Eddy sat down on one side of the high bed and left Jude the other. The old man reached out a hand to each and held tight. His skin was thin and bruised from needles, but his grip was firm. “I can’t do without her,” he said. “I don’t mean for the nursing. It’s not fair.”
“Forty years, eh?” said Eddy.
“She deserves time once I’m gone,” he said. “She’s been a slave since I took bad. Never a night out. Never a weekend away. This is the wrong way on.”
“She’ll have her time,” said Eddy. “You and her’ll have your wee golden sunset and then she’ll be dying her hair and away to Vegas with her pals and you’ll be that jealous you’ll haunt her.”
Jude cast a wary at eye at the old man—it was the strangest comfort she’d ever heard—but he was laughing. Of course, Eddy had experience talking to people at the end. She’d have learned better than platitudes with her mother.
“So what happened, Mr. McLennan?” Eddy said.
“Billy,” he told her. “She came in from her work, got me fed and changed, but I knew something was troubling her. She was quiet.”
“Is that odd?” said Eddy.
Jude smothered a laugh. “She’s never met Jackie,” she said to Billy. Then, “Yes, Eddy, it’s very odd. Billy, was she in at the usual time? Was she out of breath?”
“Wee bit early if anything,” he said.
Eddy flashed Jude a look. Jackie didn’t leave the note then.
“And she didn’t say anything?” Eddy asked.
“Not to me,” Billy said. “She phoned someone, though.”
“Did you overhear the phone call?” said Jude.
Billy shook his head. “She went out in the garden.”
“In all that manky fog?” Eddy said. “That’s odd.”
“And all I heard was her raised voice. I couldn’t make out the words. What’s this about, girls?”
Jude and Eddy glanced at each other.
“It’s hard to know,” Jude said. “It started a long time ago and we’re only catching the echoes.”
“Where’s her phone?” Eddy said. “We can look at the call log.”
“Oh, you’re a wee smarty,” said Billy. It sounded like an insult to Jude’s ears but it got Eddy beaming. “Aye, it was in her pocket like always but they brought her stuff back from Casualty in a bag last night. It’ll be in the front bedroom there. That’s just a dumping ground for my bottles and whatever these days.” He lifted his head and raised his voice. “Hey? Are you through there? Can you bring me Jack’s bag from last night?”
“Who are you talk—?” said Eddy, then she sprang to her feet and made a dive for a connecting door. The smoking woman in the tabard had a thick blue plastic bag in one hand and a mobile in the other. She dropped the phone and held the bag out.
“Everything’s in here,” she said. “I was just checking.”
Jude struggled to keep up with the girl on the way back into the village. “Are you timing it?” she said.
“No, I’m just that mad with myself. I never even stopped to think where that sly bitch went once we were in. Maureen Bell’s cousin, Jude! Etta Bell’s something, for sure. And she cleared the call log on Jackie’s phone because we practically told her to! What a pair of morons.”
“Well, she didn’t strike me as a very helpful person any way you slice her,” Jude said. “And you kind of put her back up, you know, calling her a fucking bitch like that.”
Eddy blew a raspberry. “So you think it might just be a great big coincidence then?”
“I talk to Jackie about Etta and Archie; she collapses; someone warns me off Etta, Archie, and three more; and we find out Jackie spoke to someone, but one of Etta’s relatives tries to hide who? Coincidence? Ah no, Eddy, I don’t think so.”
They had arrived at the bookshop. Eddy rested her bottom on the windowsill of Spinning Yarns and splayed her feet. “Christ, I’m sick of lugging this around,” she said, lacing her hands under her belly. “And I don’t believe in coincidences anyway.” She hauled herself to her feet again. “Let’s lay it all out for Lowell and see what he says.”
“Eddy, this is moving kind of fast, don’t you think?” said Jude. “We—Shouldn’t we … think it through? Before we say anything? To anyone?”
“Lowell?” Eddy said and opened the door.
He leapt to his feet when he saw them. Two of the shallow drawers were open but, quick as a fish, he slid the picture he’d been looking at into one, pushed both closed, and leaned against them.
“Nice picnic?” he said.
“Not so’s you notice,” Jude said. “We stopped in to see Jackie’s husband. He thinks she’ll die and it’s breaking him.”
“Poor Bill,” Lowell said. “Oh my! He’d never cope on his own. Even with all the nurses and carers. He’d have to go into a home. Oh poor Jackie! I spoke to her yesterday, you know.”
Eddy said nothing but Jude managed, “Really?”
“Yes,” said Lowell. “She phoned me to check if I really wanted the card for the cottage taken down.”
“You never mentioned that,” said Jude. “And I took the card down. That’s why—You never said any of this.”
“Don’t be offended, my dear. Jackie is a very conscientious postmistress. She let you take it down but she checked with me before she destroyed it, you see?”
“Hey, Dad,” Eddy said, “if Billy does go into a home, will it be the same one you worked in? Is it still open?”
“Hm?” Lowell said, blinking as he tried to split his attention between them. “Good heavens no, that place closed millennia ago. Just after I left, actually.” His eyes came to rest on Jude. “Are you quite well, my dear? You look pale?”
“Period,” said Eddy. “She’s going home.”
“Oh um, golly,” said Lowell.
“I’ll chum you,” said Eddy to Jude. “Exercise’ll do us good.”
Before Lowell could work out that they had just walked the mile from the McLennans’ cottage, she grabbed Jude’s hand and pulled her out the door.
TWENTY-ONE
“If your dad punished you for not doing medicine by making you empty bed pans,” Eddy said, “would that piss you off? It would piss me off.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Jude asked her. “You think your dad, my friend Lowell, was bumping people off in the home and his dad knew and covered it up? And Todd Jolly knew and bribed the doctor into making sure he never ended up in there?”
“And Mrs. Hewston knew too,” said Eddy. “That’s why she’s so down on him. And fuck, yeah! This always bugged me. That’s why she gets to stay there even though she’s a pain in the arse and he could chuck her out.”
“But Lowell?” said Jude. “Dear me, yes, quite, oh golly Lowell?”
They turned a corner out of the sunshine, which was already beginning to lose what little strength it had had that morning. Jude shivered.
“Although,” she said, “there is the creepy porn collection. You might be right about that, Eddy.”
“Creepy but harmless,” Eddy said.
“And living all alone in the house he was born in.”
“That sounds like your classic serial killer, right enough,” Eddy said. “But he had friends. He had … we’ve seen the pictures of that summer!”
“And one by one they all left,” Jude said beginning to nod as she caught up. “And your mum kept you away from him all those years, even when being married to Dave Preston went wrong.”
“But she sent me back to him again!” Eddy said. “And I think you’re forgetting something, aren’t you? He’s not my dad! My mum lied about when my birthday was so I’d … wait a minute. Wait a minute.” She stopped talking and stopped walking too, ten feet from the turn into the cemetery lane.
Jude put a hand in the small of her back and pushed. “Keep it moving,” she said. “It’s brass monkeys out here.”
“If he’s not my dad—and he can’t be—she might send me back to a kind man she slept
with once, especially if he could help me track down my real dad. But she’d hardly send me back to a psycho she slept with once, would she?”
“Unless she sent you back to bust him,” Jude said. “You told me she was going on about something wrong she’d done. On her last night? She’d done something terrible? Maybe she meant keeping quiet about Lowell.”
Eddy said nothing and after the silence had gone on for a while, when they were almost at the gates, Jude peeked past the curtain of hair. It was soot black, blacker than death and midnight in the low light. Inside it, Eddy’s face was candle white.
“That’s right,” she said, and her voice was tiny. “That actually makes sense, if you must know.” She reached for Jude’s hand as they entered the graveyard. “She said she couldn’t pass over with it on her conscience.”
“It what?” said Jude.
But Eddy only shrugged. “She was scared. What if we all meet up? That’s what she said. I thought it was the morphine. The nurse said it was the morphine.” Eddy sniffed and came out of her memory. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jude. Seriously, how can you live here?”
And indeed the cemetery did look particularly bleak that afternoon, a very different place from Jude’s morning memory of blue sky and sparkling, frost-tipped grass.
“I can’t,” she said. “Of course, I can’t live here now. Not after that note. Know what I mean? Better safe than sorry.”
“Right!” said Eddy, catching on without a hitch. “And it’s different now I know you, isn’t it? I was a right cow chucking you out, but that was when you were a stranger. Now I know you, I’m dying to get you back round to Jamaica. Hey, maybe I even did the note thing—you know, to persuade you? Maybe I did jump out the window and haul my fat arse round here to freak you out.”
“Let’s not complicate it,” Jude said, and Eddy blew another raspberry at her.
Then she folded her lips in, drying them, and turned serious. “Thanks,” she said. “You really think Lowell might be dodgy as fuck and you’re coming back anyway?”
“Haven’t got much choice,” said Jude. “You know too much. You could make one phone call and I’d be toast.”
“Course,” said Eddy. “Duh. I’ve got something on you, so you’ve got to do what I say. Back scratching like we said, yeah?” Her eyes were shining.
“It’s not just that,” Jude said. “Sorry.” She shivered again. In the shadow of the church it was even colder, not just from the chill in the air, but as though cold was seeping up from the ground and leaching out of the dark stone beside them. “It’s that I really do want to find out what’s going on. Something is. Jackie knows and the strain of it’s done her in. And you shouldn’t be on your own. You’re too young and too—”
“I’m a shit-ton tougher than you, pal,” Eddy said.
“You’re not even twenty and I’m forty,” Jude said.
“And you’ve spent the extra twenty years in a … wooo … library,” Eddy said, making ghost hands.
“Don’t kid yourself,” Jude said, in her best south-London. “You get rougher homeless in a London library than you’ll have seen in Derry, gel.”
“Oh right,” Eddy said. “Yeah, we wouldn’t know the meaning of ‘trouble’ in Ulster.”
Jude rolled her eyes and shook her head. “All right, have the last word. I’m mature enough to let it go. You’ve said thank you and I’ll say you’re welcome.”
Eddy smirked but she didn’t start another round. Instead, she sniffed and squeezed her eyes tight to get rid of the sheen of tears. “So where’s these graves then?” she said. “We need to take a pic so we can study them up when you’re not staying here anymore.”
Jude led her around and waited while Eddy snapped each of them. Archibald Patterstone, Henrietta Bell, Todd Jolly, Elspeth Day, and Norma Oughton. She scrolled through the photographs as Jude was opening the cottage door.
“Tell you one thing for nothing,” Eddy said. “It wasn’t kids. The note, I mean.”
“How do you know?” said Jude. She was looking round at the living room. She hadn’t made much of a mark in here, but she would be sorry to leave Todd’s shipshape kitchen and she was filled with a kind of blank, dead feeling inside to think of leaving the upstairs library.
“Because,” Eddy said, “if it was kids going round collecting the names and writing them down, right? They’d have written Archibald and Elspeth. And definitely Henrietta. It was someone who remembers them who wrote that note to you.”
“My God, you’re right!” Jude said. “Elsie and Etta and Archie. It’s got to be someone old enough to have known them.”
“And at least we know that bit wasn’t Lowell,” Eddy said. “I was with him right from teatime to bedtime.”
“What about when you were waxing?”
“He was at the door every two minutes,” Eddy said. “He wouldn’t leave me in peace. And I wasn’t waxing. I was just having a wash and that. Not like anyone’s going to see any bit of me that grows hair anytime soon, is it?”
“What? Liam and Terry aren’t coming to the birth?” Jude said.
But Eddy only snorted and told her to start packing.
She really wanted to take the books and tried for a quite a while to convince Eddy it made sense.
“There are clues in them,” she said. “I found the start of it in them.”
“So take the ones with the clues in,” Eddy said. “What’s that, like three?”
“It’s hard to explain,” Jude said. “It’s all of them.”
“It can’t be,” said Eddy. “Get a grip.”
So Jude took the copies with the long reviews in the back and left the rest. She took O. Douglas even though they were tainted now. If Lowell was what they suspected him of being, then every memory was stained. The first visit last summer when he popped his head round the door to share her joy and certainly every moment since she came back and he showed her The Day of Small Things he’d been saving for her. What had she been thinking? Going round to a stranger’s house and sleeping in his bed? She must have been crazy.
“What?” said Eddy.
Jude had laughed out loud. They had phoned for a taxi from Newton Stewart and they were sitting in the living room waiting for it to arrive, surrounded by boxes of perishable food from the fridge and binbags full of Jude’s clothes. She had her stash in a tower on her lap. Douglas, the downed plane, the Rushdie, the Allingham, and the old cloth Rebecca.
“I just can’t believe it,” she said. “I cannot believe that man could do harm to a living soul. Can you? Really?”
“Nope,” said Eddy. “Maybe … Maybe he knew who it was, though. At the nursing home. Maybe he covered something up and my mum covered for him. Christ, I wish she was still here so I could just ask her.”
They both fell silent. One thing Jude had learned after her parents’ death, in the first few horrendous weeks following it, was the kindness of silence.
If she’d had someone who understood and would sit quietly, shoulders touching, and let her feel her feelings, she wouldn’t have ended up back round at her old house the night of the funeral, looking for comfort in the place she’d found it all those married years.
But all she’d had was people commenting under the online Standard article, sniggering like idiots. And then the neighbours asking if there was anything they could do or telling her they’d pray for her and so, without even deciding to, all of a sudden she was opening the wardrobe door and standing looking down at the back of Max’s head hanging over the side of the bed, keeping his airways clear. She wanted to slap him awake. To open his eyes with her fingers and make him see her. She didn’t get quite that far.
The baby had been crying when Raminder opened the front door. Jude heard the thin, high wails before she even heard the latch.
“Max!” She’d sounded a little bit anxious but happy underneath. “All hands on deck, sweetheart! Jade needs a feed and a bum change and I’m busting for a pee!”
Jude was frozen in place. Max snore
d steadily.
“Max?” Raminder called up. “Come on, love. This isn’t funny. Listen to her! Are you in the shower? Max, for God’s sake, will you—Are you okay?”
Jude didn’t have time to get back to the wardrobe—thankfully, as it turned out. She withdrew into the deep shadow between the open door and the bedroom wall as Raminder came up the stairs, leaving the baby’s cries behind her.
“Max, for God—” she said, striding into the bedroom. She stopped dead, a foot from the bed where Max was now snoring harder than ever, gurgling snorts that filled the air of the small room with the belch stink of beer and the reek of whisky. She was so close that Jude could see individual stray hairs, mussed out of her ponytail, silhouetted against the light of the bedside lamp. They were quivering.
“You promised,” Raminder said. “Wet the baby’s head. One drink. You promised me.”
Max snored so loudly it sounded like a snarl and Raminder spun away, into the tiny en suite bathroom. Jude could hear her opening and shutting drawers, thumping and rustling, while she peed. Jude had done it herself, sitting on the loo and reaching over to the sink to the little cupboard, putting new toiletries away, tidying, packing like Raminder was doing now. The toilet flushed and when she came out she was carrying a little drawstring bag. If she had looked over she would have seen Jude standing there, but she was busy. She got a case out of the wardrobe, threw it down on the bed beside Max and dropped the drawstring bag in it. Downstairs the baby’s cries went up in pitch.
“Mummy’s coming,” Raminder said, under her breath. She went back and forward twice from the chest of drawers with underclothes and pyjamas, once to the wardrobe for jeans and shirts and then she zipped the case shut and stalked out of the door without a glance at the bed.
Jude only had to stand there for another minute and she’d be clear, but she heard the first sob wrench itself from Raminder’s throat and found her feet moving.
The banging on the cottage door brought both of them back, Eddy starting as violently as Jude.
QUIET NEIGHBOURS an unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 20