by Jane Renshaw
The hand that went into Chimp’s face.
For a long while neither of them said anything, and when she looked up she saw that Damian had closed his eyes and was possibly asleep. He seemed to be able to drop off anywhere, any time. He sometimes got in trouble for it in class.
‘You know how I’ve been moaning on,’ she said quietly, ‘about how I’m only ever going to be The Girl Who Found the Body now? Poor Traumatised Karen?’
He didn’t open his eyes. ‘Mm.’
She kicked at the balustrade. ‘I’ve decided I’m going to take your advice.’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘“Get a grip”. That’s basically your advice to any kid daft enough to attend a What’s Your Problem? session on one of your days rather than Susie’s, isn’t it?’
Every lunchtime, the head boy and girl were meant to take it in turns to hold these stupid What’s your problem? drop-in sessions at a table on its own in the canteen, where kids could come and talk to them about stuff, supposedly confidentially, but everyone knew that the people sitting at the next table could sometimes hear, especially if it was Susie.
‘Maybe.’ He opened his eyes, finally. ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. I think the punters appreciate the fact that it’s a hell of a lot quicker and cheaper than trying to follow Susie’s advice, which tends to involve the purchase of several self-help books whose take-home messages all basically boil down to what they could have heard from me in two seconds for nothing.’
‘Next please.’
‘Well, Christ, it’s meant to be my lunch hour. And there’s nothing more likely to put you off a cream cheese and chutney bagel than the graphic details of Holly McDougall’s so-called “love” life.’
‘Maybe the one time “Get a grip” isn’t appropriate? That girl’s such a – She’s got issues.’ Karen hooked her shoes behind the wooden struts of the balustrade. ‘But I’ve decided I am going to try and get a grip.’
‘Okay...’
‘I mean, I’ve been such a snowflake, haven’t I, with the PTSD and everything... making it all about me, when Chimp... I mean, poor Chimp.’ She felt the familiar prickling in her nose, the tightening of her throat, but she fought it. She was not going to fucking cry. ‘I should be thinking about Chimp instead of myself, shouldn’t I?’
‘Yes. And yes.’
She took a breath. And then she couldn’t help it, Bad Old Karen was off the leash and running: ‘Yeah, like you’re so perfect. Are you actually having sex with Miss Larsen, or what?’
He snorted. ‘What.’
‘What?’
‘I’m ticking the “Or what” box. I don’t know where that rumour started, although it’s not doing my reputation any harm.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ She jumped down off the balustrade and pulled the cushion off her lounger. ‘And talking of facing the music, I guess you’d better run me home.’
‘Yes, I thought that might be why you chose to reveal your location.’
She didn’t rise to it.
They put the loungers away and locked up the boathouse, and as they headed off along the path Damian said, ‘Biggles and his siblings are still around, although I’m not seeing them as often. I think they’ll be dispersing from the parental territory soon.’
‘Can you still tell Biggles apart from the others?’ The heron pair, Stanley and Mildred, had had three babies this year, and Karen had called one of them Biggles because he had been better at flying than the other two.
‘Not really, no.’ And then he said, ‘It’s still just a pond.’
He must have noticed that she wasn’t looking at it. So she stopped and faced the water and made herself look out over it towards the island. She made herself look until she found a leaf reflection to watch, drifting up to meet its real, solid self.
Still just a pond.
And she saw Chimp’s face.
Chimp’s living, laughing face.
And she made herself keep him in her head.
‘Do the police think Chimp committed suicide? I know the Procurator Fiscal decided it was death by misadventure but sometimes they just say that, don’t they, if they don’t really know –’
‘If you can swim – which Chimp could – I imagine it would be rather difficult to commit suicide in a pond. And anyway, there’s no reason to think he was suicidal.’
‘He was probably depressed, though, because he was basically just a drifter and he had no family or anything and no proper friends –’
‘He had plenty of friends.’
She was not going to fucking cry.
He had plucked a bright yellow leaf from a tree and was turning it in the light. ‘If you’re so intent on following advice, maybe you should take some of Susie’s. Because you know what she would say.’
Karen could only shake her head.
‘She’d say you need to focus on the good stuff. Susie’s kind of an expert on that.’
Yes.
Yes she was.
Could it be that simple? Could she keep New Improved Karen functioning, or at least on life support, simply by trying to be happy? Happy people like Susie probably tended to be less selfish because they weren’t constantly being distracted by their own misery.
‘Yeah,’ she said, slowly. ‘But what good stuff have I got? Seriously? What good stuff have I got in my life that I can focus on? I’m serious, Damian.’
His lips tightened in one of his Here we go looks. ‘How about we start with the fact that you’ve got a pretty nice family who –’
‘I’ve got a dad who basically doesn’t give a shit.’
‘But apart from him.’
She couldn’t help smiling. Anyone else but Damian would probably have tried to persuade her that her dad did care about her but just had a hard time showing it or some crap like that. Maybe this was why people did actually go to him with their problems. He didn’t just tell you what you wanted to hear.
She took a long breath. ‘I know. I know I’m really lucky to have Mum and Bill and Mollie. But I give them nothing but grief –’
‘That’s kind of your job as a teenager.’
‘Mollie’s almost a teenager and she doesn’t. Mollie’s such a joy.’ Bill’s mum, Mollie’s grandma, kept saying that.
‘Mollie is, of course, the exception to every rule.’
Yeah. Child Prodigy Mollie, the cute little super-nerd. Mum still chose her clothes for her. When Karen had offered to help her pick out some better stuff on a shopping trip to Aberdeen, Mollie had said that would ruin her image because a true geek had more important things to do than think about clothes, but if Karen would go with her to the Maritime Museum in Aberdeen she’d be up for that, because Damian had told Cat there was an interesting exhibition on about shipwrecks.
‘But in general, you’re expected to be a pain in the arse. That’s the main plus point of being a teenager.’ Damian was rolling the stalky bit of the leaf between his thumb and finger, making the leaf twirl round. ‘Plus we’ve got no responsibilities. No job, no kids, no bills to pay, no nothing. We can basically just do what we want.’
‘You’re joking? I can’t do anything I want. And okay so it’s good not having the kids and bills, but any job would be better than having to go to school.’
He chucked the leaf onto the water. It floated for a bit then got stuck in a V-shaped bit of branch with a whole lot of other leaves, mostly rotting ones with scummy stuff on top. ‘So why don’t you get a job, then? Or do voluntary work while you swot for your Higher Maths. Volunteer at an animal sanctuary or something.’
Ooh. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. ‘Yeah. Maybe!’
‘Do you want to stay for dinner? Hector’s interviewing the new housekeeper and she’s having to do a cooking test, so hopefully there might be leftovers.’
‘Okay.’ She realised she was starving. ‘Thanks, that would be nice.’
‘Call your mum and tell her, then.’
Karen couldn’t face that, but she sent Mum anoth
er text saying she was eating at Damian’s but would be back that evening and was sorry about all the traumas. Then they headed off along the path through the wood. His limp was a bit worse than usual. Now that she thought about it, his leg often seemed to be worse after a day at school. Probably because of all the steps. He had the key for the lifts in Upper and Middle Quad but he hardly ever used them, which was pretty stupid but you couldn’t say anything.
New Improved Karen would, though.
‘Why don’t you use the lifts at school?’
‘What?’ It really was a bit like a hellmouth when Damian looked at you like that.
‘Just... If I had that key I would be, like, spending all break going up and down in the lifts and maybe seeing how many kids I could cram in,’ she babbled. New Improved Karen was such an amateur. What would Susie do? Probably just change the subject. ‘So Mrs Mac is finally retiring? Is she moving out?’
‘She’s taking on a “supervisory role”. We’re hoping that means she’ll stop doing the actual cooking. But she’ll stay on in her flat.’ Mrs Mac had a flat at the top of the house.
‘I bet Hector won’t be letting the candidates meet her.’
‘Possibly not.’
Up ahead was the walled garden. There was ivy all over the wall on this side – brilliant for wildlife because loads of insects lived in it and it provided cover for birds and they could eat the berries in winter.
‘Is he interviewing a lot of people?’
‘Just the one. I’ll be very surprised if she hasn’t got the job. She’s twenty-nine and a bit of a stunner, judging by the photo in her CV.’
Karen made a face. Hector was just so horrendous in so many ways. ‘Your brother –’ But no. Bad Old Karen needed to get back in her box. ‘I hope she’s nice, for Charlene’s sake.’
He gave her a look, like she was freaking him out again. ‘Charlene doesn’t work here any more.’ He stepped off the path onto the lawn. ‘She’s started college, so Hector’s going to have to advertise for a cleaner as well, but I think Charlene –’
And she didn’t hear what else he said about Charlene because a lightning bolt had just hit her. She realised she had stopped walking. She was standing on the lawn, staring across at the House. The House of Pitfourie – so pretentious, like it was the only house in the parish. The only one that mattered, anyway. But it was such a lovely place. How brilliant would it be to spend weekdays here instead of at school?
He stopped and looked back at her. ‘Oh no. No –’
‘But it would be perfect! You’re right! If I got a job I could pay for a maths tutor with my wage!’ She ran after him. ‘There’d be no brainwork involved in being a cleaner, leaving me free to fill my head with lovely maths!’
‘But you’d surely much prefer working at an animal sanctuary or maybe on a farm or at a cattery –’
‘Yeah, maybe, but the important thing is passing maths, and if I’m too involved in my work I won’t have the headspace.’ She hurried on ahead, past the big cedar and the swing she couldn’t normally pass by without sitting on. There was a lovely big orange sycamore leaf on the grass that must have been blown across from the wood. She swooped down to pick it up.
‘But you hate cleaning!’
She turned, walking backwards in front of him, her feet bouncing on the grass. ‘I keep my room nice. I’m not a slob.’
‘That’s your pitch? I’m not a slob?’
‘I won’t need a pitch, will I, once you’ve explained the situation to Hector?’
Just about the only decent thing about Hector was that he basically rolled over and gave Damian whatever he wanted.
‘Oh God.’
She ran back to him on her bouncing feet and batted him with the leaf. ‘What is your problem with it?’
‘Oh, let me just think about that. What is my problem with having to live in a house cleaned by you?’
‘It’ll be good for your OCD. Aversion therapy. And anyway, it’s not up to you. Come on! Let’s go and find Hector and tell him the good news that he can cancel the advert because that vacancy is filled.’ She ran in a circle round him. Damian was lovely, he was such a good friend, he must have come as soon as she texted him to make sure she was all right. And Mum had been lovely too when she was having her meltdown, she hadn’t even been angry –
It was amazing how an hour ago she had pretty much hated the world and wanted nothing to do with it, but now New Improved Karen was here with all her good stuff, and everyone was lovely and everything was fine! Well, apart from poor Chimp, obviously, but that probably had just been an accident – maybe he’d just fainted for some reason and fallen in and he hadn’t known anything about it. Chimp had been such a nice guy, he wouldn’t want her dwelling on it. He’d feel all guilty, probably, that he’d traumatised her, even though of course it hadn’t been his fault, and he’d want her to get over it and sort her life out and be happy. Maybe he’d be glad the trauma had kicked her up the arse. Or made her re-evaluate, as Susie would say.
Even if Hector didn’t give her this job, she would tell Mum she was definitely not going back to school and was going to work while studying for her Higher Maths. She would study really really hard and get into Aberdeen and then she’d study really really hard to be a good vet. Helping animals was making a much more important contribution to the world than being a musician, no matter what Mum thought. No matter what Dad said, and he didn’t get to have a say in what she did with her life.
It all made perfect sense!
And she’d never have to go back to Glencoil, never have to look at Mrs Harvey or speak to her again, never be Karen the Sicko –
She was going to be free.
Free!
She threw the leaf in the air, or tried to, but it just fluttered out of her hand to the ground. She kicked at some more leaves on the grass and pirouetted, pointing her toes like a ballerina and flinging her hands up. ‘I’m going to be free!’
Damian rolled his eyes, but she could tell he was trying not to smile.
8
The air was starting to cool, and now Claire was glad of her cashmere roll-neck and her coat. They crossed the courtyard to a door which opened onto a path running along the side of a high brick wall, on the other side of which, he told her, was the old kitchen garden.
As they started along the path, side by side, he said, ‘The job’s yours, of course, if you want it.’
Of course.
The soufflés had been a big success, light and fluffy and crusty and cheesy, with just the right amount of goo in the middle, and all three of them had practically licked the ramekins clean, but even if they’d been inedible Claire knew he’d still have offered her the job.
‘Oh!’ She blinked and tried to look surprised.
‘But I don’t mean to put you on the spot. You’ll need some time to think about it, I suppose? At least wait until you’ve seen the accommodation.’
The accommodation: Pond Cottage, where John had lived with two other estate workers. Phil was hopeful that he might have left something squirrelled away there, and couldn’t believe their luck that the accommodation that came with the housekeeper’s job was Pond Cottage itself.
In the wood beyond the walled garden, the path led off through glossy-leaved rhododendrons into the trees. It was springy with fallen leaves, an earthy pungency under their feet. She started as something large darted away to their right, crashing through the undergrowth.
A direwolf?
‘Just a deer,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘The pond’s through there,’ he added, and she glimpsed silver through the trees. ‘Pond Cottage is actually a fair distance from the pond itself.’
She wanted to strike off through the trees and look at the pond, the putative crime scene, but there would be plenty of time for that in due course. Preferably without the target breathing down her neck.
The Procurator Fiscal’s investigation had determined that John Cameron – that had been his alias, which was being maintained
, even in death, while the investigation into Hector Forbes was ongoing – had died from drowning by ‘misadventure’. Claire had read the Procurator Fiscal’s report and the witness statements before that first meeting with DCI Stewart. It seemed that John – ‘Chimp’ – had spent the day clearing a couple of trees that had fallen across forest tracks, along with two other estate workers, Mick Shepherd and Liam Watson, who had lived with him in Pond Cottage. When they’d cut the trees up into sections with chainsaws, the men had loaded them onto a trailer and, while Mick and Liam had gone back to the cottage to shower and change for their Friday night out at the local pub, Chimp had driven the trailer-load of timber through the forest to the depot to unload it.
Mick and Liam had joined a group of fellow workers in the pub and, when Chimp had failed to turn up, had sent him several texts and tried to call him. They’d left the pub at eleven and returned to Pond Cottage, expecting to find Chimp there. But there’d been no sign of him.
They’d raised the alarm the following morning. The timber had been found in the yard, left there by Chimp the night before, ready to be cut into logs. But there’d been no trace of Chimp himself. It had been a week before his body had been discovered, submerged in the pond.
DCI Stewart had been scathing of the Procurator Fiscal’s conclusions. ‘Went for a swim and “got into difficulties” – that’s the theory. Possibly stayed in too long and became hypothermic.’ He snorted. ‘He didn’t go in for a swim – he was fully clothed. Shorts, T-shirt, trainers. And where’s his fucking phone?’
His phone was missing. It wasn’t in Pond Cottage or his vehicle. It wasn’t at the scene. They’d even dredged the pond, with no luck.
‘A young girl found the body?’ she had asked.
‘Seventeen-year-old girl, Karen DeCicco. She was swimming in the pond with a friend, Susie Henderson, when she came upon it.’
Claire had shuddered. ‘Poor thing. But if it’s private property, what was she doing there?’
‘She’s a schoolfriend of the boy’s.’
‘If Hector Forbes killed him, though, sir, why leave the body in his own pond? Why not move it?’