by Penny Kline
‘Yes.’ She was going to point out that there were only two females in the pub. But what was the point?
‘So you drove all that way to talk to Rosalie.’ He returned to the subject of Dawn. ‘That was good of you. If she’s worried about her I’m surprised she hasn’t contacted Missing Persons.’
‘Dawn’s not a child.’ She was drinking a pint of shandy. Wished she’d chosen something stronger. ‘There must be tens of thousands of people who haven’t communicated with their families for over a year.’
‘As long as that?’ He lifted his glass then replaced it on the table. ‘So maybe there’s some other reason people are getting worried. Francis seems to think she could be in a psychiatric hospital suffering from depression. Apparently after she left the community in Scotland she was in a pretty bad way.’
‘Yes, I expect she was, but that was three years ago. What did Francis say exactly? Did he write you a letter?’
‘Email. I doubt if Rosalie can use a computer but Francis has always been keen on the latest technology.’
‘Emails are the latest technology?’
‘No, of course not.’ His voice had an edge and she wished she had kept her mouth shut. ‘I daresay by now he’s abandoned his laptop and has a tablet. It was more the words he used. Frantic with worry. He was referring to Rosalie obviously. Having nightmares about it. For my part, it triggered off memories of Dawn as a child. She left the area when I was thirteen or fourteen, old enough to remember what an odd little girl she was, only you know her far better than I ever did.’
Izzy was recalling various events in her childhood. The time Dawn had been off school for nearly a month with stomach pains. The incident in the playground when a boy had called her names and she had hit him so he had fallen against a wall and had to have stitches in his head. Still, most people’s childhoods contain events they would prefer to forget.
‘She was very clever,’ Izzy told him. ‘I mean, she is very clever. I suppose any eccentricities she might have had were put down to her being gifted, not that she accepted the label. My father thought she ought to go to special classes but Dawn sneered at the idea, said there wasn’t any point.’
‘As I said, she was always a little unusual.’
‘Unusual in what way?’
He shrugged. ‘Hard to say. One thing. I remember my mother remarking on it. She had a way of smiling when someone else would have kept a straight face, and frowning when you or I might have smiled. Does that make sense? Probably not.’
‘Actually it does.’ There was so much she had forgotten about Dawn. In the way that people do, she remembered the good parts and her thoughts skated over the bad ones. But had they been so bad?
There was the time she had stolen Izzy’s watch – a present from her parents – and hidden it in the drawer where she kept her underclothes. Izzy had searched and searched but it had never occurred to her that Dawn could have taken it. Then one day, when they were in Dawn’s bedroom, she had asked Izzy if she wanted to see her new knickers. Why would I want to do that, Izzy had laughed. Go on, go on, have a look. And there was her precious watch. What had she done? She should have been very angry, told Dawn what she thought of her. Had she been too afraid?
Unpredictable people could be fun to spend time with, but Dawn sometimes carried it too far. She could switch from treating Izzy as her special friend – whispering and confiding – to insulting her, telling her she was stupid. Why had she put up with it? But when you look back on your childhood, heaps of things are inexplicable.
Stuart had finished his drink, and she expected him to make an excuse and leave, but he seemed in no hurry. ‘My mother warned me against her.’
‘Against Dawn?’
He drained his glass, glanced at the bar then obviously decided against a refill. ‘Girls are more cunning than boys.’
‘Are they?’
‘Come on, you know they are. Dawn collected insects.’ A few broken crisps remained. He gestured to her to eat them and when she declined, picked up a handful and transferred them to his mouth. ‘Dead ones.’
‘She’d killed them?’
He shrugged again. ‘I’m sorry, she was your friend.’
‘Is my friend.’
‘You think she’s still alive?’
‘Yes, of course, why wouldn’t she be?’ The conversation was going from bad to worse, but it was her fault for keeping him in the dark about what had been going on.
A second group of young men had come into the pub and she recognised a friend of Josh’s, whose name she had forgotten. He spotted her and waved and she waved back, wondering how much Josh had told him. Not that she cared, although she was becoming painfully aware how her investigations were keeping her mind off what had happened between her and Josh. However badly someone has treated you, it’s impossible not to feel the loss of a close attachment.
With a jolt, she became aware that Stuart Robbins was holding his empty glass, while watching her closely. ‘So you’ve no idea where she might be? I suppose I’m here on Francis’s behalf. He used to do work for my father, in the house and also at the school where my father was headmaster. At the time he was living with his mother. No one ever imagined he would marry but when she died …’
‘Go on.’
‘I was thinking what a shock it must have been.’
‘For Dawn.’
He smiled. ‘Actually I was thinking of Francis. You’ve lived with your mother for over forty years and suddenly you’re alone in the world.’
‘You’re saying he sees Rosalie as a replacement for his mother.’
‘I’ve no idea. Does it matter? Provided they’re happy with the arrangement.’ He glanced at the clock on the wall above the bar. ‘I can’t stay long. Sorry if I’ve dragged you out for nothing but I suppose I thought I owed it to Francis to do what I could. He’s worried about Rosalie, wants to help if he can, probably resents the fact she’s so absorbed, thinking about her daughter, he’s not getting the attention he deserves.’
Izzy was annoyed. He had dragged her out, and for very little reason that she could see. Harry had said meeting up with him might help. Help who?
When they parted outside the pub, no mention was made of another meeting. She walked away in one direction, Robbins in another, and if he’d looked back she would have sensed it. Had Harry given him her phone number? She had his but was unlikely to contact him again.
Her thoughts returned to Josh and whether he would come round to apologise or if he had decided it was best to stay well clear of her.
Back home, she went to bed early and lay propped up, half watching an old film, half thinking about what Stuart Robbins had said. Dawn was an unusual person but the way he described her had made her sound almost evil or, at the very least, psychiatrically ill.
Blanche had come upstairs and was kneading the duvet. Izzy put out a hand to stroke her then stopped when she heard noises coming from the next-door house. Or were they out in the street? When the baby cried she had thought at first it was a cat, but that had been the middle of the night. Now it was not yet midnight.
The noises came again and were definitely from next door. Please not squatters. It would mean months of trying to evict them. The police, bailiffs … And they wouldn’t care what kind of state the house got into. Or was she being unfair? They could be homeless people, desperate for somewhere to stay.
Of course, it was possible the previous owners had come back for some reason. Izzy had known them enough to pass the time of day with and they had a school-age daughter called Jade. Since the house hadn’t sold, they had a perfect right to be there, but twenty-five past eleven at night seemed an odd time to have called round. The sounds continued for ten minutes or so then she heard a door being locked, followed by footsteps on the pathway outside, and whispering. It was too cold to get out of bed. Besides she had enough on her mind without worrying about what had been going on next door.
Unless it was Dawn. With Miles. But how could it be? She p
ut one foot on the floor, disturbing Blanche who was curled up next to her pillow. Supposing the two of them were walking down the road …
Hurrying to the window she stared out, trying to accustom her eyes to the dark. Nothing.
Chapter Nine
From an upstairs window, Izzy saw a car pull up in Palmerstone Road and a woman climb out and open the passenger door to let out a small boy dressed in a pale blue tracksuit. It took Izzy a moment to grasp who they were, then she recognised Wendy Bruton’s hair and the pointed features of her face. The boy, Dominic, had his back turned but she could see he was still clutching the plastic figure that could ‘kill people and do magic to make them come alive again’.
They were coming to see her, or to spy on her, although that seemed unlikely since Wendy had brought her son along. Could she have found out about the baby? Izzy’s name had been withheld from the media, as had her address. Plenty of people knew about it – Josh would have told all his friends – but surely none of them had any connection with Wendy.
Neither Wendy nor Dominic was wearing a coat, but they had come by car and would return home without going anywhere else. The forecast had been for heavy rain but it was warm for the time of year.
Downstairs, she waited for the ring on the bell and tried to prepare herself. Either Wendy wanted more information or she had something to tell her.
Had she brought Dominic for moral support or because she had nobody to leave him with? When he climbed out of the car, it had been impossible to see his expression but from the way he stood on the pavement, waiting for his mother to lock up, Izzy had gained the impression this was not the way he would have chosen to spend his evening.
The two heads passed the house then she heard Wendy’s voice asking Dominic if he thought it was the right place. Wendy must have looked it up in the phone book and perhaps she had been expecting something quite different, somewhere smarter, more modern. By the look of it, Wendy’s bungalow had built seven or eight years ago, and she had been its first owner.
Impatient to know what they wanted, Izzy pulled open the front door and spoke her name, and Wendy turned round slowly, without smiling, and guided Dominic into the house ahead of her.
‘You weren’t in the middle of anything?’ She made it sound like a social call.
‘No, that’s fine. It’s nice to see you.’
What a stupid thing to say, but in a way it was true. Wendy was not the easiest person to talk to but Izzy had taken a liking to Dominic. And she sympathised with Wendy who might behave the way she did because she was so unhappy.
‘I could have phoned,’ Wendy was saying, ‘but I thought it best you heard it from Dominic in his own words.’
‘Yes, good idea.’ Izzy was eager to hear what he had to say but she wasn’t going to put pressure on him. She offered a range of drinks but Wendy turned them down, without reference to her son.
‘We won’t stay longer than necessary. I’m sure you value your free time.’ She paused, looking round and her next words surprised Izzy. ‘I like your house. I sometimes wish I lived in Exeter but with my job I’m better off where I am, although being in a large city can be a comfort. The anonymity I suppose.’
The previous time they met, Wendy had started off talking very formally. This time she seemed a little more relaxed.
Dominic had found Blanche and taken refuge with her, sitting on the floor by the French window that led out to the patio yard. In spite of the warmth in the house, he looked cold, pinched, and pale. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink, Dominic?’ Izzy asked, ‘I could make you a hot chocolate.’
The little boy glanced at his mother but she shook her head.
‘No, thank you,’ he said, ‘I’m all right as I am.’
All right as I am. He was picking up his mother’s way of speaking. Izzy wondered what kind of a father Miles had been. The one time she met him she had found him serious and without much sense of humour, but he had been with Dawn. When he was with his son he could have been quite different. They could have played on the beach together, kicked a football about, built sandcastles, collected shells. There was no doubt Dominic missed him.
Wendy was sitting on the edge of the sofa. She leaned forward and cleared her throat. ‘After you left,’ she began, stopping abruptly when she was overcome by a fit of coughing. ‘It’s all right, I’m not infectious. A nervous habit. So silly.’
Izzy wanted to say something that would put her at her ease but could think of no suitable remark. Wendy’s navy blue trousers and white zip-up jacket looked almost like a uniform, and she had probably visited her hairdresser that morning although Izzy suspected she rose every day to wash and blow-dry her hair. Everything about her – and Dominic too – was neat and tidy. Dominic’s trainers were gleaming white, without a trace of a scuff, and Wendy’s own shoes were equally spotless.
‘After last time.’ Wendy had found a cough sweet in her bag and was sucking it hard. ‘I had a talk with Dominic – about the day his father went out and failed to return – and the two of us tried to think if there was anything we could remember, anything that might have given us a clue as to what was going to happen.’
Izzy looked at Dominic but he had his back turned, still stroking Blanche. At his age – six or seven she guessed – how could he possibly be expected to know?
‘Mind she doesn’t scratch you,’ Izzy warned, but he took not notice.
‘He’s good with animals.’ Wendy gazed at her son with pride. ‘When he’s grown up he wants to be a vet, don’t you, Dom? He’ll have to work hard, it’s a very competitive profession. If I had the money I’d send him to a private school, mainly because the discipline’s so much better.’
‘And the classes are smaller.’ Izzy tried to contain her impatience. ‘To get back to what’s happened, you must have gone over and over everything in your mind. I know I would have.’
Wendy found a second throat sweet. ‘You haven’t heard from Dawn? I suppose I hoped you might.’
‘I promised to get in touch with you if there was any news.’
‘But your first loyalty would be to your friend.’
‘Actually, I’m not sure that it would.’
Wendy looked sceptical. ‘Come here, Dominic,’ she ordered and the boy sprang to his feet like a soldier on parade then sat down again and gave Blanche an almost defiant stroke, before slowly joining his mother on the sofa.
With one hand on his head, Wendy adopted as calm a tone as she could manage. ‘No hurry, darling, just cast your mind back to that day and tell us what you heard Daddy say.’
‘When?’ Dom had taken off his glasses. He licked a finger and rubbed one of the lenses, and Wendy exploded.
‘Dominic, for pity’s sake. This is important. Don’t you understand? Don’t you want to find your father?’
The little boy took a deep breath. ‘He was on his mobile,’ he said, speaking so faintly Izzy had to strain to hear him. ‘Someone telephoned when Mum was in the garden.’
Wendy had got a grip of herself, but was breathing hard. ‘Go on, Dom, then what happened?’
‘It was hard to hear. I was in the kitchen. I heard Dad say … He said … He said whoever it was shouldn’t have done it.’
Izzy moved to a closer chair. ‘He meant they shouldn’t have phoned?’
‘I don’t know.’ Dominic blushed as though he felt responsible for his father’s behaviour.
‘Did you hear anything else?’
‘He said some more I can’t remember.’
‘Anything, Dominic.’ Wendy’s hands were shaking. She clasped them together then unclasped them again and began twisting her ring round and round. ‘Absolutely anything, no matter how unimportant it seemed at the time.’
Dominic was sucking his fingers. ‘He asked if it was the same side as the railway.’
‘Railway?’ Izzy repeated. ‘Are you sure that’s what he said?’ This was the first definite piece of information about Dawn’s whereabouts. If the call had been from
Dawn that was. The same side as the railway? Was there a local railway line and if so where did it run? The most likely explanation was that Miles had misheard, but later she would search online for a map of the railway lines, and the ones that had once run through Devon before all the cuts were made.
Dominic was looking through the window, hoping his part in things was over, but Wendy turned towards him, pressing him to continue. ‘Can you remember anything else?’
‘There wasn’t any more.’ His voice had become a sleepy defensive drawl. ‘I think he might have said the first on the right.’
‘Where Dominic?’ Izzy asked. ‘By the railway? Try to remember.’
The boy’s hands covered his face and she wished she had not sounded so impatient. ‘I’m sorry.’ She gave him an encouraging smile. ‘You’ve done really well remembering so much. Would you like a biscuit? I think I’ve got some chocolate ones.’
‘No, he’s all right,’ Wendy said.
‘Well, I’ll fetch some anyway. Won’t be a moment.’
Dominic’s face brightened. ‘What’s he called?’
‘My cat? Blanche. She’s a girl cat.’
When she returned with the biscuits, Wendy was whispering something to her son and Dominic was nodding.
Izzy put the plate down next to him. ‘Have a biscuit. Have two.’
Dominic took a biscuit and bit off a small corner. ‘I think my dad was checking if he’d heard properly,’ he said. ‘Then the person said a lot of stuff only I couldn’t hear any of it. Then Dad said he’d be there in about thirty minutes depending on the traffic going to the moor.’
‘You never told me that.’ Wendy took hold of him by his shoulders. ‘If you were listening in on the extension I won’t be cross. I know I’ve told you not to but this is far too important to worry about something like that.’
‘I told you, it was Dad’s mobile. I only just remembered the last bit. If I’d heard more would we know where he is and what’s happened to him?’
