by Ruth Sutton
‘Bottoms up, Judith, and welcome to Bay View,’ she said.
‘And thank you,’ said Judith. I could get used to this, she thought. It felt like a dream, or something out of a glossy magazine that she’d strayed into by mistake. After a while, Irene pressed a button on the wall behind her chair and the curtains slid across the windows. Another button lit the sidelights around the room, and a third made music emerge from hidden speakers. By this time Judith had begun to adjust most heartily, helped by two more glasses of wine. They were talking merrily about clothes, or pop music, or something Judith couldn’t later recall when they heard a taxi arrive, stop and drive away again. Minutes later Alan Thornhill put his head round the sitting room door.
‘Here you are, Judith,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘Irene looking after you properly?’
Judith wanted to get up but felt a little unsteady. ‘She certainly is. I’m so grateful to you both. It was horrible not to know where I was going to sleep. I felt like a refugee.’
‘And she looked like one,’ Irene giggled, ‘dragging her stuff around in a big black bag.’ The two women laughed out loud at this. Alan looked from one to the other, still smiling. ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked.
❖ ❖ ❖
When Judith finally went upstairs, her bedroom felt like the hotel that she stayed in when Jessie and Lawrence had taken her to London for her eighteenth birthday. She had her own bathroom, an easy chair and even a desk. The bed was large and soft; sleep came quickly. When she woke in the morning with a fearful thirst and opened the curtains, the room was full of sky. Judith blinked, checked her watch and panicked, forgetting that it was Sunday and she didn’t have to go to work. She looked down and saw that the long nightie she was wearing wasn’t her own, nor was the dressing gown draped across the little chair in the corner of the room. They were both sleek and pale, gleaming in the morning light that bounced around the room as she opened the other set of curtains. She found the clothes she’d been wearing the day before in a basket in the bathroom and put them on before going downstairs.
‘Hello, Judith,’ said Irene. She was sitting at a table in the sunny window at the back of the house, in a long blue dressing down. ‘Oh, you got dressed. Edna will do the rest of your things first thing tomorrow. I’ve told Alan you’re not going in until after lunch tomorrow at the earliest, so some things should be ready by then if it’s a good drying day. Or you’re welcome to have a look through my wardrobe. And help yourself to orange juice and whatever you want in the kitchen, dear. We don’t do a formal breakfast. If you open cupboards and the fridge and poke around you’ll find most things. If you want anything cooking tomorrow, give Edna a shout.’
Judith found some juice and a banana, which was all she could face. She sat in the kitchen on her own for a while, trying to take in what had happened. In the light of morning it all seemed even more surreal than before. She couldn’t believe that the Thornhills lived like this so close to the poorest streets of Barrow, or that they’d invited her to do the same. How much would everything cost, she wondered. He was the editor of a small provincial newspaper, and his wife went shopping. Alan couldn’t possibly earn enough to live like this. They must have inherited money, or been very lucky with premium bonds.
The rest of Sunday passed in a blur. Alan and Irene went out in the car for a while in the afternoon and Judith ventured out between the showers. The wind had turned to the northwest and the skyline to the north and east was clear, as if someone had drawn it with a blue crayon. Barrow was just out of sight, but she could see Piel Castle and the south end of Walney Island with its white lighthouse. She walked to the end of the drive and sat on the wall for a while, her eyes drawn to the mouth of Morecambe Bay. Beyond it was the open ocean of the Irish Sea and she thought of the beach at St Bees and the house in Beach Road. Maggie would be complaining to John about another woman looking after her daughter, John would be calming her down, explaining that Judith was fine and needed to be close to work. Vince would listen to them both as he felt his way round the familiar house. Judith was glad to be away from it, however disorientating it was to have her little flat spoiled and inaccessible for a while. She would survive this. It was just stuff and could be replaced. Elspeth had called it ‘desecration’, but that was too strong. She wasn’t hurt, and as her dad had said when she’d phoned him, ‘That’s what insurance is for.’
Judith went to bed early that night, suddenly overwhelmed by tiredness and unable to face any more of Irene’s unrelenting chirpiness. She had a bath, read a crime novel she’d found downstairs, slept late and enjoyed the peace of the big room, the view and her own bathroom.
Before facing breakfast downstairs on the Monday morning, she called down to Irene, ‘May I use the phone again, please?’
‘Of course,’ Irene called back. ‘Use the one in your room if you want a bit of privacy. Breakfast’s here when you’re ready.’
Elspeth picked up on the second ring. ‘Just about to go out,’ she said. ‘It’s my late start today. How are things? Where do they live?’
‘Not far really, on the fell behind where you live, quite high up.’ Judith lowered her voice, ‘Elspeth, you should see this house. It’s like something out of a magazine or a film. I’ve got my own bathroom, and there’s a housekeeper who does everything. I’ve only just got up.’
‘Good for you,’ said Elspeth. ‘You needed a bit of comfort after all that nastiness and scrubbing. How long are you staying there?’
‘Irene was talking about weeks, but it can’t be as long as that, surely? As soon as I can get the money from the insurance I’ll buy the things I need and move back in.’
‘On your own? Aren’t you worried about that?’
‘What’s Sam said? Have you spoken to him?’
‘He rang about half an hour ago, and asked you to phone him back. Must be something about the flat. He’s at the station. You’ve got the number? ‘
‘Yes, thanks.’ She put the phone down and dialled again. After a brief exchange with the duty sergeant, she heard Sam’s voice.
‘Judith,’ he said. ‘You got my message then. We couldn’t find any of your paperwork in the flat. Where do you keep your notes, about the snooping around you’ve been doing?’
‘You mean my legitimate enquiries,’ said Judith. Sam had knack for saying things that annoyed her. ‘I keep them in my bag.’
‘And you have your bag with you?’
‘Yes, it’s here. Hardly ever let it out of my sight. Why?’
‘Well, we wondered whether that was what he was looking for.’
‘Who?’ said Judith. ‘Do you know who did it?’
‘Obvious, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Lennon has to be the main suspect, for this and the death of Desmond Harries. We’ve none of his fingerprints to match any prints we find here, so I’ll need to talk to Donna. Did you say she works at the station in Morecambe?’
‘You’re not going there, are you?’ said Judith. ‘If the boyfriend finds out, he’ll hurt her. You haven’t met him. He’s an awful man.’
‘We can be discreet, you know,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you say the bloke who runs the café likes Donna?’
‘He lets her use the phone, and he worries about her.’
‘Well then, he won’t split to the boyfriend, will he?’
Judith thought for a moment. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she said. ‘Donna won’t talk to you, not without me there. She trusts me, you’re just another copper.’ She sensed his hesitation. ‘It makes sense, Sam. I want to find Anthony as much as you do, especially if it was him who messed up my flat. I can go with you, or by myself. Your choice.’
There was silence for a few moments. ‘When should I pick you up?’
‘Not here’ she said. ‘And don’t come to the newsroom, I’ll meet you at Bruciani’s at one. And don’t tell anyone where we’re going. If anything happened to Donna I’d never forgive myself.’
‘OK’, said Sam. ‘See you then.’
CHAPTER 17
‘Have you had enough to eat?’ said Irene, as Judith was preparing to leave. ‘Edna would love to make you something special, wouldn’t you Edna?’ she shouted, so that Edna would hear from her usual place in the utility room. There was no response. Judith was embarrassed about Irene treating Edna like a pet or a servant, but she wasn’t sure whether Edna enjoyed or hated it. How did it feel to serve someone else all the time? She couldn’t imagine it being a pleasurable
experience.
‘I’ve had plenty, thanks,’ said Judith quickly. She wanted to go into work before she had to meet Sam, but it was clear that Irene wanted her to stay longer. She seemed desperate for company and distraction.
‘So, you’re going in today, if you’re sure you’re up to it?’
Judith nodded. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’
‘What are you working on now?’ said Irene. ‘Alan doesn’t tell me anything, even when he’s here which isn’t often. I hope it’s something important and useful, not all the boring stuff about men drinking too much on a Saturday night.’
Judith certainly wasn’t going to mention that she was going to see Donna. ‘Don’t talk about the story before it’s out’ was advice she’d had on her journalism course and it was probably wise. She didn’t want Irene and Alan talking about what she was doing, either between themselves or with anyone else.
‘Just bits and pieces, but I really need to go to the newsroom today, Irene,’ she said. ‘Don’t want Bill Skelly to think I’m wasting my time.’
‘He’s an old gasbag, isn’t he?’
‘What did you actually say to him, and to Ed, after I told you about how they were treating me?’
Irene laughed. ‘I told Alan you weren’t happy, and why – and Ed? Well I just fixed him with my best steely look and told him if he was rude to you again I’d have him sacked. Right there in his grubby alcove. He didn’t know where to look. It was priceless!’
I bet it was, thought Judith. It was pretty clear that Irene enjoyed exercising whatever power she had. Aloud, she said, ‘I have to go out later, so I may be late back.’
‘Anywhere nice?’ Irene ventured. ‘You can tell me all about it later on. We’ll have a drink and a good long chat.’
‘Right-oh,’ said Judith. ‘And what are you up to today?’
‘Oh, the usual, you know. Some business here, then into town. Nothing much.’
You’re as vague as I am, thought Judith.
Going out of the back door of Bay View a little later, she was struck once again by the view. A skylark rose at a steep angle, singing its song. It was grey and cold, but the town and the arc of Walney Island were visible. It was like looking at a map. Smoke blurred the details, or it could have been dust kicked up by the continuous demolition and building work in Barrow. ‘Too little, too late’ was most people’s view of what was happening to the town, unless they were still complaining about the old community that had been destroyed. No wonder Irene didn’t want to be here.
Judith looked past the south end of Walney and then round into the bay. Even on this grey morning she could see where the tide was coming in, the mass of grey sea surging across the mudflats, shallow at first, then deeper, picking up sand and mud as it ran and churning against the clear water of the rivers that fed into the eastern reaches of the bay. She’d seen stories in the archives of people lost out there, trapped by the tide and swept off their feet, shouting for help that didn’t come. Once, she’d read, the rescuers could hear the drowning man but couldn’t see him in the fog, and by the time they reached him he was dead.
She left the Vespa behind the Furness News building as she often did and went upstairs to the newsroom. Time to sort out her notes, make sure Skelly knew she was working, and have a think about what she wanted to ask Donna. At least at Donna’s work they might be safe from the ghastly boyfriend, but she wasn’t sure that Donna would talk to Sam if she knew he was a policeman. Should they pretend Sam was another journalist? Was that ethical?
When she opened the door and walked in, every head looked up. Hattie came over and gave her a hug. ‘You poor thing,’ she said. ‘It must have been awful for you.’ Andrew smiled and gave an incongruous thumbs up, which was as close to fellow feeling as he could manage. Bill Skelly put a pencil behind his ear and looked across. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Look what the cat’s dragged in. Thought you’d be still lying in luxury at your new digs, silk sheets and all. Lovely image that. But here you are. ‘
‘Not for long,’ she said. ‘I’m doing a piece on the boys at Montgomery House, and it’s going to be great.’
‘Says who?’ said Bill.
‘You do, right now, when you tell me what a good idea it is. Tugs at the heart strings, poor kids, snatched from home, far from families, one runs away and ends up dead, and so on. Good, eh?’
Bill walked across to her. ‘Is that the line? Well I can tell you right now, girlie, that it won’t get past me, so you can save your energy. If there is a line it’s, “War hero who offers a lifeline to children from broken homes, devastated by tragic accident”, and so on. Got that? No one has a bad word for the captain, and that Mrs Robinson’s a saint.’
Judith looked for words but found none. The story she had in her mind lay in ruins, and she would have to find another one or there’d be nothing at all.
Bill was standing very close to her now. ‘Dig up something on that bloke who hanged himself. Where, when, how, why, all the basic questions that you’re supposed to ask, not some mealy-mouthed piece about a few delinquents. Now get on with it. Stories don’t come to you, Miss Pharaoh, you have to go and find them.’
Hattie’s typewriter resumed its regular thump. Andrew’s head disappeared and on the other side of the room Ed Cunningham pushed back his chair and looked across at Judith, smiling and waving a nicotine-stained finger. Judith picked up her bag and left, without a word. At a table in the corner of Bruciani’s, as far away as she could get from the hissing coffee machine, she sat and took stock. If she wanted to know if and why Anthony had wrecked her flat, Donna might help, story or no story. And she was sure that Sam and the police knew more about the whole Stevie business than they’d told her. She wanted to talk to Doc Hayward again, but he was still off sick. Maybe Bill’s suggestion about Monty House and the saintly Mrs Robinson would work, and intrepid Captain Edwards might be flattered enough to tell her his story instead. All was not lost. Surely Thornhill couldn’t sack her while she was living in their house? And how long would that be? It was luxurious, Bill was right about that, but Judith didn’t feel comfortable there. She would stay only until she could replace some of the stuff that had been damaged and make the flat fit to live in again.
If Irene offered her wine, or whatever else, tonight she would refuse. And she wouldn’t drop everything after Skelly’s outburst, even if she would have to do so eventually. She was taking Sam to meet Donna, and if that meant they could find Anthony, it would worth risking Bill’s temper. She wouldn’t be intimidated by him, not today at least.
❖ ❖ ❖
Talking to Sam in the car, with both of them facing ahead, felt easier than looking at him. She needed information to keep Skelly off her case, but Sam was so touchy that she would have to be careful.
‘Are you still sure it was Anthony Lennon who broke into my flat?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Although, there was something odd what the fingerprint blokes found. And they’d like to take your fingerprints too, by the way, to help them see who else was there. Did you have many visitors?’
‘No, nobody actually.’
‘Judith no mates, eh,’ said Sam, half turning towards her. ‘Well they found clear fingerprints among things that they left at your place, underneath drawers and suchlike.’
‘They? More than one person?’ she asked, looking across at him. He nodded.
‘Either Anthony had someone with him, or else it was someone else entirely, and more than one person.’
Judith faced ahead.
For the first time she felt afraid. ‘What were they looking for?’ she asked.
‘Could have been just a random burglary.’
‘But they didn’t take anything precious. The radio was still there, and the jewellery my gran left me.’
‘Exactly. So they might have been looking for information about what you’re working on.’
Judith’s mind was racing. Who knew or cared about what she was doing?
‘Or there’s another possibility,’ he said. ‘They might have just wanted to frighten you. It could have been a warning.’
‘Even if there were two people, and one of them might have been Anthony, why would he or they want to frighten me?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sam. ‘But we still need to find Anthony to find out what he had to do with Harries’s death. I told you there’s some doubt about that.’
‘You didn’t tell me much,’ said Judith.
‘Everyone at the nick still reckons it was a straight suicide.’
‘Do you?’ asked Judith.
Sam shrugged. ‘They’re all telling me to let it go,’ he said. ‘If Anthony had found out about Harries’s reputation, or thought he might have messed with Steven, it was enough motive for him to threaten Harries, and that could have tipped Harries over the edge. Messy business. Morrison and the bosses want it left alone, as far as I can see.’
‘Is that OK with you?’
He shrugged again. ‘Not much I can do about it, is there?’
After a long silence, they reached the outskirts of Morecambe. If Judith wanted any more out of him it would have to be now. ‘Do you have enough to charge Anthony with anything?’
‘At present, no,’ he said. ‘We need to find him. Donna needs to tell us more about where he might be. And she might even have something with his fingerprints on it. That would help a lot.’
‘Are you going to tell her you’re a policeman?’
They had stopped at traffic light and he looked across at her. ‘You’ve no idea, have you?’ he said. ‘Of course I have to tell her. Nothing would be admissible if I didn’t.’