The Daughter

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The Daughter Page 24

by Michelle Frances


  ‘Hi,’ she said, arm out, offering a handshake.

  From behind his wire-framed glasses, he looked bemused at her appearing from nowhere but gave a professional smile.

  ‘Hello. Roger Harris,’ he said, taking her hand.

  ‘I know who you are,’ said Kate.

  He looked taken aback.

  ‘It’s on your name badge,’ she indicated.

  He laughed loudly, and she caught a whiff of garlic from the night before. He looked at her badge. ‘Caitriona Ellis.’ He frowned, stroked his beard, sensing familiarity but unable to place it. ‘Have we met before?’

  ‘We haven’t. But I have emailed you. Three times, in fact.’

  He tried to make a joke out of it. ‘Did I reply?’

  ‘No.’

  The one-word answer and her challenging stare made him begin to look around at his colleagues. Seek out reinforcements.

  Enough of this, thought Kate. You’ll throw your chance away. She tucked a long, loose curl behind her ear. ‘Which sort of made me feel a little neglected,’ she said with a smile.

  Roger smiled back. Glad – and flattered – to be back on friendly terms. ‘I’m sure I wasn’t neglecting you.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were that kind of man. So, anyway, as I was here, and I knew you were here . . . I thought maybe you’d have a minute to chat.’ She saw him glance around at his colleagues again. This time, instead of seeing if anyone was aware of his conversation, he checked to make sure they weren’t.

  ‘I’m sure we could manage something,’ said Roger. ‘In fact, I don’t have any appointments for half an hour.’ He indicated one of the pop-up booths, placed around the pop-up stand. ‘Shall we?’

  She led the way he indicated. As she slid into the booth opposite him, she shrugged off her jacket.

  He put his elbows on the table, hands clasped. ‘So, what can I do you for?’

  ‘Well, I was hoping to learn more about what you do here.’

  He puffed himself up with importance, then chuckled at the enormity of his company’s – and therefore by way of association, his own – professional achievements. ‘Can you stay all day?’

  She forced a smile. ‘I was particularly interested in your products. The chemicals you make to protect our crops.’

  ‘There’s a few. We are able to manage and control the vast majority of threats to our crops, whether fungal, herbal or insect-based.’

  ‘Amazing. I’m sure I read somewhere that there had been a study that showed that organic farming could produce the same yields with crops rotated more freely?’

  He shook his head dismissively. ‘Don’t think so.’

  ‘Oh, really? Must’ve got mixed up with something else. Silly me.’ Kate saw Roger’s gaze had wandered. ‘Stop looking at my tits.’

  His eyes sprang up. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  She smiled. ‘So, are they all perfectly safe then, these chemicals?’

  ‘Safe as houses.’

  ‘Even glyphosate? Only, I’m sure that one was classified as – oh, what was it? – “probably carcinogenic to humans”. You have any glyphosate in your products? In Crixus?’

  ‘Sure. But I promise you, it’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘How safe is it?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘How safe?’

  ‘Perfectly. It’s used in agriculture all over the world.’

  ‘Sprayed on crops?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘What if there are people living nearby? When it’s sprayed?’

  He hesitated. ‘Yeah, fine. Course it is. Where did you say you were from again?’

  She ignored the question. ‘Has Senerix done any long-term studies on human exposure to glyphosate and the other chemicals you use to manufacture Crixus?’

  He cooled in front of her eyes. ‘It’s safe,’ he reiterated. ‘They’re all safe.’

  ‘But have you tested what happens with long-term exposure, such as that experienced by residents near farms?’

  He refused to answer.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no. Or maybe it’s a yes, and you didn’t like the results. So how can you claim they’re safe? Because I, and several other people, believe that they cause a number of life-threatening diseases.’

  He laughed, patronizingly this time. ‘Darling, you could drink any of our products as if they were orange juice.’

  ‘That’s your claim?’

  ‘They’re not going to harm anyone.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. Perhaps I could film you?’

  ‘What?’

  She reached over to the shelf at the side of the booth. Retrieved a small plastic bottle of Crixus from the display. ‘Drinking a glass of this. As if it were orange juice.’

  He stared at her, eyes glinting. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s not me who suggested it as a possibility.’

  Roger stood up. ‘I think this meeting is over.’

  ‘Ah, come on, Roger, there’s loads I’d still like to talk to you about.’

  He gave her one last look and walked away. Kate watched him and then picked up her bag and jacket and left the stand.

  She’d barely gone fifty metres when a hand landed on her shoulder. ‘Excuse me?’

  She jumped, whipped round. ‘You!’ she said angrily.

  ‘Sorry if I scared you,’ said the red-headed man. He smiled, and Kate noticed he had a dimple in his chin. He was looking at her strangely, as if he was trying to place her. ‘I’m sorry to bother you but –’ he suddenly looked unsure of himself – ‘are you, by any chance, Kate Ellis?’

  Who was this man? Kate scanned her memory bank but didn’t recognize him. Was he a customer from work?

  He seemed to notice her discomfort. ‘Sorry. I’m Adam Langley. I think I might have been friends with your daughter, Becky?’

  It took a second, and then it came flooding back. The guy from Becky’s university. The one she’d been dating, albeit briefly.

  ‘Am I right?’ he said. ‘Are you her mum?’

  She nodded. ‘I am.’

  ‘Phew. Thought I was about to totally humiliate myself there. How is Becky?’

  She looked at his face, earnest and curious. He doesn’t know.

  She lightly touched her fingers on his arm and said, her voice catching slightly: ‘She . . . died. Last year.’

  He staggered backwards, and she immediately thought she should have broken it to him in another way. But what other way was there?

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he stammered. ‘I didn’t realize.’

  They were standing outside the cafe area, which was quiet as it was still a way off lunchtime.

  ‘Would you like a coffee?’ asked Kate.

  They sat at a table and didn’t speak for a bit. Adam spent a lot of time stirring his drink, adding a large amount of sugar, Kate noticed. He took a sip and then stopped looking down at his drink and met her eyes.

  ‘When did she die?’

  ‘Twenty-fourth of February.’

  His eyes flashed with recognition, horror. ‘That was the day before . . .’ He pulled himself up, got a grip. ‘We’d arranged to meet,’ he explained. ‘On the Saturday. The next day.’ He paused, shamefaced. ‘I thought she’d stood me up. I was annoyed with her. She never answered her phone or Facebook. Just went offline.’ He blushed. ‘It had happened before,’ he explained.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t contact you to let you know,’ said Kate. ‘Your number wasn’t on her phone.’

  ‘That’s OK. I was so sure she was going to show. I even googled her name, found noth—’ he quickly checked himself, stopped talking.

  ‘How did you recognize me?’ asked Kate.

  ‘She – Becky – sent me a photo. You were in it.’

  Kate cocked her head quizzically, but he was already clicking on his phone. He turned the screen to face her. Her hand flew to her mouth. There she was with Becky, the day they made the snowman.

  ‘I remember that day,’ she said.
‘She had a massive hangover. Just spent the evening with you, I think?’

  He blushed bright red and she realized they’d slept together. She hadn’t meant to embarrass him, but it felt strange to learn he’d been intimate with her daughter. She sharpened her interest in him, wondered what their relationship had been like – whether he’d treated Becky well.

  ‘We went out to dinner,’ he said. ‘I took her to a Lebanese restaurant near my place in Clapham.’

  ‘Can I have a copy of the photo?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Of course. What’s your number?’ He sent it over and when the beep arrived on her phone, Kate touched her bag lightly.

  It seemed strange that there had been no record of Becky’s original message on her phone, nor Adam’s reply. Nothing to or from Adam at all. Which was odd – why would Becky have gone to the trouble of deleting them all? She’d been uncomfortable about dating Adam but that had been because she’d considered him a source, hadn’t wanted to cross the moral line.

  Her eyes caught the green-and-yellow in the distance. She looked over Adam’s shoulder at the Senerix stand. So, he worked there. And Becky had considered him a source for her story. The story she, Kate, was now following. Had Becky deleted his details to erase any trail between them?

  Why? What did he know?

  ‘Why were you and Becky meeting on the Saturday?’

  ‘What were you talking to Roger about?’

  They’d spoken simultaneously and there was a nervous pause in the conversation.

  ‘Becky said that you were helping her with a story,’ said Kate quietly, watching his face.

  He affected puzzlement. ‘Really?’

  ‘About herbicides.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘She was researching the health effects on families who lived near regularly sprayed fields.’

  ‘We didn’t ever speak about it,’ he said casually, but she could hear the strain in his voice.

  She nodded. Took a sip of her coffee. ‘But is that what you were supposed to be meeting about? The day after she died?’

  He didn’t know what to do with his hands, was fiddling with his teaspoon, and she placed her hand over his to still it.

  ‘Please tell me, Adam. It would help me to understand the loss.’

  He looked up sharply. ‘Why?’

  Damn, she hadn’t meant to say that, to alert his suspicion.

  Adam seemed to be wrestling with something. ‘Kate, how did Becky die?’

  She spoke slowly, carefully, watching him. ‘She was knocked off her bike. Just a few streets from her office. A lorry turned into her path.’

  His eyes widened as he took this in. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he repeated, but behind his eyes unease was looming, she could sense it. Her own heart beat quicker as her sickening suspicions were brought to the surface again.

  ‘What happened to the driver?’ asked Adam.

  ‘Nothing. It was recorded as an accidental death.’ She paused. ‘Something that I still don’t understand on many levels. Not least because she was such a careful cyclist.’

  Adam had sat back in his seat, his arms looped over the back of his chair, but he looked anything but relaxed.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ asked Kate. She saw him glance back towards his company’s stand. ‘Is everything OK? You look nervous about something. Or someone.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Why did you google her? When she didn’t turn up?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You just said – you googled her name.’

  Tiny beads of sweat were forming at his hairline and Kate felt goosebumps rise up on her skin.

  ‘I should get back, actually,’ said Adam. ‘It was nice to meet you.’ He quickly stood and held out his hand but didn’t wait for her to shake it, instead he grabbed his jacket. ‘Great. Right, well enjoy the rest of the conference.’

  And then he was gone, swallowed up in the crowd.

  FORTY-TWO

  Kate had gone to the library to print out the photo of Becky in the snow then taken it home and placed it carefully on the fridge. It had been taken twelve days before she’d died. She would stare at it, looking deep into Becky’s eyes, wondering how much her daughter had known of whatever it was that Adam was keeping from them.

  He and Becky had planned to meet up on the day after she’d died. Had she already had a sense of what the meeting was about? Kate would stare so hard she began to imagine she could read something in Becky’s expression, a crease in her forehead, a sharpness to her eyes or maybe something in the way she was carrying herself. She stared until her eyes blurred and then she would bang her head against the fridge in frustration and despair; no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t read her dead daughter’s mind.

  Kate came home from her early shift with just enough time to stop at Iris’s before heading to Ramsbourne. It was the day of the vote. Kate had emailed everyone explaining that one person wanted to withdraw, and they needed to get together to decide what they were going to do next.

  She quickly grabbed some juice out of the fridge and, seeing Becky in her woolly hat, decided to call Adam again. It would be the third time since the day of the conference.

  One ring, two . . . four . . . seven . . . She held her breath.

  ‘Hi, this is Adam. If you leave me a nice message, I’ll call you back.’

  ‘No, you bloody won’t,’ she muttered, hanging up. She gulped down the juice and headed out.

  Kate was feeling guilty as she walked up Iris’s path. It had been a while since she’d spent any time with her and today, she only had half an hour before she had to go and catch her train.

  There was no answer when she rang the doorbell. She tried again, but nothing. Kate stepped back a moment to check the window – yes, Constanza had been put away. She got her phone from her bag and rang Iris’s number. She could hear another phone ringing and pulled her mobile from her ear – it was Iris’s phone in the house, responding to her call. Then she heard something else. A faint cry. ‘Help!’

  Kate quickly got out her bunch of keys, found Iris’s Yale and put it in the lock.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she called out, as she hurried inside.

  ‘In here,’ said Iris.

  Her voice had come from the living room. Kate ran in and found Iris lying on her side on the floor. She flew over to her. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Hips. Or was it knees?’

  ‘Oh my God. Here, I’ll lift you under the arms.’

  She put her hands under Iris’s armpits and could just about get her upright. With her help, Iris managed to shuffle over to the armchair.

  ‘Thank goodness we had a date,’ said Iris. ‘Didn’t think I could stand it for much longer.’

  ‘How long had you been there?’

  ‘Just after lunch. I was coming in here with my Rooibos.’ Iris pointed to the carpet near the window where a mug lay on its side, its contents long cold and now staining the cream carpet.

  Kate looked at Iris in dismay. ‘That was hours ago! Are you OK?’

  ‘I am now.’

  ‘Is there anything hurt?’

  ‘Just my pride.’

  ‘I’ll have to come over more often.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Doesn’t matter if you come over every hour, I could fall the minute you left. Only way to stay upright is to have you live here with me.’

  Kate went to speak but Iris held up a shaky hand. ‘And that, quite frankly, wouldn’t work.’ She smiled. ‘Can’t stand the way you slurp your tea.’

  Kate gaped, open-mouthed. It was the first she’d heard of it; anyway, she didn’t.

  But Iris wasn’t looking. She rested her hands on the frilly arm covers on her chair. ‘No, I’m going to have to think of something else.’

  Kate was wary. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. There’s these very nice homes . . .’

  ‘I’m not having it. I said I’d
look after you—’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Iris sharply. Then seeing Kate’s face, she softened her voice. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap. It’s just not practical. You have a life, a very busy one with a very important task ahead, and I need to face up to knowing when the time is right to seek help.’

  Kate went to open her mouth again.

  ‘Professional help.’

  They sat in silence for a moment. ‘Would you at least talk it over with me? See if we can find another solution so you can stay in your own home? It’s what you said you always wanted to do.’

  ‘Changed my mind.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes. They have non-stop dominoes at Sunrise Royal Oaks. And bingo.’

  Kate raised an eyebrow.

  ‘OK, we can talk,’ relented Iris and patted the chair next to her. ‘Why don’t you make us both a fresh tea and get comfy?’

  Kate’s face fell. In an instant, Iris had clocked it.

  ‘You have to be somewhere.’

  ‘I’m sorry . . . I’m meant to be in Ramsbourne. I’ll cancel,’ said Kate rashly, wondering how she was going to explain to all the families who were gathering on her behalf.

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Iris was staring out of the window. Kate followed her gaze but there was nothing there. Just the tree growing out of the pavement that had been there ever since she remembered.

  ‘Look at them, chasing each other,’ said Iris and Kate saw two squirrels leaping around the tree. ‘They’ve always entertained me. Ever since I moved in. Generations of the little blighters. We can talk tomorrow. It’s fine.’

  Kate knew it wasn’t. Not really. But there wasn’t much she could do. ‘I’ll bring cake.’

  Iris smiled. ‘Whatever you like.’

  Her eyelids started to droop, and Kate realized she couldn’t have had her post-lunch nap.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’

  ‘I’m fine here, love. You go on.’

  ‘I don’t have to go yet! Got another ten minutes.’

  ‘It’s OK. Bit tired if I’m honest.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Kate, reluctantly. She gathered up the fallen mug and took it into the kitchen. When she came back, it looked like Iris was asleep. She gave the carpet a quick scrub, then realized she’d need to get a move on if she wasn’t going to miss her train.

 

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