by Carole Pitt
MISERY SHALLOWS
By
Carole Pitt
Thanks to Amy Pitt and Jenny Blood.
Cover by Dhansolo designs.
Misery Shallows
By Carole Pitt
Copyright 2015 Carole Pitt
There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
Julius Caesar Act 4, scene 3.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER ONE
The Voice.
I wish I could go back to this morning but dusk is approaching. Then, when darkness descends, the nightmare will begin.
The buried memories had not resurfaced for many years, but that would all change by early afternoon. Such an ordinary morning too, filled with sunshine and bird song. The kitchen played out its usual breakfast noises, the boiling kettle competed with the radio and beyond the confines of domesticity, the garden had sprung new blades of spring grass glistening with dew, confirming a subtle change in the season.
Now everything seems irrevocably altered. Outside, the elements are raging. A gale force wind is rattling the budding branches against the windowpanes. It's unnerving and perhaps prophetic. The more the storm rages, the more it encourages illogical thoughts and morbid imaginings. Like sitting in the train carriage destined to derail, or boarding a plane heading for the bottom of a vast ocean.
Derail is the applicable word. Is that what has happened? Has life derailed? Perhaps it's too soon to know. Is it destiny, or an evil force? The answer to that question will puzzle more than a few people for a long time.
The trouble is, all this obsessive analysis is exhausting and the one certainty in all of this is that time is not ours to manipulate.
Going back to this morning is impossible and the prospect of going forward is intolerable.
CHAPTER TWO
Saturday March 15th
Elizabeth Jewell pulled up outside a small Chinese shop tucked away off the Campton Road. Budding Silver Birch trees lined the narrow street with military precision and when they caught her attention, she supposed that if she cared to measure the space between them, they would be equidistant. Precision was one of the many characteristics of Cheltenham's Georgian elegance. From the eighteenth century, the architects and planners were nothing less than meticulous.
The March morning air felt soft and warm, neither of which Elizabeth, nor the rest of Gloucestershire's residents had felt for a long time. Weeks and weeks of heavy rain had caused extensive flooding. Tewksbury and Upton-upon Severn had suffered the worst of the weather and the water levels were only now beginning to drop. She locked the Saab and leaned against the door to ease her aching legs. The sky was a clear blue and the sun unusually strong for the time of year. After a couple of minutes, she felt as if she was wearing a heavy tweed jacket instead of a fine cashmere cardigan. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the moment. Was it too much to hope that spring was here? March, she remembered, named for Mars, Roman God of War, a time when the ground turns soft enough to cultivate and the cycle of renewal begins again.
She glanced at her watch and checked the date. Bloody hell, she thought, today is the Ides of March and here I am thinking about the Romans. Elizabeth didn't like to admit to being superstitious and often tried to banish any such notions, but they still invaded her mind when she least expected them to. This time she allowed them access. The Ides of March, she pondered, made famous because one man met his death at the hand of an assassin. Julius Caesar. She shuddered, remembering her school history lessons. How a soothsayer had warned Caesar of impending danger, spawning Shakespeare's interpretation of the words, ‘beware the ides of March’, a day when the seer's prediction came true. Would cooking a Chinese meal for the first time end in disaster?
She spoke aloud. 'It's only a small dinner party. What could possibly go wrong?' Then closed her mind to any further superstition and went inside the shop. It was cool and dark, lit only by two elaborate Chinese lanterns. A dainty black haired girl sat close to the till reading a book. She looked up and smiled, but didn't speak. Strains of eastern music played quietly in the background while two other customers browsed the shelves.
Apart from Chinese herbs and spices, she needed a wok and a bamboo steamer. Chinese cooking wasn't a skill she was proficient in but she'd decided to learn. Entertaining hadn't ever been high on her agenda, but since meeting Dean that had gradually changed. This evening it wasn't just the two of them; she'd invited four of his friends over, two married couples whom she had met before and had already enjoyed their company and hospitality. Now it was her turn to play host and it was almost midday.
Elizabeth looked around and wondered where to start. Most of the woks appeared too large, more suited for restaurant use rather than domestic. Hidden behind the pots and pans she found a smaller one. She picked it up and felt her right wrist suddenly go limp under the weight. I'm getting feeble, she thought as she used both hands to carry it to the counter.
To save time, she showed the young girl her list and asked if she'd help locate the items. Not only did the girl speak perfect English, she had one of the classiest accents Elizabeth had ever heard.
'My name is Huifen,' she said standing up and pointing to her chair. 'Please take a seat while I collect them for you.'
Elizabeth laughed. 'That's very kind. I'm not a very good cook, never mind tackling Chinese recipes.'
'Do you want to try an authentic menu?' Huifen asked.
'Will I find that more difficult?'
Huifen shoo
k her head. 'Not if you have the correct instructions.'
'Do you have a book?'
'We have a basic one. It's easier than you think.'
Elizabeth decided to trust the girl's advice. 'Okay, I'm interested. I love your name by the way. It's very pretty. What does it mean?'
Huifen looked embarrassed, but still answered. 'A simple translation is wise and fragrant.'
'God, I wish I was wise and fragrant. I could definitely use a few extra brain cells today.'
'Perhaps you are tired,' the girl said.
Elizabeth felt Huifen's black fathomless eyes examining her. The Chinese girl was right, she was tired, much more than she cared to admit. Flu like symptoms had plagued her on and off over the last month but hadn't materialised into the real thing. Normally she could handle colds and flu and always recovered quickly but this ongoing fatigue was starting to worry her. Now her wrist was throbbing without good reason.
She checked her watch again. 'The problem is I'm in a hurry.'
Huifen nodded and pointed to the chair. 'I won't be long.'
Less than ten minutes later Elizabeth left the shop with clear instructions on how to proceed. According to Huifen, if she followed them, her inaugural Chinese meal wouldn't fail to impress her guests.
She stacked the shopping in the boot feeling more relaxed and was glad to discover she had time for a coffee before heading back home. She scanned the street from left to right, but couldn't see a cafe in the immediate vicinity. She stopped a passerby who explained the nearest one didn't usually open until one pm but the local pub was across the road. Elizabeth didn't fancy a crowded place full of Saturday afternoon sports addicts. If she drove straight home and started the cooking earlier there'd be more time to rectify any mistakes.
The heat had built up inside the Saab and as soon as she closed the door, sweat beaded on her brow. She flicked the air con switch but nothing happened, nor did the windows open. She kept pressing the buttons trying to open each one, but all four remained steadfastly shut.
'I don't believe this,' she cried. She'd had the Saab for five of its ten-year life and lately things had begun to go wrong. During the storms and floods, she'd noticed the electrics had played up occasionally, but had put off taking it to the garage. Typical, she thought, the damn thing has deliberately waited until today to cause me more problems. Feeling slightly hesitant, she turned the key anticipating silence, but the engine fired up. Hot sweat trickled from her brow into her eyes making them sting. She grabbed a tissue and wiped her face then pinned her hair up with a brown rubber band she retrieved from her pocket.
As she pulled out into the road, she pictured Dean. Their relationship had lasted almost ten months and although they saw each other regularly, it wasn't as often as she would have liked. Tonight would be one of those rare occasions when Elizabeth intended to completely forget about work and concentrate on making the evening a success. Waiting at the lights she tried the window again and heard a sound not unlike cutlery scraping across an empty plate. The window had opened, then ground to a halt half way down.
'Thank you,' she said, glad of the slight breeze.
Approaching Leckhampton, she spotted a woman pushing a buggy and holding a toddler's hand. Recognition came immediately and her heart gave a jolt. Melissa. Almost as if the woman had heard her, she turned her head. Elizabeth had barely thought of Calbrain since last August, around the time of his wedding. She hadn't seen Melissa but had heard about her second child. Distracted at seeing her, she didn't notice the car in front had stopped abruptly. Her foot hit the brake just in time to stop her ploughing into it.
She had an overwhelming desire to pull over and catch up with Calbrain's old friend, but there was nowhere to park. Then she heard her phone beeping, it was in her bag and she didn't dare reach down. To her left she saw a car leaving a bay. With an expertise she didn't realise she possessed she backed into it perfectly and left the engine running while she clamped the phone to her ear.
Patterson's voice sounded very loud. 'Daly told me to ring. He's just left.'
'Left for where?' Elizabeth asked, feeling a familiar sensation wash over her.
'Reports of a body found near Upton Woden, a few miles from Tewksbury, an area where the floods were bloody horrendous.'
'Is it suspicious?'
'I haven't a clue. Daly's gone off without me. He said he had to see someone first so I'll bring Eldridge and meet you there.'
What about my plans, Elizabeth thought, then hardened her resolve. Sod it. I'm not giving in without a fight. 'Tony, I've made arrangements for tonight. Surely to God you, Eldridge and Daly don't need me as well.'
'I'm not the one in charge here. You know what he's been like the last few months. Determined to build his reputation before he retires, that is if the old sod ever does retire. Here's the coordinates, it's a bit tricky to find so make sure you don't take a wrong turn, it's easy to get lost out that way.'
Elizabeth stared ahead at the traffic, feeling miserable. The chances were good she'd get back by this evening but without the promised dinner, they'd have to go out to eat. 'I don't want to come, tell Daly I'm ill. And if he doesn't believe you make something up to convince him.'
'He said you'd probably try to wriggle out of it and that I had to let you know if you don't turn up he has a plan.'
'What the hell does he mean by a plan? I had a plan until you rang, but Daly doesn't seem to think I'm entitled to one. Sometimes Tony I...'
Patterson interrupted. 'I know, I know. Now you wish he hadn't come back. Except you seem to have forgotten you were crying your eyes out for weeks until he did.'
Elizabeth felt like tearing her hair out, instead she hung up on Patterson and phoned Dean.
CHAPTER THREE
Still seething Elizabeth doubled back and took the A46 to Tewksbury rather than use the motorway. She'd managed to calm down by the time she arrived in the historic riverside town and quickly parked close to the High Street. Before she went any further, she needed caffeine. Daly would have to wait, for once.
Three years ago, she'd gone to the town’s Medieval Festival for the first time to watch the re-enactment, a spectacle not forgotten easily. Melanie, the friend who'd persuaded her to go had a stall selling handcrafted jewellery and needed someone to give her an occasional break. As Elizabeth reminisced, she found it difficult to believe how much her life had changed since that day. Back then, she had a lot more friends, women as well as men. Most were married with children now and she rarely saw any of them.
After twenty minutes and two cups of coffee, she returned to her car, checked Patterson's directions and headed for the town's major claim to fame, Tewksbury Abbey. A fine example of Norman architecture, originally part of a monastery and saved by King Henry VIII after the townspeople bought it to use as their parish church.
From Tewksbury, she drove the next five miles to Fordhampton and turned off to Upton Woden. Patterson had sent a text while she was in the cafe telling her to drive another mile until she reached the lock keeper’s cottage. Even in daylight, the area appeared desolate. There were no signs of any rich green grass, instead, the ground was sludge brown and the hedgerows a dark tangle of rotting branches. Up ahead she spotted three vehicles but before continuing, she got out of the car and concentrated on the rest of the barren landscape. Across the river, she spotted a weir and the disused brick pits that had provided building material for the major construction work in Georgian and Victorian Tewksbury. A cool wind brushed her hair across her eyes and at the same time, she experienced a sense of disquiet. One or two of the trees had died, their blackened gnarled branches clawing the sky. Whatever happened here had left a palpable atmosphere; she could feel it and for a moment wished that she could turn back. Steeling herself, she walked the rest of the way and noticed the crime scene vehicle sandwiched between the others. She wasn’t expecting to see the pathologist Joe Grayson. He was deep in conversation with Daly. When he looked over, she noticed his tan. He appeared a dam
n sight healthier than before he went to America. Before she uttered a word, he came towards her. 'Great to see you Liz, it's been a while.’
'I thought you weren't due back for another couple of months,' she said.
'I've come back briefly for an ageing Aunt's funeral. Ted phoned me, thought I'd be interested in this one. If I am I might be persuaded to stay.'
God forbid, Elizabeth thought. She'd always admired Grayson, but like Daly, his ego too had grown to proportions she found hard to tolerate. A craving for more recognition had changed both men, and not necessarily for the better. She wondered where Eldridge and Patterson were and was about to ask Daly when a tall elderly man came out of the cottage. 'I'm Arthur Carstairs, I found the body.’ He pointed to his left. ‘We need to head downstream.’
Elizabeth noticed a fine scar below his left eye; otherwise, he looked in good physical shape.
'Is that where the body is?’ Daly asked without acknowledging her.
Carstairs stopped. 'Close by. When they built the lock, the Severn was an old meander cut off from the main flow of the river. This place has always been a very quiet backwater.'
Elizabeth looked around at the scenery. 'Where does it connect back to the river?'
Carstairs pointed. 'Over there at the south end.'
They walked a few yards to the lock. Daly pointed out its unusual shape. 'Don't think I've seen one like this before.'
'It was built to take a tug and a barge,' Carstairs explained.
Elizabeth could see Carstairs was nervous. He plucked at his jumper with a shaky hand and his eyes behind the rimless glasses darted around as if he was having difficulty focusing. She didn't want to add to his distress and turned her attention to the mobile crime scene vehicle inching slowly forward. She guessed Daly and Grayson had kept them waiting while they chatted. Typical, she thought. At this early stage, neither showed any respect for the dead, or whoever was out there frantically wondering what had happened to their loved one.
Elizabeth trudged behind still not used to a slimmer Daly. He hadn't confessed to how much weight he'd actually lost, but it had to be in the region of two and a half stone and by God, had it made a difference. Over a year ago, he'd weighed in at seventeen, now he actually looked slimmer than he probably was. The weight loss made him look taller. Again, he was dressed in a snazzy suit, not the polyester ones he'd favoured prior to his makeover.