by Emma Davies
‘Yes, but even so you’re talking about extensions and conservatories, conversions over the garage… Thea, I didn’t make partner at Franklin and Wilks to spend my life building twee additions to people’s houses.’
‘No, I know.’ I sit on the arm of his chair, my hand running along his shoulder before resting my lips against the top of his head. ‘You’re better than that.’
He’s silent for a moment and I wonder what he’s thinking. There’s no point in uttering bland platitudes. I know the score as well as he does.
‘You know, maybe you should have a think about selling your work. Maybe not straight away, but you could do a lot worse than places like that shop in town. Your commission’s going to last a while yet and it’ll hopefully give rise to more, but there’s no guarantee. I don’t think it would hurt to keep your options open, that’s all. The last few weeks have made me realise how precarious our life could be.’
He has a point, but it irritates me. He’s worried about his work situation so he’s putting his anxiety onto me about mine – when I’ve never had an issue finding work. Okay, so I had to take jobs I didn’t really want when I first started, but I still took them. And I’ve lived with the precarious nature of being self-employed for years, it’s the nature of the beast, but, through it all, I’ve more than held up my side of the financial burden.
‘I might,’ I say. ‘But only when I think the time is right or I want to explore some different ways of working. I’ve been treading a steady path towards book illustration for a long time, and you know that’s what I’ve always wanted to do. I’m not about to give all that up on a whim, certainly not when there’s no need to. Besides, if I did want to think about selling my artwork elsewhere, it definitely wouldn’t be in a place like that.’
‘Why? What was wrong with it?’
What was right with it? The very thought of what happened when I bought the print is tying my stomach in knots. I really don’t want to have to think about it and I certainly don’t want to talk about it.
‘Do you remember a woman from the village when we were younger, who used to wear lots of big silver rings?’ I ask. The question surprises me. I hadn’t even considered I was about to ask it.
Drew frowns, his eyes flickering. ‘I don’t think so.’ He makes a show of trawling though his memory banks. ‘No, not that I’m aware of.’
He’s studying me, wondering if he should ask the next question. I’m quite interested to see if he does.
‘Why do you ask?’ he says, giving me my answer.
And now I’m wondering if I should continue, because something about this conversation isn’t sitting right. ‘Because that’s a description of the woman who served me in the shop today. And the vague thoughts I had that there was something familiar about her proved to be exactly right when she all but threw me out. Not surprisingly, I have absolutely no idea why, but I thought somehow that you might have.’
‘Me? Why would I know?’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Call it intuition…’
Drew fidgets in the chair. ‘Why, what did she say?’
‘Nothing much, it was more the way she said it. Like I was something she was desperate to scrape off the bottom of her shoe. And what started as a perfectly normal conversation changed the minute she found out that we used to live here. She hardly spoke after that and then hissed at me never to go in the shop again.’
I still can’t see Drew’s eyes because of the angle at which we’re sitting and I get to my feet. ‘So you tell me, what was all that about? No wonder I’m not falling over myself to go back in there. Although I’ve a good mind to demand to know what she meant by it.’
Drew is looking at his lap, staring at the page of his book. ‘Just leave it, Thea,’ he says quietly.
I stare at him for a moment. ‘But it was completely weird,’ I argue. ‘Wouldn’t you want to know what she meant by it?’
‘Not really. I think I’d just rather stay out of her way. She sounds mental to me.’ He glances up but his gaze descends just as quickly and the seconds tick by. This is a conversation he really doesn’t want to be having.
I cross the room to the chair where I was sitting earlier in the evening, to my own book which rests on the seat. The newspaper article slips out effortlessly from between its pages. ‘Ordinarily I’d be inclined to agree with you. But I came across this the other day.’ I hand it to him.
His interest is piqued by the age of the paper, I can tell, but his face remains studied as he reads. ‘Where did you get this?’ he asks, handing it back. ‘Rather old news.’
‘I found it. Here in the house.’ I’m not about to tell him where. ‘Bit odd, don’t you think? Bit much of a coincidence?’
‘A coincidence…? I don’t see how. What’s it coinciding with, Thea? Some crazy woman in a shop?’ He glances at my hands. ‘I can imagine that whenever this attack happened it would have been pretty big news round here, but what’s it got to do with us?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I found it in our house…’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Thea, at the time, everyone who had the newspaper delivered would have had a copy of it. And as soon as it became yesterday’s news, someone used it to line the shelves in the pantry, I don’t know.’
‘But it hadn’t been discarded,’ I argue. ‘It had been hidden. And that makes it completely different.’ I weigh up what to say next. ‘I wondered if it had something to do with the people who lived here before us. Only Anna said how she found the man incredibly creepy. What if his wife hid the paper?’
Drew stares at me. ‘What if she did? Thea…’ he warns. ‘Look, I have no idea, and how on earth are you ever going to find out? More to the point, what difference will it make? It’s past history, done and dusted, and I should leave it that way if I were you. Start thinking about the present, there’s quite enough going on here.’
I’m still watching him, my lips pursed together as I bite back what I want to say. Because I really don’t want to do this, not now, not when our friends are sleeping in a room above us and will hear every word of our argument.
‘I’m going to bed,’ I say. ‘Are you coming?’
‘In a bit,’ he replies, finally meeting my eyes. ‘I’m just going to read for a little while.’
‘Okay…’ I get to the threshold of the door before turning. ‘Drew? Are you sure you’re all right…? Only you’ve seemed, I don’t know… a bit tense the last couple of days.’ I let out the breath I hadn’t realised I was holding.
But he smiles as he makes a show of thinking. ‘Maybe I am, a bit… Yes, you’re right. Sorry, Thea, I think I’m just more wound up about this whole money thing than I realised. Probably just because I see how it is for Rachel and Gerry now that they’re thinking of moving. But I’m okay though… I promise.’
* * *
I haven’t written in my journal for a long time. It’s been in my bedside table drawer, forgotten about mostly, but I take it out tonight, rooting around for a pen. My thoughts have got to go somewhere. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but Drew’s face was studiously impassive as he read that article tonight. It talks about child abuse, for goodness’ sake, and he’s a father of two daughters. Surely there ought to have been some flicker of emotion?
Fourteen
The dash to school the next morning is mercifully short. It’s teeming with rain and everyone has their head down, loath to hang around. It probably explains why Rob seems to ignore me as he runs past the bottom of our drive on his usual morning jog. I expect he just didn’t see me, intent on settling into the rhythm of his strides. Perhaps he was wearing headphones and didn’t hear us. Perhaps, perhaps…
I also don’t want to think about the look in Stacey’s eyes as I pass her on the playground, or the fact that she and another mum seem to deliberately move away from where I’m standing. Even Anna didn’t wait to walk to school together as we normally do. She left a little earlier to see one of the teachers. And I’m sure that’s
the case, I can see her now, leaving the building and walking towards another mum in the playground. Pastoral business no doubt. She does a lot of that.
So, I kiss the girls and watch them dash straight inside – no early-morning playtime today on account of the rain – and then turn to make for home. I promised Rachel and Gerry I’d cook a special breakfast for them this morning and I’d rather be at home doing that than standing here wondering about things that I wish weren’t in my head.
I’ve gone about a quarter of the way back when I hear pattering steps behind me.
‘Thea!’
I turn to see Anna hurrying to catch me up and for some reason it makes me feel absurdly happy. I haven’t seen her since our rather awkward conversation on Saturday.
‘What a day,’ I remark. ‘Thank heavens I can just go home and batten down the hatches. Do you reckon that’s it for the summer then?’
She frowns. ‘I’ve no idea.’ Her hands are thrust into her coat pockets and she looks cold and pinched. ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you,’ she continues. ‘Only, well… it’s a bit awkward actually…’
I keep my face as neutral as I can.
‘I’ve just come from a quick meeting with the head teacher and the chair of the PTA committee about the arrangements for the Harvest Festival. I’d asked her if she could help me out with a couple more volunteers for the supper and, well, I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding.’
‘Go on…’
Anna’s face freezes. I have a horrible idea I know what she’s going to say. ‘Well, she’s done a wonderful job of recruiting people, except that wasn’t exactly what I asked her to do. And now, instead of letting me have the names of a couple of people who might be interested, she’s drawn up a full list of helpers.’
‘Ah… and let me guess. I’m not on it.’
Anna’s expression is pained. ‘I did point that out but she refused to alter it. You’re not a member of the PTA, you see, so—’
‘No, not likely to be either, am I? Just out of interest, who is the chair?’
Anna flinches slightly. ‘It’s Jackie… and she’s not the easiest person to deal with. When I suggested that she could just add you as well, she said that everyone had volunteered out of the goodness of their hearts and if she went and chopped and changed things now, people would quite rightly assume that they weren’t wanted after all – her words not mine – and I’d end up with no volunteers at all.’ She drops her head. ‘I’m sorry, Thea. Ordinarily I’d argue the case, but I’m not that keen to raise my head over the parapet just now. Stacey’s on the list, you see, and—’
‘Stacey?’ I concentrate on the road ahead for a few steps before stopping. ‘I see… now I’m beginning to understand. It’s okay, Anna, it’s not your fault. I would have thought they’d be only too happy to get some new blood involved, but I guess mine must be the wrong colour or something…’
Anna nods as she stares down the street. ‘She and Jackie suddenly seem to be thick as thieves and I don’t want there to be any unpleasantness over the supper, it’s always been such a fun family event. It isn’t right, but…’
‘Anna, I understand. Don’t worry.’ I try a weak smile. ‘Their loss, eh?’
We walk a few steps in silence. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘Not everyone would be so understanding.’ She heaves a sigh. ‘This is one of the things I hate about being a curate’s wife – so many damn committees, and I always seem to get caught in the middle. Anyway… How have your friends got on with their house-hunting?’ she asks. ‘Are they definitely going to move this way?’
Anna’s obviously trying to change the subject and, however much it hurts, dwelling on the subject now wouldn’t be fair to her at all.
‘I think they’d like to,’ I reply. ‘But first they’d need to work out jobs and a million and one other things; you know how it is. But, if all that falls into place, then yes, it could well happen. They’re going off today on their own to have a look around the area, so if it would stop raining that would be great.’ I grimace at the weather. ‘But then again, maybe it’s better to see the place when it’s gloomy. If they like it on a day like this, they’re certainly going to like it when it’s sunny.’ I groan inwardly. What an inane thing to say. The conversation seems stilted now but Anna doesn’t seem to have noticed. Too lost in her own thoughts.
We walk in silence the rest of the way and I pause automatically by our gate to say goodbye, just as Anna turns to me.
‘I’m really pleased your friends might be coming nearer,’ she says. ‘That would be lovely for you, wouldn’t it? To have Rachel around for support.’
It would, but I don’t want Anna to think that our friendship means nothing to me. ‘We’ll see what happens,’ I say. ‘But, listen, I’m in all day and this rain is enough to drive anyone mad. Pop over if you fancy a coffee.’
She raises a hand in farewell. ‘Thanks,’ she says. But I’m none the wiser as to whether she’ll appear or not.
The house rings with laughter as I open the front door and it’s in such direct contrast to the world outside that I follow the sound to the kitchen as if under a spell. Gerry is recounting one of his madcap adventures from life as a paramedic. I’m sure they’re not madcap, not really, but he makes them sound that way. Like the time a man with a prosthetic limb was involved in a minor road traffic accident and one of Gerry’s junior colleagues genuinely thought the man’s foot had been wrenched off.
I’ve missed today’s story but it doesn’t matter, the room is filled with smiling faces and the air hums with good humour. Drew looks up as I enter, laughter still etched in the creases around his eyes, which deepen even further when he sees me.
He darts a look out the kitchen window, pulling a face at me as my mac drips water onto the floor. ‘Shit, is it still raining that hard? Well, now I feel guilty for not offering to do the school run.’
‘So you should,’ I reply, grinning. I hold my arms out as if to hug him and he jumps backward to avoid getting wet before coming and wrapping his fingers around mine.
‘Your hands are freezing,’ he says, kissing me. ‘Come and have a coffee, it’s just brewed.’ He holds out his arms for my coat and I shrug it off so that he can hang it in the utility room. I watch him as he walks away, his rear view deeply appealing, and chastise myself for becoming so maudlin. Our best friends are here, in a place we love, and we have so much to be grateful for. Drew and me. Me and Drew.
‘I can’t believe the weather,’ I say. ‘That’s such bad luck. It’s been absolutely glorious up until now.’
But Gerry is sanguine. ‘It won’t spoil the day. Far nicer to be touring the countryside in the rain on a day like this than stuck in London. Besides, better to see somewhere when it’s not looking its best.’
I smile, his response echoing the words I’d cringed at when talking to Anna only a few moments ago. Here, they don’t seem incongruous at all.
‘Right, well, I’ll get some breakfast on the go and then at least you’ll be set up for the day. Full English, Gerry?’ I catch Rachel’s eye and wink as Gerry holds his stomach and groans.
An hour and a half later we wave them goodbye, with hugs and kisses and promises to keep us posted with any developments. They’ve certainly caught the moving bug, I can see it in the excitement on both their faces. But now the house is quiet again, hushed with expectancy as the rest of the day stretches out ahead of us.
I haven’t thought about my work all weekend but now it’s as if a magnet is drawing me back to it and I recognise the need to immerse myself. The washing-up is done, another pot of coffee has been brewed and I carry two mugfuls of the fragrant brew through to the studio. Drew is already there, head bent to his screen, and I take my seat beside him.
I’m not sure how much time passes before I lay my brush back down and get to my feet, taking down one of Kathryn Talbot’s old books from the shelf behind me. I’ve made a good start on a new illustration but there’s something missing from it, something I�
��m striving to capture but can’t quite translate. The book is one I’ve read dozens of times, and a real favourite of the girls. Every word and every detail of the illustrations is as familiar to me as the freckles on my face. But it isn’t the words I start to read. Instead it’s the story the pictures tell that I’m interested in, or, more importantly, how they make me feel. What clues they give me about the narrative, its humour, the tone of whatever is happening. I’m looking for something but I don’t know what, only that I’ll know it when I find it. I look up, thinking, seeing not the rain outside but instead a particular illustration in my mind. Flipping the pages forward, I realise it’s not one from this book at all and I place it back on the shelf.
It’s very neat and tidy in Lauren’s room, but I’m not here to do the housework. Either side of the chimney breast are shelves of books and that’s where I’m heading. All the rest of Kathryn’s books are here, lined up in an organised row, and I’ve remembered which story holds the illustration I’m after. Taking it down, I cross to the window to read. I sink onto the seat but the moment I do I’m suddenly very conscious of where I’m sitting. And in that second all thoughts of the illustration evaporate.
How can I possibly sit here knowing that underneath me a secret has lain hidden; here in my house. And for how long? And at the heart of that secret is a young girl, a victim of a crime that has never been solved. I gaze around the room at my own daughter’s things – at her beloved bear, Mr Blue, at the book in my hand, her slippers by her bed – and I realise that I can never let this rest now. I owe it to both Georgia and whoever hid that article to find out what happened. And I think I may know just where to start.
I duck my head around the studio door, letting Drew know that I’m popping around to see Anna. He’s concentrating hard on something and scarcely reacts beyond a muttered goodbye, but that’s okay. I don’t want to have to explain myself just yet.
Anna is baking, her kitchen worktops covered with an array of ingredients.