by Rebecca Tope
Tony reared back as if she’d spat at him, and then turned to Simon with an expression of alarm. Simon merely closed his eyes in a slow bewildered blink. ‘George?’ he echoed.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Just that…well, that’s two dead people, isn’t it?’
‘They’re not connected,’ said Tony. ‘Obviously.’ He gave her a look of pure rage. ‘Why did you have to bring that up?’
If little Nicky had been with them, she could have understood his attitude. Perhaps he felt equally protective towards his brother, worrying about overload of some sort. But she didn’t like being reprimanded and stood her ground. ‘They might be connected,’ she argued. ‘How do you know they’re not?’ She had a thought. ‘The police are already taking a view that they probably are.’
‘What? What are you talking about?’
‘Well, you should know. You work for them, don’t you?’ The events of the previous Friday returned to her – the group of men floundering down her snowy track, Tony himself examining the empty spot where George’s body had been. She frowned as her thoughts began to take more shape. ‘It can hardly be a coincidence, can it?’
‘George?’ said Simon again, more loudly. ‘Was he murdered as well, then?’
The others said nothing, but Thea met his eyes with a meaningful nod that said maybe he was. Then she caught herself, and gave a self-conscious little laugh. ‘I’m sure he can’t have been.’ Her head felt thick with new implications, new questions, all wrapped in a stifling sense of shock.
‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ moaned Simon. ‘I thought she was in Bristol. She sent a text. They said she must have come home days ago. Why didn’t she come to the house? Where has she been?’
His bewilderment was painful to witness. Thea turned to Tony for support, but he was still looking at her angrily. She reviewed what she had just said, and could hardly blame him. What had she been thinking of, to launch into half-baked theories about Bunny and George, when she knew nothing of the background? She had also been careless, talking as if she were party to the police investigations.
‘Well, I’d better go,’ she said weakly. ‘If I can do anything…’
Tony’s look clearly said, Haven’t you done enough?
* * *
She and Hepzie drove back to the barn, across the main road where traffic was flowing fast enough to make it seem a normal winter’s day, despite the white fields on all sides. She dithered about whether or not to take the car down the track, risking it becoming stranded again. The snow might be altering its nature, but it was still there, and the way would be unpleasantly slippery. There could also be further snowfall to come. With a sigh, she opted to leave it at the top, and carry the shopping the last leg.
Her head was full of thoughts about poor little Nicky and his brother. Whatever Janina might have said about their mother, they were bound to be badly damaged by her death. Simon might need a more permanent mother substitute than the au pair, who would inevitably disappear before long, her own professional life calling to her more and more insistently. There would be more changes and disruptions, in the short term, and the debilitating lifelong loss that would never allow them to be the secure and confident people they might otherwise have become.
She thought about the unhappy reclusive George and the probability that his lonely death would become sidelined by the far more significant murder of a young mother. Whatever the connection between the two may or may not have been, Bunny was sure to become the more newsworthy, earning more police time and media attention. It seemed unfair – from what she could gather, George had been a nicer person. His loss was another blow for the two little boys. At least they had Uncle Tony, she remembered – it seemed to be a good sign that he had gone with Simon to see the school people.
Disjointedly, her mind flickered from one observation to another, images and theories jumbled together with an awareness of how little she really knew about the people involved. The only one who had made any real disclosures had been Janina. On that first Sunday, outside the church, she had seemed eager to pour everything out to the first person she met – her disapproval of Bunny was still vivid in Thea’s mind. Unbidden, there arose ideas about this: had Janina fallen for Simon, and opted to remove Bunny permanently from the picture? Had she wanted the children for her own, having determined that she, Janina, would make a much better mother to them than the absent Bunny? Or had Simon himself taken the fatal action? After all, the husband was generally the prime suspect in such cases. The subsequent remorse and trauma were apparently easy enough to simulate. She ran through the scanty cast of characters she had met in Hampnett since she arrived. Old Kate, the vague parade of parents collecting children from the party – that was it. Kate had an aged parent living invisibly with her, and Simon had a few scattered neighbours who might be central to the story, for all Thea knew.
If it hadn’t been for Gladwin’s unsettling visit the day before, she might have been able to sit back and let somebody else worry about who killed Bunny, and what might happen next. As it was, she feared she would be drawn in, whether she liked it or not.
The day before had seen importunate visitors interrupting the routine, which Thea had found irritating. Now she rather wished for a repeat, instead of the eerie silence and blank snowy wastes. Even with the cleared track and liberated car, she felt isolated and forgotten. The animals were all subdued and undemonstrative. Jimmy performed his routines with his usual lack of emotion. He and Hepzie rubbed noses, but nothing more than that. It was all rather mundane and repetitive and the remaining two and a half weeks at Lucy’s Barn stretched uninvitingly ahead.
Time drifted on to midday, and a glimpse of blue could be found between the clouds. Hope was raised for a bright afternoon and a possible thaw at last. The local radio had stopped talking about the snow as an impediment to normal life, and instead brought in old timers who could remember 1947 when the whole of the West Midlands had been covered for weeks on end. There were climate experts attempting to reconcile this traditional winter weather with the scare stories about global warming. It all amounted to a lot of pointless prattle, as far as Thea was concerned.
She ought to go out again, and attempt at least some sort of exploration of the area. It was what she always did when house-sitting – it had been a lot of the reason for taking on the work in the first place. Her subject was history, and she had discovered numerous interesting old stories and events from the various villages she’d briefly inhabited. Hampnett had a famous church, with a small mystery as to precisely who had performed the remarkable claim to fame inside it. Thea had read about it, but not yet seen it with her own eyes. She really should go and have a look before much longer.
But an unfamiliar lethargy had her in its grip. She did not want to put on boots and gloves again and thick confining coat and either walk or drive to the village centre. Even if she did force herself to do it, she might not meet anybody to talk to, and it was a need for human company that she felt more powerfully than any wish to do a bit of sightseeing. And by the same token, she didn’t suppose that anybody would feel inclined to come and visit her. Yesterday had been an aberration, obviously. The day would soon be over – only another four hours or so of daylight, and then it was on with the lamps and across with the curtains, forgetting the hostile world outside for another long, long night.
The thought was somehow shameful. How could she fritter away a whole day doing virtually nothing other than a bit of shopping? It went against her nature, although she knew plenty of people who barely understood the concept of frittering time. They watched daytime television, phoned friends for long fatuous conversations about nothing, cleaned things that weren’t dirty and made not the slightest contribution to anything. They were, Thea sometimes thought, literally a waste of space. They were consuming energy and food without paying anything back. Carl, a deeply benign person, had raged at the mindlessness of so many people who lived in this way. He and her father between them had trained Thea into other attitudes to
life. Sometimes the high-mindedness made her feel rebellious – more often it left her weak and pessimistic. But mostly she was thoroughly convinced that she should earn her place on the planet, and that meant getting involved, paying attention and trying to do a bit of good here and there.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jimmy seemed unusually stiff when she took him out for his midday airing. He took much longer than normal to get up, and then his back legs were quivering as he tried to walk. Worriedly, Thea examined him, unable to think what could be wrong. ‘Probably just cold,’ she concluded. He followed her out to the garden with a determined expression, but his head drooped and he failed to produce any urine. Hepzie kept her distance, as if embarrassed by him.
The conservatory was quite chilly, with the wind gusting against the glass and the heating minimal in that part of the house. Even the plants looked pinched, after so many cold days. Should she move the dog into a warmer area? Would he settle in a different place? Perhaps some warmer bedding would be enough, at least until the evening.
Mindful of the cold, she went out to the rabbits’ shed, to inspect the babies again. Earlier, she had done nothing more than give them all some food and water, knowing it was risky to interfere too much with a nest of young ones. But if they were at risk of freezing to death, she ought to do something. The wind was strengthening, reducing the temperature considerably. Her hands were chilled, despite the gloves, and her feet inside the boots lost much of their feeling after a few minutes. Tentatively, she poked through the covering of soft rabbit hair to the little bodies beneath. It was as warm as any bed could be, as cosy and safe as the most cherished infant could wish for. Trying to see them in their shadowy corner, she noted that the babies were acquiring more and more hair, with different colours emerging delightfully. The mother sat nervously by, her nose working busily as she seemed to mutter to herself. ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ Thea murmured. ‘I’m just checking.’ She gave the rabbit an apple she had brought out with her, and the animal seized it with enthusiasm.
Another visit to Jimmy only increased her worries. He still shivered, lying awkwardly with his neck stretched out. Thea knelt beside him, and stroked him for a minute or two. It struck her that she would have difficulty getting him to the vet, with her car a quarter of a mile away. He was light enough to carry, in a real emergency, but she wasn’t eager to try it. For one thing, the dog would only get more chilled, and for another the strange procedure would probably traumatise him. Besides, what good would a vet be, anyway? If Jimmy’s problems were emotional or psychological, there was no cure for them, other than keeping him quiet and safe as Lucy had said. The conservatory was on the north side of the barn, exposed to the bitter wind that continued to blow. The temperature inside had to be close to freezing, even by day. It couldn’t possibly be healthy for any creature as thin and hairless as this one to remain in such a cold place. Decisively, Thea set about moving him into the heated living room.
Gently she led him by the collar to one of the sheepskin rugs that were scattered over the floor. Leaving him standing obediently where she put him, she went back for his bedding. Beanbag, fluffy woollen blanket and a piece of colourless felt that he treated much as a child treats a familiar scrap of cloth – she brought it all through and arranged it in a corner, where the floor felt comfortably warm. ‘Come on, boy,’ she coaxed. ‘This is your new bed, OK?’
In reply, the dog released a stream of yellow urine directly onto the white sheepskin beneath him. Thea shrieked, unable to restrain herself. The dog flinched slightly, but stood his ground. Hepzie, from her place on the sofa, gave a short yap of echoing reproach.
‘Oh, God,’ Thea moaned. ‘This is impossible.’ Evidently Jimmy associated being moved from his bed and spoken to encouragingly with relieving himself. Would it happen every time she said anything, if he was relocated to the living room? And how was she supposed to deal with the soiled sheepskin, in this weather? Wasn’t there something about laying them out flat in weak sunshine on a mild day? Would it be all right to put it in the washing machine? Would it be ruined if she just left it for Lucy to deal with?
The combination of urgent need for action with a basically trivial problem irritated her. Outside, people were dying. Two children had been left without a mother, and the police were going to be mounting a determined investigation. Inside, she was in a panic about a sad and difficult dog. The dislocation was uncomfortable. But Jimmy undoubtedly required the bulk of her attention, and she had to find a way to keep him as healthy and contented as she possibly could.
She was not being paid to get involved in murder inquiries – she had to remind herself of that. Her duty lay with Jimmy and the rabbits and the donkey. She was perfectly justified in forgetting all about Bunny and her family; about the dead George, too, despite having been the person to find his body – twice. She meant nothing to Simon or Janina or the boys; she was just somebody passing through, who would soon forget them and leave them to gather up their lives as best they could.
It was a rational decision that ought to have brought some relief in its wake. But Thea Osborne was not a totally rational person. She was curious by nature, and liked to get involved with people, if only temporarily. She became enraged by cruelty or stupid selfishness. Killers, in her increasing experience, were generally unimaginative solipsists who could seldom see beyond their own short-term self-interest. They murdered for money, or in the hope of maintaining a shameful secret, or even for the preservation of some misguided ideology. And in the process they caused appalling distress and misery. She could no more let it all go than she could bring her own dead husband back to life. Somehow, in the murky illogical depths, there was a connection. The sudden stupid death of the innocent Carl meant that further sudden stupid deaths had to be confronted and given the dignity of resolution – not just for the sake of the families, but for the sake of Order itself.
Nonetheless, Jimmy had to be cared for. He certainly couldn’t be allowed to freeze to death under her watch. The incontinence had been understandable, under the circumstances. She would just have to take more care from here on, and stick as closely as possible to the routine that Lucy had managed to establish. At least he wouldn’t need to go outside again for a while. His bladder must be quite empty.
She had forgotten to have any lunch, she realised, on noticing that it was past two o’clock. The light was fading dramatically, and when she looked out it was to see renewed snow falling, blowing diagonally in the ever-increasing wind, already piling up against obstacles in the yard. Her insides lurched, and her mouth felt oddly dry. I’m scared, she thought. Really scared, just because it’s snowing. She tried to analyse the cause of her fear, which was worse than she could remember feeling for years. The isolation, she concluded, and the responsibility, were part of it. She would have to slog through drifts and ensure the donkey was all right. She might not be able to get to the car, if it snowed all night. She might have to summon help from people too busy to bother with her. But an image was forming insistently in her mind’s eye: the image of the man, curled stiffly in the snow, his hair and skin so cold that snowflakes didn’t melt on contact. It had looked so easy to die out there in the icy white world. You merely lay down and let yourself fall asleep. It would be quiet and painless and imperceptible. As she let the picture develop, the sensations of fear increased. That was what she found so terrifying, then. The appealing ease with which you could kill yourself; the vivid presence of death just a few seductive yards away brought with it a horror that wouldn’t go away. Thea, who had known pain and love and triumph and even some moments of nobility, was unexpectedly staring into the jaws of death and finding them dreadfully attractive.
Desperately, she sought for handholds that would return her to the normality of wanting to live, whatever the circumstances. There was Hepzie – her spaniel would be distraught without her. Except she wouldn’t really. She would go to live with Jessica or Jocelyn or Thea’s mother, and carry on with remarkable equanimity.
But there was a future of forty years or more, in which she would meet new people, and love them. She would become a grandmother, in all probability, and see herself perpetuated down the generations. She would be useful and creative and caring.
As if waking from a nightmare, she shook herself and looked around at the solid world. What had all that been about, she asked herself? It had begun with George, the apparent suicide in the snow, and the slide into too close an identification with him. She had almost been possessed by him for a few moments, and the experience had been frightening. But it had also brought a moment of enlightenment that she should hold on to. A valuable insight into the appeal that death could offer. Did all suicides glimpse that same allure? Did they go into oblivion with a sensation of relief and gladness in those final seconds? Nobody was encouraged to think so. It was almost a taboo to regard suicide in a positive light. Now Thea was not sure this was right. If life had become so untenably distressing, then why not simply leave it?
Not that this applies to me, she told herself sternly. I am a different case entirely. I might feel abandoned and aimless just at this moment, but I have plenty to live for. And for a start, I ought to go and feed that donkey before it gets too difficult to cross his paddock.
She needed human company – without it, she was liable to sink back into the same dark place again. Too much solitude was clearly a dangerous thing, especially in such hostile weather conditions.
But the day was closing in, and people everywhere would be huddled indoors, or forcing their cars through the blizzard to reach the shelter of home. They would not be available to a lonely house-sitter who merely wanted to chat. And then, with a thump that seemed to affect every internal organ, she understood exactly where the problem lay.