The Rotting Spot (A Bruce and Bennett Mystery)

by Valerie Laws

  ‘Fuck me!’ she greeted Erica pleasantly as she drew level. ‘Are ye stalking iz an all? I cannot set foot oot the door withoot that Peggy wifie showing up, and now ye! Shurrup!’

  The last word was directed at Noosh, who was grizzling, sucking a tiny fist.

  ‘She’s growing well,’ said Erica, ‘hungry, is she?’

  ‘When’s she not? She’ll have to fkn wait. She’ll have to learn. I’ve got summat to do first. Me mam forgot to gerriz some fags, so I’ve got to go doon the corner offie. Fkn pain!’

  ‘Wait til she’s teething,’ Erica said, ‘though there are some good homeopathic remedies for teething, like Chamomilla, totally harmless, very effective, give me a ring when…’

  ‘Cannot stop man, I’m dyin’ for a fag, fkn hell!’

  Stacey trundled off, addiction giving wings to her overburdened feet. No wonder Peg Westfield had been ‘stalking’ Stacey when she was pregnant and behaving stupidly. No wonder she still kept an eye on her. It wasn’t just religious busybodyism, or the longing of a woman who’d lost a daughter. Stacey really could have been Peg’s granddaughter, if Molly had stayed and married Paul. Noosh could literally have been her great-granddaughter. The full meaning of this dawned on Erica for the first time, the emotional price Peg had paid.

  The poor woman, Erica realised, hadn’t only lost her daughter, missed out on seeing her grow, having her company, she’d missed out on grandchildren and great grandchildren as well. And there they were, the family that could have been hers, growing and getting on with their lives in her village, year after year.

  Then she remembered that Peg hadn’t approved of Molly going out with Paul. Was she sorry? If she hadn’t made a fuss, Molly might be still with her. Or did someone like Peg never doubt they were right? All this was assuming, of course, that Peggy hadn’t been involved in Molly’s disappearance in some sinister way. Butcher’s shop, cleavers, sharp knives … Erica tried to imagine herself asking Peggy about Molly.

  She couldn’t do it. It would be cruel if Peg was innocent. And after all, if Peg had known anything, she would have used the information years, decades, earlier. If Peg was guilty, she’d get nothing helpful either. But it would be well worth talking to Paul and Julie Reed.

  The guests had scattered, the hostel was quiet, except for the eternal restless stirring of the sea. The sun had climbed high enough to produce some real heat, and Mickey was mopping the back of his neck as he appeared from beneath the cliff in front of Erica. At low tides, he’d scramble down a dangerous part of the cliff, and plodge across the burn at its shallowest, to reach the shingled stretch of beach beyond the harbour. He was carrying a bag with something feathered in it, and his wellies were caked with silty mud. A rich, green smell rose from it.

  ‘You bringing that puffin, it’s spurred me on! I nipped over for a quick butcher’s, and found this! It’s a fulmar.’ He waved the bag.

  ‘You must have several of those already.’

  ‘Aye, but I thought young Toby would like one. It’s all new to him!’

  ‘There can’t be much you haven’t got, Mickey, after all these years!’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon my dolphin is my best one. Until I get my human skull, of course!’

  ‘Maybe I’ll leave you my head in my will, Mickey. You can put me in your rotting spot.’

  His face brightened, but fell again. ‘I’ll most likely go first. But I could leave you my skull!’ His features, screwed up against the sun, took on a sly look like a little boy who knows where the cake is kept. ‘Don’t worry, though, Erica pet, I’ll definitely get my human skull. It’ll be the crown of my collection! Reckon I won’t have to wait much longer. I’ve got inside information! You’ll see!’

  ‘Now Mickey, be careful!’ There was an ancient church nearby, adjoining the seat of the aristos who’d built the harbour, and Mickey had often longingly gazed at the old graves, some of them disrupted by mining subsidence so that the slabs on top of them had canted up as if someone was trying to climb out. He’d thought it most unfair that it was illegal to dig skulls out of graves, even very old ones. After all, no-one was using them. He was clearly still hankering.

  ‘Bossy, bloody women, always nagging a chap…’ Mickey beamed warmly at Erica. This was his equivalent of a declaration of affection, and she accepted it as such.

  Mickey ambled off to his rotting spot, while Erica fetched her bike, and wheeled it back over the bridge, to the pub. She remembered she’d had no lunch. The lunch menu was all meat, except for something called ‘vegetable kievs’, which was menu-speak for balls of fat-soaked batter wrapped round tiny kernels of frozen cauli.

  Sunday. People still ate Sunday dinners. Either out at pubs, or at home. It was worth trying the Reed household now.

  She made her way up the row of terraced houses, to the one she’d seen Stacey come out of. The same house she’d seen the overburdened woman going into, the day before. Cheap pvc windows wildly at odds with the age and design of the house had replaced the original sea-rotted sash windows. Straggly African marigolds edged the cracked path up to the grubby pvc front door. She rang the bell. A woman’s weary voice shouted from the other side of the door.

  ‘Take your key when you go out! I’m busy in the kitchen!’

  The door opened, and Erica saw Julie Reed. Fat, sagging, all the lines of her rosy face pulled down.

  ‘Oh! Sorry! I thought you were my daughter … she will ring the bell, can’t be bothered to take her key, and me worn to a frazzle in the kitchen doing the dinner, she won’t do a hand’s turn. Er, we don’t buy at the door…’

  ‘Neither do I. I’m Erica Bruce; I used to work at Stony Point, for Mickey Spence, when I was a student.’ Establish a local connection, she thought. Julie didn’t look impressed, just even more put upon. ‘I was wondering how Stacey and Noosh are – I was there when Stacey was taken ill outside the Pink Banana…’

  Julie’s face cleared. ‘Oh! You must be the one who called the ambulance. It was a good thing you were there, I don’t know, drinking and clubbing in her condition, I ask you … Stacey’s just gone out, you’ve just missed her. Noosh is doing fine, I should know, I do most of the work she makes, still, she’s a bonny baby, can’t complain.’

  Erica almost looked up for the thunderbolt that must follow such obvious untruth. Complaining was clearly Julie’s thing. Still no entry to the house, and with Stacey not there, there was no reason why she should be asked in. She tried again.

  ‘I brought Stacey some homeopathic remedies when she was in hospital, I just wondered how they were working?’

  ‘Oh, yes, you’re a homeopath, gave me quite a turn to see opium on Stacey’s bedside table I can tell you!’ Julie opened the door fully. Her hopeful face showed that she was hooked. Erica could just imagine the response this woman would be used to getting from busy GPs, an alternative therapist would be a welcome chance to unload her grievances. Sure enough, ‘Come in, do, you might be able to help me with one or two things, of course, I can’t afford much in the way of private treatment, but our doctor won’t listen. Come through, I’ve got dinner on.’

  Erica followed Julie to the kitchen, noticing how she dragged her feet in squashed down slippers, trudging as if to the guillotine. Sunday dinner smells greeted them, roasting meat, stewed apples, and despite her vegetarian convictions, Erica felt a wave of sentimental memory of her childhood Sundays, her mother’s roast pork and crackling and apple tart that she’d enjoyed so much before food became the enemy. The Reeds’ kitchen was surprisingly neat, and clean too. Cheap but cheerful units, lots of bright stainless steel accessories from Poundstretcher.

  ‘Roast beef, Yorkshires, all the trimmings, Eve’s pudding to follow,’ Julie announced proudly. ‘I always do a proper Sunday dinner. Most days I work at Point View, but I like to keep up the traditions.’

  ‘You must be on your feet a lot.’ Erica took a chance, thinking ‘Sulphur’ might be Julie’s constitutional remedy.

  I expect they burn like fire at
nights; and you probably get lower back pain.’

  Julie stared. ‘Why, yes, that’s amazing, I always have to sleep with my poor old dogs outside the duvet. I know being overweight makes it worse, but you know, with all the stress, I get so hungry. So do you think you could help me then? I can’t afford much you know. Especially with another mouth to feed.’

  Victim of success, Erica heard herself assuring Julie she’d sort something out for her. Though, she made clear, she didn’t deal in magic bullets. Julie’s problems might be more complex than that. Never get new trainers this way, never mind Manolos like Liz, she told herself, as yet again she’d got carried away with diagnosis and then felt obliged to give cheap treatment. Still, she was after information. After giving her a short medical spiel on homeopathy, Erica looked around for new subjects.

  The airer suspended under the ceiling was draped in baby clothes. A fridge freezer was decorated with postcards held on by fridge magnets.

  ‘Lovely kitchen, Mrs Reed. Nice collection of postcards too.’ As Erica had hoped, the family relics got Julie talking more freely.

  ‘Oh, yes, from my two boys. Davey’s in America, working in a summer camp for the university holidays. Barry’s backpacking in the Far East,’ she indicated a postcard from Phuket. ‘I’m lucky to get a postcard nowadays.’

  ‘You’ve obviously brought them up to be adventurous and independent.’

  Julie’s face darkened. ‘Yes, that’s what Liz Seaton said, like it was any of her business. Goes on like lady of the manor. And her daughter stayed near by, what does she know?’

  This was obviously an old grievance, Julie, on automatic pilot, had forgotten for the moment about Lucy going. Erica brought up the subject.

  ‘I used to be a close friend of Lucy Seaton’s, and now I

  hear she’s gone missing.’

  ‘Oh!’ Julie had ignited into new interest like a gas stove flame. ‘Oh yes, everyone’s talking about it! But I’m afraid I don’t know anything, I hardly know her. I see her at the care home of course, but that’s all.’

  ‘I hear you used to be Molly’s best friend. I was thinking, it seems odd both cousins going missing.’

  ‘Oh! Oh yes…’

  The doorbell rang. ‘Mam!’ through the letterbox flap, ‘open the fkn door!’

  Muttering, Julie let her in. Stacey backed in pulling the buggy with one hand. The other clutched a paper package to her chest. A warm, vinegar scent filled the air.

  ‘Oh, Stacey!’ Julie wailed, as if she’d been slapped in the face.

  ‘Fks sake,’ said Stacey, chewing. ‘It’s just chips man.’

  ‘But I’m doing a proper Sunday dinner, you know that!’

  ‘Rather have chips,’ Stacey said casually, her lips greasy and shining.

  Julie’s face was hurt, defenceless. ‘And I saw me dad goin’ in the pub,’ Stacey added, delivering another blow. She barged into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle, and disappeared to feed the now equally wailing baby. ‘Fuck’s fkn sake!’ Erica heard, as the door slammed.

  ‘Perhaps it’s not a good time,’ Erica said, wondering if it ever was.

  ‘Oh, stop a bit, I’ll put the kettle on,’ Julie was determined to keep her sympathetic audience, she so seldom had one. Julie looked at the sweet, eggy cake mixture waiting beside the casserole of fragrant stewed apples, and sighed as she turned down the oven. ‘I’ll put back dinner a bit,’ she said, long suffering. ‘Nobody in this house has a speck of consideration, I could weep. Weep, I tell you.’ She reached down a pack of Penguin biscuits. ‘Since you’re a visitor!’ she said more perkily. ‘And dinner’s going to be late!’ She spilled the bright primary colours onto the table. ‘Go on, have one,’ she invited. ‘Anyone can see you don’t need to worry about calories!’

  Sweet irony! Erica hesitated. She hadn’t swum, or run, today. She was hungry. She rarely allowed herself chocolate or biscuits, but if she did, it would be something more exquisite than a Penguin. The thought of chocolate enticed her, but that very fact made her will harden. All this was second nature, it flashed through her mind in the briefest hesitation, and was resolved as usual in a polite but firm refusal. She opened her mouth, and saw Julie’s appealing eyes fixed on her face. The offering of food was significant for her, and she’d just had two slaps in the chops from her nearest and dearest.

  ‘All right, thank you,’ she said, taking one gingerly as if it were an unexploded mine. Julie pounced on a Penguin like a starving refugee. Clearly giving one to her ‘visitor’ enabled her to have one too. She tore off the wrapper and plugged her mouth with the contents, rolling her eyes in a way that was positively obscene. Erica nibbled a corner, totally repelled. Must get out of here, she thought. Must get rid of this bloody biscuit. The melted chocolate lined her mouth fattily.

  ‘It must have been hard for you,’ she ventured. ‘When Molly went.’

  Julie devoured the Penguin like a leopard seal devours its namesake. ‘Oh, well, Molly was my bosom pal, not that we didn’t fall out, you know the way girls do. She was so pretty, and cleverer than poor old me. All the boys were after her. And her family was better off than mine! My mam was a cleaner, my dad was a gas fitter. But Molly’s mam and dad had their own business, and of course the Seatons were rolling in it, gave her such posh presents, whatever was fashionable, as long as Peggy didn’t think it was sinful. Wanted to keep her daughter innocent, well I ask you! Molly went out with Paul, you know, my husband, before I did. Did just as she liked, til Peggy found her contraceptive pills, all hell broke loose.’ Julie shucked another Penguin, and it followed its friend into her belly.

  ‘She just up and went off. The rumours at school! You can imagine. It was that summer she went, August 1978, the Westfields were devastated. Well, they shouldn’t have made such a fuss about the pills. At least the lass had the sense to take precautions. I’d have been only too grateful if our Stacey’d thought to use them! The story went round Molly’d been abducted by a loony, murdered, all sorts, but then, we heard she’d been in touch with her mam. Then it was said she’d gone on the streets, living in doorways, I don’t know what. She could have done anything; she was a wild one. It was her mam, you know, being so holier than thou, it was like it pushed Molly off the rails. She never got in touch with me, not once. Paul was upset, naturally, and then her family had the cheek to blame him for her running away!’ Julie busied herself with the kettle, and Erica shoved the melting Penguin into her pocket in a tissue.‘Then he sort of turned to me in his hour of need kind of thing. And I’d always fancied him.’

  She plonked a mug of tea in front of Erica and pushed the sugar bowl towards her. ‘Then came Ken Perrin’s party. His parents were away, it was near Christmas, and of course we all went round there. All the local teenagers. None of us had any money. And there were no alcopops or suchlike. We took cider to parties ’cause it was cheap. Cider, and beer, and some sort of wine, Lutomer riesling, it was. I tell our Stacey she doesn’t know she’s born!’

  Erica could well believe that.

  ‘I was dancing with Paul, they were playing Sister Sledge, oh, boys then wore really tight trousers, you could tell when they fancied you with your eyes shut…’ Julie was getting into it now, the sugar flooding her system like heroin.

  ‘Then, suddenly, cool as you please, Molly! Standing there like the Queen of Sheba! You could see she hadn’t been sleeping rough, she looked a million dollars. Well, healthy you know, but with a feverish sort of look. Paul went white. Everybody just stopped and stared. Greeted us all like she was royalty! Grabs a plastic cup of Strongbow, and comes over. She’s wearing a green silvery flying suit, all the rage then, with a belt round it. It’s funny, I can still see her, like a photo in my head, with this belt on. Something made that picture stick in my mind, I suppose it was the last time I saw her. She’s smiling.

  ‘Hiya Julie,’ she says in this kind of unnatural voice. ‘Hiya Paul. Not missing me, I see. Well that’s ok, I’ve got a whole new thing going on. New place, new man. N
ew life. You’ll still be in Stonehead in twenty years time! Don’t worry, Julie, you can have Paul. I don’t want him.’ Well Paul went rigid all over, he looked murderous, I can tell you. She did the rounds, wouldn’t say where she’d been or anything. Then she left. Paul and I got very drunk. The rest of the night is a blur, to be honest. No-one saw her again from that day to this. Of course, we were just selfish teenagers, drunk, rowdy, we didn’t think to tell her mam she was there. Most people assumed she’d come back for good, and was just bragging.’

  Julie drained her cup. She leaned forward towards Erica blasting her with chocolate breath. ‘I sometimes think she’ll just walk in sometime. And she’ll still be beautiful, and Paul’ll see what he’s missed. I wish, I know it sounds awful, but I just wish, if she’s dead, that somebody’d find her, so I’ll know for sure she won’t come back. And then I’ll know I’m not her sidekick anymore.’

  Before Erica could respond, the front door banged. Paul came in, his head ducked as if expecting a hail of missiles. Julie turned, her face a curious mixture of dread and excitement.

  ‘Paul! This is Erica, a friend of Lucy Seaton’s.’

  Paul sagged against the doorframe. ‘I saw you in the pub,’ he said to Erica.

  ‘Yeah, I’m visiting Mickey, used to work for him. Like Lucy and Molly…’

  ‘Do you want to know something?’ Paul’s voice was slightly slurred. ‘I’m sick of hearing that name. Molly, Molly, year in, year out. Can’t you just leave well alone? Julie here needs no encouragement to keep picking at that particular scab.’

  ‘I can understand you thinking that way,’ Erica said. ‘I’m just concerned about Lucy’s safety, and her son’s happiness. Sorry to intrude on your Sunday dinner.’

  ‘I’m doing roast beef, your favourite Paul,’ Julie said almost pleadingly. Paul, Erica noticed, hadn’t addressed his wife directly yet. She found herself holding her breath, almost praying Paul would say the right thing.