhD, became a teacher then a headmaster. Joan and I saw him now and then once we moved back here.’
‘Oh.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Don’t think less of her.’
‘I don’t, not at all.’ She swallowed. ‘If anything . . . I’m in awe. I couldn’t have made that decision.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised. We’re all stronger than we think.’
They sat silently, and tears rolled down Gramps cheeks. She kissed him. ‘Thank you for loving her.’
He smiled. ‘I had no choice. She stole my heart from the moment I saw her.’
76
Joan
5 August 1962, 7.45 a.m.
Once Diana is out of sight, I turn around and walk back to Tom.
‘You’re in shock.’ Tom moves and blocks my view, so I must look at him and not Allan. ‘You need to go to the house.’
I shake my head, but he is right. I didn’t think I would be in shock. After all, I knew what we would find on the beach but nonetheless, I am. I close my eyes for a moment and I hear huffing and puffing.
‘Oh, dear God.’ Mrs Hoskine stood, staring. ‘Pat?’
‘Carol, best not to look. I’ll be up to the house shortly.’ Pat put a hand on her arm.
‘It’s a terrible business.’ Mrs Hoskine shakes her head.
>
‘Terrible.’ Pat looks at me. ‘Mrs Trewin, this is no place for you.’ He turns back to Jacob.
I look from his serious face to the watchtower. It is a long way up. The sky is bright blue. No clouds. The morning sun is golden and softens the colours of the rocks. On any other day I would be overwhelmed by the beauty, but today the beauty is almost offensive. I glance down at Allan’s legs, which are all I can see.
‘You need to go up to the house,’ says Tom. He turns to Mrs Hoskine. ‘If you would be so kind as to take Mrs Trewin. She is in shock.’
‘Of course.’ She nods.
‘I’ll stay here.’ Tom places a hand on my cheek and pushes a tear away with his thumb before she directs me through the crowd which has been gathering. I note a few of our guests on the beach as people part to let us through. George stands at the back of the crowd. He doesn’t look at me, which makes me feel worse somehow. How did I not realize how awful this would be? If I had, would I have done anything different?
She leads me behind the low concrete buildings to our gate. The view of the house baking in the August sun is so peaceful, sleepy even. Judging by the pulled curtains several of our party are still sleeping, in blissful ignorance of the tragedy that lies below.
We reach the front door and Pete Hoskine says, ‘Mary’s in the kitchen with the mite.’
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘I thought you might be needing me on the beach,’ he says. Mrs Hoskine is whiter than her apron. I must look a fright, still in the remains of last night’s makeup and my skin blotchy from my tears.
‘Let me get you something to drink. Tea, I think.’ She bustles off as I nod, unable to speak more. My mouth is dry, and I am shaking. There is no need to act. I look around. Nothing has changed. The newspapers are on the hall table. The tall case clock is still working. This is wrong, everything is wrong.
Diana bolts into the hall. I bend down and open my arms. ‘Mummy, tell me it isn’t true. Tell me it was a bad dream.’ She presses her tear-covered face into my shoulder.
‘I can’t lie to you, my darling.’
‘No, Mummy, no. Not Daddy.’
I pull her tight against me. There is nothing I can say.
