by Liz Fenwick
I hold her away from me so that she can see my face. I school my expression, suppressing the memory. ‘I found the two of them having a smoke and talking about the prospect for sailing the following day.’
‘Oh.’
‘So, it was nothing, darling. Just put it all from your mind.’
Diana presses her lips together for a moment. My heart aches. What am I doing to my child?
‘I will.’
The doorbell rings. ‘Now that will be the policeman. Are you ready, my love?’
She shakes her head, then looks down as she stands.
‘Is there something else?’
She nods. Her small shoulders are hunched slightly forward. Gone is her immaculate ballet posture. I know there is something else but we can’t postpone this any longer. I have to hope that if she hasn’t told me, then she will not tell a stranger.
I hold out my hand and she grabs it. Together we leave her room and head down the stairs. It is the first time in ages she doesn’t take them two at a time.
By the hallway table stand Mrs Hoskine, Tom and the chief inspector. All eyes are on us. Again, I am struck by the intensity of Mrs Hoskine’s stare. Tom, however looks more diminished by the moment. His fair hair is in disarray and dark circles fill the hollows under his eyes. The world has dropped from under him. Allan was his best friend.
‘Mrs Trewin.’ The detective steps forward. ‘Diana.’ He pauses. ‘Shall we go into the office?’
Nodding, I keep a firm hold of Diana’s hand even after we enter the small room. An extra chair has already been placed in there, making the room feel even smaller.
I let Diana choose where to sit. It is no surprise she selects her father’s chair at the desk. Her little hands grip the wooden arms. Pushing away my guilt, I focus on Diana.
The detective takes a seat and I hover before sitting. If I could, I would run, run as far as I can from here. But glancing at my daughter’s serious face, I know I will never be able to run away. My deeds will be with me always.
‘Now, Diana. Can you tell me about Saturday?’
She nods but doesn’t speak.
‘Yes,’ he said. She still doesn’t say a word.
‘He’s waiting for you.’ I smile.
‘Oh.’ She looks around and her hand reaches out for the pencil on the table. My heart stops. Her diary. What will she have written in that and where has she put it?
‘Yes, I am. Tell me about what you remember about Saturday.’
‘I woke up,’ she says.
‘Good. And?’ He takes a breath then leans back into the chair.
‘I had some porridge.’
I smother a smile.
‘Then I practised the piano until Daddy . . .’ She stops.
‘Until your father what?’
She swallows, and I just want to wrap her in my arms.
‘He came to the drawing room and asked me to play more quietly.’
‘I see. Then what else do you remember?’
‘I had toast and asked Daddy about a goat in the newspaper.’
The detective frowns.
‘There was an article in The Times,’ I say. Typical of Diana to remember the goat story.
He clears his throat. ‘Then?’
‘We went sailing.’ She frowns.
‘Was everything fine?’
She wrinkles her nose. ‘No.’
My stomach tightens.
‘Can you tell me what wasn’t right?’
Diana’s knuckles go white. I hope the chief inspector doesn’t notice. What had she seen on the boat?
‘Something bothered you?’
I watch the emotions play across her face.
‘OK, let’s leave the boat trip. Can you tell us about the evening?’
‘It was Daddy’s birthday.’ A smile hovers on her mouth.
‘And?’
‘We sang “Happy Birthday” and had cake.’
Where was the book she’d made for him? I hadn’t seen it since she brought it to her room. My stomach sinks. There is a picture in there.
‘You were happy?’ he asks.
She nods.
‘Then you went to bed?’ He looks at me.
Again, she nods.
‘Do you know what time that was?’ he asks.
‘Ten thirty, I think.’ She looks towards the door and the clock chimes the half hour.
‘Did you go to sleep?’ He raises an eyebrow.
Diana looks to me and I smile encouragement.
‘No, I was reading.’
‘Couldn’t you fall asleep?
‘No, it was noisy.’ She crosses her ankles, looking down.
‘How so?’
‘Music, laughter, singing.’
‘I see.’ He taps his fingers on the arm of his chair. ‘How late did you stay awake?
She shrugs. ‘Mummy came up.’
He turns to me. I had told him that I’d checked on Diana and had found her awake. ‘And what did you do?’
Again, Diana glances at me and this time I reach out and take her hand giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘She told me I could read another five pages then I had to put my book away.’
He pulls a cigarette case from his jacket and holds it out to me. I mouth no. I would kill for one but now is not the time. He lights one for himself and I push the ashtray towards him. ‘And did you see your father again?’
She swallows, and his glance darts my way. I clasp my hands together, twisting them.
‘He came up a bit later and kissed me,’ she says.
‘You were still awake?’
‘Yes.’ She drops her head.
‘Reading?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’ Her head pops back up and I give her a smile.
‘So, you hadn’t finished your five pages?’
She coughs. ‘I read much more than that.’ Turning to me she says, ‘Sorry, Mummy.’
I stroke her cheek. ‘It’s fine, my darling.’
‘Did you and your father chat?’
She bites her cheek. ‘Not really.’
He sits up straighter. ‘What did you do?’
‘He gave me a hug.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He told me a story until I fell asleep.’
‘A story?’
She squirms and a smile spreads across my face. She thinks she is too old for bedtime stories, but it was their special goodnight ritual.
‘A story about a princess.’ She sniffles. I hold tight to her hand.
I send a stern look to the chief inspector.
‘Anything else?’
She tilts her head to the side. ‘No.’
‘Thank you for being so helpful.’ Each word is spoken slowly, and I frown.
‘If you recall anything else, like what had bothered you when you were sailing, please let me know.
‘May I go now?’ She sits up straight.
‘Yes.’ He stands and Diana races from the room. I hear her footsteps up the stairs and then her door close.
He fixes me with an intense stare. ‘I feel she is holding something back.’
‘I don’t.’
‘But what about the boat comment?’
‘That could simply be that her father had spoken harshly to her or someone else had while they were sailing.’
From his expression, I can tell he didn’t believe me. ‘Allan was very easy going but he was a stickler on a boat.’
‘How so?’
‘He had a boat full of people and many had never sailed before, so I imagine he was safety conscious rather than at ease as he is – was – when sailing normally with Diana.’
‘Well, if she tells you any more, please let me know.’
‘Certainly.’ I leave him in the office. So much is pounding in my head. It wants to escape but it can’t. If Tom had been the one to follow me and to have witnessed what I had done, then I would be able to talk to someone. But he hadn’t, and it is George I have to rely on to sort this mess out. But I’m not sure how the Americans can put a lid on thi
s without raising suspicions.
87
Lottie
6 August 2018, 1.00 p.m.
On her phone, Lottie finished typing the email to the coordinator at the V&A, explaining what had happened to her work and apologising for her necessary withdrawal. Her finger hovered over the send key and she looked up at the house. It appeared so serene while her insides were in turmoil. This exhibition had been her big chance. Did she want that any more? She didn’t know. Her phone rang. It’s the private investigator, Jamie. They had been playing phone tag. She pressed send and answers it.
‘Jamie.’
‘Lottie, finally, I have good news. We have located the jewels and precious metals.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, you heard me correctly. We’ve found him and the jewellery,’ Jamie said.
Lottie swallowed, walking to the garden table, trying to let the words sink in. ‘Truly?’
‘Paul’s in police custody.’
Her eyes opened wide. ‘Thank you.’ She pinched herself.
‘A pleasure. The man has previous and, by the way, he’s still married.’
‘Yes, sadly, to me.’ She pushed the gravel under the table with her toe. If only what happened in Vegas had stayed there.
‘No, not to you. Or not just to you.’
‘What?’ The sun beat down on her and she began to wonder if she was hearing correctly.
‘Not even to the woman you thought was his ex, but to a Karen Down who he went to school with. He never divorced her.’
‘So . . .’
‘You’re not legally married, and we can get bigamy added to his charge sheet.’
She blinked and looked heavenward, thankful.
‘You OK?’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry if you loved him . . .’
She laughed. ‘Looking back, I’m not sure I ever did, but if I had, there was nothing left after he stole from me.’
‘Phew. I do wonder if I blunder in sometimes.’ He laughed.
‘Thank you so much.’
‘A pleasure and I’m happy to help a friend of Sally’s anytime.’
Lottie smiled, thinking of her friend. She owed her a large glass of wine and then some. ‘She’ll be thrilled.’
‘I know she is as she’s here with me.’
Lottie heard her friend in the background say she’d call her later and that she was so sorry about Lottie’s gran.
Letting out a deep breath, Lottie put her phone in her pocket, finally allowing herself to relax.
‘You look happy.’ Her mother walked towards her with a mug. ‘Thought you could use this.’
Lottie took it. ‘Thanks.’
‘I know I’ve said it, but I need to say it again.’
‘Mum . . .’
‘No, I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you.’
Lottie let go a deep breath and said, ‘Thank you.’ She took her mother’s outstretched hand. ‘I’ve had some good news.’ She grinned.
‘We could use some.’ Her mother glanced up to Gran’s room.
‘Indeed, we could.’ Lottie smiled.
Her mother nudged her. ‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense.’
‘Is Gramps inside?’ Lottie asked.
Her mother nodded.
‘I might as well tell you both together.’
‘That good?’ Her mother raised an eyebrow.
‘Definitely,’ she said, as they walked into the drawing room to find Gramps.
‘I love seeing you both smile,’ he said as he tried to get up from the sofa and they both raced to his aid. ‘Just hand me the darn cane, please.’ Lottie gave it to him. ‘I need to be able to do this on my own or you should put me in a home.’
‘No!’ Lottie said and her mother in unison.
Alex laughed as he walked through the door. ‘Is that the first time you two have agreed on anything?’
Her mother looked sheepish. ‘It might be.’
‘Now, Lottie, this news,’ said Gramps. ‘I hope it’s not like yesterday’s.’
‘Thankfully not.’ She smiled. ‘They have recovered all my jewellery and best of all, Paul is still married.’
‘To you?’ said Alex.
She looked up at him not sure how he would react. He’d been silent on the matter until now. ‘No, to his first wife.’
A grin spread across her mother’s face. ‘So your marriage is void?’
Lottie nodded.
‘Now that is good news.’ Gramps walked to the drinks table. ‘This calls for something more interesting than tea.’
‘Yes, lunch,’ said Alex. ‘It’s ready.’
‘A sherry before, I think.’ Gramps smiled and went to the decanter on the drinks trolley. He poured several glasses, offering one to Lottie then one to her mother.
‘Why not?’ Her mother took the glass, then linked her arm through Lottie’s and they walked to the kitchen together.
88
Joan
6 August 1962, 5.00 p.m.
Diana is asleep in the snug clutching Allan’s bear. All my guests have left, except Tom. He is in his room packing. Diana and I are leaving tomorrow. We will stay in London. It will be easier when everything isn’t a reminder.
‘Mrs Hoskine.’ I whisper as she walks into the room. She nods and together we go out into the hall. The newspapers lay untouched on the table. No one can bear to read them. This weekend has provided enough tragedy for anyone.
‘Your train tickets are here.’ She hands them to me.
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s not for me to say, but I will.’ She pauses, and I brace myself. ‘Leaving Boskenna isn’t right and it especially isn’t right for Diana.’
I purse my lips. I understand she needs to speak even if I disagree.
‘She needs to feel safe and loved and to feel she is at home.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ve known you nearly all my life, Mrs Trewin.’ She straightens her apron. ‘And I have admired you, but I think you are wrong.’ She gives me a knowing look. ‘Two wrongs won’t make a right.’
‘Thank you.’ I say again. Arguing won’t help. ‘I appreciate all you do for us, for me, and your role will be even more important going forward.’
She frowns and I continue, ‘I will be letting the house out. Can you store everything personal and lock it up?’
‘As you wish.’ She turns on her heel and heads into the kitchen. I can rely on her but . . . I can’t quite place my finger on it. I need to escape, to run from here and I can’t explain that to anyone.
‘Joan.’ Tom puts his suitcase down and walks towards me. I wish he was coming to London with us and I wish I could talk to him, but I can’t.
‘Mr Hoskine is waiting to take me to the station.’
‘Yes.’ I straighten my shoulders.
A foot away from me he stops and says, ‘I’ll be back for the inquest.’
I swallow, dreading the thought of it. ‘Thank you.’
‘You will be fine.’
I nod. ‘Tom?’
‘Don’t.’ He takes my hand in both of his. Feeling silk on my palm, I swallow, and he pulls his hands away. I manage to stand unsupported, but it takes all the strength in me.
He picks up his bag and I walk with him out the front door with my hand tightly clasped. Our silence is punctuated only by the stormy sea below. The rain begins to sputter and I push my hair back from my face. Closing the car door, Tom rolls the window down and looks at me and says, ‘Always.’
The car pulls away and I stand there long after it has disappeared, until the beat of the rain has increased and I am soaked through. The silk bow in my hand is bone dry.
89
Lottie
6 August 2018, 6.00 p.m.
The tide was disappearing and families were being replaced by anglers. At present it was about forty per cent each. The remaining numbers like herself were walking, thinking, being. Although Lottie tried not to look to the headland, she couldn’t stop. Her grandfather was p
ushed from it and John had fallen to his death exactly where the point jutted out furthest into the bay. Several men were perched on the rocks casting their lines. She thought of John’s parents. They were right. It was time to move forward and leave the shadow in the past. She couldn’t change it and it had shaped her. But she would forgive herself. She had seen what happens when you don’t. Poor Gran. Poor Mum.
The sound of the sea and smell of the seaweed brought a sense of well-being despite the past few days. Nothing had been as it had appeared. Her mind struggled to process everything and failed. Instead, she watched a child placing a rock on the tower of a sandcastle. The father beside her beamed. She had missed out on all of that but then she’d had Gramps. He’d built the sandcastles, cleaned the scraped knees, and held her hand when she was scared. And her father was Arash. It was a wonderful name and finally it was a part of her, that missing piece.
Her life at the moment was a bit like that sandcastle. It would last in that form until the tide returned. She would rebuild. Her life wouldn’t include Gran, but she would hold all the love she had given her. Lottie understood her mother a bit more, too. Gran had said she was complete by herself. Had she known? Her mother had never sought love again. She had thrown herself into her work, giving that her everything. Lottie flinched. That hurt but at least now she understood why.
Picking up a smooth flat stone she felt its weight. Would it skip far? Or would it sink on the first bounce?
Alex walked up to her. ‘Hi.’
‘I don’t want to talk to you.’ She gave him a slight smile to take the edge off her words. They hadn’t had a chance to speak with all things that had needed doing since Gran died.
‘Look, I’m sorry.’
‘You watched me trying to piece the whole thing together and you knew all along.’
He held up his hands. ‘It wasn’t my story to tell.’
She nodded and picked up a shell. ‘No, but I’m cross Gramps could share it with you and . . .’
He reached for her hand. ‘It wasn’t entirely his story to tell.’
Lottie looked at his hand holding hers. It could be years ago, as if life hadn’t happened. But it had.
Lacing his fingers through hers, he said, ‘If it makes it easier, he wouldn’t have told me either.’
She frowned.
‘When I was helping George with your grandmother, she would say things like she did when I was with you.’ He stepped closer. ‘George felt he should explain, knowing I would never say anything.’
