The Mill on the Shore

by Ann Cleeves

  ‘You remember it very well,’ Molly said.

  ‘I suppose I do. Probably because he was kind to me. Perhaps I was feeling a bit left out. Mother was all tied up with Tim and being pregnant. She was writing pieces then too for women’s magazines on family life, child care, you know the sort of thing.’ Molly nodded. ‘But that was all …’ She paused, not wanting to be disloyal but trying to explain. ‘ … abstract, theoretical. She liked the idea of our being a big family, but I think quite often Caitlin and I just got in the way. Babies were easier. They went to bed early. Caitlin probably resented it more than me.’ She paused again. ‘James was enormous fun but hardly ever there.’

  ‘So when Aidan gave you some attention you remembered it,’ Molly prompted.

  ‘He read to us,’ Ruth said, ‘and drew pictures to go with the stories. And sometimes, when James was away, he came to babysit so Mother could go to the theatre with her friends. We always looked forward to that. We said he was the best babysitter in the world. Much better than the childminders who came in occasionally to give Mother some time to herself.’

  So Meg wasn’t a wonder mother after all, Molly thought. Just human and selfish like the rest of us.

  ‘Aidan went to work for your father, didn’t he?’ she said.

  Ruth nodded. ‘When he was at art school. During the holidays.’

  ‘You must have been a bit older then. Did he ever talk to you about the work?’

  ‘I don’t think so. He still treated me as a kid even when I began to wish he wouldn’t.’

  ‘And James?’ Molly asked. ‘Did he talk about his work at all?’

  ‘All the time. It was the only thing he thought about. It was all plans, dreams, schemes – ideas for a new television series, for an article for the magazine. I don’t think it was what Mother expected when she married him. She thought, somehow, it would be more of a partnership.’

  ‘Do you remember the weekend Hannah died?’ Molly asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Ruth said.

  ‘How did you get on with Hannah?’

  ‘Very well. We were about the same age. I could talk to her, you know, about things you could never discuss with your parents. I know Mother thought she was doing the right thing by teaching us at home and she always made sure there were lots of other children around. But they were children of her friends. It wasn’t like being in a big class and being able to choose for yourself. I suppose I was always quite lonely and that’s why I looked forward so much to Hannah coming to stay.’

  ‘Did you ever come to visit her in Salter’s Cottage with Phil and Cathy?’

  ‘Once,’ Ruth said. ‘It was the Easter holidays. I loved it. Phil took us out ringing with him and let us hold the birds though that wasn’t really allowed. I was only thinking of it this morning because we found a dying swan on the shore, just like Tim. Phil took it back to the cottage and tried to clean it up but it died in the night. Hannah cried for it.’

  ‘When was that?’ Molly asked gently.

  ‘The same year. The year that she died too. July 1991.’

  ‘Can you remember what arrangements were made that weekend, the weekend she was going to visit you?’

  Molly half expected the girl to demand some explanation, to ask where the questions were leading but she answered readily enough.

  ‘It was a spur of the moment thing, right at the start of the summer holidays. James said he had to go north anyway for work and he might as well bring Hannah back with him.’

  ‘Did he tell you what the work was about?’

  ‘Not really but I heard him discussing it with Mother.’ She paused, wondering why she found it so easy to talk to this old lady. She was trusting her with memories she’d not discussed with anyone else. ‘They were arguing,’ she said. ‘That’s why I remember it so clearly, I suppose, and because everything that happened around the time of the accident seems very sharp and immediate because of the shock. They didn’t argue much. James sometimes tried to provoke a fight – I think he would have quite enjoyed it – but Mother didn’t respond. She usually walked away.’

  ‘But that day there was a row?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t hear it all. I came in, I think at the end of it. Mother didn’t want him to go away. I suppose there was some event they’d been invited to. She liked to be seen out with James. He was famous then. She was shouting: “But what will people think?” Then he said quite quietly: “ Does it really matter?”’

  ‘Did you ever find out what the argument was about?’

  ‘No,’ Ruth said. ‘I couldn’t ask Mother. But James came to find me later that night before he went away. I was in my room reading and he knocked on the door and came and sat on the bed. He’d never done that before. He was always in so much of a hurry. He talked about Hannah. He asked what I’d like to do when she was staying. I said ice-skating, bowling, the usual things. Then he said: “You and Hannah must stay friends whatever happens. Even if the grown-ups fall out you must stay friends.”’

  ‘Did you understand what he meant by that?’

  ‘Not at the time. I suppose I thought then he was sorry for having rowed with Mother. But later I wondered if he was meaning to leave her, that he was saying that even if they separated Hannah and I could still see each other.’

  ‘Yes,’ Molly said. ‘ I suppose he could have meant that. But he never did leave your mother, did he?’

  ‘No,’ Ruth said, ‘and after the accident he wouldn’t have had the courage.’

  They sat for a moment in silence. ‘ What’s this all about?’ Ruth asked at last. ‘I thought you wanted to talk about Aidan. I can’t help you, you know. I don’t have any more idea than you do where he’s disappeared to.’

  ‘But you might know why he left,’ Molly said. ‘ You seemed very close.’

  ‘I think I scared him away,’ Ruth said bitterly. ‘I wanted him to notice me, to see that I’m not a kid any more. But he wasn’t interested and I scared him off. That’s why he ran away in such a hurry.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Molly said. ‘ I don’t think it was like that at all.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  They told Meg that they would be out for lunch and drove instead to the Dead Dog, where they ate limp ham sandwiches and drank glasses of flat beer. The place was empty except for Cedric who stared at them mournfully from behind the bar. They seemed to have gained a lot of information during the morning but it was all vague and unsubstantiated. George especially felt he needed a fact, something concrete to work from.

  ‘What are we saying then?’ he demanded. ‘That Jimmy hadn’t fallen for Grace at all? That he pretended to be close to her because he wanted to find out about a boyfriend she’d had who happened to work for the National Rivers Authority?’

  ‘We don’t know that it was the National Rivers Authority,’ Molly said. ‘Jane wasn’t that specific.’

  ‘Of course not!’ George said crossly. ‘Nothing in this case is that specific.’

  ‘It’s an odd coincidence though, isn’t it?’ Molly went on. She was accustomed to George’s frustrations. ‘ Grace did tell me that she felt she was being used. And I don’t think one thing precludes the other, do you? Jimmy could have fallen for her and still used her to get information for his story. Surely he was never bothered about mixing business and pleasure …’ She paused in thought. ‘Perhaps the article Christabel told you about was never quite completed, the facts never checked. When Jimmy decided to write the autobiography and set the record straight he might have needed to talk again to the people involved. The boyfriend of Grace Sharland’s would have given him access to those. Especially if the incident happened locally.’

  ‘But it’s so uncertain,’ he said. ‘There’s no evidence that the story Jimmy was working on originated from this area. He could have been based further north during that week before the accident. Even if he were driving back from Scotland it would have been convenient to pick up Hannah on the way.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to find out,’ Molly
said. Her calm only provoked him more.

  ‘But how?’ he demanded. ‘Aidan Moore’s disappeared and all we know about this Nick is that he went to work in Malawi. We haven’t even got a second name for him.’

  ‘There can’t be that many British-sponsored aid projects in Malawi,’ Molly said. ‘Even fewer employing a marine biologist. Don’t you have any contacts in the Overseas Development Administration? One of your pals from the civil service? All those working lunches and endless seminars must have had some use …’

  ‘There was someone,’ George said. ‘He transferred from the Home Office not long before I retired …’ He lapsed into silence, already framing the questions in his head, planning an excuse for needing to know.

  In the end it was easy. His chum remembered him immediately. George, he always felt, had been the one to really swing his promotion, and he owed him a few favours. He didn’t even ask why George needed the information and the prepared lie about wanting to trace a distant relative was never needed. The only problem was in getting the information quickly. Sandford wanted to chat, to discuss office politicking which George had long forgotten. As he tried to contain his impatience George thought that his final appraisal of the man had been over-generous.

  ‘We’re only sponsoring one research project in Malawi,’ Sandford said at last. ‘ It’s a study into the viability of commercial fishing on the lake. Based near Salima.’

  ‘Yes,’ George said gratefully. ‘That would be it. There’s no guarantee of course that the chap I’m looking for will still be there. Don’t you employ most of your scientists on short-term contracts?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sandford said slowly. ‘ But I’ve got a feeling that this scheme’s overrun and quite a few of the contracts have been renewed. It happens that way sometimes …’

  There was a distant sound of computer beeps.

  ‘Here we are,’ Sandford said. ‘ The list of staff. The only one with the initial N is the freshwater biologist Lineham. Nicholas Lineham. Do you want a home address for him?’

  ‘Please,’ George said casually.

  ‘It’s a place in Mardon,’ Sandford said, unaware of the excitement he had caused. ‘If you’ve got a pen I’ll give it to you.’

  ‘I was hoping to get in touch with Nick,’ George said. ‘ Could I get a message to him through you?’

  ‘No need, old chap,’ Sandford said. ‘Why don’t you phone him direct? You can get straight through to the lab. We’ve got quite a sophisticated set-up out there, you know. It’s not all mud huts and bush telegraph. I’ll give you the number.’

  But when George finally got his call to Salima connected he couldn’t speak to Nick Lineham. The project’s research manager was very helpful. Over a crackly line he said he would get Nick to contact George when he returned. But he had just started a routine three-week cruise up the length of Lake Malawi on the project boat, collecting samples, and there was no way of getting a message to him there.

  The address Sandford had given for Nick Lineham turned out to be a sub post office and general store on the outskirts of Mardon. It was on the main road west out of the town and now, at five thirty, the traffic was heavy. As they sat in a queue of cars at traffic lights George’s impatience increased. He had convinced himself that this was a wild-goose chase. The suburb was unprepossessing. On one side of the road were a series of red-brick terraces, on the other a grey, 1950s council housing estate which sprawled up the hill. They came at last to a small row of shops, built into a terrace. Most were still open, hoping perhaps to attract commuters on their way home. George drove past them and parked, then walked back past the launderette, the newsagent’s and the Chinese takeaway to get into the Linehams’ shop by the front door.

  There was a post office counter at one end but that had been closed and covered by heavy metal shutters. The rest of the cramped space was set out like a miniature supermarket with goods piled on shelves in the middle of the room and along the walls. Everything was faintly grubby. A young woman sat on a stool behind the till next to a rack of ageing vegetables. Molly and George stood just inside the door, taking their bearings.

  ‘It’s self service,’ the young woman said aggressively. ‘ You’ll have to help yourselves.’ She did not move from the stool but nodded towards a pile of wire baskets.

  ‘We were hoping to talk to Mr and Mrs Lineham,’ George said. He had assumed from the beginning that Nick had given his parents’ address to the Overseas Development Administration. ‘ They do live here?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Perhaps I could explain that to Mr and Mrs Lineham,’ he said firmly.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. There was something protective in her attitude and he thought she must be Nick’s sister. ‘They’ve just gone into the back to have their tea. It’s the only break they get.’ She paused but could not control her resentment. ‘They used to close at six but they have to stay open till ten now to make any sort of living. I’ve got better things to do than mind this bloody place after a full day’s work but what can you do? They should have sold it when the market was better. You couldn’t give it away now.’ She regarded them with hostility as if they were to blame for the recession.

  ‘We’d like to talk to them about Nick,’ George said carefully. He did not want to provoke another outburst of anger.

  ‘Oh well, if it’s about their precious Nick I’m sure they’ll want to see you.’

  Still she did not move from her stool but she shouted towards an open back door: ‘Mum! There’s someone here to talk to you.’ She turned back to Molly and George. ‘You’d better go through.’

  The Linehams were in a small scruffy living room at the end of a short passage. The passage and much of the room had been used as storage space and they sat surrounded by cartons of washing-up liquid and baked beans. The place had all the comfort of a warehouse. There were two upright armchairs and a large television set, which dominated their attention. They had trays on their knees and were forking food into their mouths while they watched an American soap.

  George hesitated in the doorway and coughed but the television was too loud for them to hear.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Lineham?’ he said and they turned in unison, surprised and frightened. They were small, slight, grey, so alike that they could have been brother and sister.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ George said. ‘Your daughter said it would be all right.’

  Mrs Lineham jumped to her feet, gathered the half-full plates together and scuttled into the kitchen. Her husband stood too, but his mouth was still full and he could not speak. The woman returned empty-handed and muttered a shamed apology about the mess. It was as if she, not they, were intruding.

  ‘We’re really very sorry to disturb you,’ George said again. He wanted to put them at their ease. How could they confide in him when they felt so obviously threatened? ‘ It’s about Nick. I’m interested in some work he was doing before he went to Africa. He’s out on the boat now and I can’t get in touch with him. I thought you might be able to help.’

  ‘Oh!’ she said, relieved, relaxing into a smile. ‘You’ll be from the university.’ She spoke in a hushed tone as if the place had some sort of religious significance and he was a high priest. ‘They were still interested in his work even after he finished his Ph. D.’ She turned towards the mantelpiece where a framed photograph of the boy in cap and gown flanked by his parents had pride of place. It was hard to tell from the photo what Grace had seen in him. To George he just looked very young.

  ‘So you’re from the university,’ she said again, enjoying saying the word.

  George did not contradict her. If she thought he was a professor following up her son’s research she was more likely, surely, to help him.

  ‘Sit down,’ she said moving boxes to reveal two more chairs. ‘What must you think of us living like this. Do sit down. Ernie, this gentleman’s from the university. Switch that rubbish off at once.’

  Ernie leaned forward and r
eluctantly switched off the television.

  ‘Now,’ she said. ‘How can we help you?’

  ‘Was Nick living here when he was working for the NRA?’ George said in a chatty tone, hoping that was where he had been working. He wanted to start with simple, unthreatening questions.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not really. Not then. He was living at home when he first started with the Mardon and District Water Company but when the National Rivers Authority was formed after privatization he’d already moved out.’

  ‘So he started with the NRA right from the beginning?’ George said.

  ‘Oh yes. It was what interested him most you see, the conservation side.’

  ‘And where was he living then?’

  She blushed and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘With his girlfriend,’ she said. ‘ She’s moved since but she had a flat then in one of those big houses just off the High Street. I can’t say I was happy about the situation. You had to wait in my day. But they were engaged so that was something. And he kept in touch with Ernie and me. He always came for his Sunday dinner.’ She lowered her voice even further. ‘I don’t think she was much of a cook. I don’t suppose she had to learn where she came from.’

  ‘Oh?’ George said. It was all the encouragement she needed. As her daughter had said, she was glad of any excuse to talk about her precious Nick.

  ‘Grace Sharland she was called,’ Mrs Lineham said. ‘The Sharlands were a big family in Mardon. No shortage of money there. Her dad was something high up in Mardon Wools. Nothing came of it in the end and I can’t say that I’m sorry. Despite all her money our Nick could have done better for himself than her.’