‘Cathbad?’ she says, hearing her voice sounding high and rather panicky.
‘I’m here.’ He is much closer than she had thought, materialising between two boulders, his cloak bright against the grey. Irritation forgotten, she has to resist an urge to grasp hold of Cathbad’s arm.
‘Where’s Leif?’ she says.
‘Probably gone to look at the other circle,’ says Cathbad. ‘There’s a kind of avenue to the left.’ He raises his voice. ‘Leif!’ His voice echoes against the silent stones.
‘Where is he?’ Even Cathbad sounds quite rattled. He calls again. ‘Leif!’
‘I’m over here.’ Ruth can’t tell where the voice is coming from. She squints at the stones forming the Great Circle. Have they moved again? Will they be trapped, unable to escape until the devil plays his wild tarantella? She can hear seagulls calling, high above the clouds, but otherwise everything is silent. Beside her Cathbad says, ‘Leif! Where are you?’ Then, suddenly, the mist clears and a figure is walking towards them. No, two figures. Three. Leif is in front, followed by a woman with long hair that flows back behind her.
The woman is carrying a baby.
*
Carol Dunne is teaching but the receptionist says that she will fetch her. Judy waits in the area with the coloured mural which, on closer inspection, depicts St Paul’s and the surrounding countryside, the school a blob of red against yellow houses and green fields, the sea – or the sky – a line of blue on the horizon. On the opposite wall there’s a display of photographs of ‘our school family’. The road-crossing attendant with her lollipop is at the centre. There are also certificates declaring that the school is green, accessible and anti-bullying. The list of safeguarding officers adds a more sober note but Judy is pleased to see that it’s up to date.
Carol arrives, as sunny and youthful as ever in a green dress and flat brown boots.
‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘The Year 4 teacher is off sick and I’m taking her class today. I can only spare you five minutes, I’m afraid. The teaching assistant’s in there but they’re quite challenging today. It’s the rain. Wet play and all that.’ It has been drizzling all morning but now the rain is hammering against the skylight above their heads. As Judy follows Carol to her office, she sees several buckets placed at strategic intervals.
‘Maintenance never ends,’ says Carol. ‘Sometimes I feel more like an odd-job man than a teacher. It’s not what I came into the profession for.’
‘I just wanted a quick word,’ says Judy, taking the visitors’ chair opposite Carol. The office has a view over the wet playground. A soggy banner exhorts pupils to ‘Learn Well and Play Well’.
‘You’ve heard about Ava Simmonds going missing?’ says Judy.
‘Yes,’ says Carol. ‘I heard it on the news this morning. What a terrible thing. As if that family hasn’t suffered enough.’
‘I know you used to teach Star,’ says Judy. ‘Or Stella as she was then. We’re following up every avenue in the search for Ava and one of the family made a remark about Star which I’d like to follow up.’
Carol says nothing but she is looking at Judy intently.
‘One of Star’s uncles suggested that she might have made the whole thing up,’ says Judy. ‘To gain attention, perhaps because the previous day – the funeral – had been all about Margaret. I just wanted your opinion on this theory.’
Carol holds up her hand, like the road-crossing attendant in the photograph.
‘Absolutely not,’ she says. ‘Stella, Star, wasn’t like that at all. She wasn’t the most conventional child but she was actually very firmly rooted in the real world. You often do get children who lie, who embellish the truth, who crave attention, but Star wasn’t one of them. She was confident, happy in herself.’
Judy has only known Star in time of crisis, but, even so, she recognises this image. Star has obviously embraced being a single parent with clear-sightedness and practicality. She attended mother and baby groups, she expressed her milk, she drank blessed thistle tea. She is living at home with both her parents in attendance. It seems very unlikely that she would harm her precious baby just to gain attention.
‘In cases where children do make up stories,’ says Carol, ‘it’s often to make themselves feel safe. If you are telling a story then you’re in control of the narrative, you’re empowered.’
‘My son likes making up stories,’ says Judy. ‘Not about himself but about made-up characters. My partner says that storytelling is an essential human activity.’
Carol smiles. ‘Your partner is right. Perhaps they . . .’ Judy can see Carol hesitating over the pronoun, ‘could come in to one of our storytelling sessions in Book Week.’
‘I’m sure he’d love to,’ says Judy.
‘Funnily enough,’ says Carol, ‘I was thinking of Margaret just then. Margaret sometimes used to tell stories, part truth, part embellishment. When she went missing some of her friends said that Margaret had told them that she had a boyfriend in London. The police investigated and there was no truth behind it at all. But the fact that she told that story made me wonder . . .’
She is silent so long that Judy prompts, ‘Made you wonder what?’
‘As I said, telling stories makes us feel safe. Usually, as your partner says, it’s a benign activity that helps us make sense of the world but sometimes . . . sometimes you have to wonder why a child feels unsafe. Inventing a boyfriend, for example, could be a way of saying that “I’m OK, someone loves me, someone will protect me.”’
‘You said that everyone loved Margaret.’
‘Yes, she was very popular. But, after she disappeared, I did wonder if she was completely happy at home.’
‘You never met her father, Bob, did you?’
‘No,’ says Carol, ‘and I’d be very wary about throwing out allegations of abuse, especially as the poor man is dead. But there’s no doubt that shame is often at the bottom of persistent lies.’
‘Shame?’
‘Victims often feel shame,’ says Carol. ‘Shame, guilt, anger and fear. You asked me if Star fitted the profile of a compulsive liar. I would say absolutely not. But I can’t say the same about Margaret. Or even Annie. I taught her too, remember? Just briefly, before I left the school.’
‘Annie? Star’s mother?’
‘Annie was a bright girl,’ says Carol, ‘and, of course, she suffered a lot. Her sister disappearing, her parents breaking up. She reacted by being permanently angry. It sometimes takes children like that but I’ve often wondered if there could have been more going on beneath the surface. Annie and Luke both did well at school and I’ve heard they’re happily married now but maybe there was damage that we didn’t see, or weren’t trained to see.’
Judy thinks about the conversation as she drives to Star’s house through the rain. Is it possible that Margaret was abused and, if so, does the focus need to come back to the immediate family? She still has her suspicions about Pete. He seems nice enough, supporting Karen, always at her shoulder with a comforting pat and a kind word. But she can’t forget that he denied all knowledge of Scarning Fen when he had actually lived fairly near there. And he had an allotment. Could Pete who, according to his brother-in-law, had always liked Karen, have been hanging around to abuse her children? It’s a dark thought but darker things have happened.
And what about Annie? ‘Damage’ was the word used by Carol Dunne. If Annie too had been abused by Pete, that might account for her anger, which a few people have mentioned. Judy hasn’t really seen this side of Annie. She seems a rather distant parent, hovering around Star but often appearing not to know what to do to comfort her. It’s Dave who puts his arms round Star, who tells her that it’s going to be all right. But, then again, in their family it’s Cathbad who’s the more nurturing parent. He’s the one the children call if they get scared in the night. Judy provides stability and (she hopes) unconditional love. But would an outsider judge her for checking her phone messages while on the sofa watching Peppa Pig?
/> She wonders how Cathbad is getting on in Somerset. She hopes it’s not raining there, Cathbad’s not the best at driving in challenging conditions. She feels slightly envious of Ruth, wandering through the countryside looking at stones, while she is stuck in the grim reality of missing children. But being with Cathbad would mean spending the day with Leif, whom Judy found a rather disturbing presence. She hopes that Cathbad remembers to tell her that he’s arrived safely. He has an annoying habit of leaving his phone switched off.
The house on Ferry Road already feels claustrophobic, both too big and too small. When Judy arrives, Star is huddled on the sofa, still in her pyjama-type trousers. Dave is sitting beside her and Annie is in the background, offering food, herbal tea and backrubs, all of which are rejected. Today there is also Star’s elder sister, Sienna, who has come over from Loughborough. Sienna is a tall, athletic-looking woman who seems to get on Star’s nerves. ‘A walk would do you good,’ she keeps saying, ‘get some fresh air.’
Star shivers, wrapping her arms round herself protectively. ‘I’m cold,’ she says, ‘I never want to go outside again.’
Judy manages to get the family out of the room on various pretexts. Then she turns to Star. ‘Today’s the worst day,’ she says. ‘A whole night has gone past and you’re thinking that Ava will never be found. But she will be.’
Star looks at her, eyes shadowed and huge. ‘How long was your baby missing for?’
‘Four days,’ says Judy. ‘Three nights.’
‘I don’t know how you survived.’
‘I almost didn’t,’ says Judy. ‘But the police found him. My colleagues found him. We’re really good at this sort of stuff. We’ll find Ava.’
‘What’s your little boy’s name?’
‘Michael,’ says Judy, rather reluctantly. She always feels that giving away her children’s names makes them vulnerable in some way.
‘Does Michael remember anything about it?’
‘I don’t think so,’ says Judy. ‘Once he said the name . . . the name of the person who took him. It gave me a terrible shock but I don’t think he remembers. He was only a year old.’ But Michael claims to remember being born (‘It was like a door being opened in space . . .’) and Cathbad believes him.
‘Ava’s not even a month old,’ says Star. ‘I was looking forward to saying her age in months and not days.’
‘You will,’ says Judy.
‘Mum and Dad are being really kind,’ says Star, ‘but they don’t understand. Nor does Sienna. I suppose if I had a partner it might be different because he’d love Ava as much as I do. Have you got a partner?’
‘Yes,’ says Judy. She doesn’t feel like going into the complications of Michael’s paternity. ‘He was really traumatised by the whole thing. But it’s fine now. We’ve got another child. A girl.’
‘That’s lovely,’ says Star, giving Judy a smile of such sweetness that she blinks.
‘I saw Ryan’s parents,’ she says. ‘They were very shocked. They send their . . . their best.’ It’s not much, coming from Ava’s grandparents, but Star seems genuinely touched.
‘That’s nice. They’re nice people. They just didn’t want Ryan to be tied down with a baby. That’s why they sent him away to Camp America. But I never expected anything of Ryan. I always knew that I’d be bringing Ava up on my own.’
‘That’s very brave.’
‘I’m luckier than most single mothers,’ says Star. ‘I’ve got my parents, a nice house, lots of friends.’
Judy is working her way down the list of friends given to her by Star but it seems that most of them haven’t seen Star since she gave birth. She wonders if Star is a bit lonely, despite the parents and the nice house. After all, she seemed very keen to be friends with Michelle, who is more than twenty years older than her. The boss says that Michelle is planning to visit Star this afternoon.
‘Is Leif Anderssen a good friend?’ she asks.
‘I like Leif,’ says Star. ‘He’s a very beautiful person. Physically, I mean. But he’ll be going back to Norway soon. My next relationship has to be with someone special. Like Cathbad.’
‘What?’
‘Cathbad. The man who runs my meditation class. I’d like to meet someone like him. He’s so spiritual and wise. He knows all the answers.’
Only if you ask the right questions, thinks Judy. She knows that she should tell Star that Cathbad is her partner but she can’t find the words.
‘How about some camomile tea?’ she says.
*
The woman comes closer, wearing a homespun cloak, her hair gleaming. For a moment Ruth genuinely wonders if she has slipped through a portal and gone back in time. This could be some Neolithic woman, come to lay her baby in the centre of the stone circle and ask for blessings from the nature spirits. She could be a Bronze Age hunter-gatherer, tending the fields with her child strapped to her back.
‘Ruth,’ says the woman. ‘Ruthie.’
It’s Magda. Erik’s wife. Leif’s mother.
Magda passes the baby to Leif and holds out her arms. Ruth moves forward and is enfolded in a hug that smells of lavender and wood smoke. Once she had loved Magda, seen her as the mother she wanted and needed, rather than the one she had. But, since Ruth’s mother has died, Ruth has started to see her in a more favourable light. She actually misses her a great deal. And Magda, like Erik, turned out to be not quite what she seemed.
‘I wanted to see you.’ Magda holds Ruth’s face in her hands. ‘I got Leif to arrange this meeting with you. With both of you.’ She turns to Cathbad.
‘Hallo, Magda.’ Ruth can hear her own wariness in Cathbad’s voice.
‘The baby?’ says Ruth. She turns to look at the child in Leif’s arms. It is blonde and cherubic but it’s not a newborn. It’s not Ava.
‘This is Erik’s child,’ says Magda, smiling at them both. ‘Freya. Our miracle baby.’
*
Nelson is about to leave the station to visit the search teams when Leah tells him there’s a call on the line.
‘This is Inspector Per Amundsen from the Norwegian police. I believe you were asking about Professor Leif Anderssen.’
‘Yes, I was.’ Nelson always believes in double-checking. Especially when the person is question is living with his daughter.
‘There are no convictions on his file. He’s a well-respected academic.’
‘Oh well,’ says Nelson. ‘Thanks for calling anyway.’
‘There is just one thing,’ says Inspector Amundsen, in carefully perfect English. ‘There was once a complaint made against Professor Anderssen. The case was never taken any further though.’
‘A complaint? What sort of complaint?’
‘Assault,’ says Amundsen. ‘On his then girlfriend. But, as I say, she withdrew the allegations and the case never came to court. I just thought that you should know.’
‘Thank you,’ says Nelson. ‘Thank you very much.’
Chapter 31
‘She was a miracle,’ says Magda. ‘A gift from the universe.’
‘Pa had his sperm frozen,’ says Leif.
Ruth thinks that Leif seems different in his mother’s presence. He’s diminished, hard as that is to achieve when you’re about six foot five and look like a Viking. He appears, in fact, to be torn between embarrassment and affection, an expression that Ruth already recognises from Kate.
They have repaired to a café because the fog is now even thicker, bringing with it a bitter cold that seems almost malevolent, cutting into their faces as they walk through the shrouded stones. Freya is cocooned in a fur-lined snowsuit but, in the café, Magda unwraps her and Ruth sees that she’s an enchanting child of about eight months. She has Erik’s eyes.
‘We felt that Erik’s DNA should be preserved,’ Magda is saying, ‘so he had his sperm frozen. Last year I found a wonderful host mother, a PhD student called Agnetha. I was present at the birth and Agnetha put Freya straight into my arms. It was love at first sight.’
This must m
ean that Freya is not genetically Magda’s child, thinks Ruth. Still, genetics are not everything and Magda obviously dotes on the baby.
‘I wanted us all to be together in this sacred place,’ says Magda. ‘So I asked Leif to arrange it.’
‘That letter,’ says Ruth. ‘Was it really from Erik?’
‘I’m sure it’s what he would have wanted to write,’ says Leif. ‘He was so fond of you both.’ He glances at Cathbad. ‘But, no. It was a little tease from me. I know how much you like a puzzle, Ruth.’
A tease. Leif has dragged them all the way across the country for a tease. Rather than Erik speaking to her from beyond the grave, in fact it was just his son trying to be clever. She remembers the way she had obediently rushed home and looked up ‘stone wedding guests’ as if she were a student again, completing one of Erik’s assignments. Will she ever stop seeking Erik’s approval? She looks at Cathbad who raises his eyebrows and shrugs. She wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.
‘Can I hold the baby?’ Cathbad asks.
‘Of course.’ Magda gives him a glittering smile and passes Freya across the table. The child, who was grizzling slightly, looks up at Cathbad, almost in awe, and starts to smile. Judy calls him the baby whisperer.
‘It’s wonderful to see you, Ruthie,’ says Magda and, despite herself, Ruth feels the familiar glow that comes from basking in the all-encompassing warmth of Magda’s affection.
‘Great to see you,’ she says.
‘But I really want to see your gorgeous little girl. How old is she?’
‘Seven.’
‘A magical age. What is she like?’
Ruth wonders how to sum up the glory that is Kate. ‘She’s very bright,’ she says at last. ‘Interested in everything. She loves books and acting and animals. She’s great.’
‘She’s a star,’ says Cathbad.
‘And you have children too, Cathbad? I know you have a daughter. She must be grown-up now.’
The Stone Circle: The Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries 11 Page 22
