by Rebecca Tope
‘What sort of car?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘You’ll have to tell the police.’ She felt almost as unhappy about this as she supposed he did. ‘It throws everything into question all over again. What if he really has been kidnapped? That’s what we thought at first. And why would they be going towards Grasmere, of all places?’
‘Kidnapped?’
She explained as briefly as she could, but Ninian asked a lot of very basic questions, which was annoying. When she’d finished, he simply said, ‘It probably wasn’t him, anyway.’
She studied him doubtfully. His information was both unwelcome and unreliable. She would have to do something with it – or force Ninian to do it himself. ‘I expect it was,’ she sighed. ‘Not many people look like Ben.’
‘I might even have dreamt it,’ he said, infuriatingly. ‘I was dozing on and off. You know how you do in buses. It’s a conditioned reflex or something.’
‘You didn’t dream it, Ninian. Be sensible.’
‘I don’t altogether follow this message thing in Hawkshead. But you all ended up thinking Ben was okay – is that right?’
‘Moxon did, anyway. He was cross about it, wasting police time when he’s meant to be investigating a murder. And we all know Ben – he would do that sort of thing. Bonnie believed it, which convinced the rest of us, including his mother, pretty much.’
Ninian nodded, with a little frown. ‘If the baddies are driving around in plain sight, other people might have seen them, then. It seems a bit unlikely, really, that it was Ben in the car. He’d have been banging on the window or trying to open the door, if they’d kidnapped him. Golly Moses, it’s a real muddle, isn’t it,’ he finished.
‘If there was a man in the back with him, he was probably not able to do anything like that. He might even have had his hands tied.’
‘Mm.’
‘We’ll have to tell Moxon,’ Simmy said, with a sinking feeling. ‘And that’ll start everything up again. Poor Helen!’
‘Helen?’
‘Mrs Harkness. Ben’s mother. She won’t know what to think.’
‘How is that different? Surely nobody knows anyway? After all, the boy’s still missing from home, whether I saw him or not.’
She picked up the landline phone. ‘Call the police,’ she ordered. ‘I’ve got Moxon’s number here, look.’ She extracted a rather crumpled card from a little pile next to the till. It had been used quite a lot over the past few months. She had thought of throwing it away, several times, but that had felt like tempting fate. Fate evidently wasn’t interested in such minor details. There was no escaping Moxon, with or without his card.
Ninian flinched away from the phone. ‘You do it,’ he whined. ‘You know him much better than I do.’
She’d expected this. ‘I’m not doing any of the talking. Stand still until I’m through to him.’
But she didn’t get through. The call went to voicemail. ‘Hello, this is Simmy Brown,’ she dictated. ‘I’m with Ninian Tripp, who thinks he saw Ben in a car last night, between Grasmere and Ambleside. He was with a man and a woman. He doesn’t remember anything about the car. We’re at the shop, but I’ll be closing at five.’
‘Saved by the wonders of technology,’ Ninian said. ‘Thanks, Sim. I know I’m a wimp. You’re much better off without me.’
They were back to the earlier topic, she realised miserably. Ninian was offering her uncomplicated sex, which ought to be enough for a woman of her age and situation. She ought to jump at the chance, according to most people she knew. She could hear her mother expressing amazement at her lack of enthusiasm. In the sixties, nobody would ever turn down an offer of going to bed with a healthy, good-natured man like Ninian. Or so Angie claimed. Simmy had never quite believed it had ever been as easy as that. For herself, it was impossible to avoid thinking ahead. She knew she would end up feeling grubby and very slightly ashamed at the meaningless encounter. Nothing was ever going to come of it. She and Ninian were not in love. They were never going to live together and have babies. The sex they had thus far engaged in was friendly enough, but nothing special. While she knew that her attitude and expectations were almost entirely created by the culture of romance and couplehood that persisted all around her, this did nothing to change them. If she couldn’t have a complete relationship with a man who took an obvious delight in her whole self, with prospects for the future and a thorough mutual trust, she was never really going to be interested.
She gave a little wriggle of her shoulders, and dodged the subject. ‘Do you remember anything about the woman who was driving the car?’ she asked.
‘Let me think. You do realise I never imagined it was important. It was just a glimpse, and only now when you tell me there’s a problem with the boy have I even given it a thought. She was just a woman driving a car. Normal sort of size and shape. Lightish hair, possibly. But look, Sim, I could be making it all up. You read about how totally wrong eyewitnesses usually are. If you were to tell me the chief suspect has purple hair and enormous spectacles, I could probably square that with the person I saw. And even worse with the man in the back. I’d say he was fairly large, clean-shaven and not very young. But I wouldn’t swear to any of it.’
‘Would you know them in an identity parade?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘But you’re fairly sure it really was Ben.’ She felt a growing desperation at this elusive clue. With anybody but Ninian, the testimony would be more reliable than his vague uncertainties.
‘I was sure at the time. Sure-ish, anyway. I said to myself, “That’s young Ben Harkness. Wonder what he’s up to now.” That’s exactly what I thought. Then I remembered he’s finished school for the summer, and could have aunts or something who’d be glad to take him for a nice drive up to Grasmere. It didn’t seem unusual, except for the man with him in the back. That was what made me look a bit more closely than I’d have done otherwise.’
Simmy could see that he was trying his best to cooperate. He wanted to please her, and that made her feel warmer towards him than she’d done for some time. After all, who could remain cross with sweet Ninian Tripp? She was tempted to give him a hug, just for being there and taking things seriously. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be helpful. I mean – if you saw him, others might have done as well. The police can put out a call for any other witnesses.’
‘Maybe they can hypnotise me into remembering what sort of car it was.’
‘Yeah,’ she laughed. Ben would say of course they could, but there was no chance that they would, because it cost too much, and any results wouldn’t justify the expense. Unless Ninian could come up with the number plate, of course. And from the window of a bus, he was unlikely even to have seen that.
‘Melanie’s blaming me,’ she said suddenly. Something about Ninian’s softness; the way he was simply standing there so patient and accepting made her want to splurge the most acute of her worries. ‘If I hadn’t taken Ben to the hotel and let him go down to the lake, then she and I would not have been the ones to find Dan’s dead body. It’s true, but he’d still be just as dead without any of us being there. She sat there in the water with him on her lap. I suppose that’s going to haunt her now for the rest of her life. I sort of expected her to be tougher than that. Silly, I know.’
‘She’s tough enough,’ he said. ‘It’s my guess that she feels guilty about something she said and did, and she’s projecting it onto you.’
Ninian had been through rocky emotional times himself, with years of therapy. As a result he could sometimes come up with surprisingly accurate insights about people’s inner workings. Simmy had seen him with Bonnie Lawson, recognising elements the two had in common.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Do you think so?’
‘How well did she know this Dan person?’
‘She’s spent the night with him, twice, I think. She insisted there was no great love between them, but she seemed terribly fond of him when she discovered he was dea
d.’
‘Dead,’ Ninian repeated gently. ‘That’s a pretty big thing, you know, even when it happens to a total stranger. If you’ve got his head in your lap, you can’t really avoid the enormity of it, can you?’
Simmy was assailed by a tormenting image of her own stillborn daughter lying in her lap, cold and silent and unmoving. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Poor old Mel.’
‘Right. So go easy on her, okay? She’ll be fine after a bit, but for now her world is probably upside down, and she has no idea how to deal with it. Just because she’s grown up in a family of losers doesn’t equip her for something like this.’
‘Thanks.’ She gave him a watery smile.
Then – as happened so uncomfortably often – an unexpected figure came into the shop.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Dad?’ Simmy stared at her father as if at a ghost. ‘Are you all right?’
There was no immediate reason for such a question. He was tidily dressed, his hair brushed, no wild look in his eye. And yet there was definitely something wrong.
‘I can’t find your mother,’ he said, with an apologetic smile.
Simmy took a breath. This was the sort of thing a senile old person would do – but the fact that Russell had found the flower shop on his own, and was in a presentable condition, gave credence to his words. ‘Didn’t she say where she was going?’
‘If she did, I didn’t hear her. The thing is, that girl who works here came to the house wanting her. When I went to look for her, she was nowhere to be found.’
‘Girl? Bonnie, you mean?’
‘I’m not sure that’s her name. Big lass. Dark hair. Lovely skin.’
‘Melanie! That’s Melanie.’
‘Yes,’ he said, with evident relief. ‘Of course.’
‘Why isn’t she with you? Where is she now?’
‘Who? The girl?’
‘Yes. And Mum. Oh, for heaven’s sake, this isn’t making any sense at all.’
‘That’s what I said.’ His very mildness was alarming. ‘The girl went away. But before that she said maybe I should come and ask you, because Angie might be here. Or you might know where she’s gone.’
‘Well I don’t.’ She gazed at her father in perplexity. Only three months ago he had been absolutely normal, fully functioning in every way. Was it feasible that dementia could set in so rapidly? It was no longer possible to ignore his deterioration; a doctor must be consulted as a matter of urgency. But first they had to find Angie.
‘I bet she left a note,’ said Ninian cheerily. ‘Why don’t we all go back for a look?’
Russell gave him a long, considering look. ‘All right,’ he agreed at last. ‘That’s a sensible idea. Good man.’
It wasn’t apparent to Simmy that he knew who Ninian was, despite several encounters. Her friend had even spent Christmas Day with the family only seven months earlier.
‘I’ll lock up, then,’ she said. ‘It’s almost closing time, anyway.’ Thinking back over the long day, she felt suddenly exhausted. Far too much had happened for a scant eight or nine hours. On balance, nothing at all was any better than it had been the previous day. Ben’s whereabouts and state of mind were still a complete blank. Dan Yates was still just as dead, his killer still evading detection. Bonnie, Melanie and Helen were all frightened and miserable. And she herself was saddled with a parent who was losing his wits and another who’d emulated Ben Harkness and gone absent without leave.
Her car was a few streets away, and as always she had to think hard to remember where she’d left it. With tired, dragging feet she led the two men southwards towards the network of small roads where parking was unrestricted. ‘P’Simmon!’ came a welcome voice from a side street just behind them. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Mum.’ She turned and almost fell into her mother’s arms, so great was her relief. ‘Dad came to the shop, saying he’d lost you.’
Behind her, she heard the clearing of a male throat. ‘Um …’ said Ninian. ‘You won’t need me any more, then. Everything should be all right now, by the looks of it.’
Simmy let the exaggeration pass. She refrained from listing all the things that remained very far from all right. All she said was, ‘Thanks, Ninian. But don’t forget the police are going to want to talk to you about last night.’
He made a rueful face, like a schoolboy threatened with an interview with the Head. ‘They know where to find me,’ he said. Simmy wasn’t entirely sure that this was true, but she merely nodded.
‘See you, then,’ he smiled, and turned back towards the main street. Intending to catch a bus down to the further end of Bowness, she supposed, where he would have to walk home up Brant Fell.
‘Why do the police want him?’ asked Angie, after leaving a moment for Ninian to get out of earshot.
‘I’ll tell you later. Let’s get Dad home. Where were you?’
‘Shopping.’
‘Oh. Well, Melanie’s been looking for you, for some reason. She got Dad all agitated, and he came out to try to find you. At least, that’s what he said.’
‘I suppose you want to talk about that later as well.’ Angie gave an angry little snort to indicate how trying people were being. ‘And why in the world would Melanie Todd want me? She hardly knows me.’
‘I have no idea. I spoke to her less than an hour ago and she was in Bowness feeling miserable. Perhaps she was just hoping for a cup of tea and a shoulder to cry on.’
‘I hardly think she’d choose me for that.’
They were walking briskly, Russell flanked by his two women, forced to maintain the pace. ‘What’s the rush?’ he asked at one point.
‘We’ve got people coming,’ said Angie. ‘They’ll be annoyed if there’s nobody to meet them.’
For the hundredth time, Simmy was made aware of the restrictions imposed by running a Bed and Breakfast. Not only the mornings relentlessly spent preparing large breakfasts, seven days a week, but the afternoons, where people were liable to arrive at any time after three o’clock – and sometimes earlier than that. One or other of her parents needed to be there to receive them. During the summer there was never a free day; the resulting pressure difficult to imagine. Had this, then, been a factor in sending her father into his tailspin, in addition to the violence and danger that his daughter had been exposed to?
‘I’m not staying,’ she said, when they got to Beck View in Lake Road. ‘It’s been a pretty awful day.’
Angie faced her with a thunderous expression. ‘And what about my day?’ she demanded. ‘And every other day for the past umpteen weeks?’ She gave her husband a little push. ‘Go and put the kettle on,’ she ordered him. ‘I’m desperate for a cup of tea.’ Again, she waited until the subject of her remarks was beyond earshot. ‘I haven’t been shopping at all,’ she hissed. ‘I went to the doctor.’
‘About Dad?’
‘About both of us. I can’t sleep. I can’t get a minute’s peace, day or night. Nobody gives a button for how I’m feeling, with all their own troubles. And I include you in that. It all got more than I could stand, so I went to the bloody doctor.’
The rage was complicated, but Simmy was quite aware that the mere fact of consulting a doctor was enough to make her mother angry. In her worldview a doctor was strictly for vaccinations and transitory injuries. To seek help with anything more nebulous, hinting at emotional difficulties, indicated real desperation. ‘So what did he – she – say?’
‘She. It ended up with me talking about your father, since he’s the reason I’m in such a state. She wants him to have a scan, because she thought it sounded as if he could have had a stroke, or aneurysm or some sort of “episode” and there’s treatment for all that kind of thing. If he was getting Alzheimer’s, it would be more gradual, she thinks. To see her face, you’d assume she was giving me good news.’
Angie’s own face was a picture of scorn.
‘Well, if there’s treatment …’ said Simmy cautiously.
‘Right. A lifetime of drugs
that’ll keep him practically comatose, or give him ghastly side effects. Honestly – am I the only one who thinks we’re living in a totalitarian state governed by medics and pharmaceutical companies?’
‘Probably,’ said Simmy. ‘They’re only trying to help, after all.’ She knew she ought to keep quiet, that her mother was in a mood for passionate diatribing and the quickest way to stop her was to say nothing. But she saw no way to avoid replying, so she squared her shoulders and said firmly, ‘I’m sorry, Mum. Go and have your tea and forget it for now. I’m going home. If Melanie comes back, tell her you’ve got too much to do to talk to her this evening.’
‘What’s come over you?’ Angie’s rage had mutated into reproachful disbelief. ‘So hard and self-absorbed all of a sudden?’
‘I’m not.’ The accusation was piercingly unfair. ‘It’s just that I’m as tired as you are. The weather doesn’t help. We all need an early night, so we can start sorting it all out in the morning.’
‘“Sorting it all out”?’ Angie repeated with hurtful contempt. ‘And how do you think we’ll do that?’ She paused. ‘What possible reason can Melanie have for wanting me? What use can I be to her?’
Simmy gave no reply. Resentment was flaring warmly, not just towards her mother, but the whole business at Hawkshead. Once again she had been drawn into something that did not concern her in the least. People she didn’t know had killed and been killed, for reasons she could not begin to guess. She was the still centre of a swirling mass of overwrought people, all of them wanting something from her. If Melanie wanted Angie, that was one weight off her – Simmy’s – back.
They were still barely inside the house, facing each other in the hallway. From the kitchen came the sound of a whistling kettle. For a moment, Simmy was tempted to sit over a mug of tea and give herself up to the needs of her parents. It was what she would normally do, without a second thought.
