The Sting of Death

by Rebecca Tope

  Phil was useless, of course. Show her a man who wasn’t. And he was always lying to her. It wasn’t so much the lies she objected to, as the minimal effort he made to be convincing. It was demeaning to have him tell her two contradictory things about how he’d spent his day, when any fool could see that neither story was true. She supposed he’d been having some sort of fling, as several people had warned her he would if she didn’t make more effort as a wife. But she didn’t think it would ever turn into anything serious. Philip was hers for life; they’d been through too much together, with that unspeakable foot and mouth business, followed by his dad’s suicide. Phil depended on her for his stability and security, and if the sex was perfunctory between them, then that really wasn’t so important. She liked living at Gladcombe, having so much space, and so few other people around. It wasn’t a real farm any more, of course, but that at least meant less mud and muck and midnight crises. If Philip could make enough money at his forage dealing to satisfy his own self-esteem, then that was plenty for her. In fact it very often seemed to comprise the best of all worlds.

  She realised he hadn’t answered her question. ‘Have you?’ she repeated.

  ‘Have I what?’

  ‘Phoned your mother to see how they’re getting on.’

  ‘I did try a couple of times, but there was no reply. They’ll have been on a beach or something. Mum’d soon let us know if there was a problem.’ He took another swig of the beer and got up from the chair. ‘I think I’ll just …’ he moved towards the door, ‘… um, go and see if there’s enough oil in the car. The red light came on this afternoon.’

  She let him go, her thoughts again on her forthcoming meetings. Any babysitting difficulties could be resolved nearer the time. Philip had a point, anyway. While the weather was nice and everything apparently going smoothly, Georgia may as well stay another week or so with her granny.

  The phone started ringing out in the hall. Normally Sheena would leave the answering machine to deal with it, but she was already heading for the stairs and passing close by the instrument. She picked it up without really thinking.

  ‘Sheena? It’s me. How are you, dear?’

  It was Yvonne Renton, her mother-in-law, apparently conjured by the recent conversation and Sheena’s last thoughts.

  ‘Hi, Mum, we’re fine. Sorry we haven’t managed to speak to you all week. Phil says he did try, but …’

  ‘Not to worry, then. I’m just the same as always. No need to keep ringing me.’

  ‘But we really should, seeing you’ve got Georgia with you.’

  ‘Pardon?’ The voice was suddenly sharp. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Georgia. How is she? Is she being good? Can I have a word with her? We’ve just been talking about you both and wondering – well, wondering if you might keep her a bit longer …’

  The older woman’s voice cut through her words. ‘Georgia isn’t here, Sheena. Surely you knew that? Philip phoned me last week and cancelled the whole arrangement. I must say I wasn’t at all happy about it. I’d been planning and preparing it for weeks. I hope she’s over her flu now? That’s really what I phoned to ask.’

  Sheena couldn’t think. Her brain seemed to have been anaesthetised. All she could feel was embarrassment. She’d been so inattentive as to miss some crucial piece of information. Philip had obviously told her what was happening and she’d forgotten, or never even heard him. But flu? Surely she would have known if the child had flu?

  Instinct reassured her that everything was all right. Philip must be playing some kind of stupid game and she’d quickly get out of him just what was going on. In any case there was no sense in alarming her mother-in-law, although it might be too late to think of that.

  ‘Sheena? Are you there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here. I’ve been away all week, you see. I only just got in and haven’t had a chance to speak to Philip yet. I didn’t know about the flu. Last I heard, Georgia was going off to you. It sounds bad, I know, but it’s all going crazy at work and I haven’t had a chance to check in here.’ She was babbling, aware of how it must come across to Philip’s mother, but willing at the moment to paint herself in a bad light rather than admit she’d been lied to.

  ‘You know, Sheena,’ the older woman said conversationally, ‘I do sometimes wonder whether you deserve that child.’

  ‘Well, thanks for that,’ spat Sheena. ‘I’ll get Phil to phone you after I’ve spoken to him.’

  ‘Yes, you do that,’ the woman was saying as Sheena put the phone down.

  Penn felt a desperate need to keep busy. Time had dragged all day, with no phone calls, no visitors, nothing to distract her from her obsessive thoughts. She would have liked to phone Roma or even the newfound Cousin Karen, but she couldn’t think of a convincing pretext. If there’d been any news about Justine, someone would have contacted her. The tall policeman had said something vague about putting out a description and that was probably as far as any police effort would go.

  By early evening she’d reached the conclusion that she ought to go away for a few days. Then she could come back refreshed to resume her life. At least, that was her most optimistic scenario. There were much darker visions at times. When she tried to consider the situation dispassionately, she repeatedly bumped up against any number of complications and hazards. Had she been clever enough? Had Drew Slocombe been convinced by what he’d found in the cottage? For the hundredth time she ran through it all from every angle. She was determined that it would work out, no matter how high the cost. Penn Strabinski had always been a determined character, always getting what she wanted. There had been setbacks, of course, but she wouldn’t even contemplate failure at this point. There was far too much at stake now and definitely no going back.

  But it would be sensible to absent herself for a few days, all the same. There was nothing more she could do until things quietened down again and everyone went back to their accustomed grooves. Not until then could she embark on the next stage of her plan. The next and final stage.

  The only affectionate greeting Justine received was from Lolly. The little dog jumped off Roma’s lap and flew to welcome the newcomer. Bending stiffly, Justine took the animal between her hands. ‘Hello, little thing. What’s your name, then?’ She glanced enquiringly at her mother.

  ‘Lolita,’ supplied Roma gruffly. Justine snorted in derisive amusement.

  Drew found himself meeting Laurie’s gaze, which seemed entirely as bewildered as he himself felt. Then he looked again at the girl. ‘You’re Justine?’ he asked faintly. He thought he’d recognised the figure from the oil painting in the cottage he’d searched.

  ‘That’s right,’ she confirmed. ‘And I’m very lucky to be alive. I’ve been locked up for days with no water and my hands tied behind my back.’ She spoke angrily as if at least one of those present were directly responsible for her plight.

  Laurie seemed to come to his senses. ‘You poor girl!’ he exclaimed. ‘You look dreadful. Come and sit down. Can I bring you anything? Would you like to go and have a good wash?’

  As if at a signal, Roma finally joined in. ‘What on earth have you been doing?’ she demanded. ‘What’s been going on?’

  ‘Don’t bully her, woman,’ Laurie said. ‘The poor girl’s in no state to answer questions.’

  ‘But …’ Roma considered snapping back, but a renewed burst of weeping from Justine distracted her. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Roma tutted. ‘You’ll have to tell us something. Do you need a doctor? Are you hungry? Do you want me to get a bed ready?’

  ‘Bed,’ the girl whispered. ‘I haven’t slept for days. Only odd snatches.’

  ‘Right. I’ll go and find some clean sheets, then.’ Roma started to leave the room, then turned back. ‘Did I hear you correctly? Somebody kidnapped you, did they?’

  Justine nodded. ‘I’m in the most awful trouble, Mum. Otherwise I wouldn’t have come. I know you don’t want me. But—’ she looked desperately from face to face, pausing worriedly at Drew
and addressing him directly: ‘Whatever you do, don’t tell Penn I’m here.’

  Karen had watched Maggs go off with the tall stranger and spent a few moments wondering who he could possibly be. The small mystery irritated her, as did many things recently. Everybody seemed to be having a much more interesting life than hers, and there was little prospect of changing that, at least until Timothy started school. Drew’s erratic career was full of unpredictable variety, most of which Karen never heard about. She watched the burials taking place in the field behind the house, but almost never got directly involved. Her only solace, pathetically, seemed to be the vegetable garden that occupied so much of her time.

  Stephanie and Timmy were wonderful, of course. They were funny and interesting and entirely adorable. They played peacefully together and were in robust good health. But Karen had been a teacher in a primary school and was accustomed to the pressures and rewards of hectic days and visible success. Life now felt thin and unstimulating by comparison. Essentially, she supposed, she felt guilty for not achieving more. And then guilty for being so boring and stupid for not enjoying what she had and making the best of it.

  Much of the problem lay with Maggs. Although the two women got along well on the surface, Karen had intercepted many a pitying or even contemptuous glance. She had become a lesser person simply because she’d produced children, and childless women made no secret of this. However hard Karen worked at retaining her lively wits, at the same time as making a good job of raising the kids, she knew she’d lost status in the eyes of the world. It was irrational, unfair, often unacknowledged – but real just the same. She was aware of herself as a shadowy figure, on object of reduced attention from almost everybody.

  Turning away from the window with a sigh, she went to find food for the children’s supper. Stephanie was lying on the floor, feet crossed in the air, chin resting on one hand, drawing carefully with the other. Karen nudged her with her foot. ‘That’s no way to do your drawing,’ she chided. ‘You should sit up at the table.’

  The child ignored her, peaceably continuing to draw. Irritation swept through Karen again and she jabbed Stephanie’s ribs harder. ‘Get up!’ she ordered.

  ‘Ow!’ squealed her daughter. ‘You kicked me!’

  Timothy looked up from the couch where he’d been watching television, thumb in mouth. He blinked reproachfully at his mother. Stephanie slowly got to her feet, picked up the drawing things and slid on to one of the upright chairs next to the table. She didn’t say a word. Karen closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

  ‘Sorry, Steph,’ she managed. ‘That was bad of me.’

  Stephanie gave a very adult shrug. It was a seminal moment for Karen. Dismissed by her own child, as well as by everyone else. That’s it, she vowed silently. I’ll show them all. She didn’t know how she’d do it, but she wasn’t going to let herself be ignored any more. Just wait till Drew gets home, she fumed.

  Sheena went carefully out to the yard, looking for Philip. Her head felt swollen and impossibly sensitive. Inside it there were lightning flashes, as the implications of her mother-in-law’s words struggled to be understood. Only one thing was clear: Philip had lied to her about Georgia’s whereabouts. And that made no possible sense.

  She found him coming around the corner of the house from the covered area where they kept their cars, and stood in front of him, trying to focus on his face.

  ‘Where is she, Phil? What have you done with her?’

  ‘Who? What?’ He widened his eyes and reached out a hand to her. She backed away from him.

  ‘Your mother just phoned. Georgia isn’t with her. She hasn’t been there at all. Tell me what the bloody hell is going on.’ Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, but her husband’s expression reflected back none of her panic.

  ‘She’s perfectly all right,’ he said, quickly. ‘It was idiotic of me not to tell you, but there didn’t seem much point.’ He smiled tentatively. ‘I didn’t think you’d be too pleased about it, so decided to let it wait until they came back.’

  ‘What?’ she almost screamed. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Come on, Sheen. Cool down. There’s no need to get in a state. Christ, you hardly notice the kid when she is here. It doesn’t matter to you if I change the arrangements.’

  She held her breath and inwardly counted to five. ‘It does matter, actually. I’m her mother. I do in fact want to know where she is at all times.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry. I just had a better idea, that’s all. Honestly, darling, she’s perfectly all right.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ She realised as she spoke that it was dreadfully true. Philip was too relaxed, making too big an effort to keep his shoulders loose, his face bland. He should at least be alarmed by her discovery. Such insouciance was unnatural. But if he was intent on playing some horrible game, she saw no option but to co-operate. She turned to go back into the house, flipping one hand at him to follow her. ‘Okay,’ she snapped. ‘You can prove it to me. Call the number where she is and let me speak to her.’

  ‘I can’t. She’s camping,’ he said. Sheena was reminded crazily of a television sitcom, where people dig themselves deeper and deeper into trouble by inventing more and more extreme lies to cover their mistakes.

  ‘Camping,’ she repeated woodenly. ‘Where? Who with?’

  ‘Justine!’ he announced, and for half a second, she believed him. ‘I let Justine take her. She begged me. You know how fond they are of each other. There didn’t seem to be any harm in it.’

  Sheena savoured this story, watching his face. He grinned self-deprecatingly and spread his hands. It was a good performance, but there was a parodic feel to it – an actor depicting rueful confession of a rather minor misdemeanour.

  ‘Is that really true?’ she demanded. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before? Why all the secrecy?’

  ‘I thought you might be jealous,’ he said. ‘Of Justine. Having all that time with your daughter. Silly,’ he tried to laugh. ‘You hardly even thought about her till now.’

  ‘Because I thought she was safe. I thought she was being organised to death on the Isle of Wight. Which is how she likes it. How could you do that to your mother? Even I wouldn’t be that rotten.’

  He shrugged. ‘She didn’t really mind. It was going to be a sweat for her.’

  ‘But …’ she felt the first real thrusts of fear. ‘Where is she now? Where’s Justine? When are they supposed to come back? Tell me the truth, Phil. You’ve got to tell me everything.’

  He pushed past her into the kitchen and sat down on one of the wooden chairs, leaving her to choose whether to stand or sit. She opted to remain vertical, leaning lightly against the edge of the sink, her back to the window. ‘It’s quite a long story,’ he said. ‘And you’re not going to like it.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she repeated. But she allowed herself to glance at the clock on the wall, and to note that she had five minutes before the conference call with their American sister company. If she missed it, she’d lose so much ground, it would take six months to recover. She gritted her teeth, and glared at her husband. ‘Am I right to be afraid something’s happened to Georgia?’ she demanded.

  ‘Of course not,’ he said emphatically.

  ‘If I can believe that, then the rest can wait,’ she said. ‘Can’t it?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he agreed, with transparent relief. ‘You get off to your telephoning. I know how important it is to you.’

  Her mother-in-law’s words echoed in her head. I do wonder whether you deserve that child. Something told Sheena that she would never manage to live with herself if she let it drop now. Her child had been with a girl who’d had strange people come looking for her, for nearly a week, and her husband was trying to tell her something he knew she wouldn’t want to hear. Some story she couldn’t begin to guess at. Only a monster would go off to a conference call at a moment like this. She might be an inattentive mother, but she wasn’t a monster. She stifled the groan that threatened to turn
into hysterics if she didn’t keep strict control.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘You know I can’t. Something terrible’s been going on, and I’ve been blind and deaf and unforgivably stupid. So tell me the whole thing. Please.’

  He wouldn’t look at her, but instead swung his gaze from floor to window and back again, in a jerky arc. ‘Sit down then,’ he told her. She obeyed, wondering when the numbness would turn to something much sharper.

  ‘I’ve been having an affair with Justine,’ he began. ‘For about two months now. We’re lovers.’ He said the word roundly, as if it held a vital key to what came next. As if it was the one sweet note in a discordant song.

  Sheena clenched a fist on her thigh. ‘Why does it feel as though that’s the least of my worries?’ she grated.

  ‘Well … we’ve been talking about going away together, taking Georgia with us,’ he said quickly.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she dismissed. ‘You’d never leave this place. You’re fooling yourself, and that wretched girl. Look, phone her, will you? Tell her to come back right away.’ She tried to quell the tremor in her voice. Philip simply stood there, shaking his head slowly.

  ‘Don’t tell me she hasn’t got a mobile?’

  ‘She left it behind. I haven’t spoken to her since she left.’

  Sheena’s fear returned. ‘What?’

  ‘I think something might have gone wrong,’ he admitted. ‘I thought she would have got in touch by now.’

  ‘When were you going to tell me about this?’

  ‘Soon, I suppose. When we had it all properly organised.’

  ‘So what kept your mouth shut when you realised you had no idea where our little girl was? When for all you knew they were both dead in a ditch somewhere? I can’t believe anyone could be so appallingly irresponsible.’

  He doesn’t deserve the child, either, she thought. What a pair we are!