Lost Summer

by Stuart Harrison

  ‘If I had not agreed to what I did, I think my wife would never have come out of that hospital.’

  Adam sidestepped offering any comment on the moral issue, concentrating instead on the remaining questions he had. ‘Whose idea was it to substitute a live baby for the one your wife miscarried?’

  Hunt winced at the clinical description of what had been done. ‘I tried to convince myself that it was only a matter of adoption really. Albeit without the normal documentation. That was the way Webster described it.’

  ‘It was his idea?’

  Lost in his recollection of the event, Hunt seemed momentarily confused. ‘Webster? Yes. Yes I suppose it was. He said that it was really for the best. That, in fact, the baby would have been put up for adoption anyway. The mother didn’t want her.’

  ‘He told you that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Adam didn’t point out that an official adoption agency would never have granted care of a child to a couple when the wife was suffering from a severe mental illness, even if they hadn’t already been in their forties. But despite that, with the benefit of hindsight and with the evidence of the apparently healthy young woman in the picture on the fridge, perhaps it would have been easier to be more understanding if Adam hadn’t known there was more to it. This hadn’t come about because Webster was such a compassionate soul, into whose hands circumstances had delivered the means to do good in the world.

  Hunt looked at the picture on the fridge. ‘She’s a bright girl. She’s due back from an exchange in Spain next week to do her last year at school before she goes to university. She wants to become a linguist and work for the United Nations.’

  There was no mistaking his tone. It was full of the pride of a loving parent and Adam had no doubt that the Hunts had raised the girl as if she was their own. In the photograph they looked happy together. He wondered if Judith Hunt had ever wondered why she hadn’t inherited either of her parents’ features. Though perhaps she thought she had. No doubt she had heard all her life how she resembled one or other of them, most likely her mother.

  ‘Anne doesn’t know,’ Hunt said.

  It took Adam a moment to absorb his meaning. ‘She doesn’t know that Judith isn’t her biological child?’ he said incredulously.

  ‘At least she doesn’t allow herself that knowledge. Perhaps on some level she is aware of it, but she’s never showed it. It’s as if she completely blocked out the miscarriage. In Anne’s mind Judith is her child. Quite literally.’

  Christ, Adam thought. What would happen to this family when all of this came out?

  ‘Why did Webster do it?’ he asked.

  ‘Because at the time I worked for the council department that was considering the future of Carisbrook,’ Hunt replied.

  Suddenly Adam understood. This question had plagued him during the drive from Tynemouth. Despite everything he’d discovered he hadn’t been able to imagine this as a simple case of babies for sale. It hadn’t seemed either Webster’s or Hunt’s style. But if Hunt had been able to influence the decision regarding Carisbrook, that made perfect sense. ‘You bought him some time?’

  ‘Yes. Closure was inevitable in the end of course, but I managed to delay it on several occasions.’

  ‘How did you first learn that somebody knew about what had happened?’ Adam asked.

  ‘It was a telephone call.’

  ‘From who?’

  ‘A man. I don’t know who it was.’

  ‘But you must have met him?’

  Hunt shook his head. ‘I only spoke to him twice, whoever it was.’

  ‘But didn’t you ever see these documents?’ Adam gestured to the papers on the table. ‘Didn’t you want proof?’

  ‘Of what?’ Hunt said. ‘He knew everything that happened including the name my wife had used at Carisbrook. At first I thought he wanted money. When he told me that the price for his silence was that I should vote in favour of the development I agreed. Perhaps I considered very briefly going to the police, but if I claimed it was anything more than a fleeting notion I would be lying. I don’t expect you to believe this, but I did it for my wife, and for Judith.’

  Hunt appeared to contemplate the inevitability of his secret now coming out. The flesh of his face seemed to sag and turn a greyish pallor before Adam’s eyes. It was difficult not to feel sorry for the man and for his family.

  ‘Didn’t you at least wonder who the blackmailer was?’

  Hunt blinked and rubbed his temples. ‘Of course. But the only person I could think of was Webster. But even if I did know who it was it would have made no difference to the threat and my compliance.’

  Adam could see that made sense. ‘Was there anything familiar about the person you spoke to?’

  ‘He spoke with a local accent, that’s all I can say.’

  It had to have been either Jones or David, Adam reasoned. But Jones had no motive to try and blackmail Hunt beyond money, which he had never done before, probably because he hadn’t wanted to risk his own criminal activities at the hospital coming to light if something went wrong. But if he had heard about the development and realized that Councillor Hunt was on the planning committee he might well have seen that the information was potentially valuable. All he had to do then was find somebody who would pay for it. Somebody like David.

  Adam had guessed during the drive from Tynemouth that whatever Jane had overheard it must have been enough that she knew somebody on the committee was being blackmailed, but not who. Perhaps she’d overheard Carisbrook mentioned, or Jones’s name. Probably both. And from there she’d gone searching for proof. He had followed her footsteps all the way. And eventually she’d found what she was looking for, and that was what bothered him.

  ‘Councillor Hunt, I asked you if you knew Jane Hanson last time I was here. You said you met her.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did she mention anything about your wife? Or give any impression that she was aware you were being blackmailed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And did you ever see her again?’

  Hunt shook his head. ‘Why do you ask?’

  But Adam didn’t answer. He was thinking. Why hadn’t Jane confronted Hunt with the evidence of the birth certificate? He’d been working on the premise that she had been bought off, but now he knew the day Jane had visited the Park Hotel was as Nicos had told him, the day of his nephew’s birthday. September the fourth.

  ‘What is it?’ Hunt asked.

  Adam shook his head. He’d had it all wrong.

  Part Four

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Though it was only four in the afternoon, outside it was almost dark. Angela stood by the phone in the kitchen deliberating whether or not to call Adam on his mobile. Her hand hovered uncertainly over the receiver.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she said quietly, turning away.

  She had expected that he would be back from Tynemouth by now, or at the very least that he would have called to tell her what he’d found. Perhaps like her he was avoiding the moment. She’d resolved to phone him a dozen times that day, and each time her resolve had deserted her before she’d made the call. She’d imagined a conversation full of halting uncertainty and unspoken feelings.

  She took the note he’d left her that morning out of her pocket and read it again. Not for what it said, but rather for what it didn’t say. They needed to talk, though she wasn’t sure that she was ready for that.

  Outside the window the cloud above the fells was heavy and low. A feeling of pressure lay over the landscape, the forerunner of snow. As if on cue the first drifting snowflakes appeared. Jenny’s mother would drop Kate home from school soon. At least her presence would return some normality to the house, though Angela knew she had a lot to explain to Kate. Things she didn’t even know how to begin to tell her about. Prompted by the thought she picked up the phone and dialled the sawmill again as she had half a dozen times already that day. It was Mollie who answered.

  ‘It’s me again,’ she said
.

  ‘Sorry, Angela, I haven’t seen him. I’ve no idea where he can be.’

  Mollie sounded almost as worried as she was herself. ‘Alright. Thanks. If you do see him before you leave …’

  ‘I’ll phone you straight away.’

  Angela thanked her again and hung up. Dammit, where the hell was David? She had woken that morning certain of perhaps only one thing, and that was that she needed to speak to him. In a curious way she felt stronger, more clear-headed. David was still her husband. He was the man she had been in love with all these years. Something like that you didn’t just abandon.

  From the front of the house she thought she heard the sound of a car, and thinking that it was Kate she went to the door. It wasn’t Kate, however, but the local GP, Dr Armstrong. He got out of his car and looked up at the sky. The snow was falling steadily now, already covering the ground with a dusting of white.

  ‘I was passing by on my way back to the surgery so I thought I’d look in. How is she?’

  ‘Fine, still sleeping the last time I checked,’ Angela said.

  She had called the surgery first thing that morning, uncertain what to do about Mary, and Dr Armstrong had come over. By the time he arrived Mary was awake and Angela had persuaded her to eat some toast and drink some tea. She’d seemed calm, though quiet and still nervous. She’d allowed the doctor to examine her without protest and afterwards he’d taken Angela aside and said that he thought Mary was physically rundown. Rest and care was what she needed. He’d taken a look at her medication and noted that it had been prescribed almost twelve months earlier. He’d offered to call the clinic in Carlisle and arrange an assessment if Mary could be persuaded to agree, but Angela had thought about it and decided she would keep Mary there for at least another day. She thought the girl looked vulnerable and lost rather than psychotic and she wanted to help.

  Angela led the way up the stairs where Mary was asleep. ‘I got her to take the pills you left for her earlier.’

  The doctor went quietly into the room and checked her. ‘She seems alright for the moment,’ he said when he came back out. ‘The sedatives I left are quite mild but they’ll help her to sleep. Has she eaten anything?’

  ‘A sandwich at lunchtime.’

  They went back downstairs to the kitchen, where Angela offered him a cup of coffee.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked, when they were sitting at the table. ‘I could take her to Carlisle now if we wake her and she agrees.’

  Angela glanced out of the window at the falling snow. ‘What will they do there?’

  ‘Nothing much I shouldn’t think. Try and get her to sleep tonight and then assess her mental condition in the morning. If they think it’s warranted they would have her temporarily committed.’

  ‘It seems unfair to move her now,’ Angela decided. ‘And she’s been quiet enough today. Why don’t I keep her here for tonight anyway.’

  ‘I think that’s a good idea if you’re comfortable with the arrangement. If you have any trouble you can call me at home. With any luck she’ll sleep through the night anyway. How well do you know her by the way?’

  ‘Not at all really. I’d only met her a few times before now.’

  ‘Yes, I can’t say I’ve seen her around much either.’

  ‘I don’t think she went out much. From what I gather Nick used to do most of the shopping and so on.’

  ‘They weren’t married were they?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘He left her everything though, apparently,’ Dr Armstrong said. ‘I was talking to Bill Sanders earlier. He was Nick’s solicitor you know. I happened to mention that Mary was here with you.’

  ‘Does she know?’ Angela asked, surprised.

  ‘Bill said he went down there yesterday to speak to her but he wasn’t sure if she understood anything he said. I understand she found him. Nick I mean.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hard to believe something like that could happen in a place like Castleton, isn’t it? First all this business with the estate, now this. Did you know they started evicting the protesters last night?’

  ‘Yes, I was there for a little while.’

  ‘To be honest, I’ll be glad when it’s over. That kind of thing seems to bring out the worst in people.’

  The doctor finished his coffee and rose to leave. At the door he put his coat on and turned up the collar, regarding the snow with a glum expression. ‘Looks like it’s setting in. Just my luck some farmer up on the fells will break a leg or something. Anyway, remember, don’t hesitate to phone if you need to.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Angela promised. ‘Thanks.’

  He waved and hurried across to his car. She watched him leave, the snow already thick enough that his car left tyre marks out on the yard. As she was about to go back inside a set of lights appeared at the end of the lane and moments later Alice Carterton turned into the gate. Kate jumped out of the back and ran over as Alice leaned across the seat and called out.

  ‘I won’t stop, I want to get home before this gets any worse.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks for having her,’ Angela said.

  She and Kate hugged and then went inside and through to the warmth of the kitchen.

  ‘Hungry?’ Angela asked.

  ‘Starving. What’s for dinner?’

  ‘Good question.’ Angela went to the fridge. ‘How was your stay?’

  ‘Great. But it’s nice to be home.’

  Angela smiled. It was the first time she’d felt like smiling for days. ‘It’s good to have you home.’

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ Kate asked.

  ‘At work I expect,’ Angela said with her back to her daughter, the lie coming easily. She changed the subject quickly. ‘Kate, there’s somebody upstairs who’s staying with us.’ She began to explain about Mary.

  Making an early dinner occupied some time and kept Angela busy. Kate was unruffled to hear about Mary, though she was curious to meet her.

  ‘She might come down for something to eat when she wakes up,’ Angela said.

  She made lasagne, since it was the only thing she could think of and she had the ingredients. The fact that it was easy but fiddly suited her state of mind. It kept her occupied without requiring too much concentration and prevented her from watching the clock and waiting for the phone to ring. Kate chatted about what she’d been doing for the past few days. She knew about Nick but only that he’d had some kind of accident. So far nobody had connected it with her father, though Angela knew that was only a matter of time. When eventually she went into the lounge to watch TV Angela tried the sawmill again, but by then Mollie and everyone else had left and if David was there he wasn’t answering. She let it ring for several minutes, willing him to pick up if he was there, but finally she hung up defeated. She considered ringing Adam again, but in the end she didn’t, convincing herself that she had waited this long for news that she may as well wait until he turned up, which she was sure he would eventually.

  When dinner was ready she called Kate and they sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table. Kate took in the two place settings.

  ‘Aren’t we waiting for Dad?’

  ‘I’m not sure when he’s coming home. He’s busy at the moment,’ Angela said, and knew by Kate’s expression that she didn’t entirely believe her, but what else was she supposed to say?

  ‘What about Mary?’

  ‘I think we’ll let her sleep,’ Angela decided. ‘I’ll look in on her later.’

  After they’d eaten Kate had homework to do, and Angela busied herself clearing away. By six-thirty it was completely dark outside and snowing heavily. A layer several inches thick already covered the ground. Distractedly she turned on the small TV in the kitchen to catch the weather report. There was footage of cars caught in a blizzard on the Pennines and the snow was predicted to continue through the night. The police were advising people to stay at home. She turned it off, and for the first time she felt a pang of worry that she hadn’t heard from
Adam. Finally she tried calling him but all she got was a voice telling her that the phone she had called was either switched off or outside the calling area. As she looked out of the window at the swirling snow a growing sense of unease took hold within her.

  It was just after seven when she finally went to check on Mary. She heated some food and took a tray up with her thinking that if Mary was still sleeping she would wake her and try to get her to eat something. She pushed the door open and balancing the tray with one hand she felt on the wall for the light switch. When she flicked it on she was confronted with an empty room. She stared at the bed then hurriedly put the tray down and went to check the bathroom, but Mary wasn’t there. She tried to think where else she could be, and then went back to the bedroom and felt the bed. It was warm, but only barely. She glanced out of the window and a horrible thought occurred to her. Please no, she pleaded silently and dashed from the room. Downstairs she checked the laundry room. She’d washed Mary’s clothes earlier and she imagined Mary had somehow come down and found them, though she knew it was impossible because the laundry was reached by going through the kitchen. The clothes were still there, folded on top of the dryer. Frantically she started going through the house, checking every room and every cupboard.

  ‘What is it?’ Kate said in alarm when Angela burst into the lounge.

  ‘I can’t find Mary,’ Angela said, her voice rising. She forced herself to calm down. ‘Have you seen her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s alright, she must be here somewhere.’

  She ran back upstairs and checked Mary’s room again, but it was still empty. From downstairs she heard Kate calling to her. Thank God, Kate had found her, she thought, and rushed back down. She met Kate in the hall.

  ‘What is it? Have you found her?’

  ‘No. But the door’s open.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ Angela ran to the door. Outside a line of footprints led through the snow to the gate. She grabbed her coat and sat down to pull on a pair of boots. ‘Stay here. I’ll go and find her.’

  Kate stared at her wide-eyed.