Guilt at the Garage

by Simon Brett

  ‘I suppose it might.’ Jude didn’t sound convinced. ‘I think I’ll have to get Shannon on her own. Any mention of Malee’s name in Rhona’s presence will just unleash another burst of xenophobia.’

  ‘See what you can do,’ Carole pleaded.

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Have you got another session booked with Rhona?’

  ‘This afternoon.’

  ‘The perfect opportunity.’

  ‘Maybe. Of course, you realize, Carole, if this is a murder investigation we’ve embarked on …’

  ‘Please say it is.’

  ‘… and if anyone did know Bill Shefford’s intentions – you know, that he meant to leave the garage to Billy … well, it knocks the motives of a few of our suspects on the head, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it does. Anyway, do your best this afternoon and let me know what happens.’

  ‘Of course I will. And now,’ said Jude, still slightly aggrieved, ‘I’m going to make myself a cup of tea and see if I can get a couple more hours’ sleep.’

  ‘You do that. Oh, and incidentally, how was your conference?’

  ‘Very enjoyable.’ She couldn’t keep a giggle out of her voice as she said, ‘I’m not sure it would have been your sort of thing.’

  ‘I’m absolutely certain it wouldn’t,’ said Carole, with some force. ‘And how were your … friends?’

  ‘In very good form.’

  ‘Good,’ said Carole icily.

  ‘Ah yes, and I almost forgot. I must tell you what they told me about Adrian and Gwyneth Greenford.’

  Which is exactly what Jude did. Much to Carole’s amazement.

  Rhona Hampton’s palliative care was not exclusively Jude’s responsibility. She was also under the watchful monitoring of her GP, which suited Jude very well. It had never been her view that what she did was in conflict with conventional medicine. Though she had achieved remarkable curative results by healing alone, she had always been happy to regard her skills as complementary to more traditional treatments.

  As the old woman’s pain level mounted, the GP had slowly been increasing her morphine dosage. This was administered by Shannon. Her mother could still manage to take the medication orally, though in time a syringe pump might be required. There was no doubt that Rhona Hampton’s condition was worsening but, as her remaining time on earth dwindled, she still never mentioned death.

  One effect of the medication was that Rhona slept more. She still welcomed Jude’s visits and managed to vent some spleen against her usual targets, particularly Malee, but the outbursts didn’t last so long. She was tiring, and the relaxation produced by the healing soon brought her the release of sleep.

  This was very convenient for Jude. With her client out of it for the time being, it was quite logical for her to step into the Waggoners kitchen, where Shannon was preparing her children’s supper. The kitchen itself was functional rather than modern. No islands. It probably hadn’t changed much since the Sheffords moved into the house. Stuck to the fridge door was the usual gallery of children’s drawings.

  Billy’s wife looked up anxiously from the pizza dough she was rolling out. ‘Getting weaker, isn’t she?’

  Jude nodded agreement. She had never believed in sugar-coating unarguably bad news, particularly when dealing with a realist like Shannon Shefford. ‘But she doesn’t seem to be in much pain,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks to you for that.’

  Jude shrugged. ‘I think the morphine’s doing as much as I am.’

  ‘No, you’re really helping. She looks forward to your visits. With the GP, it’s all done remotely. Mum hasn’t actually seen a doctor since she’s been unable to get to the surgery. They don’t do home visits any more. Mum just talks on the phone to him – or her; she never seems to get the same one. And, recently, I’ve been doing most of the talking to the surgery. Mum’s not really up to it.’

  ‘Remotely or not, the GP does seem to be getting the dosage right.’

  ‘I suppose so. Controlling the pain. That’s all that can be done now.’ Shannon was seized by a sudden burst of emotion and turned away towards the sink as she said, ‘I don’t know how I’ll manage when Mum finally does go. I’ll miss her terribly. I know she can be a bit of a cow at times, and she’s horrible to Billy, but I’ve always loved her to bits.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s loved you too.’

  ‘Yes. No worries about that.’ She was caught by a new spasm of grief. ‘And the thought of organizing another funeral, so soon after Bill’s …’ Her words were drowned in deep, torso-shuddering sobs.

  Jude saw an opening. ‘I gather Malee was at Bill’s funeral.’

  ‘She couldn’t not be, could she? She was technically his wife.’

  ‘More than “technically”.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She was his wife – full stop.’

  ‘All right.’ The distinction didn’t seem important to Shannon.

  ‘And I gather, at the funeral, no one spoke to her.’

  ‘So? Are you asking me to apologize for that? Feel sorry about it? We’re talking about a woman who parachuted herself into our family and ruined everything!’

  ‘Have you ever talked to her, Shannon?’

  ‘Not more than I have to. Why should I? Would you talk to someone who destroyed your husband’s future?’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I mean that, until Malee appeared on the scene,’ the name was marinated in contempt, ‘everyone knew that Bill was going to leave the garage to Billy. Now Bill’s dead and that foreign tart is going to inherit everything.’ Clearly, Shannon could match her mother when it came to xenophobia.

  ‘I heard that you asked Malee if you could search her house for Bill’s will.’

  ‘Yes, I did. And she refused to let me.’

  ‘A friend of mine knows for certain that Bill did actually make a will.’

  ‘Of course he did. That’s why Malee wouldn’t let me look for it.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m not with you.’

  ‘Bill made a will leaving the garage to Billy. When I asked to look for it, that alerted her.’

  ‘Alerted her to what?’

  ‘To the danger of me finding it. Nobody’ll find it now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She will have destroyed it.’

  ‘Malee?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I should never have suggested that she look for it.’

  ‘Sorry, Shannon, you’re going too fast for me here. What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that somewhere in the house where Bill lived for most of his adult life there was a copy of the will he made leaving the garage to Billy. Once I alerted Malee to that idea, she found it and destroyed it.’

  ‘But why would she do that?’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jude! Because it left the garage to Billy! If that will didn’t exist, Bill would technically have died intestate. I don’t know much about the law, but I do know that if a married person dies without a will, the estate goes to the surviving partner!’ Shannon leant against the work surface, drained by this outburst.

  ‘You’re right about one thing,’ said Jude coolly.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Bill Shefford did make a will.’

  ‘See? I told you.’

  ‘But he made that will very recently.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘After he married Malee. And in the will, he left the house and his savings to her. And he left the garage, the whole Shefford’s business, to Billy.’

  ‘I don’t believe you but, even if I did, what difference would that make? It would still have been to Malee’s advantage to destroy it.’

  ‘She didn’t destroy it. She fully supported the provisions Bill had made for her and for Billy.’

  ‘Oh yes? And why should I believe that?’

  ‘You could ask her.’

  ‘Talk to Malee? You’ve got to be joking.’

  ‘It’s better to talk
to someone than go around nursing groundless suspicions of them.’

  ‘My suspicions are not groundless! Malee is, and always has been, nothing but a gold-digger!’

  ‘But you can’t—’

  Jude was interrupted by a weak voice from the front room calling, ‘Shannon.’

  Instantly, daughter went to mother. Jude followed, asking, ‘Is there anything more I can do for you, Rhona?’

  ‘No, I just want Shannon,’ said the old woman with a note of petulance. ‘I don’t trust healers! They don’t do any good for people. Just get them worried about things they don’t need to worry about. They’re all rubbish. The first one you brought to me, Shannon, he was rubbish. And this woman’s no better!’

  The sudden change of attitude hit Jude like a slap in the face. Though Rhona had expressed scepticism of the healing profession at their first meeting, there had been no criticism voiced since then. Jude wondered whether the old woman’s mind was starting to go. She had been aware recently of a tendency towards rambling.

  But this was no time to take issue or defend herself. Jude picked up her woven straw basket and said, ‘Very well, I’ll be on my way then. See you, Shannon.’

  Shannon, who was cradling her mother’s frail body like a baby’s, hardly seem to register Jude’s departure. Just before the front door closed behind her, she heard Shannon calling upstairs, ‘Supper in ten minutes, kids!’

  The perfect example of the sandwich generation, caught between the aging and the young. Though Jude feared that Shannon Shefford’s sandwich would very soon be reduced to one slice of bread.

  As she walked back to Woodside Cottage, she kept asking herself, ‘Why won’t people talk to each other?’ She knew of many situations, usually within families, of conversational lockdowns, which sometimes lasted for decades. And it was her view every complexity in life could be improved by at least talking about it. (Except, of course, for telling a spouse that his or her partner was having an affair. That never helped.)

  NINETEEN

  ‘Is this seat taken?’

  Carole looked up at the familiar bulky outline of Adrian Greenford, holding his customary mug of flat white.

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ she said, draining her Americano, ‘but get them to put that into a takeaway cup. We need to talk outside.’

  ‘Really? Surely I—?’

  By then Carole had left Starbucks.

  He found her in one of the seafront shelters facing Fethering Beach. Though full of day trippers in the summer, they were deserted in February. The cold wind sawed through the broken glass of the windows.

  He sat down on the paint-denuded wooden seat beside her, a respectable distance away. ‘So, what’s all this about, Carole? Very mysterious.’ His tone was joshing, ready to join in whatever game she was up to.

  ‘It’s about your wife.’

  ‘Oh?’ A new alertness came into his manner. ‘What’s Gwyneth done to annoy you?’

  ‘I’m not sure that she’s done anything to annoy me. But there are things about her behaviour that require some explanation.’

  ‘Like what?’ he asked, unsure of his ground.

  ‘My neighbour Jude met some people from Ilkley at the weekend.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Adrian, as if he knew what was coming.

  And Carole told him everything that she had heard from Jude, finishing up by asking, ‘So? Does Gwyneth need to be in a wheelchair or not?’

  There was a silence. Then he said, ‘That’s a rather difficult question to answer.’

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s a perfectly straightforward question. Either she cannot move anywhere without being in a wheelchair, or she can. Which is it, Adrian?’

  ‘Hm,’ he said. ‘The mind works in strange ways, Carole.’

  ‘What, are you telling me her disability is all in her head? Shocked into immobility like some hysterical imaginary invalid from a Victorian novel?’

  ‘It’s not quite like that.’ He was still holding his cardboard cup in both hands, as if using it to warm them. ‘The fact is that Gwyneth is extremely jealous.’

  ‘If she is,’ said Carole tartly, ‘according to Jude’s friends, you’ve given her reason to be.’

  ‘All right. I’m not claiming to be guilt-free in all of this.’

  ‘And is that why you moved away from Ilkley?’

  ‘Of course it is. After what Gwyneth did, I couldn’t stay up there. I had become a laughing stock.’

  ‘So, what made you choose Fethering?’

  ‘It was about as far away as we could get. And Gwyneth had some recollections of having happy childhood holidays in Littlehampton. I thought making a complete change might … well, might save our marriage.’

  ‘And how has that process been going so far?’

  ‘Good. Well, good in some respects. Good, in that Gwyneth hasn’t gone around vilifying me in Fethering, like she did in Ilkley.’

  ‘You still haven’t explained about the wheelchair.’

  ‘No. Well, I’m afraid that was part of her deal.’

  ‘Deal?’

  ‘Yes. Gwyneth made certain conditions when we moved down here. Things that I had to agree to if the marriage was to continue. She’s a very powerful woman, you know, Carole.’

  ‘Is she?’ came the dry response.

  ‘I’m afraid … I’m not proud to say this, but throughout our marriage … I’ve always done what she asked me to.’

  ‘Done what she told you to, do you mean?’

  ‘I suppose so. I wanted to have children. Gwyneth didn’t. So, we don’t have children.’

  ‘I see.’ Carole was glad she hadn’t made any comment when Gwyneth had confided that detail to her.

  ‘Haven’t you been tempted to leave her at times?’ asked Carole. After all, even she had a divorce behind her.

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that,’ said Adrian, as if she’d suggested the unthinkable. ‘Gwyneth and I couldn’t part.’

  ‘And yet you quite happily went off to have an affair.’

  ‘I don’t think “quite happily” would be the best way of describing that situation.’

  Carole shrugged. ‘Up to you. You still haven’t told me about the wheelchair. Is Gwyneth physically disabled or not?’

  ‘She might as well be.’

  ‘What kind of an answer’s that?’

  ‘I mean that was one of the conditions she made when moving down here. That she would be in a wheelchair and I would do everything for her.’

  ‘But that’s madness.’

  ‘It was the deal. It was the deal I agreed to.’

  ‘Is it her form of punishment for you?’

  ‘Yes.’ He put down his cup of coffee, which must have gone cold by now, and rubbed the back of his hand against his furrowed brow. ‘My punishment. As I say, she’s a very jealous woman.’

  ‘Evidently.’ Carole stood up brusquely. ‘I think we should probably cease to meet, Adrian. It sounds like you have a lot to sort out with Gwyneth.’

  ‘Yes, I have. But we can’t stop meeting.’

  ‘If she’s as jealous as you say, she’ll begin to think that there’s something between us.’

  ‘She already thinks that.’

  ‘What!’ Carole was thunderstruck.

  ‘And in a way it’s true.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I think I’m in love with you, Carole,’ he admitted.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ she said, as she strode back towards the High Tor.

  Her conversation with Adrian Greenford had given Carole a lot to process. If Gwyneth wasn’t actually disabled, if she could move around, and if she was as jealous of Carole as he’d said, then perhaps it was she who had delivered the poisoned pen letters …? She could easily have gone out of the back garden gate of Wharfedale to the back garden gate of High Tor … God, maybe it was Gwyneth who had smashed the back windscreen of the Renault in the first place?

  But Carole wasn’t allowed time to pursue these thoughts. Even before she had reached her fr
ont gate, Jude had come rushing out of Woodside Cottage to greet her. Carole herself wouldn’t have done that. She would have waited till she was back in High Tor, then rung next door to suggest their meeting. But each to her own. She had got used to Jude’s impulsiveness. It did still feel rather Northern, though. Maybe it had been increased by her recent visit to Ilkley.

  ‘I had a thought I wanted to run by you,’ said her neighbour.

  ‘Over a cup of coffee?’

  ‘Please.’

  The Aga gave a degree of warmth to Carole’s functional kitchen. It was never going to be a cosy room but, with Gulliver snuffling through his doggy dreams on the floor, it felt almost welcoming.

  ‘My thought was,’ said Jude, ‘that I should get back in touch with Tom Kendrick.’

  ‘Nothing to stop you. But I’m not sure how much he could add to what he told us in Brighton.’

  ‘I just wondered what interaction he had with Bill Shefford when he brought his car in for servicing. The more we can find out about Bill’s behaviour in the days before his death, the better.’

  ‘Fine. It’s certainly worth asking. We don’t have many other avenues of enquiry open.’

  ‘No. Well, there is another. I was just wondering …’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘Whether you remember anything else significant about when you were there in the garage – you know, the morning he died?’

  Carole let out an exasperated sigh. ‘We’ve been through this time and again, Jude.’

  ‘Yes, but there might be some little detail …’

  ‘I’ve told you. He talked about death. He talked about being in a position where something he was going to do would please some people but not please others. Which at the time I thought meant leaving the Shefford’s business to Malee and going off with her to Thailand, but now I’ve talked to her I’m not so sure about that. He was just generally in a low mood.’

  ‘Depressed.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s how you’d describe it – depressed.’ It wasn’t a word Carole liked to use. In her personal dictionary, it had connotations of self-indulgence, of not standing up to life. Deep exploration of such thoughts, in her view, was a kind of navel-gazing. She never rationalized that her vehement dislike of the word might be a way of dealing with her own potential depression.