‘It’s not that bad.’
‘What balances it out for you, Dave? You don’t like the fact that she doesn’t fascinate you. And yet you want to marry her and spend the rest of your life with her. Why? In your case what is it that eclipses what you don’t like about her?’
He looked at her, as if wanting to find out whether she was being serious or was just out to provoke him. ‘You’re really asking?’
‘Yes.’
He smiled tiredly. ‘You know what it is. Your grandmother knew too.’
Leslie nodded. ‘So it is true. The farm. The farm is what attracts you to Gwen.’
For the moment he seemed resigned and too exhausted to try to put a nice gloss on it.
‘Yes. That’s it.’
‘What do you hope for, living on the Beckett farm with her?’
Now he pushed his plate away. The question of his future seemed to rob him of his hunger too. ‘I want to leave behind the life I’m leading,’ he explained. ‘I have to leave it. I just can’t go on as I’m doing now. But I need something … I can jump onto. I don’t have anything to show for my life except my ditched studies and a long chain of occasional jobs, with which I have just about made ends meet for almost twenty years now.’
‘Do you want to bring back sheep to the Beckett farm?’
He shook his head. ‘That’s not the thing for me. I’d like to develop what Gwen has started in a small and rather unprofessional way. I’d like to make the farm attractive to holidaymakers. Yorkshire is becoming one of the most popular holiday destinations in England. The farm offers thousands of possibilities, without sacrificing its original charm. The house needs large, clean guest rooms. There needs to be a safe, simple path down to the bay. People shouldn’t have to fight their way along the overgrown gorge. There need to be bathing facilities. Ponies can be kept in the stables and offered for trekking tours. Believe me,’ his voice had risen, but now he lowered it again as he noticed that the people at the counter were looking over at him, I have good ideas. I can make something of that piece of land.’
‘And do you have the drive to do it?’ asked Leslie. ‘Do you have that too?’
‘You doubt it?’
I don’t know you well enough. But after everything you’ve told me about your former life, I wouldn’t say that drive and determination are your strengths. You know, I’m always a little wary of people who need something stupendous – in your case a large piece of land – in order to make something of their lives. Often they’re people who are kidding themselves. They think the fact they haven’t yet made it big has always been down to conditions being against them. Real success stories are different. In them people start with nothing and still manage to achieve something in the end.’
His expression did not change. Leslie could not tell whether he was annoyed with her directness or not.
‘You’re very honest,’ he said in the end. ‘But have you considered what alternatives Gwen has? She lives off her father’s pension. When Chad Beckett dies – and that is unlikely to be in the all too distant future – she will be penniless. She has no income of her own. She’s hardly going to live off Mr and Mrs Brankley’s two or three visits each year.’
‘She could sell the farm.’
‘Her home? The only place she knows and where she’s happy?’
‘Is she happy?’
‘Would she be happier without the farm? In some flat?’
‘She could look for a job. She’d finally get out, meet people. Maybe she’d meet a man who really loved her.’
‘Well,’ said Dave. And after a moment’s silence, he added, ‘So are you going to try to convince her not to marry me?’
‘No!’ Leslie shook her head. ‘I’m not going to get involved. Gwen has to make her own mind up. She’s an adult.’
He looked at her.
‘By the way, I didn’t sleep with her last night,’ he said out of the blue. ‘I’ve never slept with her.’
Leslie thought about the black tights in his room. It’s none of your business, she told herself.
‘No?’ she limited herself to asking.
‘No. She wanted to. But I … I can’t. I can barely manage to touch her, let alone …’ He left the unfinished sentence hanging in the air.
‘So, in that case,’ asked Leslie, ‘what do you envisage marriage to her will be like?’
He did not reply.
5
Jennifer had found a slip of paper with Dave Tanner’s address on the pinboard in Gwen’s bedroom. Although she knew that it was not right to go into her host’s room when she was not there, she told herself that her worry justified her behaviour. It was not like Gwen to be absent for so long and not to tell anyone.
Today the walk to the main road seemed longer than usual, perhaps because of the damp air which made breathing more difficult. For the bus to pick you up, you had to stand beside the red phone box. Luckily it came more or less on time. Only three quarters of an hour later Jennifer got out at the Queen Street stop in the middle of Scarborough. From there it was not far to Friargate, where Dave lived. Nonetheless, Jennifer felt shattered by the time she finally stood in front of the little terraced house.
The landlady opened the door after she had rung twice, eyeing her suspiciously.
‘Yes?’
‘Good morning. I’m Jennifer Brankley. Is Dave Tanner home?’
At the mention of Tanner’s name, the old woman’s face turned to stone.
‘Who are you?’
‘Jennifer Brankley. A friend of Gwen Beckett, Mr Tanner’s fiancée.’
‘Mr Tanner isn’t here.’
Almost involuntarily Jennifer looked past the old lady into the dark hall. ‘No?’
‘Listen, I was just upstairs. He’s not there. His coat isn’t here in the wardrobe either. He’s out.’
‘Do you know if he was here last night?’
Now the landlady looked at her angrily. ‘I don’t know, Mrs Brankley. No idea! You know why not? Because I can’t sleep in my own house any more! I get on my neighbours’ nerves, always pleading to stay in one of their houses, but I panic at the thought of sleeping in the same house as that man. I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep! I mean, the man might have two murders on his conscience, and I’m damned if I’m going to be the third!’
‘Why do you think he has two murders on his conscience?’ asked Jennifer, surprised by the near certainty with which the old lady talked.
‘Well, I can put two and two together! The police were here. They asked about the evening when Fiona Barnes was murdered, and about the evening when that young student was done in. And in both cases they wanted to know if Mr Tanner had been home. I’m not stupid. They think he’s a killer, just can’t prove it yet. And that’s the way it is today. The biggest criminals walk free because apparently you can’t lock them up until you have proof. And the politicians don’t give a damn what happens to innocent people!’
‘So I suppose you also don’t know whether Miss Beckett visited Mr Tanner last night?’ continued Jennifer, who was for now more interested in this question than in putting the world to rights.
‘Of course I don’t know!’ snorted the landlady. ‘And what’s more, in future I won’t know either! I’ve given Mr Tanner his notice. He’s out on the street from 1st November – and I’ll feel a lot better then.’
With these words she slammed the door, leaving Jennifer standing there flabbergasted in the mist. She carried on looking at the front of the house, as if hoping to find some clue. She did not even know which window was Dave Tanner’s, or whether his window looked out onto the street. Depressed, she went back down the garden path and the few steps to the street. This visit had not led anywhere, nowhere at all. Tanner was not at home (she assumed the landlady was not lying), and there was no trace of Gwen.
She had a bad feeling. She asked herself if there was a reason for it.
She would have most liked to return to the farm, but somehow she thought that would be a defeat. S
he had come into town, but everyone would see immediately that she had only been looking for Gwen, and then turned around afterwards. Perhaps she should grasp the opportunity and really do something, to not be such a hermit. She could do what she had told Colin she would: have a leisurely stroll around town and maybe even sit on her own in a café for a cup of something.
So easy for most people. A massive step for her.
She wandered around the aisles of the Market Hall for a while. It was warm and dry in here. She looked at the art and kitschy artefacts in the tiny shops stocked with goods up to the rafters, and browsed in a charity shop, leafing through old postcards and admiring a tea service which stood out as one of the few tasteful items in the shop. It would make a pretty wedding present for Gwen – if she were ever to marry Dave Tanner.
Later she walked over to the pedestrian precinct. She bought a soft woollen scarf for Colin and a woolly hat for herself. She paid for both of them with his money. She was painfully aware of that. She used to have her own income. Colin had never made a fuss about the fact that he alone was now responsible for everything – the mortgage on their house in Leeds, living costs, the food for the dogs and their vet’s fees, and of course the holidays on the Beckett farm.
For the first time she thought it might be possible to find a job. She would not return to work in a school, but she might find something else. Then she could stop being a burden on Colin and could now and then buy something on a whim without having a bad conscience.
Maybe losing her job back then was not the end of everything. Even if she felt it was, and had felt that since it happened. She had never known how to beat the paralysis that had taken hold of her.
Maybe I will manage, she thought, looking into a shop window. Behind the panes, candlesticks and antique jewellery were on display. She did not notice. If only I could take that first step, she thought, I think I’d—
‘Mrs Brankley,’ said a voice behind her. She whipped round, startled because she had been so deep in her brooding thoughts. She furrowed her brow as she looked at the young woman standing behind her. She was sure she had met her before, but she did not know where.
‘Yes?’ she asked.
The other woman blushed slightly. ‘Ena,’ she said. ‘Ena Witty.’
Finally she remembered. The Friarage School playground on that quiet afternoon a few days ago. The people who came out of the building had been on the same course as Gwen. Ena Witty had been one of them and Gwen had introduced the two of them.
‘Oh, Miss Witty,’ she said, ‘I remember! Last week, at the school …’
‘Gwen Beckett was there too,’ said Ena. ‘And Stan, my boyfriend. We talked for a while.’
‘Of course, I remember well,’ said Jennifer, although she remembered that Ena had barely said a word while her boyfriend chatted away. ‘It was nice to meet you.’
She remembered yesterday’s call. ‘Oh dear, Miss Witty. My husband told me yesterday that you called, wanting to speak to Gwen. I’m sorry, but Gwen still hasn’t come home yet – at least not by the time I left this morning for town. So we couldn’t—’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ interrupted Ena. ‘I was wondering whether I should bother Gwen, in any case. I read about Gwen’s relationship to the murdered woman in the paper – Fiona Barnes, wasn’t it? Gwen has other things on her mind, it’s just—’
‘We are all in a bit of a muddle right now,’ admitted Jennifer.
‘As I said, I can well imagine that. I wouldn’t have phoned up if I hadn’t … I’ve got something pretty big on my mind, and there’s no one else I can talk to about it. I haven’t known Gwen for all that long. We just met on this course. But I liked her right from the start. She was really nice, and I thought … I would just talk to her a bit … and she knows my boyfriend Stan, because he always came to pick me up at the school.’
‘I’m sure you’ll manage to talk to her,’ reassured Jennifer. She felt Ena was confirming what she had assumed in private: that Ena’s problem, which she needed to talk about, was Stan. He was a domineering kind of guy. No doubt he had blown into her quiet life like a hurricane, and brought quite a few difficulties with him. ‘As soon as I see Gwen, I’ll tell her, and she’ll call you. It would be good for her to talk of something other than just what is happening on the farm.’
Ena looked relieved, and then visibly steeled herself. ‘I don’t want to appear pushy, but if you … if you have time … Would you fancy going for a coffee?’
Jennifer assumed that it had taken quite some effort for Ena to pluck up the courage to ask. After all, she had taken part in the Friarage School course because things like this were hard for her normally – things like asking someone she liked but barely knew to go for a coffee.
So many people struggle along every day with all kinds of fears, shyness and self-doubt, and in many cases no one notices what torture it is for them.
She did not want to give Ena the brush-off.
With an exaggerated gesture she pushed back her sleeve and looked at her watch. It was almost twelve-thirty, too soon to go home really. And she had wanted to have a cup of coffee, admittedly on her own. She had the feeling that Ena was under pressure. Once she relaxed a little, she was likely to tell her all her worries, especially those concerning her relationship to Stan Gibson. Jennifer was not sure if she was the best person for her to talk to right now. She herself had so many things on her mind.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I think …’
Ena could see her hesitate. ‘Please. I would … be really happy if you did.’
Jennifer had never been able to refuse a request for help, and suddenly she realised that the core of this situation was Ena asking for help. This was not any old problem. Ena was pleading.
‘OK,’ she said resignedly. ‘Let’s have a coffee.’ After all, she had been thinking a lot about first steps today. For her, a first step might be to engage with people again, rather than avoiding them.
Maybe she really could help Ena Witty, even if her help was only her willingness to listen to her.
Perhaps tonight Ena would be able to sleep with the warm feeling that there were still people who cared for her and her concerns.
Jennifer decided to enjoy the invitation.
6
‘Yes, that’s a shame,’ said Valerie Almond. ‘I would really have liked to talk to your wife, Mr Brankley.’
They stood facing each other in the farmhouse doorway. Colin had not invited her in. He had only stated coolly that Jennifer was not there.
When would she be back, Valerie had asked. He had shrugged.
‘I can’t help you there,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell my wife that you want to talk.’
Valerie could hear the animosity in his voice. He had seen through her – he could see that she was sinking her teeth into his wife.
‘I found out that Amy Mills did not always go to the school where she did her A levels,’ she said. ‘For two years she went to the school in Leeds where your wife taught.’
For a split second he could not hide his surprise. He examined Valerie through his round glasses. He had clever eyes. He looked like a man who has deeper thoughts than you would suspect from his rather bland appearance.
He’s highly intelligent, thought Valerie. And he’s not at all the friendly, unassuming man whom he appears at first glance to be.
‘Did she ever say anything to suggest she had known Amy Mills at all fleetingly? Or at least by name?’
‘No, Inspector. She told me nothing other than what she told you.’
Valerie turned away in frustration. ‘I’ll come back,’ she said. She asked herself if he was obstructing her, or perhaps starting to see connections.
Which connections? Which? If Jennifer Brankley had known Amy Mills, what reason would she have had for killing the young girl so horrifically?
Her phone rang as she walked back to the car. Simultaneously she saw Gwen Beckett get out of a taxi at the farm gates. She looked cold and as if she had not slep
t much.
So where is she coming from? wondered Valerie, immediately knowing that no one had to give her an answer, nor would they.
‘Yes?’ she answered the phone as she opened her car door. Time to get out of this damp cold.
It was an excited Sergeant Reek.
‘Inspector, we’ve got news. Mrs Willerton called. You know, Dave Tanner’s landlady. She’s found a neighbour who claims to have seen Mr Tanner leave Mrs Willerton’s house late on the evening when Fiona Barnes was killed. Around nine o’clock.’
‘Nine o’clock? If so, he would have just come and gone again.’
‘That’s right. Of course we don’t know how reliable the witness is, but I think she should be interviewed.’
‘Absolutely. Do you have her address?’
‘Yes. She lives diagonally across from Willerton.’
Valerie bit her lip. She had not asked for neighbours to be questioned regarding the times Dave Tanner had given. That could have been a mistake.
‘Drive over there, Reek. I’ll come too. And see if Tanner is at home. If he is, arrest him.’
‘Right you are, Inspector.’
She sank behind the wheel, frustrated rather than electrified. She was no good! She got muddled up, did things in a confused way, forgot about routines. A few simple enquiries with the neighbours -why had she not thought to do that? She almost hoped that the witness would prove to be an unreliable busybody, so that she could sweep her oversight under the carpet. Better that than the woman’s statement giving them a breakthrough. Then questions would be asked and she would not have a convincing answer for them.
She forced herself to calm down. She could not lose her nerve now. Drive over. Talk to the witness. Question Tanner.
Damn it, Valerie: focus. Don’t lose it. It’ll be fine.
She looked over to the door. Gwen and Colin were standing there talking. Gwen looked very pale, almost grey. Before Valerie closed the door, she could hear Colin say, dumbfounded, ‘Does Tanner know too? Really?’
‘Not so loud!’ hissed Gwen.
Valerie closed the door, started the engine, turned her car with a screech of rubber, and drove off.
The Other Child Page 26