by Mary Grand
‘I think that’s Cassie remembering what she wants to remember. He spoke to me after and was in a panic. Told me he’d promised things to Cassie to keep her happy. He was glad he’d be off first thing.’
‘So, he wasn’t going to tell her himself?’
‘I’m sorry, my brother was a bit of a coward like that.’
Juliet put her head to one side. ‘I’ve not thought much about your mum in all this. It must have been so difficult for her seeing her only grandchild growing up but never being able to acknowledge her, never having a relationship with her?’
‘Maddie is very pragmatic. She knew Harry was going away, in her mind he was never going to do “the right thing” and so she felt the arrangement your parents made was best for Rosalind, she didn’t want to rock the boat.’
‘I’ve seen the photos and couldn’t help but notice how much Rosalind looks like Harry. Has that been upsetting or a comfort for Maddie?’
‘She never talks about it, I don’t know.’
‘But, of course, she could spend as much time as she wants with Rosalind now.’
‘Oh, she won’t do that. If Rosalind wants to talk to her, of course she’ll be fine, but no, she won’t be pushing anything, I’m sure of it.’
‘That’s as well, I don’t think any of it has really sunk in with Rosalind yet, and when it does, I’m not sure how she will react. She needs time to think.’
‘I’m sure you all do.’
Juliet sipped her wine. Her mind went back to that damn old car key, and her suspicions about her father.
‘You’ve gone very quiet, are you okay?’ Gabriel said.
‘Sorry, it’s all so overwhelming. I just don’t know what to think.’
‘Let’s start making some plans, working out our next dates. You know you could come and stay up at my place as much as you like. It would be a break for you.’
Juliet knew then she had to say something. Slowly she took the key out of her pocket and handed it to Gabriel and he took it, looking completely mystified.
‘What’s this?’
‘I think it came from Dad’s garage.’
‘It’s pretty old, must be a spare of some sort, the fob is for a Volkswagen. Why have you got it on you?’
‘Look at this scrap of the label, those letters. I am sure this is the old ignition key for the car that killed Harry.’
‘It can’t be.’
‘It has to be, it is exactly like the one described in the paper, it even has part of the name of the owner still attached.’
‘Good grief, I suppose you could be right. Where did you find it?’
‘In the workshop. Dad brought it back from the garage the day he died, gave it to Mira to hide in there.’
‘How odd.’
‘It’s more than odd. Why was dad so worried about this old key? Why did he have it?’
Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know, it could have been lying around there for years.’
‘But if it was used to drive away the car the night Harry died…’
Gabriel frowned. ‘I don’t think they knew how the car had been started, it could have just been left and got buried under stuff.’
Juliet shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Dad was definitely worried about this key. In the hospital he asked me to get rid of it. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d not thought there was something significant about it.’
Gabriel sipped his beer. ‘And what would that be?’
‘I think this old key was used to drive the car down to the main road. Harry was killed and then the driver for some reason brought the key back to the garage.’ She bit her lip. ‘And the thing I’m really scared about is, well, what if my father had been the driver of the car?’
He looked at her carefully. ‘That’s crazy. There could be any number of reasons your dad had the key, it’s madness to start speculating about your father being involved in Harry’s death. I don’t think the key is significant at all.’
‘But I think it was, why else would Dad have been so worried about it? And the police specifically asked people to look out for it, so they must have believed it to be important.’
‘Even if they were right, maybe the person who stole the car took the key by mistake and then thought the garage was a good place to hide it. The garage was always such a terrible mess, it could have taken your dad ages to find it.’
‘I suppose so.’
Gabriel stared at her. ‘You can’t be seriously suspect your father. Granted, your father may have been upset with the way Harry treated Cassie, but your father would never have killed him. Honestly, you’ve let this get way out of perspective. No way would your father have had anything to do with Harry’s death. You must never think that.’
She smiled weakly. Gabriel sounded so certain, and she desperately wanted to believe him. ‘I hope you’re right. Thank you.’
‘By the way, talking of keys, could you give this to Mira for me? I’ve been carrying it around for ages and forgetting to give it to you. It’s the spare key to the filing cabinet in the office. I think she wants to check on the costs and things of the retreats; she’s been hoping to plan another one for Christmas.’
‘Has she?’
‘She only mentioned it the other evening. I know she’s only just lost Rhys, but I thought it was good that she was able to think about something in the future.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ Juliet took the envelope, with ‘spare key for Mira’ written on it. ‘Your handwriting is really fancy, look at all those loops on the p, k, y and f. I’ve inherited my dad’s awful writing. People think because I’m arty I can write neatly, but that’s rubbish.’
Gabriel grinned. ‘I’ve got to have some gifts. Fancy anything to eat? The roast smells good.’
Juliet screwed up her nose. ‘It does, but I think I’d better get on home.’
‘Of course. I’ll be in touch,’ he said tenderly.
Juliet walked slowly home. Her mind went back to that night, the rain, the storm, the tree and suddenly she thought of something. If she was right, then maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right.
27
Juliet ran into the garden and over to the old oak tree, with the vertical white line running down one side of the trunk.
She read the small wooden plaque she had made with her father – Sunday 20 August 1995, 10.30 p.m.
She closed her eyes, went back to that night, standing looking out of the window at the storm, and then hearing the horrific splintering as the lighting struck the tree. She’d run down to her father and he’d comforted her, made her some hot milk. He’d taken her back to bed, and she remembered hearing the grandfather clock strike. She’d laid in bed, had some milk, slept and at one point had gone out to wash her hand after spilling it. But all the time she’d been aware of her father downstairs, heard his footsteps in the kitchen, the TV being turned on and off. Her father hadn’t gone out, she was sure of it.
With a crashing wave of relief, she knew it meant her father was innocent. She reached out and touched the bark of the tree. ‘I’m so sorry, Dad, forgive me for doubting you.’
Her mind went back to the old ignition key. It had frightened her father. If he’d only found it the day of his accident while clearing out maybe he’d been unaware all these years that someone close to him was implicated in Harry’s death. Had finding it made him realise that they had and because of that he’d known he couldn’t tell Rosalind the truth? Had he suspected her mother? Or, of course, it could have been someone else in the family.
Juliet stared in horror at the thoughts going through her mind. And then she turned to Cassie. She denied going out the night Harry died, and yet something about Cassie and that night didn’t feel right. What was it?
Juliet went through the night again in her head. Her dad had taken her back to bed, she’d drifted off to sleep and then it must have been much later, she’d woken up, and decided to have another sip of her milk, she’d misjudged it in the dark
and spilt some on her hand. Juliet flinched at the memory and remembered thinking she should tell her dad. But she hadn’t. What had happened? That was it; she’d left her room and then she’d seen Cassie. Just as she had the other night, drying her hair; that was the memory that kept slipping away from her. As a child she’d assumed Cassie had been in the shower but thinking back, something had been wrong about the picture.
Juliet screwed up her eyes. Yes… Cassie’s was wearing trousers; they were wet. Why was she wearing clothes if she’d had a shower? And now of course she knew. Cassie hadn’t been showering, she’d come in from the rain. Cassie had been out.
Of course, Cassie would say she went to meet Harry, to make plans for their future together. But Gabriel was very insistent that Harry was going away.
What if Cassie had known that in her heart? What if that night all her dreams had been shattered and that all-consuming infatuation had turned to hate? The line could be so fine; had she crossed it? Cassie had said, ‘He had to stay with me forever.’ Is this how she’d made sure he would never leave? Had Cassie gone to her father’s garage and stolen the car and run Harry over? A kind of if she couldn’t have him no one else could. Is that how she’d felt?
Juliet held the old car key in her hand. So, was it possible that when her father found this key, he’d known, or suspected, a link between Harry’s death and Cassie? He might well have known Cassie had gone out, maybe she had even given him the key, confessed everything.
And what about Rhys? Had Cassie been the person who left the house at half twelve, had she driven up to the church and killed Rhys to silence him? Had she pretended Anwen was with her to give herself an alibi? Juliet thought of that person who’d pushed her, the threats of doing what they’d done to Rhys to her – had that been Cassie?
Juliet shook her head. To think of her sister being responsible for a crime of passion was horrendous enough but to kill in cold blood like that. ‘You must be very careful. Anyone can kill,’ her father had said.
Juliet went to the workshop and put the old key away. She’d walked into somewhere very dark and frightening, but she had no idea what she could do next. She hid away with her thoughts for the rest of the day and crept into bed that night, still struggling to make sense of everything.
In what seemed a strangely welcome intrusion, Adam Smith came to see them the next day. He told them investigations were carrying on. The Met in London were working with them now. He also told Mira the coroner was prepared to release Rhys’s body and so the family could plan his funeral.
Planning the funeral seemed to give everyone a new focus. The date was set quickly, and they were fortunate to get a slot the following Monday. The preparations were made with the archdeacon who was to take the service.
It wasn’t until they were planning the funeral that Juliet could see how much Mira and they all needed this. It was a kind of milestone to pass. With her father’s funeral, she’d not liked the feeling of being under pressure to move on, but with Rhys it felt different. It signalled that a normality had returned to the grieving process, a proper time to say goodbye and maybe a glimmer of hope in moving on.
Maybe it was that sense that moved Mira to share her news on the Wednesday evening. It was the end of the meal, and she tapped her spoon on the table. Lola, who had been resting under the table, pricked up her ears and they all looked at Mira expectantly.
‘I know it’s been a difficult few weeks, but I think it’s time I told you all my news. I was going to wait until after the funeral, but, well, to be frank, I’m not going to be able to hide this much longer. I am not going to be one of those women who don’t show for months.’
‘Oh my God,’ screamed Rosalind.
‘Yes, I’m pregnant.’
A warm smile spread over their mother’s face, like she was feeling the first touch of the sun’s rays after a long hard winter. She went and hugged Mira and gave her a kiss.
‘That’s the most wonderful news, it’s like a miracle,’ she signed, and she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘I feal quite overwhelmed.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Mira was glowing. She glanced over at Juliet and signed, ‘The scan was all clear.’
Juliet signed, ‘Brilliant,’ but felt a pang of guilt that she’d forgotten to ask.
Their mother continued, ‘I know there are all kinds of mixed feelings, but we will celebrate this new life, we are all here to help you, Mira.’
‘We’ll have so many things to buy,’ said Rosalind, looking thrilled. ‘You know, there are some fantastic sites now, you don’t need to go around in some enormous smock with a Peter Pan collar!’
Mira laughed. ‘I know. In fact, I ordered a new dress, some maternity leggings and a top this morning.’
‘Oh, this is going to be great,’ said Rosalind, clapping her hands.
Juliet found it fascinating that Rosalind could look suddenly as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Mira glanced over at her sisters. ‘I expect you are wondering if my baby will be Deaf. It does seem unlikely, I think. My deafness is like so many with no known cause. I did have genetic counselling, they checked Mum and Dad, but there was nothing they could track down. We shall have to wait and see, I guess, but I don’t mind either way. I will be bringing this baby up bilingual, signing and talking.’
‘Of course,’ said their mother. ‘What’s most important is that your child knows they are loved and wanted, it’s all that matters really.’
‘Yes, to be wanted is more important than anything,’ said Rosalind, but she wasn’t smiling any more.
‘You were wanted, you know that don’t you?’ said Cassie. ‘From the moment I knew I was pregnant, I wanted you.’
Rosalind gave a fleeting smile but didn’t reply.
The mood had become awkward and one by one they got up and left the room.
Juliet was pleased though to see happiness on Mira’s face. It would be good to plan for new life in the middle of so much stress.
The next day passed quietly until late Thursday evening when Rosalind sent a text in the evening to their mother.
Mum, I’m not coming home for a while. I have taken sick leave from work. I have to leave; I can’t bear you all being so nice to me. You don’t know what I’ve done. I’m going to turn this phone off. Please don’t contact me. I am sorry I shall miss the funeral on Monday. Rosalind
Her mother was frantic. ‘What shall we do? Should we call the police?’
‘No, Mum, we can’t do that. She’s an adult, she can go away if she wants to,’ said Cassie.
‘But where is she staying? Who is she with?’
‘Maybe we threw too much at her too quickly, but what does she mean about having done something awful?’
‘She seemed so happy last night when Mira announced the news about the baby. What can have changed since then?’ said their mother.
‘I don’t know. We just have to wait for her to come back to us, I think,’ replied Cassie.
Juliet left Cassie and her mother and went upstairs, the words in Rosalind’s message ringing in her ears. ‘You don’t know what I’ve done.’ What was she talking about? Was it something to do with her work or was it Rhys? Juliet desperately wanted to talk to Rosalind. She remembered her date with Gabriel at the hotel in Southampton that they had planned for Saturday. Would it be possible that Rosalind would turn up as planned, and if she did, could Juliet talk to her then? Juliet sent a text to Gabriel.
Are you still all right to go out on Saturday?
He replied immediately.
Yes, great.
She wondered briefly if she should say anything about Rosalind but decided against it.
Good, looking forward to it.
Tomorrow of course would be Friday, the day she was hoping to see Anwen’s aunt again. With everything that had happened she’d almost forgotten about her, but she had to remember that Anwen was still a suspect for Rhys’s murder.
The next day, Juliet left the house late mornin
g. She drove into town, wandered around the shops, and then found somewhere to have lunch.
Eventually she drove up to the hospital, parked at roughly the same time as the week before, and went up to the same ward.
Looking in through the window of the side ward, she saw Jean sat alone. There was a different prison warder handcuffed to the man in the bed this time, but the patient looked no better than he had the previous week.
Juliet left the ward and waited until Jean came out. Walking quickly, she sidled up besides Jean.
‘Oh, hello again, this is a nice coincidence,’ Juliet said, hoping she sounded convincing.
‘Well, how nice to see you,’ said Jean. She spoke brightly, but her eyes were red-rimmed.
‘Are you back visiting?’ Juliet asked.
‘Yes, I think that might be my last time though.’
‘Oh, um, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yes, he’s not good. I must ring Anwen when I get back to the hotel. So, you’re back here, I thought your friend only had a minor op?’
Juliet noted that Jean might be chatty, but she was no fool. ‘That’s right, I had to pop into a friend of my mum’s this time. Good job we live relatively close. I’m on my way out, are you?’
‘I am. I get the bus from out the front of the hospital.’
‘I tell you what, do you fancy a cup of tea and I could run you back. It’s no trouble.’
‘Well, that is very nice of you, yes, thank you. I could do with one.’
The café was close, and Juliet told Jean to sit while she got them tea and scones. Once she was back, Juliet asked, ‘So, how was your journey today?’
‘Not too bad. I left Swansea at six.’
‘Wow, that is early.’
‘I know, but it’s lovely and quiet at that time and I’m an early riser anyway. Anwen was telling me you are the artistic one of the family. Fancy being one of four sisters. I was one of six.’
