by Penny Kline
‘You can’t even go out in the garden?’
‘Oh, that would be out of the question.’ Suddenly she swivelled round and there were tears in her eyes. ‘How will you decide?’
‘Decide?’
‘Whether I’m the right sort of person. Sandy said I’d have to be assessed to find out if I was suitable for treatment.’ She left the window seat and pulled up a chair so that she was only a few feet away from me. ‘Can you do it? Can you find a cure?’
‘I’m on holiday for two weeks,’ I said. ‘I want to make sure that gives us sufficient time, otherwise you’d have to be referred on, when I go back to work, and that would mean starting all over again.’
‘So that’s why you asked how I was feeling before the murder. You think I’m a silly neurotic woman who likes making a fuss. You think I’m doing this on purpose, just for attention.’ She gripped her knees with both hands and started rocking backwards and forwards.
What was it about her? One moment I felt edgy, frustrated, as if I was being manipulated by someone putting on an act, the next I felt myself warm to her. So far her main aim had been to give away as little as possible. But surely that was understandable. After all if this was my first and last visit she was hardly going to reveal much of herself to a virtual stranger. There was something about her that produced a strong reaction in me. Every so often the masklike expression on her face was replaced by a look of extreme sadness. Or was it fear? I wanted to know what had happened. I wanted to help. If I was brutally honest with myself I also wanted to keep the link with people who just might know more about the murder than they were letting on.
‘If it’s what you’d like I’ll see you each morning,’ I said. ‘We’ll concentrate on the present, your immediate feelings and how you felt the day the murder victim’s body was discovered in the woods.’
I waited several moments but she had her eyes closed. When I cleared my throat she jumped.
‘I’m so sorry. Thank you. I’ll do whatever you say.’ The expressionless tone had returned. ‘It’s such a worry for Sandy, I feel I should co-operate with anything that might help.’
‘Just one last thing,’ I said. ‘The fact that I knew Sandy before I met you might make things difficult. You might prefer to see someone else, someone completely unconnected.’
‘Oh no, I prefer it this way. Sandy and I have never had secrets. That would be awful, so lonely.’
Out in the street someone was trying to start a car, turning the ignition key again and again, flooding the engine. Geraldine made a move to stand up. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Not just now, thanks. Did you hear about the murder on the radio or did someone tell you what had happened?’
She folded her arms. ‘Helen — I think Helen told me, or was it Bryan? No, Helen was coming back from the Downs. She’d been taking pictures from that observation place, the underground cave that comes out in the rock face, high above the Gorge. I’ve never been there myself, I can’t bear heights, but Sandy’s told me about it. He took Thomas once and — ’ She broke off.
‘Oh yes, I remember, I was in the garden, dead-heading the roses. Helen came across the lawn and asked if I’d heard. Then she told me it had been on the radio.’ She put up her hand and stroked her lower lip. ‘The day it happened. You want us to stick to … It was a Thursday. I know!’ For the first time her face came alive. ‘It wasn’t the radio. Helen saw a poster outside the newsagent’s. A body in Leigh Woods. Sandy was back later than usual but I switched on the television news, the local bulletin, and they said — I can’t remember exactly — there was no name or anything, just the body of a middle-aged man.’
‘How did it make you feel?’
‘Well, shocked, I suppose.’ She stood up and walked towards the piano, lifting the photograph of Thomas and running her finger along the frame.
‘And when did you find out who it was?’
‘I beg your pardon? Oh, next day, whenever the name was given to the newspapers. Helen says his skull was smashed. Crushed by the weight of a heavy blow. Think of it.’ She closed her eyes, clenching and unclenching the muscles in her jaw. ‘D’you suppose he died instantly or could he have been lying there, in agony, only half a mile away and none of us knowing what had … ’
Her voice was steady but her hands were shaking uncontrollably.
‘I should sit down,’ I said, taking the photo from her hands and guiding her to a chair. ‘Tell me how you’re feeling. Now. This precise moment.’
She looked up at me, her eyes open wide and beads of sweat on her upper lip. This wasn’t an act. She was terrified.
‘What can I do?’ she whispered, wrapping her arms round her body and swaying from side to side. ‘Please tell me what to do.’
*
As I rounded the comer of the house two people came out of the ground-floor flat and started walking towards the dark green jeep I had seen parked in the drive earlier on. The man was of average height, with broad shoulders and a round amused-looking face. His hair was dark and wiry, sticking up on the top of his head.
‘Hi.’ He walked towards me, holding out his hand. ‘You must be Anna McColl.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ It irritated me a little that he knew my name. Sandy must have told everyone, even his tenants, that I was coming to see Geraldine.
‘Bryan Sealey. I don’t believe I’ve ever met a psychologist before, although God knows plenty of the people I come across could do with some of your expertise.’
The woman, who I assumed was Helen Sealey, stood by the jeep, biting her lip impatiently.
‘Sandy warned us you were coming,’ said Bryan, ‘in case we thought you were an intruder. Can’t be too careful these days, and with what happened in Leigh Woods … ’ He stretched out an arm in the direction of his wife. ‘Helen, come and meet Anna McColl.’
She moved towards us slowly, reluctantly, and shook hands without applying any pressure. ‘You’re helping Geraldine.’
It was a statement, not a question. Our eyes met briefly and against my better judgement I felt a twinge of envy. She was beautiful, with soft dark hair and large brown eyes, spaced wide apart like a baby seal. Since giving up modelling she must have put on a little weight, not that anyone would ever have described her as fat.
‘I saw your baby,’ I said, ‘she’s lovely.’
‘Chloe.’ She glanced at Bryan, then back at me. ‘She’s called Chloe.’
‘Seven months,’ said Bryan, ‘we’ve had her since she was a week old. It’s all official now, thank God — the adoption order I mean.’
‘Must be a relief.’
He smiled. ‘You have children?’
‘No.’ I turned towards the gate then, since he seemed in no hurry to leave, turned back deciding to try and extract a little more information. ‘I met your nanny — Miss Halliwell — the first time I came to the house.’
‘Really? Good old Rona. She’s out at the moment, taking the baby for a walk on the Downs. For some obscure reason she dislikes crossing the Suspension Bridge but she can hardly walk right down to Ashton Gate and up the other side.’ Turning to Helen he put his arm round her neck, attempting to draw her into the conversation. ‘We’re so lucky, aren’t we, my darling? It’s near impossible to adopt a tiny baby these days. They try to persuade you to take on a disturbed adolescent, very worthy of course but hardly the same proposition.’
Helen’s expression altered a little but it couldn’t be called a smile. Then she turned and walked across to the jeep, pulling open the passenger door and climbing inside, where she sat staring straight ahead, waiting for Bryan to join her.
‘Interested in the theatre?’ he said, not in the least put off by his wife’s rudeness. ‘If so I’ll give you a couple of tickets — you and your husband.’ He glanced at my left hand. ‘Or whoever you want to take. The play opens in just over two weeks’ time.’
‘Thanks.’
He frowned. ‘Your work — what kind of people would you see? N
ot the bad ones, I assume, not full-blown schizophrenics. Just ordinary people who have problems they need to sort out, am I right?’
‘It depends.’
‘On what? I’m not so ignorant I imagine there’s a sharp division — between the mentally ill and the — well, the psychologically disturbed I suppose you’d call it. Tell me this, if someone had nightmares, recurring ones that woke them up night after night, would that warrant a visit to one of your profession?’
‘It might.’
‘What if someone had repressed all their feelings and it was affecting their health, really getting them down?’
‘You’re interested in that kind of thing. For one of your plays, is it?’
He laughed. ‘Right you are, no more questions. ’Bye for now. If I don’t see you again I’ll give Sandy the tickets.’ He started walking away, calling over his shoulder. ‘Amnesia, is there really such a condition? No, I don’t mean from a blow on the head. I mean from something psychological like a nasty shock?’ Then he climbed into the jeep without waiting for an answer, raising his hand in a brief wave as he started up the engine, and reversed out into the road.
Rona Halliwell was pushing the baby’s buggy across the grass. I watched as she forced her way between two bushes, elbowing away the brambles that were catching her hair and the collar of her dark blue jacket. The jacket was smart, almost like a proper nanny’s uniform, but her cotton skirt was flowered, reaching to just below the knee, and part of the hem had come adrift. She was approaching where I was standing, presumably on her way to the children’s playground although the baby was far too young for swings and slides. Perhaps she had made friends with some of the mothers, although this I doubted. She looked like a loner, the kind of person who puts up with the presence of other human beings as long as she can keep them at arm’s length.
‘Miss Halliwell?’ I expected her to stare at me blankly.
‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘I’ve just come from the house. I felt like a walk on the Downs.’
She nodded. ‘I expect you did.’ Sitting down on one of the wooden seats she patted the space next to her.
‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’
‘Why should I? You’ve been seeing Mrs Haran, have you, trying to throw some light on her self-imposed imprisonment? If you want my opinion someone should set fire to the place.’ She had her tongue in her cheek — literally. ‘Well, perhaps not actually set it alight. Just call “Fire!” and see if that got her down the stairs.’ She rubbed her hands together as if the thought of seeing Geraldine running into the garden gave her a certain satisfaction. ‘If you want my opinion, talking to people’s a waste of time. Action — that’s what gets results. If you want to understand a person don’t listen to what they spout, just observe their behaviour.’
Inside the buggy, protected by a white lace parasol, the baby slept fitfully, opening her eyes now and again to stare at the trees. She was a pretty little thing with thick brown hair and colouring not unlike her adoptive mother. I remembered reading how they tried to match the baby to the parents — physical appearance and general background — although with the shortage of babies up for adoption these days that was probably a thing of the past. I wondered if the Sealeys had pulled strings to find a child available for adoption. As far as I knew private adoptions were illegal, but perhaps there were ways round the law if you knew the right people.
Rona was easing the baby into a more upright position. ‘You live near here, do you?’
‘Cliftonwood.’
‘Don’t know it.’
‘The down-market end of Clifton.’
She yawned, covering her mouth with both hands. ‘You like Bristol?’
‘Yes, how about you?’
‘Oh, I just go wherever Helen and Bryan go. I looked after Helen, you know, when she was a little girl. Both her parents were professional people — doctors. Dead now. Cancer and heart disease, the usual.’
A boy of about six with a red and white track suit and untidy fair hair was talking to a young man who was leaning against a tree, eating a bag of crisps. I wondered if the boy was on his own, if the young man had an unhealthy interest in children. Then a woman, who looked like the boy’s mother, joined them and the three stood together laughing and talking. That was the trouble with all those television programmes and newspaper articles, they turned perfectly innocent people into potential child molesters.
‘It must seem strange,’ I said, ‘looking after Helen all those years ago, then coming back to look after her baby.’
The sun had come out. The baby turned her head away from the bright light and Rona leaned forward to adjust the parasol. ‘Good girl, there’s a good girl. Like talking to a dog, isn’t it, but I’ve never thought there was much difference. Dogs don’t smile of course, but they wag their tails so it comes to the same thing. Live alone, do you?’
‘Yes — yes, I do.’
‘I’m surprised you’re on foot. I thought you people went everywhere in cars.’
‘I like the walk. Besides I’m on holiday, apart from seeing Mrs Haran.’
‘As a favour to that husband of hers.’
‘You were with the Sealeys in London?’ I asked, changing the subject, determined to avoid any further discussion of Geraldine’s state of mind.
‘Sorry, what did you say? Oh, London. Yes, London, and before that … a flat in Sutton. I’ve kept it on just in case.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘Hay fever, nothing to worry about. Not the grass, the pollution.’
‘Yes, it’s bad round Cumberland Basin. Better up here.’
She wasn’t listening. ‘Of course Bryan drives everywhere in that ridiculous military-looking vehicle. Looks as though it’s designed for the outback although on closer inspection it’s fairly obvious it wouldn’t stand up to a bumpy field let alone a stretch of rough moorland.’
‘I met them when I was leaving the house.’
‘On their way to the antiques fair, were they?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Could be off to somewhere Helen wants to photograph. She doesn’t drive so Bryan has to act as chauffeur.’ She looked away, fiddling with the brake on the buggy. ‘When he’s free, which isn’t often now they want more re-writes on the second act.’
‘I’m not sure I’d like to drive that thing,’ I said.
‘Oh, it’s not that.’ Rona looked surprised as though she thought everyone knew. ‘Helen hasn’t driven for nearly two years.’
‘Really? Why’s that?’
She was watching the traffic queueing up to cross the bridge. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, my dear, your guess is as good as mine.’
‘Perhaps Bryan likes to do the driving. Crazy as it may seem some men refuse to be driven about by a woman. It undermines their self-esteem.’
She snorted, leaning across to undo the top press stud on the baby’s pink and white suit. ‘Yes, well, you know best.’
Across the other side of the grass a tall thin girl was arguing with the old man selling ice-cream from a dilapidated van. The sun was in my eyes but I recognized her at once.
Rona Halliwell half stood, screwing up her eyes. ‘Isn’t that Lynsey?’
‘Lynsey? The Lynsey who helps with Geraldine’s shopping?’
‘Looks like her, and since she’s giving that man what for I should think that just about clinches it. You haven’t had the pleasure of making her acquaintance?’
‘No. Yes. I’ve met her but I didn’t realize who she was.’
‘Dreadful creature, can’t think why they took her on. Not that she’ll be needed long now you’re going to cure Mrs Haran of her agoraphobia.’ She pronounced the word slowly, accentuating each syllable with heavy sarcasm.
‘I get the feeling Lynsey may have had quite a hard time,’ I said.
‘Oh, you do, do you?’ Rona Halliwell’s eyes blazed. ‘That’s what she’s told you, is it, or do you lot have magic powers that enable you to see the inside of other people’s heads?’
Chapter Six
She was standing near the main road, at the bottom of Ambra Vale, a tall familiar figure dressed in black shorts that reached just below the knee and made her legs look absurdly long and bony. She saw me out of the corner of her eye but turned, pretending to be reading the graffiti on a row of garage doors.
‘Lynsey?’
She looked up but said nothing, just waited until I drew level, then took hold of Aaron’s lead. When I asked how she had found out where I lived she jerked her head in the direction of the dog. ‘How d’you think? Like I saw the address on his name tag. Where you taking him?’
‘Down by the river.’
She bent to re-tie one of her boot laces. ‘How d’you know my name?’
‘I saw you yesterday, up by the playground.’
‘I know. You were with that cow that looks after the baby.’
Since it was nearly nine thirty the worst of the morning rush hour was over but the lights for the pedestrian crossing had failed and we had to wait some time for a break in the traffic. On the other side of the main road the greengrocer was putting out trays of petunias and tobacco plants. An old actor I knew by sight emerged, bare chested, from the newsagent’s, his stomach bulging over the top of his tennis shorts, his feet flopping out of a pair of leather slippers with the backs stamped down. I nodded to him and he raised an arm.
‘Know a lot of people round here, do you?’ said Lynsey, staring at me, her face as near expressionless as she could make it. ‘S’pose they tell you all their problems. I can’t stand do-gooders.’
‘I’m not a do-gooder.’
‘Didn’t say you were. Anyway if you don’t do any good what’s the point?’
‘Now you’ve put me in a double bind. If I say I’m not a do-gooder you’ll say — ’
‘I know what a double bind is,’ she said scornfully. ‘Come on, the dog wants to go on the grass.’ She ran across the road, then walked ahead of me, with Aaron on her left, well away from the traffic. Every so often she glanced over her shoulder to make sure I was keeping up.
