The Seagull

by Ann Cleeves

  Walking downstairs with the bundle of clothes, she thought of the smart woman who’d come to visit the day before. At first Patty had thought she was from the school, that maybe Jonnie had done a runner or Archie had started biting again. She had the look of a teacher. About the same age as Patty but straight-backed, well dressed in a boring, professional way. A bit scary. Even when she’d had a proper job, Patty had never dressed like that. The woman had stood just inside the front door and introduced herself as Holly Clarke. ‘I’m a colleague of Inspector Stanhope’s.’ Anyone less like Vera it was hard to imagine.

  Patty had offered her tea, but Holly had refused. ‘I don’t want to take up much of your time.’ Meaning: I wouldn’t drink anything in this house if you paid me.

  Then she’d asked for the name of Patty’s mother.

  ‘Why do you want to know that?’

  ‘Vera asked me to find out.’ Holly had shrugged. ‘You’ve met her. You know what she’s like. She wants something, and she goes for it. No explanation. Perhaps she’s just nosy.’

  Patty had thought Vera would be nosy, but at least it showed she was interested. Patty couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been truly interested in her life. ‘She was called Mary-Frances Lascuola.’ She always liked saying the name. It made her feel special.

  ‘Fascinating name.’ And Holly had seemed genuinely intrigued.

  ‘Her father was an Italian prisoner of war. According to my father.’ Then Patty had told the story as she knew it, as it had been told to her by John Brace. How Mary-Frances had been a heroin addict, how he’d met her through his work while she was desperately trying to get clean, and how he’d fallen in love. ‘It was love at first sight. Like in the soppy movies.’

  Holly had smiled then, but it looked as if it was a bit of an effort.

  ‘She knew she couldn’t take care of me properly, so she gave me up for adoption. But that broke her heart and she started taking drugs again, and in the end they killed her.’

  ‘Do you know when she died? Exactly?’

  They’d been sitting on the sofa in the sitting room at that point. Patty had swept the felt-tipped pens and the pieces of Lego onto the floor to make room, so it felt as if they were sitting on a boat in a sea of crap. The question had been asked gently. Patty could tell the woman was trying as hard as she could not to sound like a police officer. But there was something about the way it was posed that got Patty thinking. ‘Are you saying she’s not dead?’

  ‘Not at all. I didn’t even know her name until you told me just now.’ Holly had paused. ‘Have you seen the death certificate?’

  ‘There was no need. My father told me she was dead. Why would he lie? And the social workers couldn’t find any trace of her.’

  But now, staggering down the stairs with an armful of dirty washing, Patty wondered just how much she could trust John Brace. He was in prison after all, partly for lying to the court about his involvement in the killing of a gamekeeper. He’d given Patty his version of events when she’d first gone to visit him and she’d believed him. Of course she had, because he was her dad and he obviously cared for her, and now it felt as if she didn’t have anyone else. He must care for them all, otherwise he wouldn’t have bought her this house and he wouldn’t still be putting money into her account every month, so she didn’t have to go cap in hand to the social, or force herself back to work when she wasn’t ready.

  He’d sent her a visiting order, just as he did every month. Usually she ignored it because she couldn’t face the trek up the coast with the kids in tow. Instead he had to make do with a phone call. He phoned every Saturday night, regular as clockwork, and that must mean he cared about them all too. But now she didn’t think she could talk about personal stuff over the phone. She always heard the noise in the background while they were speaking, men shouting and laughing. Even if they couldn’t hear what she was saying, she’d be distracted. So perhaps she could make visiting time at the prison this afternoon. Jen would be out anyway at her mate’s house – they’d planned a sleepover – and there were volunteers to look after the boys in the family centre, once she got to Warkworth. Since Vera Stanhope had turned up on her doorstep she’d felt better about herself. A bit braver.

  * * *

  The bus seemed to take hours, driving past newly ploughed fields, out towards the coast. The boys were good as gold, though, just staring out of the window, enjoying the day out, chewing on the sweets she’d bought to keep them quiet. When she got there she was intimidated by the other relatives, who seemed to know what they were doing, and there was a moment when she thought she’d just get the bus home. But in the end the boys pulled her on towards the building they used as a crèche. She’d phoned the prison to let them know she was coming and, when she’d dropped off the boys, she saw her father waiting for her at one of the tables in the big, echoing hall they used as the visitors’ room. He’d pulled his wheelchair up to the table. The last time she’d seen him he’d still been able to walk with a stick. He tried to stand up to greet her, but couldn’t quite make it and she bent down to kiss him instead. His cheek was smooth as if he’d just shaved, and he smelled clean, of soap or aftershave. Patty wished she’d made more of an effort with her own appearance. One of the prison officers came up to them. She supposed he wanted to check that she wasn’t handing anything over, but he seemed satisfied and wandered away.

  ‘This is a lovely surprise.’ John Brace seemed genuinely pleased to see her. ‘What’s brought you all this way?’

  ‘I was feeling a bit brighter.’ A pause. ‘Vera Stanhope came to visit.’

  ‘Did she now? And what did you make of our Vera?’

  ‘She was great.’ Patty wasn’t sure what else to say. ‘She took me out for breakfast.’

  ‘Ah well, she always did like her food.’

  Patty was going to mention the fact that Holly Clarke had turned up at her house too, but then she thought better of it. She didn’t want to get Vera into bother, and her dad always said he hated people prying into his affairs. ‘Vera got me thinking about my mother.’

  ‘Why was that?’ He kept his voice cheerful but he looked more guarded. Something about his eyes.

  ‘I dunno. I thought Vera might make a lovely mam.’

  It had been the right sort of response. Brace threw back his head and laughed. ‘I’d be surprised if that woman has a single maternal bone in her body.’

  ‘When did she die? Mary-Frances Lascuola, I mean.’ Again, Patty thought it was a beautiful name. Perhaps they should have called Jen ‘Mary-Frances’. But Gary had chosen the name because he had a thing about Jennifer Aniston at the time.

  ‘I don’t know the exact date.’ Brace was looking serious again now. ‘I lost touch with her when she went back to heroin.’

  ‘How did you know she died, then?’

  ‘A colleague told me. He knew she’d been my informant at one time.’ A pause. ‘When she cleaned up her act, she passed on information about dealers. That wasn’t why we kept seeing each other, though. I told you, I fell for her the moment I met her. But she was useful too. You know how important I think it is to keep drugs off the street.’

  Patty thought he was talking too much – it sounded as if he was making up the story as he went along – but she didn’t make any comment. A prisoner wearing the same kind of striped shirt as her father came up and offered her a cup of tea. She shook her head and waited until he walked away.

  ‘Did you see her body?’

  ‘No!’ The idea shocked him. ‘I wouldn’t have had any excuse to do that. Besides, I didn’t know until weeks after that she was dead.’

  ‘Is there a grave? I’d like to visit a grave.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Now he sounded genuinely sad. ‘I would have liked a grave to visit too.’

  They sat for a moment in silence. ‘Why did you ask Vera to visit?’ Patty had been thinking about that on the bus through the countryside. Her father wasn’t the sort of person to ask favours. He wouldn’
t want to owe anyone.

  ‘Because I was worried about you and the bairns. The last few times I phoned, you sounded a bit lost. Not quite with it. I wouldn’t want you ending up like your mother.’

  ‘I don’t take drugs!’ Now it was Patty’s turn to be shocked.

  ‘Don’t you? What about that medicine you get from the doctor? That’s addictive too.’ He paused. ‘I’m a control freak. I can’t look after you while I’m in here. Vera can keep an eye.’

  ‘Why would she, though?’

  ‘Because I can offer her something in return.’ He’d turned away to look out of the window. It was very sunny outside; it could have been midsummer. Patty thought he was talking to himself and not to her. Then he turned back to the room to explain. ‘I hear things in here. Things that might be useful to her. And I was in the job for a long time. I know where the bodies are buried.’

  ‘So she’ll visit me again?’

  ‘Do you want her to?’

  Patty thought about that only for a moment. She thought of the big woman with the crumpled clothes and the brown button-eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like it very much.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to see what I can arrange.’ He winked at her. Gary had winked like that at the kids when he’d done something he knew Patty wouldn’t like, something to get them on his side.

  ‘I should go,’ she said. ‘The ladies in the crèche seem nice enough, but you know what the boys are like. Specially Archie. They always play up when they start getting bored.’ She stood up and looked down at him. She couldn’t bring herself to kiss him again, because she couldn’t quite believe what he’d told her about her mother. Perhaps Mary-Frances was still alive. And if she was, Patty thought, then Vera Stanhope would be the person to find her.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was Sunday and Vera had given her team the day off. They couldn’t do much more until after she’d talked to John Brace; she’d already booked an official visit for Monday morning. She’d be in one of the interview rooms then, queuing up with lawyers and probation officers. She wouldn’t be overheard there and she was already preparing her script. She wouldn’t come away until Brace had told her where they could find Robbie Marshall. Vera thought Holly would still be working, even though it was the weekend. She didn’t have much of a life away from the job, if the rumours were to be believed, and Hol had this bee in her bonnet about Patty Keane’s mother. Mary-Frances Lascuola. What sort of name was that? She imagined Holly in her smart apartment in Newcastle, googling frantically.

  Vera got up late. She’d had a bit of a session the night before with Jack and Joanna, her hippy neighbours. They’d been celebrating the publication of Joanna’s second novel. Vera had read the first book and it had seemed very gloomy to her. She had enough of that sort of material at work. But she was happy to join in the celebration. The couple worked like mad things on the smallholding, and Vera knew there was never money to spare. Farming in the hills was never going to turn anyone into a millionaire. Any cash Joanna could bring to the venture would help. Vera had a horror of them going under or finding it too tough to stay; she hated the idea of strangers moving in next door. Jack and Joanna were good people. They dug her out when she got stuck in the snow, chopped logs for her fire and filled her freezer. And they threw a very good party.

  Vera had just made coffee when her phone rang. It was her mobile and that was a shock, because usually reception was so bad here in the hills that people who knew her used the landline. She almost ignored it, but curiosity made her answer. You didn’t usually get cold-selling or chuggers on a Sunday. She saw it was Patty Keane.

  ‘Patty, let me call you back from my other phone. I haven’t got much battery left.’ That was easier than explaining that she lived at the top of a hill miles from anywhere, in the house where her father had once stuffed dead animals for a living.

  Patty answered almost immediately. Vera could hear bairns kicking off in the background.

  ‘Are you okay, pet?’ Vera couldn’t think why Patty would contact her unless there was some sort of emergency.

  ‘It’s not important.’ Vera could tell the woman was already feeling foolish, regretting having made the call. ‘I shouldn’t have disturbed you on a Sunday.’

  ‘No problem at all. Can I help in any way?’

  ‘I just had some questions. About my mother. I saw my dad yesterday.’

  ‘Listen.’ Vera had already forgotten the hangover. ‘Why don’t I come to you? Easier than talking on the phone. I’ll be there in an hour.’

  * * *

  She decided she’d take them all to the beach. Kids liked the beach, didn’t they? And if they were running about, they wouldn’t be earwigging the conversation between her and Patty. She was driving Hector’s ancient Land Rover and the kids loved piling into the back of that, sitting sideways as if it was some sort of fairground ride. Patty seemed a bit brighter, more on top of things. She’d brought a towel because she said Archie never went to the beach without getting wet, and a couple of buckets and spades.

  ‘This is very kind.’ She kept saying that, as if she couldn’t believe that Vera would choose to give them such a treat.

  Vera took them to Druridge Bay, with its wide sweep of sand backed by dunes. Inland from the dunes there was the nature reserve, developed from subsidence ponds, with patches of scrubby woodland and hides for watching birds. They walked in a line through the dunes until they reached the highest one. Then they stopped and looked down at the beach, with the old Alcan works at one end and Coquet Island and its lighthouse at the other. The tide was out and the water formed shallow pools, glittering so brightly that Vera had to squint to look at them. Even though it was Sunday and the sun was shining, there weren’t too many people. A few families and some dog-walkers, looking very tiny in the distance.

  The kids shot off like racing pigeons released from a cage, even the girl, who’d been a bit moody when Vera had arrived at the house. Patty and Vera sat on the towel at the base of the dunes, keeping out of the breeze.

  ‘I used to come here when I was little,’ Patty said. ‘My parents lived just up the coast.’ A pause. ‘My adoptive parents.’

  ‘That must be a bit confusing. Two sets of parents. I only had a father, and that was enough for me.’

  ‘I don’t really think of the people in Surrey as parents any more. Not really. They’re Neil and Anna, and they looked after me for a bit.’ Patty watched Archie jumping in the pools but did nothing to stop him. Vera thought that made sense. He’d take no notice anyway and he’d soon learn not to be so daft, if he had to shiver all the way home. ‘I went to see my dad yesterday.’

  ‘You said. I hope he hasn’t upset you.’

  ‘No. It wasn’t anything like that.’ Patty paused again and waved to Archie. The other two kids were jumping from the dunes. ‘I asked him about my mam. Why did you send that woman to get her name?’

  ‘Just nosy,’ Vera said. ‘I wanted to know a bit about you. Find out what I was letting myself in for.’

  ‘Dad said you were nosy. He said he had information that would be useful to you.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Vera wondered what exactly Brace had said.

  ‘I want to find out if my mother’s still alive. My real mother. Social services couldn’t trace her. I’m not sure how hard they tried. They assumed she must have died, because she disappeared from all the records, and I only thought she was dead because my father told me.’ She hugged her skinny knees and looked at Vera. ‘Can you help me?’

  Vera thought she was getting in deeper than she’d bargained for here. Brace had asked her to keep an eye on the family, not dig back into the past to find the love of his life. The mother of his child.

  ‘I don’t see why not, pet, and perhaps you can do me a bit of a favour in return. Did your dad ever mention someone called Robbie Marshall? They were chums back in the day.’

  Patty shut her eyes for a moment. Vera thought it was partly the glare of the low sun on the water and par
tly because she was taking herself back ten years, to the conversations she’d had with John Brace.

  ‘Maybe Robbie knew your mam, Mary-Frances?’ Because Vera could tell it was really only her mother that Patty was interested in.

  Patty shook her head. ‘Sorry. For a moment something about the name was a bit familiar, but I can’t remember if Dad talked about him or if I heard it somewhere else.’

  ‘Never mind. If it comes to you, give me a shout.’ Vera thought this was like tickling trout in murky water. They were looking for two people who’d been close to John Brace and they had no idea yet if they were alive or dead. ‘Now how about heading to the ice-cream shop in Cresswell, before that boy of yours catches his death. You can’t come to the beach without ice creams.’

  * * *

  Back at home, Vera was restless. She couldn’t sit still and she’d never seen the point of walking around outside just for the sake of it; she watched the hikers with their boots and walking poles who strode past her cottage and thought they must be mad. Besides, it wouldn’t be long before it got dark. On impulse she phoned Holly. With any luck, she’d be as much at a loose end as Vera was.

  ‘Ma’am?’ Nobody else in the team called Vera that these days.

  ‘Are you busy?’

  No immediate answer. Holly would want to know what she was committing herself to.

  ‘Only I’ve been to see Patty Keane and we had an interesting conversation.’

  ‘Oh?’ That had got Holly’s attention.

  ‘If you’re not too busy, I wondered if we could get together to chat about it.’ Vera was about to ask Holly to come to her house, but then had another idea. She wouldn’t want to be drinking this evening. Not after the skinful she’d had last night. And she’d always been curious about Holly’s private life. ‘I tell you what, why don’t I come to you?’