‘That was a long time ago.’
He looked away and Agnes studied him for a moment. He turned to her again. ‘I really like Athena,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised by her. She’s so uncertain, and vulnerable, and she has all this passion and everything.’ He smiled. ‘She’s so honest, you see. She pretends all this sophistication stuff, but she’s so instinctively truthful she can’t hide. She’s an innocent. I never thought I’d feel like this about her.’
Agnes looked at the grey streaks in his newly-shorn hair, at his frank, clear eyes, at the long, tanned fingers which once again searched the back of his neck. ‘To be honest,’ she said, ‘I’m not very happy about the idea of this termination either. But if she’s sure it’s right for her —’
‘But you know her. She’s not sure about anything really. It’s like my ponytail, I knew she didn’t like it but she wouldn’t say. She never actually asked me to cut it off. She wasn’t sure enough of what she thought to impose her views on me.’
‘She seems sure about this, though.’
Nic sighed. ‘Yes. Yes, she does.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Agnes, what do you think?’
Agnes looked at him. ‘I think, like you, that life is sacred.’
*
After Nic had gone, Agnes was restless. It was still early in the afternoon, but the sunshine had given way to the same damp humidity of yesterday. She had promised Nic she would talk to Athena, although now it seemed unlikely that Athena would want to listen. She thought about Nic, his obvious affection for Athena, his attempt to explain his views. Did he believe the soul was eternal, she wondered. For that matter, did she?
She thought of Ross Turner and his faithful followers, and on a sudden impulse picked up the phone and dialled Roger’s number. Elizabeth answered.
‘Hello, it’s Sister Agnes here, do you remember, you very kindly introduced me to Ross.’
‘Pastor Turner isn’t here at the moment,’ Elizabeth replied.
‘No, it’s just a quick question for you or Roger, perhaps.’
‘I’m not sure I’ve the authority to —’
‘Did a boy called Colin Hadley, known as Col, did he ever attend your church?’
Elizabeth seemed to be whispering to someone in the background. ‘It’s that nun who visited,’ Agnes heard, before she came back on the line. ‘Sorry about that, Steven was talking to me.’
‘Colin Hadley,’ Agnes prompted.
‘Colin Hadley?’
‘He was a friend of Becky’s.’
‘Here?’
‘That’s what I’m asking you,’ Agnes said.
There was more conferring, then Elizabeth said, ‘No. We don’t know anyone of that name.’
Agnes thanked her and hung up. As if, she thought, I could expect anything to break through the wall of secrecy surrounding Ross Turner. She opened her notebook again and stared at the phone number of the Stanton household. She picked up the receiver, imagining the conversation with Shirley, probably still silent with grief, or worse, the call being taken by Morris, who would swear blind that Becky knew no one called Col; whether she did or not. She replaced the receiver and stared out of the window, and tried to imagine what it would be like to have a father like that, so desperate to be a part of one’s life. She remembered how, aged eight, she had a best friend called Antoinette, and how, after that, her father would refer to any girl who came to the house as Antoinette. In the end, it was in part his negligence that had driven her, aged eighteen, into the arms of Hugo. She frowned and fiddled with a pen, and then thought, everyone has their reasons; Sam had, finally, had enough. Col, who knows? And Becky; what drove Becky to run away? All the papers in the file, all the conversations with the people at the Ark, even meeting her parents, nothing had quite answered that question. Whatever had triggered her decision to stay away from home had also driven her into circumstances that were to cause her death.
It was five thirty-five. Agnes picked up her coat and bag and went out.
*
The grey outlines of the Atherton Estate looked even more forbidding against the thunderous sky. Four kids were playing some kind of gambling game throwing coins in one corner by the staircase. They broke off to stare at her as she walked through the archway into Kincaid Court. Once again, she wondered why she’d come. She looked up to the first floor, imagining Linda Whittaker hanging out washing, shooing children back indoors. Her eye was caught by an elderly man making painstaking progress along the walkway. She heard him slowly descending the flights of stairs, heard the tap of his stick at each step, until eventually he emerged, breathlessly, into the courtyard. She went up to him.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ she began. He blinked at her nervously with opaque, watery eyes. ‘I wonder if you could help me. Have you lived here long?’
‘Since the sixties,’ he said, eyeing her suspiciously.
‘Did you know — did you know the Whittakers?’
He stared at her, then said, ‘Aye. Those two girls, Anne and — Linda, weren’t it?’ He nodded. ‘Proper tearaways. Drove their poor mother to drink.’
‘I wonder if —’
‘1962 I moved down here from Sheffield, me and the wife, Joan, God rest her soul. Yes, I remember the Whittakers.’
‘But there were other young people, weren’t there, who hung around with the girls?’
The man laughed suddenly, a wheezing laugh. ‘If you mean lads, oh aye, there were lads what hung around those girls. And those girls give ’em reason to an’ all.’
‘Can you remember their names?’
There was a sudden shouting overhead, a stream of abuse, then a door slammed.
‘The Wheeler boy, what was his name, Bob. And my boy would have done, only he were a bit young for all that, young Edward. He lives in Milton Keynes, you know.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Those Reynolds, there were a girl and boy — Julie and Mike, that was them. Their dad worked for the Post Office and moved out Wembley way, I think.’
‘Mike Reynolds.’
‘Aye, that were ’im. In fact, now’s I come to think of it, he ’ad a kid wi’ one. That Linda, weren’t it? Everyone said it were ’is kid. And those Yates boys, David and Alex, rough kids, they used to swap cigarettes for favours. And the Bevan boys, you’ve got me started now, aye, those Bevan boys —’
‘Did you say Bevan?’
‘Aye, Tom and Greg Bevan.’
‘T — Tom Bevan?’
‘Greg were the older one, he made good he did, had a chain of video shops in the end. Don’t know what happened to Tom.’
The door above opened again, and there was more shouting and then the sound of glass breaking. The elderly man looked at Agnes and smiled vaguely. ‘It’s been very nice talking to you. Don’t often get to hear the sound of my own voice these days. Goodbye.’
He tapped his way across the courtyard and Agnes followed at a distance. The kids stopped their game to watch him pass. A boy, smaller than the rest, spat in his direction, and was slapped by one of the older boys. As Agnes went out of the courtyard, she could still hear the sound of the small boy’s crying.
Back at her flat, she put some pasta on to boil. Tom Bevan, she thought, going to her bag and fishing out Col’s bus ticket. She laid it out on her desk, staring at the scribbled name, the phone number underneath. It was a London exchange. The same Tom Bevan, Agnes wondered. Or just a coincidence?
She felt suddenly tired, turned down the heat under the pasta and flopped on to her bed. Becky and Col, she thought, and Sam and — and Athena. She got up, picked up her phone and dialled Athena’s number.
‘Hi.’ Athena’s voice was tired.
‘It’s Agnes.’
‘I thought it might be.’
‘Do you want some supper?’
‘What, now?’
‘It’s suppertime, isn’t it?’
‘Dunno, I feel so sick that food has just become some awful tyranny. Yes, I’ll come over if you’re sure that’s OK.’
>
‘Great. Athena?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve been thinking of you.’
‘Oh. Right.’ She rang off.
Athena looked terrible. There were more grey roots showing in her hair and she was wearing a pair of garish pink leggings with holes in the knees and a pilled grey jumper. She flopped on to the bed, while Agnes chopped onions and tomatoes for a sauce.
‘How was Gloucestershire?’ she shouted from her kitchen.
‘It was nice to be home, actually,’ Athena shouted, brightening a little.
‘Didn’t you have tenants there?’
‘I did, they’ve left. I’ve got to work out whether to rent it out again, if I’m staying in London.’
‘What do you mean, if?’ Agnes said, coming into the room and pulling out the flaps on her table.
‘Oh, you never know, do you,’ Athena said. Agnes looked at her, then disappeared back into the kitchen. ‘Guess who I saw?’ Athena said, her voice lightening again.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Agnes said. ‘My horrible ex-husband. Back in Gloucestershire.’
‘You don’t think he’s horrible. Ever since he remarried you’ve been quite well-disposed towards him. Anyway, I bumped into them in the High Street.’
‘Them?’
‘Hugo. And Gabrielle. The third Madame Bourdillon.’
‘Oh.’
‘You’d like her.’
‘I doubt it.’
Athena laughed. ‘Yes, you would. Anyway, they’re thinking of buying property in England again.’
‘How lovely for them. I hope they’re not expecting me to visit.’
‘Do you know, he never mentioned you. Not once.’
‘He must have been on his best behaviour, then,’ Agnes said, pouring Athena a glass of red wine.
‘I’m not supposed to drink this,’ Athena said, screwing up her nose and taking a huge swig of wine.
Agnes was about to speak, but instead she went quietly back to the kitchen to stir the sauce.
As they sat over plates of tagliatelle, Agnes said, ‘Nic was here this afternoon.’
‘Yes, he told me.’
‘You’ve seen him?’
‘Briefly. He dropped in, I sent him away.’
‘He seems nice.’
Athena put down her fork, looked at Agnes, then picked it up again. Agnes took another mouthful, chewed a moment, then said, ‘Athena, if we’re not honest now, we’re not going to survive this.’
Athena twirled pasta around her fork. ‘Fine. What do you want to say?’
‘Nic wants you to keep the baby.’
‘I know.’
‘For reasons that he calls karmic.’
‘Yup.’ Athena took a large gulp of wine.
‘And — and because he cares about you.’
Athena put down her glass. ‘Great. His karma, your God. I’m surrounded by people who really care, aren’t I? Lucky old me.’
Agnes broke off a piece of bread. ‘He’s nice without the ponytail. It suits him.’
‘Years and years of careful cultivation, that ponytail, all lopped off, apparently, for me. Such sacrifice. And yes, he’s dying to be a dad because he made so much of a hash of it first time round and he’s desperate to have a second chance so he can be like all those men in GQ or Esquire or whatever it is. So I have to ruin my body, and my life, in return — and to appease your God-The-Father who, let’s face it, was quite happy to dump His only son on someone else when it came to it …’
‘Athena — we care about you. That’s all. This may be your last chance, you can’t predict how you’ll feel when it’s too late.’
‘If you both care about me, then you’ll know that I’ve done the right thing. I’ve made an appointment, did he say?’
Agnes nodded.
‘Good. Fine. People who care about me can bloody well accept my decision, then.’
Agnes hesitated a moment, then said, ‘Athena — when I offered you wine, you said, “I’m not supposed to drink this.”’
‘Did I say that? Oh ho, silly me. Anyone would think I was going to have a baby.’ Athena laughed hollowly, and Agnes saw her eyes fill with tears.
That night in her prayers Agnes was haunted by an image of a tiny, floating life, of a translucent foetal face and waving limbs. She tried to push it away, to concentrate instead on the familiar words of her evening worship, but even when she closed her eyes to sleep it was still there.
*
She woke late on Monday morning, aware of having spent half the night chasing dreams, and after a quick cup of tea got into her car and drove to the camp. She found a group of about twelve people sitting near the fire, most of whom she recognised, some she didn’t. Rona nodded in greeting and went to pour her some tea. ‘We’ve got the eviction order,’ she said to Agnes. ‘They’ve given us two weeks.’
‘So,’ Jeff was saying to the assembled group, ‘the main thing we’re going to need is people. People who can climb, obviously, but people on the ground too.’
Agnes noticed Sheila sitting by the fire. She also noticed Jenn some way away, wandering vaguely towards the forest. Sheila was saying something about producing leaflets for the local area, and Agnes got up and followed Jenn. She found her sitting on a log at the edge of the wood.
‘Jenn?’ Jenn looked up blankly, then seeing it was Agnes, smiled.
‘You OK?’
Jenn nodded, then shook her head. ‘I’ve never felt like this before.’
‘Like what?’
Jenn raised her eyes to Agnes and said, ‘Like I don’t care. They can evict us for all I care at the moment.’
Agnes sat down next to her. ‘Well, to be honest, they will, won’t they? There’ll be hundreds of them and a handful of you.’
‘Yes, but — before, it’s always felt worthwhile, the fight. It works, you see, it has a kind of snowballing effect for the future. But now I look at the camp, and I think, I’ve had it, I’ve been full-on for months now and Col’s dead and Becky was killed here, and no one’s going to find out why, ever, and … I dunno, I’ve lost it.’
‘Do you have anywhere else to go?’
Jenn nodded. ‘I’m having a year out from a university course, I can take that up again this autumn if I want. Sociology, at Manchester, though I might change to history.’ They sat on a log together in the August heat. There was a chirping of crickets around them. ‘Jenn,’ Agnes began, ‘you know that inhaler?’
‘Col’s?’
‘It was his, wasn’t it?’
‘It wasn’t anyone else’s.’
‘He might have had a bad reaction to it.’
‘He hadn’t been well for weeks.’
Jenn watched the slow march of a line of ants at her feet. She stretched, and stood up. ‘If you mean Bill, he’s harmless. A lot of ego, and I know people here don’t trust him, but he wouldn’t …’ She shook her head.
‘Jenn — why do you think Becky died?’
Jenn glanced down at her. ‘How do I know? I’m going for a walk, clear my head.’
Agnes watched her go. There was something not being said. Something, Agnes thought, as she went back to the fire, that Jenn knew.
The meeting had broken up. Sheila was sitting next to Jeff, who was strumming vaguely on a guitar. She smiled as Agnes came to join her.
‘Will you be there on the day?’ she asked.
‘The eviction? I hadn’t really thought —’
‘Yeah,’ Jeff said, ‘she’ll be there,’
‘Isn’t it rather dangerous?’ Agnes asked, feeling old.
‘Nah. Fluffy, it is,’ Jeff said. ‘You can bring your daughter.’
Sheila looked doubtful. ‘The problem is, evangelical Christianity is all about wearing nice clothes and joining the establishment. And anyway, they’d be useless, all they do is smile inanely and bang their tambourines.’
‘Tell them we’ve got all the angels on our side,’ Jeff grinned. He got up and went off to climb a tree.
‘How�
��s Charlie?’ Agnes said.
‘The same,’ Sheila grinned. ‘He liked you, for some reason.’
‘That’s good. I could do with talking to him again.’
‘He won’t trade secrets, him. Copper through and through.’
‘I don’t think it’s secrets I need.’
‘I know, come back for lunch, now. You can phone him from my place.’
‘Detective Sergeant Woods? Just putting you through,’ the switchboard operator said. Agnes sat in Sheila’s warm, bright kitchen, through which wafted the smell of pitta bread and coffee, and waited.
‘Sister Agnes?’ she heard Charlie ask.
‘It’s about this new sudden death. Col Hadley, from the road camp.’
‘I’d heard a whisper from the Coroner’s officers.’
‘I just wondered —’
‘You have the nose for it, don’t you. What did you just wonder?’
‘The post-mortem report?’
‘Haven’t seen it.’
‘Charlie — there were bright yellow stains around his fingers.’
‘Why should I find out more for you?’ Charlie asked.
‘Because I care. And because Col has no one else. I cared about him when he was alive, and I need to put my mind at rest now he’s dead.’
There was a pause. ‘You know,’ Charlie said, ‘there was a warehouse broken into last week sometime. Out by Southend. Chemical storage place. Various stuff gone missing.’ Agnes heard him hesitate, then he said, ‘Yellow, did you say?’
‘Really bright. Weird.’
‘Look, this post-mortem report,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Any return of the Superhighwayman?’ Agnes asked Sheila over lunch.
Sheila shook her head. ‘No. Though I haven’t had much time on the machine recently. But something funny happened in town the other day. I bumped into a friend, an ex-colleague from my teaching days — and she’s moved to Colchester. I was telling her about the Ark and the eviction and everything, and she said, had I met Forest Bill? Like it was a joke. And it turns out that she knew him, about six months ago. I think they had an affair or something, and he said he was going to live in the woods by Epping for a while.’
‘But he behaves as if he’s been there for years.’
The Quick and the Dead (A Sister Agnes Mystery) Page 15