by A. B. King
She took her glasses off and wiped them in a handkerchief, and she didn't look half so weird without them. Her expression seemed to indicate that nobody had ever bothered to praise her for anything, and my words had really touched something in her. It was the first time I had seen her without her glasses, and there was something about her face that reminded me of someone, but for the life of me I couldn't think who. She suddenly twigged that I was looking at her, and thrust her glasses back on with an expression of acute embarrassment. I suddenly decided that I quite liked having Tania in the office, it relieved me of a lot of drudgery, and she did make excellent coffee.
“I will have them printed out and ready for you, Mr Ham-er-Neil!” she stammered.
I took my wallet out and extracted the tenner I had promised her. “Good girl,” I said, “and here's the bonus that I mentioned this morning. Put that with whatever Mrs Throgmorton's given to you, and treat yourself to a night on the town.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr Ham-Neil,” she exclaimed as if she had never seen a tenner in her life. “I'll get busy right away.”
“Right, now I'm off to an appointment, and I won't be back this afternoon. The number for my mobile is on the top of the pad; only ring me if it is necessary, and don't keep it up too late here. See you in the morning.”
With good-byes said I left her totally engrossed in the computer as I went downstairs again, climbed into my car, and set off for my appointment with Julia. As I drove, I wondered what I was in for.
Chapter Thirteen.
I reached my destination just a couple of minutes early. This remarkable achievement was engineered more by luck than judgement; fortuitous or not, I hoped it would create a good impression. Julia's home was a modest, detached bungalow on the edge of town and set in a quiet backwater road that didn't go anywhere in particular. Most of the properties were of a similar design, although the owners had all stamped something of their own individualities on them. There was a moderately-sized front garden laid mostly to lawn with well-tended flower beds and a crazy paving path leading to a white p.v.c. front door. The windows were all double-glazed and neatly curtained in a rather prim sort of style, framed on each side with hanging baskets sporting a colourful variety of flowering plants. There was a detached garage visible to the rear at the end of a long straight concrete drive, and parked outside of it was a well polished and somewhat elderly Volvo. The whole place shrieked middle-class conservatism to me. I locked the car, sauntered up to the front door and operated the discrete bell push set to one side. Within seconds the door was opened a fraction, and a woman somewhere in her middle thirties peered out at me.
“Good afternoon, Neil Hammond,” I announced. “You are expecting me?”
“Oh, yes,” she faltered, as if she had temporarily forgotten that I was coming “You'd better come in.”
She opened the door wider and stood back to allow me to enter. She gestured off to her right as I stepped over the threshold, and I obediently turned to enter what proved to be the lounge. It was a medium sized squarish room, neatly carpeted, and with that aura that suggested that it was only ever used on high days and holidays. It was quietly furnished and illuminated by a large picture window which looked out over her front garden. She carefully shut the front door, and followed a pace or two behind me.
“Please take a seat, Mr Hammond,” she said, indicating one of the two armchairs that were set to one side in an almost geometrical pattern from the sofa that occupied the corresponding place on the other side of the room.
I thanked her and selected one with my back to the light in order to get a better view of her. Once I was settled, she sat rather demurely on the edge of the sofa more or less facing me. In some ways she wasn't at all what I expected, yet paradoxically she was exactly like I imagined. From Danny's earlier descriptions I had somehow conjured up a picture a sort of frustrated siren with slumberous eyes and a sort of 'grab-me' figure. That image had already started to dissolve when I saw her home, and completely disintegrated once I had managed a look at her in person. I then realised that she was pretty much as I imagined her to be from the impression I had gained from the appearance of her home; smart, conservative, with the appearance of being completely inhibited. Every hair was in place, her sober but expensive clothing immaculate, her poise perfect. She was the living counterpart of her home; there was not a speck of dust to be seen, everything was laid out as if in a showroom, and there was not so much as a paper or a television control to be seen anywhere. It gave me the impression of being a home where there was no laughter, little if any emotion, and no room for anything that was in the slightest degree suggestive of radicalism. I made a bet with myself that probably she had never had children.
“Will you husband be joining us?” I asked in an effort to break the ice.
“I'm a widow,” she answered without expression in her voice. “My husband died two years ago, may God rest his soul.”
“I am extremely sorry to hear that,” I said contritely. I could have kicked Danny for not warning me, because she must have been aware that the woman was bereaved.
“It's all right Mr Hammond, you couldn't have known.”
“Then I must say, in the circumstances, it was very good of you to agree to see me at such short notice,” I said, doing my best at damage limitation. “In view of your loss I should naturally ask you to excuse me until a later date, unfortunately my publisher is pressurising me to complete the manuscript, so if you are really quite sure?”
“I quite understand,” she replied, with no show of emotion whatever. “I will help as much as I can.”
“Then I will try to be as brief as possible,” I said, fishing a notebook and pen out of my pocket, “and you must stop me at once if my questions are too distressing.”
“I don't know if I can be of any real assistance to you,” she responded dubiously. “It all happened so long ago, and I have been trying to shut it out of my mind ever since.”
“Something I can well understand,” I agreed, “and I do apologise if I am causing you any unpleasantness. Perhaps it would help if I give you a broad outline of what little I know, and you can correct me if I am wrong?”
“I will try.”
“Well, as I understand it, your parent's were the friends of the parents of the girl who died. At that time you would have been a young adult, and the girl who died was about fourteen. She and her twin sister were in the girl guides and very keen on camping, and it was agreed that you would take the girls on a weekend camp to a site on the river Sharbourne near Willows End. Towards evening time on the fateful day a storm showed signs of gathering. You were outside your tent talking to the girls who were standing a short distance outside theirs. Am I right so far?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good, and as you were talking, there was a sudden flash of lightning which struck the girl's tent. This thunderbolt knocked you over and stunned you momentarily, and when you climbed back onto your feet you observed one of the girls lying on the ground, and there was no sign of the other. The rain came on as you checked the girl lying on the ground, after which you looked around to see if you could locate the girl who was missing, and with no sign of her, you decided to run to a nearby farm for assistance?”
“Yes, as far as I can remember; you must understand that I was badly shocked; even now it all seems like some horrible dream.”
“Yes, it must have been a truly harrowing experience,” I agreed sympathetically. “Can you recall what you did before leaving the girl who was struck down?”
“I'm not sure if I know what you mean?” she faltered, twisting her hands in her lap as she spoke. “I thought she was dead, her uniform was all burnt, and her back; it was horrible! I think I looked around, I may have called out for help, I expect I did; I really can't remember.”
“I'm not surprised after all this time; I wonder if you can you remember what you may have called out? I mean, readers like these little intimate details of tragedies. Did you shout
out, 'are you all right' in an effort to locate the missing girl, or, 'where are you', for instance?”
She sat there thinking for a moment, still twisting and twining her hands. “Oh, I think I called out, 'Danny, where are you?' or something like that,” she said at last. “I can't be sure; I was so shocked by what had happened.”
I wondered if it was a natural slip that she said that she called out for 'Danny', when Danny was actually lying on the ground in front of her. Still, the girls were identical twins, and in the undoubted shock of the moment some confusion was inevitable. I made no comment at that stage.
“What about the injured girl?” I asked.
Julia shuddered and looked a bit green about the gills.
“I'm sorry,” I added quickly, “I don't want to distress you, it’s just these little details make so much difference.”
“I told you, I thought she was dead,” Julia whispered as she appeared to pull herself together with an effort.
“Yes, but what made you think that?”
“Well, when people are hit by lightning, it kills them. Besides, she was all burnt, and she wasn't even breathing.”
“Ah, so you checked her vital signs then?”
“Yes, I suppose so, I really can't be sure. I remember that her eyes were closed, she didn't answer when I called to her to speak to me, and then I thought she wasn't breathing. I think I just panicked; I didn't know what to do. That's when I ran to get help.”
I thought it interesting that she ran all the way to the farm, which had to be at least three of four times as far away as the houses visible on the other side of the river, or even to the Venture Scout camp. On the other hand, it was quite easy for me to be logical about matters whilst sitting quiet in a cosy room talking about then. What it must have been like for her in the circumstances was totally different. No doubt it was sheer instinct that made her run to the farm; she was known there, and the help she so desperately needed would be available.
“It must have been truly horrible for you,” I agreed.
“I've lived with the nightmare of that evening every day since, and when I discovered that Dian had been thrown into the river by the same stroke of lightning, and had drowned there I was absolutely devastated. I've never been able to go back to that dreadful place since and I still get nightmares about that awful night. You have to understand Mr Hammond that those girls were in my care. I was responsible for them, and one of them died, and another was so badly injured I thought that she was dead also. Truly, I have never been able to forgive myself; never.”
I noted that she didn't claim that it was Danny that was missing; her earlier comment must have been a slip of the tongue.
“I'm not surprised that you feel so terrible about it all,” I agreed sympathetically. “People just don't realise that the unfortunate individuals who experience these tragedies invariably pay a heavy price for it long after everyone else has forgotten the events. I believe you visited the surviving twin in hospital later?”
“Oh, yes, yes I did. The poor girl remembered absolutely nothing about the events of that night, she didn't remember me, she didn't remember that she had a sister, in fact she didn't even remember anything at all of her life prior to waking up in hospital. I'd left the scene before Danny was taken away, I didn't know then that she had survived. I thought they were both dead you see, and I suppose I was close to having hysterics. Only later that evening did I learn that it wasn't a double-tragedy. To me it was a miracle that Danny had survived; I had been so convinced that she was lying dead when I had run to the farm it took me quite a while to accept that she had lived. Yes, I went to the hospital as soon as I could, and for me it was an utterly harrowing experience, but I had to do it. It was even harder accepting that she didn't even recognize me, and knew nothing about anything. She was so very badly burned across her back that she had to stay in hospital a long time, but I felt driven to visit her as often as I could. I felt so dreadfully guilty about what had happened, yet she never once reproached me. During those visits I tried very hard to help her to remember things, but it was a hopeless task; nothing ever came back to her. Even though she remembered nothing, I was so very glad she had survived.”
“Have you kept up the relationship?”
Julia sighed. “No, I tried to, only I found it all too painful. Every time I saw Danny, I could see her sister looking at me accusingly through her twin's eyes, and in the end I just couldn't cope any more. I haven't seen her for many years now. I hear she has done well for herself; I always thought she would, they were both very bright.”
“Yes, she is now a successful business-woman. I have interviewed her of course, and like you say, she remembers nothing at all about what happened. Her parents are dead, and there are really no other witness's apart from you.”
“Yes, I suppose that's true,” she agreed.
She said it so easily I wondered if it was possible that she had simply forgotten about the man who had supposedly been on the bridge at the time, or if she was deliberately lying. “Can you give me a rundown of the sequence of events leading up to the tragedy as you recall them?” I asked.
“I'll do my best,” she responded, yet she looked far from happy about having to recall things she obviously would much rather not think about at all. “We were having a quiet camping weekend away from everyone. I had been to the same site in the past, and knew that it was both secluded, and yet not too far from the Cannons at the farm. It was also within a reasonable walking distance of the village, yet even though there was a narrow footbridge over the river at that point, I hardly ever saw people about. Even the river was largely deserted, with only the odd narrow-boat passing by, and that was about all. On that last occasion I don't remember seeing anyone near the camp site for the brief time we were there. It might have been better if there had been someone close by, they could have helped in the search for Dian, maybe even saved her? When it all happened, I probably did shout out for help, but of course there was no one to hear me. You have to understand Mr Hammond that the whole business was a complete nightmare, and none of it seemed real at the time. I kept thinking I would wake up and find it was all imagination. But of course it was all too frighteningly true, and the following hours, days and weeks were like a continuation of the same ghastly nightmare. What with police, hospitals, and endless questions, you can't imagine what it was like. And then I had to see the girl's parents, to see the terrible grief in their hearts. I found myself wishing that it had been me that had died, and I have wished that many times since. I should have been severely punished because I was responsible for them. Instead, everyone was so kind, and I found that harder to bear than the worst punishment that could have been devised. Even after all these years I still suffer such terrible pangs of remorse. Maybe if I could only be made to pay in some way for what happened I might find peace of mind?”
“And I have brought all the horror of that time flooding back,” I said softly, reading the pain and suffering still visible in her eyes. “I'm so very deeply sorry.”
She essayed a weak smile. “It's not your fault,” she sighed. “I know I should have come to terms with it a long time ago. It's all history now, and I should move on. Maybe one day I will be able to?”
“I'm sure you will, and I can see that I've already upset you more than enough now, so I will leave you in peace.”
She looked up at me in surprise. “Must you leave so soon?” she asked, “I was going to offer you a cup of tea?”
“Well-”
“I don't get to see many people these days,” she added by way of explanation. “Since my husband died, all my friends seem to have dropped me. I suppose they think that now I'm on my own I'm some sort of threat to them, I don't know. Are you married Mr Hammond?”
“Er, no; I've never really thought about it,” I lied glibly. “Busy life, and all that.”
“You should, you know,” she said with a faraway wistful look in her eyes. “I was lucky enough to marry a man who was absolute
ly perfect in every way. He was kind, considerate, loving. charming, funny, wise and sympathetic. He understood me, understood the way I feel about what happened, and I so miss that understanding, I really do. The only dark cloud in our lives was the fact that I could never have children.” She paused and looked at me with mute appeal so evident in her eyes as she added; “Are you quite sure I cannot persuade you?”
She looked so unhappy and lonely I didn't have it in me to refuse.
“Well, just a quick one, then,” I said, glancing at my watch. “If you are absolutely sure it is not too much trouble?”
“Oh, it's no trouble at all,” she said, standing up, and I noted that her expression changed in the instant I had opened my mouth and accepted. “If you like, I'll show you round the bungalow whilst the kettle is boiling?”
Frankly, I didn't have any particular desire to inspect her home, although I could scarcely upset her by saying as much, particularly as she was so patently lonely and in need of someone to talk to. “That's very kind of you,” I said as I rose to my feet and following her though the door. We walked down a small hallway and turned into a fair sized airy kitchen fitted out in a modern style with just about every labour saving gadget one could think of. Like the lounge, everything was absolutely spotless and in its correct place.
