by Penny Kline
Ben called to her over his shoulder. ‘If you can’t act, wear a big hat!’ And he and the girl he had been talking to, both roared with laughter and wine splashed out of the drinks he was carrying. ‘Red or white, Erin, or there’s some other stuff in the kitchen. Kent’s coming. He was flattered you went to see his play. Told me how much you’d enjoyed it! Was it any good? No, don’t tell me, incomprehensible and far too long. Anyway, he’s not here yet. Always turns up late so he can make an entrance.’
Erin picked up one of the hideous clay bowls Jennie had made when she attended a pottery class. ‘I keep seeing this man, Ben, watching Claudia’s house.’
‘Watching the house?’ He studied her face as though it was the first time he had looked at her properly. ‘Why would someone do that? Come to the kitchen and tell me about it.’
‘Not much to tell.’ Ben handed her an over full glass. ‘He has his hood pulled up so I’ve never seen his face.’
‘Just getting some refills,’ Ben called, but Jennie was deep in conversation with a middle-aged actor Erin recognised from a television series a few years’ back
‘Now.’ Ben perched on the edge of the kitchen table. ‘You think he’s a friend of Ollie’s?’
‘Look, was there something Claudia was involved in? I know so little about her life before I came to live here. Ollie moved in quite soon and after that they were in each other’s pockets. Only – don’t mention this to anyone else, but one of the doctors remarked on what a good size the baby is. And did I think Claudia could have got her dates wrong.’
‘So you’re thinking . . . Did Ollie know? No? Would Claudia really have done that to him?’
‘You won’t repeat any of this. Well, obviously you can tell Jennie. I wondered . . . Ava said Hoshi painted Claudia’s loft.’
‘And you’re thinking he could be the father.’ For once, he was being serious. ‘It’s going to be easy enough to tell. Either it’ll have Claudia and Ollie’s fair colouring or . . .’
Jennie appeared and he broke off, asking if Kent had turned up.
‘Far too early.’ Jennie eyed them suspiciously. ‘What were you two talking about?’
‘Actors, and what idiots they are.’ Ben moved to fill her glass but she put her hand over it.
‘White wine gives me a stomach ache.’
‘So what’s in that glass?’
‘Soda water.’
The three of them stood in a slightly uneasy silence until someone in the other room called Jennie’s name and she drifted away.
‘Has she said anything to you?’ Ben had waited until she was out of earshot. ‘There’s definitely something worrying her.’
‘Perhaps it’s about the student lets.’
‘Is that what she told you?’
‘No.’
He gave a long, slow sigh. ‘She’s not normally the secretive type, but recently I don’t know where I am with her. In a world of her own. As I said before, I don’t think she’s well, but when I suggested a visit to the doctor she bit my head off.’
‘Yesterday I thought she might like to come to the hospital with me but—’
‘She doesn’t like hospitals. The smell. I guess she’s a bit of a hypochondriac, but aren’t we all? To get back to Ollie, I suppose it’s possible Claudia told Jennie something and she’s protecting him.’
‘Protecting him?’ It was only her second glass of wine but she felt light-headed and had to put a hand on the table to steady herself. ‘Surely, she’d have told you.’
He shrugged, examining one of his fingers as if he thought he might have picked up a splinter. ‘I know some of the protestors were probably drunk, or high, but would they have loosened a scaffolding pole? And why was Claudia standing under it?’
‘She’d crossed the road. I thought she might have recognised someone.’
‘One of the protesters? Is that likely? You mean she could have known one of them?’
‘That’s all I can think of.’
‘I suppose it’s possible. Come on, we’d better join the rest. Pick Hoshi’s brain if he turns up, but he may stay well clear.’
‘Why?’
‘I doubt if he’s the partying type. Actually, I don’t know him that well. He came round once or twice—’
‘When he and Claudia . . . Before Ollie came on the scene?’
He nodded, vaguely, clearly relieved when we heard Kent’s booming voice and the two of them could return to the other room.
To Erin’s surprise, Kent was accompanied by Ava. He was holding forth about the good old days when every town had a repertory theatre and actors learned their trade, instead of trying to break straight into television. ‘Without an iota of experience.’ He spotted Erin and Ben and, without bothering to excuse himself to his audience, made a bee line in their direction and gave each of them a kiss on both cheeks.
‘All right, Kent?’ Ben asked.
‘Aw right? I see you’ve acquired the local vernacular. Never mind, a party for Jennie was one of your better ideas, and finding Erin here is the icing on the cake.’
‘I’m living in Claudia’s loft.’
‘Did Erin tell you, Ben, she came to see my play? Why didn’t you, you traitor? Good audience, very appreciative. I’ll be putting on a new one in the spring. Still under wraps, state secret.’ He turned to Erin. ‘We all miss your sister so much. Tell me if I’m intruding, but is the baby unaffected?’
‘You’re intruding.’ Jennie took hold of Ben’s arm and dragged him away, calling over her shoulder. ‘Don’t let Kent bully you, Erin.’
‘Bully you?’ Kent looked genuinely hurt, if any of his expressions were genuine. ‘I was commiserating as I’m sure Erin understood perfectly well. The photograph you mentioned, my dear, the one taken in a bar. I remember your sister’s exact words. Cosy up, you two, or I won’t fit both of you in.’
‘You and Ollie.’
‘Me and Ollie? I hope you’re not implying . . .’ He roared with laughter, throwing back his head so it was impossible not to notice how his teeth were too good to be true. ‘Your sister was crazy about the boy. Attraction of opposites, I imagine. Such a vibrant person. I adored her.’
Ben was calling her name and, when she turned her head, Erin saw he was standing next to a stunningly good looking young man.
‘This is Hoshi,’ Ben said unnecessarily, ‘Hoshi, this is Claudia’s sister, Erin.’
He held out a hand, with a damp palm, but avoided her eyes. ‘I’m sorry about . . . about what happened.’
‘Thank you.’ It was right, the way people described him. He was not just good looking, his oval face with its almond shaped eyes, was beautiful. A few strands of jet black hair flopped over one eye, and his full lips could have belonged to a woman, although there was nothing effeminate about him.
‘It was a terrible thing.’ His voice was cool, formal, and she wondered if he and Claudia had fallen out badly. Over Ollie?
‘I’ll leave you two to talk,’ Ben said. ‘Just check Jennie’s OK.’
Hoshi was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Why was he so jumpy? Embarrassment, not knowing what to say? But it was more than that. His eye darted about the room as though he was desperate to escape.
‘I hear you decorated Claudia’s loft,’ Erin said, ‘did you choose the colour?’
‘The colour?’ He licked his lips. ‘No, Claudia did.’
‘But you did all the work.’
He forced a smile.
‘I don’t suppose you have any idea where Ollie might be?’
‘Ollie?’ He was breathing hard. ‘No, I’m sorry.’
Why was he so nervous? No, it was more than that. He was afraid.
‘Anyway, you painted the loft very well,’ she said, ‘and in any other circumstances I would enjoy staying there, using it as a studio. A cat comes to the house. My pupil’s named it Miss Havisham. Because of its black and white . . . I expect you saw it. There’s a cat flap in the kitchen.’ She had hoped talk of the cat mig
ht put him at his ease but he was edging away.
‘Did you and Ollie meet at the university?’
But already he was on his way to the far end of the room, although when he saw Ava he did a sharp turn and pretended to be inspecting another of Jennie’s efforts in clay.
So far, Ava had not spoken to Erin, or even acknowledged her existence. Seeing her long, black skirt, and a scarlet top, made of some flimsy, see-through material, reminded Erin of how she had once consulted a fortune teller at a festival in a London park. You’ve been having a difficult time but things are going to change for the better. That was what they always said, although, on that particular occasion, the woman had turned over tarot cards and told her to be careful “who she allowed into my heart”. Well, she had been right about that.
Her unwanted visits to the café made her hold back from approaching Ava. Kent had re-joined her, and Erin suspected they were talking about her. Claudia’s sister’s a pain in the arse. Keeps asking questions. Won’t leave things alone. I’d stay well clear if I was you. Kent glanced in her direction, confirming what she was thinking. Were they complaining about her or was Kent telling Ava where Ollie was hiding out? Or were they exchanging opinions about “the accident”?
Now Ava was staring at Hoshi, and Erin could see she was annoyed with him. While he was working in the café, they must have become friends, but perhaps he had let her down, leaving, without working out his notice, when he found a job in the clothes shop. Perhaps it was the first time they had met since he failed to turn up for work. So many people who claimed to be friends but were turning out to be nothing of the sort. And all of them involved with Claudia in some way. And none of them prepared to talk openly about her.
Jennie was sitting on a chair by the window, sipping her soda water. After the trouble Ben had gone to, she could at least try to look as if she was enjoying herself, although Erin had some sympathy. Surprise parties were a pain.
Oblivious of his wife, Ben was demonstrating how to have a sword fight without injuring your opponent.
‘Look at him.’ It was Kent, who must have crept up while she was watching Jennie. ‘They teach that kind of stuff at drama school, make it look like a dance. Characterisation – that’s what acting’s about. Getting inside the character’s head. Your poor sister understood the human mind and it tended to take her down some dangerous paths.’
What was he telling her? That Claudia had interfered in people’s lives and paid the price? ‘Dangerous paths?’
‘A turn of phrase. Bad choice of words. What I meant, she drew people to her, took an interest in them and—’
‘And then lost interest.’
‘What makes you say that?’ His mouth was only a few inches from her ear. ‘Take my advice, my dear, and let her die in peace.’
Chapter 22
The way he looked at the woman, Stella should have known it was not his wife. The belief that people got married and stayed in love with their partner was half-witted. Human beings were not like swans, mated for life. They craved new experiences, new lovers.
Because of the resident parking permits, she had been forced to leave her car quite a distance from the house. Then, hour upon hour of hanging about, with no comings and goings at the house, nothing. Where was he? The second day, the woman had come out, returning later, looking tired and depressed. Was her lover playing games, messing her about?
Where did he live? She needed a better plan. But her only hope was to carry on, watching the woman’s house, and hopefully he would come back and, when he left, she could follow him home. But that would mean her car had to be close by. Alternatively, she could wait outside his university department again. Same problem where to leave the car and if he cycled it was possible he followed a route with short cuts, open to cyclists but not to cars.
Detective work was a nightmare and if she hung about much longer, a nosey neighbour would start keeping tabs on her. Wearing a hoodie was a necessary precaution, but walking up and down with your hood pulled up made it look like you were up to no good.
One afternoon, the woman had visited another house farther down the road. Later she had returned home, and much later, according to Stella’s records it was twenty to four, all her waiting had paid off and he had turned up in a car, this time with a child. It was wrapped up warm, impossible to see if it was a boy or a girl, but Stella had assumed he would have to come back for it.
And she had been right.
Just before six, he had returned and she had been ready, standing fifty yards away, head down, pretending to be checking her phone. When he turned in her direction, she was afraid he had recognised her, but he was only guiding the child into the passenger seat.
Progress at last. It was not where the child lived so it must be coming there for a particular reason. To be looked after between the end of the school day and when he finished work? No, that made no sense or he would have brought it every day. All the same, Stella had made a decision to give up her morning vigils, but come to the road each afternoon at four and sit in her car, facing in the direction of the way he drove off.
The next few days had been a frustrating waste of time but then he had delivered the child again. Except, he had come back sooner than the previous time so she had almost missed them. The woman had come out too, and the child had hopped about impatiently until he unlocked his car. A short distance away, a delivery van was blocking the road so he had been obliged to take a turning to the right, and for several minutes she had lost sight of him, sweating with relief when she spotted his car in the distance at the bottom of the hill. As she approached the junction, the lights had changed. If it had been up to her, she would have risked going through red, but the car in front had been driven by an old bloke, who had pulled up when the lights turned amber, and by the time Stella turned the corner he had disappeared.
Hours more waiting around, but at last it had paid off. Two days ago, the child had been dropped off as usual and he had returned two hours later. This time no fucking van had blocked the road. The child had been bouncing up and down and the man had turned his head, probably to tell it to sit still, then glanced in his driving mirror so Stella had been sure he must have seen her.
At the bottom of the hill, he had turned left as usual, continuing up the long straight road, then indicated left again and slowed down, pulling up outside a thirties style house, with ugly pebble-dash, painted an unattractive shade of mustard yellow.
The windows were rectangular with metal frames, and two wheelie bins, one black, one green, had been left next to a dilapidated porch. As she recalled he had never cared much about his surroundings, but what about his wife? As she watched from a safe distance, he had been greeted by a dark-haired woman, very different from the one at the other house. The child had squeezed past the two of them and disappeared, and the adults had paused for a moment, before the man walked back towards the road, but only to close the garden gate and Stella had driven off without looking back.
Today she had taken a risk, stopping on the opposite side of the road, a little farther up the hill from his house. No sign of any of them so far, but since it was Saturday they would have a different routine. How long should she wait? They might stay inside all day. Another hour and she would leave, go for drive, perhaps to Bath, returning later to check if it was possible to approach the house from behind, where she might be able to see the garden, and the windows at the back.
Did she really want go all the way to Bath? She decided to return to the basement and see if the washing machine had finished its programme or, like last time, it had stopped halfway through and she had been obliged to give it a kick. It was a disgrace the landlady was allowed to let out the place. Cheap, she would give her that, but barely fit for human occupation. Buying to let was a profitable business. Profitable if you were not too fussy about the well-being of your tenants.
Just about to switch on the engine, she paused as someone came out of the house. The woman. Dropping a bag of rubbish in one
of the bins, she looked all about her, as if she knew someone was watching her. How could she? She might have been checking parked cars, ones that were not normally left in the road. Next time Stella came she would leave her car somewhere else. She was getting careless, taking risks, but the waiting was dragging her down, and the previous evening an attack of migraine had knocked her out for several hours.
Chapter 23
February, Erin’s least favourite month, although just now all that mattered was that the baby had reached twenty-nine weeks. In her mind, thirty meant she would be all right, healthy, with well-developed lungs.
Don’t think about it. She needed company, someone to take her mind off her worries, but when she rang the bell, Jennie answered, still in her pyjamas and, since it was almost midday, she thought Ben must be right about her being unwell.
‘Oh, you poor thing, is there anything you need?’
‘Come in.’ Jennie held a tissue to her nose.
At first, Erin hung back, unwilling to pick up germs that would mean she had to stay away from the hospital. On the other hand, if it was flu, Jennie would have been infectious at the party. ‘I could do some shopping for you.’
‘Actually, there is something. Ben’s in London or I wouldn’t ask.’ Jennie led her into the kitchen, walking so slowly and unsteadily Erin thought she must have a temperature. ‘I promised the tenant in the basement flat I’d deliver a new microwave. The old one burned out . . . The previous tenants.’
‘When is she likely to be in?’
Jennie held a tissue to her nose. ‘If nobody answers I expect it would be all right to leave it outside in its box, provided it’s not visible from the street. There’s a small area with a bay tree.’