by Thorne Moore
Sylvia and Michael were waiting for me to appear.
‘Kate. Oh dear,’ said Sylvia.
Michael glanced at me, then turned away to the Rayburn.
‘What now?’ I asked.
‘Oh Kate,’ said Sylvia, giving me a hug. ‘It’s about Al.’
‘What’s happened?’ I pictured him hanging in a cell.
‘I phoned the station again,’ intervened Michael, before Sylvia could raise the panic level. ‘Al and his team will be on their way back here quite soon.’
‘But that’s good!’
‘Yes, of course it is. I repeated my offer to provide them with a lawyer, but it turns out they have their own.’
‘They’re probably used to all this.’
‘Oh Kate,’ repeated Sylvia.
Michael hushed her. ‘It seems Al managed to text Kim.’
‘She has a mobile? Good. So she evaded arrest then?’
‘Oh Kate,’ said Sylvia. I resolved to tape her lips shut if she said it again.
‘Kim turned up at the station late last night with their own solicitor.’ Michael busied himself with the kettle, then stopped and resolutely turned to face me. ‘She’s handling the situation. Mrs Josephine Taverner.’
His mother, I thought. But his mother’s dead. Josephine – Jo – Mrs?
‘Oh Kate,’ said Sylvia.
‘You mean Al’s wife?’
‘He never told us he was married,’ complained Sylvia. ‘Did he, Mike?’
‘I don’t suppose it ever came up in conversation,’ I said, coolly, my mouth dry. ‘Did he ever tell you he wasn’t married?’
Michael frowned. ‘I think his behaviour has suggested it, don’t you?’
‘Well, they’re free spirits. I’m surprised he settled for something quite so conventional, but we all have our weaknesses. As long as she’s managed to spring them from Alcatraz, that’s the main thing. I’m just going…,’ I made for the stairs.
‘Oh Kate!’ said Sylvia.
‘Sylvia!’ I retorted through clenched teeth and ran.
A policeman was searching my room.
‘Hell!’ I retreated, running up the back stairs to the attics. The first door I opened – of course it was that door. It had to be that door. The shadow of fear and resistance pounded into me as I hurtled in, unthinking, almost lifting me off my feet and hurtling me out again. Out, out, out!
‘All right, I’m going!’ I kicked the door, as I slammed it shut. Slipped into the adjoining garret, where there was nothing to stop me wallowing in misery, resentment and self-pity. Perhaps my emotions were worming their way into the fabric of this room now. They were strong enough. I wanted to curl up and shut out everything…
I stopped and slapped myself at the thought of this pathetic behaviour. It was a joke, wasn’t it? I should be laughing. Not so long ago, I was sharing my favours between my husband and my lover. Now my husband had gone to his pregnant mistress and my lover was back with his wife. Yes, it was all one bloody joke. Ha bloody ha.
Thump, thump, thump on creaking boards, doors opening, one after another, and then mine, a policeman’s head peering round. ‘Sorry, love, but…,’
‘Yes, help yourself. There’s a mouse hole if you’re interested.’ I pushed past him, slithering down the narrow stairs, half expecting the woodwork to give way beneath me. After all, everything else had. Then I was on the ground floor, with nowhere further to sink. I headed for the front door, in need of fresh air. Preferably a cold wind, pouring rain – a brutal dose of reality.
I stopped short. Michael was in the drawing room, alone, his head in his hands. He looked up when I came in, that terrible look of anguish again.
‘Kate,’ he said, pulling himself together immediately. ‘How are you?’
I sat down, ashamed of my own wretchedness. Michael had endured more than I could begin to imagine, watching his wife die, succumbing to grief and despair, and a new life with Sylvia was supposed to have brought him peace and salvation. Instead, our wretched family had embroiled him in this mêlée of sordid squabbles, spite and now murder. What did my pitiful romantic troubles matter? ‘I’m fine. Really. I’ll survive. We’ll come through this, Michael. Somewhere beyond all this there’ll be calm waters again.’
‘Yes,’ he said. Not believing it. He glanced around the room, at the newly painted wall, the curtainless window where Christian had fallen, and stared at the spot for a moment. ‘Sylvia’s gone to speak to the police,’ he said. ‘She insisted. She wouldn’t let me go with her. She seems to think she can put things right.’ The words rang hollow.
‘She shouldn’t have gone alone. They’ll tie her in knots.’
‘Tamsin’s gone with her,’ said Michael. ‘She just wanted her daughter.’
I was feeling more and more uneasy at the cloud of gloom surrounding him. We couldn’t let him slip back into the depression that had brought him down once before. ‘She wasn’t cold-shouldering you, Michael. She was trying to protect you by not involving you. I know it won’t work, but Sylvia always means well.’ A thread of thought hung between us. And some people always mean ill. ‘She’d do anything for you, just as you’d do anything for her.’
He stared at me and opened his mouth to speak. Then the sound of an engine, grinding gears, slamming doors down the lane, made us both turn to the window.
‘I suppose that’s Al,’ I said.
Michael nodded. ‘I think so. Would you rather—’
‘I’ll go and see them,’ I said quickly. ‘Nil carborundum.’
He managed a smile. ‘The good old British stiff upper lip, eh?’
‘The Kate Lawrence pride, more like.’ I took a deep breath and strode resolutely to the courtyard.
A garish minibus was parked at the end of the workshops. By the time I reached it, the occupants had been disgorged. I found Al and Kim, face to face in their usual sibling angst. ‘You just never listen,’ Kim was saying. ‘I’m nearly twenty one, Alistair. I’m not your baby. I don’t need you to protect me.’
‘What was I supposed to think when the Quigley woman said she saw you—’
‘Saw what? Saw him pushing drugs at me? He’s been pushing them at everyone, in case you hadn’t noticed. And I told him where to shove them, okay? You seriously think I’m incapable of saying no?’
‘No, of course.’ Al saw me and stopped.
Kim saw me too. ‘For God’s sake, get him off my back, Kate.’ She stalked away in frustrated rage.
‘Kate? You’re Kate. I’ve heard about you. I’m Jo.’ The Wife bounced forward, all bright smiles. Slight, flat chested, close cropped sandy hair and freckles. No one’s definition of radiant beauty, and yet she did radiate. She oozed attractive energy.
‘How was Peru?’ I asked politely.
Jo Taverner laughed. ‘Forgotten already. Hell, I don’t know. I thought I’d be back a week or two, before I had to get my husband out of a police cell again.’
‘Again?’
She grinned. ‘He does have his own take on justice, does Al. Any other mischief he’s been in, since I’ve been away?’
‘None that Kate knows of,’ said Al. He looked depressingly guilt-free.
‘I hear you’ve let them build their round house here,’ said Jo. ‘I knew he’d find some poor sucker to let him do it eventually. What about the yurt problem, by the way?’
‘It’s fine,’ said Al.
‘You fixed that bit about attaching the lining?’
‘Yes, I fixed it.’
‘Good, because we don’t want to be sued.’ Jo smiled at me apologetically. ‘Sorry. I’ll nag him later. You’ve got rather more pressing problems on your hands than Al’s cocked-up instruction leaflets, haven’t you? Any news on the missing girl?’
‘None yet.’ I had become the outsider in someone else’s ongoing domestic saga.
‘And the pigs rampaging everywhere, I suppose. If you need a resident lawyer for the duration, just call. I’ve already drawn up battle lines with the buggers. Pat!�
� She summoned the other new face in the crowd, Padrig I assumed; eight feet tall, with a plaited beard and a beaded head band. ‘Get the beer. I’m not ready yet for Molly’s tisanes.’ She was shepherding them all, for the haul up to the camp. The minibus would never make it up the track. ‘I’ll just get us settled in, then I’ll be back,’ she promised me. ‘See if I can be of any help.’
They set off, leaving me standing alone with Al. He seemed to recognise that an explanation was in order.
‘I’m glad they released you,’ I said stiffly. ‘Did they give you a hard time?’
‘No more than usual.’
‘Just as well your wife turned up when she did.’
He shrugged. ‘They couldn’t have held us for much longer anyway.’
‘She’s very nice.’
‘Jo? Yes. Sweeps all before her.’
I glared at him. ‘You could have told me you were married.’
‘I didn’t keep it secret. I thought you knew. You talked about Jo and Padrig.’
‘That doesn’t mean I knew Jo was your wife.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You introduced your husband as a family friend. Took me a while to catch on.’
‘That’s different. We were separated.’
‘Jo and I were separated. By the Atlantic.’
‘I meant emotionally, not geographically.’
‘Okay,’ he conceded. ‘So maybe we were too. We’d agreed to have some time out. She went her way, I went mine, to see how things would work out.’
‘Oh I see. A trial separation. She goes off to Peru with a Celtic sun god, and you toy with the amusing goods round here.’
He leaned against the wall, his arms folded. ‘I figured that was pretty much what you were doing. Trying the water to see if you really wanted your husband back? Sorry your reunion didn’t work out. Mind you, you’d have been wasted on him.’
‘Don’t you dare!’
‘Come on, Kate. I like you. I like you a lot, and you like me. It’s no great catastrophe, is it?’
‘Does Jo “like” Padrig?’
‘Yeah, probably.’ He laughed. ‘They have a lot in common. An interest in the rights of indigenous farmers. I’m not a possessive guy.’
‘Evidently.’
‘Look, Kate, come up to the camp with us.’
‘And we can be a liberated foursome? No thank you.’
He shook his head with a laugh. ‘I mean, come up and get away from all this.’ He nodded at a police car gliding silently by. ‘Chill out for a bit.’
‘Chill out! With Hannah Quigley still missing?’
‘You don’t have an idea where she is?’
‘No, of course I don’t.’
‘I thought, maybe, you could feel something?’
Feel what? The fading out of existence in the dark hours of a sleepless night. I knew that death had occurred, not where or how it had happened. ‘I’m not a bloody clairvoyant!’ I snapped.
‘Sorry.’ Al put an arm round my shoulder. ‘You’re having a rough time. But you’ll come through it.’
Great. Did he think his positivity was transferable? It wasn’t. I wasn’t feeling positive about anything anymore. I no longer knew where I was or what I was doing.
‘I’ve got to get back to Sylvia.’ I watched him set off up the path to the camp. Then I turned in the opposite direction and wandered down into the meadow. I needed a moment to breathe, to wipe my mind clear of its helter-skelter chaos.
Tamsin was in the kitchen when I returned, busily filling the kettle, setting out crockery. The sight of such voluntary domesticity took me aback.
‘I’ve sent Mum to bed’ she said. ‘She’s looking terrible. I’m making tea. Do you want some?’
‘I’d love some. How did she get on with the police?’
‘It was awful. But she was determined to do it. Poor Mum. Dropping drugs down the well! I ask you.’
‘I know. She panicked.’
‘She’s always in pieces when Chris upsets her. I wonder if they’ve found him yet.’ She was diligently warming the pot. Every iota of the tea-making ritual was going to be done correctly.
‘I haven’t heard, but then they’re not telling us anything.’
‘At least they’ve got the drugs in the well sorted out. But would you believe, they’ve still got this idea that Mike’s the real drugs dealer, not Chris. Just because he was a chemist. How dumb can you get? At least it gets Al off the hook, I suppose. You heard about Al? Being married? Isn’t he a rat?’
Tamsin looked merely miffed. A week ago I would have expected a stronger response, but the last few days had given us all new priorities.
‘I’ve just met his wife,’ I said. ‘Jo. She’s very nice.’
‘When they talked about Jo and Padrig in Peru or wherever, do you know, I thought they were talking about a man. How embarrassing is that?’
‘A mistake anyone could make,’ I said, soberly.
‘And she turns up and finds them all under arrest, for nothing at all! Can you believe this? Chris is here for a couple of days, and suddenly we’re all under suspicion.’
‘I’m sure he’d appreciate the devastating impact he’s left.’ I watched her laying a tray. One bone china cup and saucer – I hadn’t realised there were cups and saucers in the house – one lacy plate with biscuit. If niceness cured, this would heal Sylvia for certain. ‘What about Michael? Isn’t he with your mother?’
‘No, I said I’d keep his until he came back. They’re searching the Hall now, and the dungeon is locked up. They asked him to go and open it so they wouldn’t have to break down the door. I think they were hoping to break it down, but he’s got the key and a screwdriver.’
‘Oh, can’t they just leave us alone? Look, keep my tea, Tam. I’m going to see how much more damage they’re planning to do.’
Damage. I hadn’t thought of it in such literal terms, until I entered the hall. The door to the undercroft had been opened for dogs to sniff among the cobwebs, but it was the linenfold panelling, at the far end, that was currently commanding the attention of Wiles and his cohort. The very obviously new panelling, Michael’s beautiful craftsmanship, so jarringly different, in its coloration and patina, to the surrounding, older work.
‘You could have asked me to open it!’ Michael was saying. He was shaking. The secret door into the priest hole had been wrenched and prised off its hinges. ‘There was no need for this.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about that, sir,’ said an unrepentant Wiles. ‘But we had to check all possible hiding places. Known and unknown. The rest of the panelling. Are there other opening sections?
‘No,’ I said, more conscious of Michael’s distress than of the distant seething shadow. ‘There’s the one priest hole. The rest is solid wall.’
‘But all those panels have been replaced. Why would that be?’
‘Because those were the rotten ones that needed replacing.’ Michael was tearing his hair, as he ran his fingers through it.
‘It’s solid wall,’ I insisted. ‘I saw it when the old stuff came off.’
‘You understand we have to check. We are looking for a body.’
‘Don’t be stupid! Those panels have been in place for a month now and Hannah Quigley’s been missing two days. She can’t possibly be behind them!’
‘We’ll soon see.’
Even as Wiles was speaking, a police officer with a crowbar stepped in.
Michael gripped my hands in desperation. ‘Kate, can you believe these people?’ He flinched at the sound of cracking wood. ‘Why in God’s name are they doing this?’
So furious I couldn’t speak, I put my arm round him and we listened to the smashing and splintering of all his work.
‘Come away, Michael,’ I managed to say at last. ‘Let’s get away from this.’
He spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes shut. ‘There’s nowhere left to go.’
*
Michael sat at the kitchen table, staring into space, his hands round the mug
of tea he hadn’t drunk. I’d placed a glass of brandy beside his mug. He hadn’t noticed it yet. For a moment, in the hall, I’d thought he was going to collapse on me. He hadn’t, but collapse wasn’t far off.
Tamsin wasn’t helping with her indignant sympathy. ‘That was a totally shitty thing to do. All your work and everything. Did they find anything?’
‘Of course they didn’t,’ I said, pouring a brandy for myself. ‘They were just…’ Repeating my opinion of the mindless destructiveness wasn’t going to do anything to ease Michael’s fragile state of mind. ‘Let’s not think about it. I’ve called Al. He’s coming down to see what he can do with–’ With the splinters of matchwood? ‘–the panels. I’m sure he can make them good.’
Michael began to laugh. It was a laugh that made even Tamsin uneasy.
‘They’re so stupid!’ she fumed. ‘If they really want to find the Quigley, why don’t they just ask you, Kate?’
‘What?’
‘Well, you can feel things, can’t you? Bodies and ghosts and so on?’
‘No!’
‘I bet you knew about Bertie and the Bride before they found them,’ she insisted.
‘Tamsin, please!’
She gaped at my distress. ‘Sorry. It’s so weird, your thing. I know I don’t really get it.’
‘There’s nothing to get. Honestly. Tamsin, I’m sorry. I’m not a clairvoyant.’
‘Well, I think you’d do a better job of finding the Quigley girl than the stupid police.’ She stood up, shrugging. ‘I’m going to see how Mum is.’
‘Good. Yes. I hope she’s feeling better.’
As the door closed on Tamsin, I felt Michael’s eyes on me. My niece’s unwelcome ramblings had, at least, diverted him from his inner turmoil.
‘Did you know?’ he said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Did you know there were bones in the priest hole? The bog body?’
‘No! Of course not. How could I know?’
‘Sylvia thinks you have some sixth sense or something. An ability to feel bad things.’
‘Aren’t we all feeling bad things at the moment?’ I tipped back my brandy. ‘Sylvia likes the idea of ghosts and spirits.’
‘Peter thinks you feel things too. He said you knew there was a body in the bog.’
