The Heights

by Juliet Bell

  His shoulders sagged. ‘Well, then.’

  ‘But I can’t. Edward’s asked me to stay with them more often.’

  ‘Like live there?’

  She nodded. They hadn’t quite agreed that yet, but they would. As soon as she was sixteen, they would.

  ‘But you live here.’

  She looked around. Nobody lived here. This house was somewhere people existed. It wasn’t living. It wasn’t enough. ‘I can’t stay here.’

  ‘You won’t stay here.’

  ‘It’s not enough. It’s dirty and it’s ugly and it’s poor. We’re poor. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to be poor any more. I don’t want to be ashamed any more.’

  He punched his hand hard against the wall. In the cot, Harry started sobbing afresh.

  ‘And what about us. What about me. What’s wrong with me?’ Heathcliff suddenly froze as still as if he was one of those statues in the graveyard. ‘You’re ashamed of me…’

  She stared at him, too afraid to speak, because if she did, she’d say yes.

  She saw him coming at her before she felt his hands on her shoulders, bowling her backwards into the cot. She twisted her body away, falling to the ground. Harry screamed. Heathcliff stumbled backwards.

  ‘You are ashamed of me?’ His voice was low and hard. Frightening. She wished he’d shout and swear. That would be easier.

  ‘It’s not just you. It’s everything. I want a house that doesn’t smell like shit. I want nice clothes and a proper house and…’

  She paused for a moment and took a low, slow breath. She looked at Heathcliff’s face. His eyes were like the hard black rocks up there on the hills.

  ‘I just want everything to be better,’ she said.

  ‘You’re ashamed of me.’ He repeated it in a whisper.

  Cathy gave up. She couldn’t explain. She shrugged. ‘Yeah. Maybe.’

  He turned and ran from the room. His footsteps stomped down the stairs and then the front door closed behind him with a crash.

  Chapter Nineteen

  2008

  The CSO led him into a room at the back of the station. Lockwood sighed. It wasn’t even a proper station any more. It was a Community Policing Outreach point, for goodness’ sake. The wire mesh on the windows didn’t make it look like the outreach was going that well. The lad, or rather Community Support Officer, pulled a face at the stack of paperwork and files in the corner of the room.

  ‘Rather you than me, mate.’

  Lockwood scanned the stack of boxes. He should start either at the beginning, or with the report into the death of Luke Earnshaw. That was what had brought him here after all. He didn’t do either. He took the top box from the pile. It was marked 1986–7. He pulled out a stock of folders and placed them on the table. Then he started to read.

  The first set of papers was dated May 1987. He scanned through the notes. Heathcliff Earnshaw, age 16, 5ft 11, slim build, dark hair. Last seen April 1987. Reported missing by family member.

  Missing? He didn’t remember being told anything about Heathcliff going missing. Not surprising really. Teenage lads ran off all the time. Chances were he’d been back home eating his beans on toast before anyone had really got round to looking for him.

  He flipped further through the file.

  There was one witness statement from Catherine Earnshaw. It looked like she’d been the one who’d reported him missing. Cathy had last seen Heathcliff two weeks before she reported him missing. According to her statement, she hadn’t realised he was gone until he failed to show up for an exam at school. Apparently she’d been staying with a schoolfriend, Isabelle Linton. After the exam she’d gone home and found that Heathcliff wasn’t there and her oldest brother didn’t know where he was. Mr and Mrs Linton had suggested she tell the police.

  Lockwood closed his eyes for a second. The statement was short – too short to his mind – but a sixteen-year-old with a history of truancy suddenly taking off was hardly the crime of the century. There could have been a fight at home, and judging from what he remembered of Gimmerton back then, there was a lot to run away from. Could he honestly say he’d have done anything more than take the statement and file it away? If he’d been here, would Heathcliff Earnshaw have been just another name on the list of people he hadn’t been able to save?

  He scanned the single sheet again. What didn’t it say? It didn’t say why Cathy wasn’t living at home any more. Her address was given as the house on the Heights, but she hadn’t been home for a fortnight. Two weeks wasn’t ‘staying with friends’. Two weeks was ‘moved out’. Mr and Mrs Linton were mentioned. Lockwood’s best guess was that she was already living with the Lintons. Would she have been sixteen by then? He wasn’t sure. Probably close enough for no one to care. He flicked through the pile of papers. No mention of Mick Earnshaw. It didn’t even look like the police had contacted him, or maybe they had and it had been lost or misfiled. It was twenty years ago. Papers went walkabout all the time.

  He ran his finger down the front sheet on the file. What was the outcome? Obviously Heathcliff had come back, but when? Did anyone go looking for him? Or did he come home of his own accord. There was nothing but a quickly scrawled note, ‘Passed to SS.’

  Passed to social services. Well, they wouldn’t have done much either. The pit would have been about to close by then. Social services and the police would have been overwhelmed in a community on the breadline. But still, it wouldn’t hurt to visit Ellen Dean again. Lockwood grinned. At least it was an excuse to get out of this room.

  Miss Dean kept him waiting in reception. It was probably because she was busy. He hadn’t exactly given her a lot of notice, but DCI Lockwood didn’t appreciate being made to wait. He wasn’t a fan of this nonsense they did nowadays where they let suspects come down to the station at an appointed time. It was giving away all the power, giving them time to get their story straight. Nelson Lockwood preferred to be the one setting the schedule so everyone understood who was in charge.

  Eventually he marched back up to the reception desk. ‘Could you check on Miss Dean again, please?’

  The girl narrowed her eyes. ‘I said, didn’t I? She’s in a meeting.’

  ‘You said that twenty minutes ago. She might not be any more.’

  The girl sighed as she hauled herself to her feet. ‘Wait here.’

  Left alone in reception he glanced quickly at her computer screen. If this was a crime drama she’d have left the client database open and he’d have been able to take a quick shuffty. It wasn’t. She was playing solitaire and reading her Hotmail. Not much help.

  He stepped back from the desk as the door to the back swung open. Ellen Dean held the door. ‘Come through, Detective Inspector.’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector,’ he corrected.

  Seated in her office he refused the offer of tea, setting his tone to businesslike. ‘I want to ask you some more about Heathcliff Earnshaw.’

  Ellen Dean raised an eyebrow. ‘What about him?’

  ‘He went missing, I understand.’

  ‘Has he?’ She looked surprised. ‘Well, not my case, I’m afraid. I’m child services.’

  ‘No, no.’ Lockwood shook his head. ‘When he was a teenager, he went missing.’

  She frowned. ‘Well, kids like that…’

  ‘The police passed it on to you. I was trying to find out if there was any follow-up.’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.’

  ‘But there would be files.’

  ‘I’d have to check.’

  Lockwood smiled and leaned back in his seat. ‘I’ve got plenty of time.’

  Ellen’s eyes narrowed. He knew he was wearing out his welcome.

  ‘We wouldn’t hold them in this building any more,’ she said brusquely. ‘Things have changed. Department offices get reorganised. The files’ll be in storage by now.’ She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair.

  If he wanted to get any more out of her, he’d have
to change his tack. He smiled.

  ‘Of course. Stupid of me not to realise. I know it can’t have been easy, what with everything that happened after the pit closed. I shouldn’t expect you to remember everyone.’

  ‘Well, I do try,’ she said.

  Lockwood nodded and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a busy few days. You must know what it’s like. The Chief Super is down on me. Riding me to get a solution to this. And what does it matter, really? After all these years.’

  He wondered if he’d overegged the pudding a bit, but the woman nodded in sympathy. ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘And the paperwork. No one can be expected to keep up with the paperwork.’

  ‘Them upstairs have got no idea how hard we all work.’ Ellen bristled with righteous indignation.

  ‘You are so right.’ He sighed. ‘If the offer’s still open I wouldn’t mind that cup of tea.’

  The girl from reception brought them tea. The detective took a big sip and leaned back. ‘You really don’t remember Heathcliff running off?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘To be honest, Miss Dean, I think I’d trust your memory better than those files I found down the police station.’

  ‘If I remember rightly, it were the girl, Cathy, that reported him missing.’

  Lockwood didn’t respond.

  ‘I don’t think anyone else had even noticed. So far as the school was concerned, he wasn’t likely to pass anything anyway, and he was sixteen, so if he didn’t turn up, he didn’t turn up.’

  ‘And Mick Earnshaw?’

  ‘Would have been glad to see the back of him. Always hated him. And besides, he had enough problems of his own. The mine was laying off then, and he were one of the first to go. And then there was the baby. Could have kept a whole department busy that family. I did more than anyone else would’ve.’

  Lockwood wondered if that was strictly true. He didn’t see Ellen Dean putting herself out for a baby from the Heights. But he kept that thought to himself.

  ‘I wonder why he ran off.’ He took another sip of the dreadful tea, trying to act as if he didn’t expect an answer.

  ‘Well, I’m not one to gossip, but if you ask me, it was because of her. She went off with the Linton boy and left him, you see ‘

  ‘Cathy? His sister?’

  ‘She wasn’t his sister, though, was she?’

  Lockwood shook his head. That little detail again. ‘No. I don’t suppose she was.’

  ‘She had a head on her shoulders, though. Ambitious. She set her sights on that Linton boy. I thought that’s what drove Heathcliff away, if you’re asking for my personal opinion. He couldn’t stand to lose her.’

  ‘He was in love with her?’ Lockwood knew the answer, but he wanted her to say it.

  ‘It wasn’t love. He was obsessed with her.’ The woman reached for her tea. ‘The way I see it, he still is.’

  Chapter Twenty

  February, 1988

  ‘Oh, come on.’

  Cathy’s voice on the other end of the line was wheedling. Edward sighed. He was going to agree. Of course he was going to agree. He couldn’t say no to Cathy and he certainly couldn’t leave her and Isabelle standing around in the cold.

  ‘It’s hailing here. We’ll freeze to death.’

  He pictured the bare arms and short skirts the pair had been wearing when they marched out of the house a few hours earlier. He remembered his mother’s instruction that they should wear coats. He remembered Cathy laughing it off. Nobody wore a coat on a night out.

  ‘Okay. Are you by the statue?’

  Cathy’s laugh tinkled down the phone. ‘No. We’re in Leeds. We’ll meet you at the bus station.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re in Leeds.’

  ‘Why?’

  Cathy laughed at him again. ‘Why not? My money’s going to run out. At the bus station. Bye.’

  How on earth had they ended up in Leeds? They’d been going for a girls’ night, ostensibly to Wakefield to the pictures, but it would appear they’d actually gone a lot further than that. Edward glanced out of the window. There might be hail in Leeds, but here, big fat flakes of snow had been falling steadily for about an hour. He didn’t fancy the drive in his mother’s little runaround.

  He stuck his head around the door of the living room. His parents were still up, Mother bent over a jigsaw on the table, Father reading one of his big fat hardbacks. ‘Father, can I borrow your car?’

  His father looked up. ‘What for?’

  ‘To pick the girls up.’

  ‘In town?’

  ‘Mmmmm.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie.

  Mr Linton frowned. ‘In this weather, they’d be better getting the next bus back. Before the snow gets any heavier. Or a taxi. ‘

  ‘They can’t really do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Edward paused. Father would not be pleased to hear that the girls had lied about where they were going and it would almost certainly lead to another conversation about whether that girl was the sort of influence they really wanted on Isabelle.

  ‘I’ve said I’ll go for them now, though.’

  Father shook his head. He looked tired. Edward had seen on the news that the nurses strikes had spilt over to picket lines at the pit gates. Not in Gimmerton, but still. He knew his father was worried about everything blowing up again. ‘Well, you should have asked first. I don’t want you driving the big car in this weather.’

  Irritation rose in Edward’s chest. ‘I’m a perfectly good driver.’

  ‘I’m not saying you’re not, but in snow at night it’s different.’ Father set his book down on the coffee table. ‘But if you’ve said you’re coming for them, somebody needs to, so I suppose I’ll have go.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  His father stopped a foot in front of Edward. ‘Why not?’

  There was no choice left. ‘Because they’re not in town. They’re in Leeds.’

  ‘What?’ A flush of pink rose in Mr Linton’s cheeks. ‘And you knew about this?’

  Edward squirmed. ‘Only just now.’

  ‘Right. Well, you’re definitely not going out down the lanes and on the motorway in this weather. Where are they expecting you?’

  ‘By the bus station.’

  Edward’s mother raised her head from her jigsaw. ‘You’re going all the way into Leeds?’

  ‘Well, I can hardly leave them there all night, can I?’

  ‘But you’ll give that girl a piece of your mind when you pick them up?’

  Mr Linton nodded curtly.

  His wife pursed her lips. ‘You won’t, will you? You won’t say anything.’ She tossed the piece of edge she was holding onto the board. ‘I’ll come with you. She needs to know that if she wants to live under this roof, there are rules.’

  Edward watched his parents bundle up in coats and boots. He watched his father pack a spade into the boot of the car while his mother filled a flask with hot tea.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He tried one last time. ‘I really don’t mind going.’

  Father shook his head. ‘Not in this weather. And you’re not used to the big car.’

  ‘Well, if you let me drive the big car…’ Edward blurted out the complaint but his anger subsided as quickly as it had started.

  ‘Maybe when you’re a bit older.’

  Cathy hopped from foot to foot. ‘Come on. We can get another drink before he gets here.’

  Isabelle shook her head. ‘What if we miss him?’

  ‘We won’t. It’ll take ages to get here. We can go to that place where they had cocktails.’

  Isabelle shook her head. Cathy bit back her frustration. Isabelle was so boring. She hadn’t even wanted to come to Leeds. She had no spark about her. She didn’t ever seem to want to just run away and keep running and find out what was over the next hill and the next one and the next one. Edward didn’t seem to either, but that was different. Edward wasn’t for running around with. Edward wasn�
�t even for going out, and drinking Taboo and lemonade, and getting off with in corners of nightclubs. Edward was for staying in one place and keeping her safe.

  ‘Come on. I want to try sex on the beach.’ Cathy giggled at her own daring.

  Isabelle looked down at the floor. ‘Have you, y’know, with Edward?’

  ‘On a beach?’

  ‘No. Wherever.’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  Cathy shrugged. ‘It was fine.’ And it was. He’d fumbled about with the condom, and Cathy had looked away. But she’d wanted to do it. It made her a grown-up. It was what you did with the boy you were going to marry. It didn’t have to be more than that.

  ‘You’re lucky.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘To have found Edward.’ Isabelle’s voice had gone all dreamy and weird. ‘I’d love to find the one. He’ll be tall and dark and handsome.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Cathy didn’t answer. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t get you very far. You needed money and a house and nice things. That’s what mattered.

  She pulled her arms across her torso. It was really cold now. The hail had turned to sleet and then to snow and was settling on the pavements outside the bus station. ‘He’s been ages.’

  Isabelle nodded. ‘Probably just traffic.’

  ‘Have you got any more money?’

  Isabelle hunted in her purse and pulled out two round, silver, ten-pence pieces. Cathy snatched them off her and marched back to the phone box. Edward would be in the car, but maybe Mr Linton would answer. Cathy could always get round him. He’d tell her what time Edward had left. She dialled the number, really hoping Mrs Linton wouldn’t answer.

  Edward grabbed the phone on the first ring. ‘Hello.’

  ‘What are you doing there?’

  ‘My parents are coming for you. They wouldn’t let me have the car in the snow.’

  He heard the sigh down the phone. ‘So I’ll be in trouble again now?’

  ‘No. I think they’re just worried.’ That wasn’t true. They both knew it wasn’t true. Mother was permanently furious with Cathy anyway. Father was more tolerant of the cuckoo in the family nest. He thought she had something about her. He seemed to think Edward had done well to choose her. Or be chosen by her.