by Valerie Laws
‘Yeah, I think about that a lot.’
They talked about Lucy for a while, reminiscing. She seemed to be there with them, her vivid presence at home in the warm and colourful room. Eventually, Erica stretched and said, ‘It’s getting late. I’d better get a taxi.’
‘You can stay the night. Toby’s sleeping in my room, while his mum’s away. His room’s empty. Come up and have a look.’
Rather unsteadily, they went upstairs and stood looking into Toby’s room. Bright, primary colours. A couple of Peg’s knitted toys among the more expensive Fisher-Price and Playmobil. A single bed, with no bedding on it.
‘I can easily make it up for you.’ Steve turned to Erica on the landing. ‘Come and see Toby while you make your mind up.’
She looked into Steve’s room. A mattress had been fitted in beside his bed, and on it lay Toby, fast asleep, under a Bob the Builder duvet. He looked even more beautiful than she remembered. How could Lucy stay away from this lovely child? Something was very wrong. Toby seemed to sense that someone was looking at him, he moved and muttered a few words they couldn’t make out. Something fell on the floor. Steve picked up a furry brown rabbit and placed it carefully back in Toby’s arms. ‘Peter Rabbit,’ he whispered.
‘He loves Beatrix Potter. I was determined he’d have at least one proper soft toy! Peter’s jacket’s got lost, but he’s still holding his radish.’
‘Hm, boys will be boys,’ Erica whispered back, giggling tipsily.
They tiptoed out and stood together. The landing was lit by the glow of a plug-in night light. The whispering had created a bubble of intimacy between them.
‘Well,’ murmured Steve, ‘do you wanna stay?’
Suddenly they were kissing. His mouth was soft and warm, his body hard under his tee shirt. Did she want to stay? God yes. All her pretensions of self-control had vanished, she was kissing him with all the skill and desperation of a deprived addict, when they heard the sound of a key in the front door. They broke apart, and stood frozen like guilty kids caught at the biscuit tin.
‘My mum!’ said Steve absurdly, as a cheerful voice called softly, ‘Steve, I’m back!’
Erica went cold all over. What had she been thinking of, snogging Lucy’s ex? If he was an ex … so much for loyalty to her friend! So much for making amends for past disloyalty! She pictured herself explaining to Lucy that she’d got involved in the situation and then ended up shagging Steve. Toby’s dad, remember.
‘Ok, Mum! I’m just showing Erica around. She might be staying over.’
They went downstairs. ‘Actually, I’ll just get a taxi home,’
said Erica. ‘Hi!’
‘Hi!’ Steve’s mum, a slim, smart woman in early middle- age, smiled. ‘If you’re quick, you might grab the taxi I just got out of. He might be still sitting there doing whatever they do.’
‘Great idea, thanks,’ jabbered Erica, opening the door, and yes, the blessed driver was still there. She rushed out, Steve after her, signalling to him to wait.
‘It’s ok,’ Steve said. ‘Don’t panic. Me and Lucy are friends, well, more like family. We’re not going out any more.’
‘It still feels like kind of a weird thing to happen. I’m sorry Steve, but it’s your fault for being so cute. I’ll call you when I’ve checked out the care home angle.’
She flung herself into the taxi. Steve was gorgeous, and she had been on a starvation diet. He was just the sexual equivalent of a chocolate HobNob, or a tube of Pringles; just a hunk of passion cake, she told herself. No, no, no, it was not a good idea. She burned with frustration and hunger, trying to remember if she had any new batteries in her bedside drawer. At least orgasms aren’t fattening.
As she fell into her own chilly bed, she reflected on the irony of it being the fourth of July, Independence Day. Well she was independent alright. Fourth of July … on Sunday, it would be three weeks since Lucy went missing.
20
Evening, Friday 4th July
In bed
Will Bennett was in bed with his sergeant, Hassan Massum. They were pressed close together, hot and sweaty. He raised his bottle of Sol in a toast, clinking it against Hassan’s Coke.
‘I never expected to be in bed with my boss,’ Hassan bellowed into Will’s ear above the din. ‘My wife thinks it’s hilarious!’
‘Yeah, yeah. Side splitting, except there’s no room for anybody’s sides to split. This used to be a nice old pub when it was the Royal Crown Arms. Now look at it!’
He tried to gesture towards the made-over surroundings in which lilac neon played a big part. His attempt at body language nearly started a brawl, as it was impossible to move at all without becoming intimate with a dozen strangers. Outside, in huge purple neon letters, the new name of the pub glowed: ‘bed’. Inside, the joke had been flogged to death. ‘Come to bed’, ‘we’re good in bed’, ‘enjoy a night in bed with your lover’, and so on, emblazoned all over the joint. Hassan had been meeting an informant, and Will had rashly agreed to meet him there.
‘Not drinking?’ Will nodded his head, it was safer than gesturing, towards the bottle of Coke.
‘Wife and I take turns at weekends. Never know when my teenage daughter will ring in a state, needing a lift back, spent her taxi money on booze.’
‘Hellfire, who’d be a parent?’ Will was about to make some remark about his colleague maybe going a bit far, when he remembered Hassan had been involved in a case where a young girl had set off home alone from a club and been found strangled in a skip. No wonder he empathised with Molly’s family.
‘So what’s up, Guv? I mean, Will.’
‘It’s – oh, hell, I can’t do this at top volume. Let’s get out of bed and go somewhere civilised.’
‘Ok. And I won’t mention we were here if you don’t.’
‘Deal.’
In the relative tranquillity of the Fat Cow, Will said, ‘It’s about this Stony Point case.’
‘Thought it might be.’
‘There are some things that just don’t sit right.’ To Will’s surprise, Hassan nodded eagerly.
‘I’ve been wondering about one thing myself. If Spence was into young girls, why is all the porn we found bog- standard, apart from the drawn-on torture instruments of course? No underage stuff. Nothing paedophilic on his computer.’
‘Exactly! Not conclusive of course, but there are other things.’ Will raked his fingers through his hair as always when disturbed. ‘Why was Spence out on the cliff edge? If the skull meant that much to him, so he was willing to risk digging it up, why leave it on the kitchen table and then go back outside to the rotting spot? Why not stay with it, drooling over it, or get it on to boil in bleach as he usually did with his specimens?’
‘He could have been going to tidy up the rotting spot, it was a right mess. Or to kill himself, realising he’d never be able to show off the skull.’
‘Yes, but wouldn’t he carry it back out with him and take it with him into the drink?’
‘Speaking of drink,’ put in Hassan. ‘Where did the vodka come from? The guests said there was a bottle on the shelf, and it’s gone now. But young Fiona said she thought it had formaldehyde in it, for injecting into dead mammals.’
‘We don’t know where he got it. The village offie said he hadn’t been in. But that’s not conclusive anyway. As to where it is now, he must have taken it with him instead of the skull. There were bits of glass on the cliff side. See, it makes more sense that someone else got him sloshed, told him where to find the skull, and while he was digging it up, pushed him over the cliff. Then they could have carried the skull into the hostel.’
‘It sounds as if you’re starting to believe Erica Bruce,’ said Hassan. ‘D’you think maybe Spence didn’t molest her? But then, she did stay away from the place for years.’
‘Yes, but she says that was because of her and Lucy Seaton falling out. Anyway, she went back to Stony Point and Spence just to put a puffin’s skull in the rotting spot. You wouldn’t return to a
n abuser for that.’
‘There’s nothing in the post mortem report on Spence to suggest any struggle or blows or whatever though, is there?’
‘No. But even then … maybe a shove would be enough, with Spence tanked up. The head injury … you know, you can sometimes tell if a head injury is caused by the moving head striking something static, like the cliff on the way down, or is hit by a moving object, like an assailant with a brick.’
‘Contre coup injury.’
‘Exactly. I looked it up to be sure. But the angle of Spence’s injury wouldn’t have that effect. It’s inconclusive either way.’
‘Have you spoken to the Super about this?’
‘I tried. He was not pleased. He wants not so much an open and shut case as a shut case.’
‘We could always ask around a bit more, you know, dotting the i’s and so on, if you want. Ask Molly’s old school friends again if they remember anything.’
‘I would like to dig about a bit, yes. But let’s keep it quiet. I don’t want the Super on my back. And as for Erica Bruce…’ he flattened his hair down.
‘I don’t want her crowing I told you so or getting involved. She’s caused enough offence with the Seatons as it is.’
‘Just as you like.’ Hassan got up and collected their glasses. When he’d moved to a safe distance, he remarked, ‘Or you could interview her again. I know, why not take her to bed?’
Saturday 5th July
Wydsand Bay
As she swam her Saturday mile, Erica wondered what possible reason she could give to visit Lily, when she wasn’t a relative? Maybe she could pretend she was checking out nursing homes for her own mother, hoping that competent lady would never find out of course. But that would mean a swift tour with some officious matron-like character. Erica saw her like Hattie Jacques, white ribbons tied under her chin like an enormous corpse. What chance would she get to have a few words with an individual resident? Especially if Lily wasn’t in the day room, or whatever they called it. And if word got back to Liz she’d been there talking to her mother …
There was only one thing for it. She’d have to ask Steve to come with her. After the previous night’s unsuitable snogging, she went hot and cold at the thought. Get a grip Erica, she told herself, speeding up for the last few lengths. Why didn’t you sleep with him? Because of Lucy, your friend. (Because of his mum coming home, said a voice she ignored.) If Lucy is what counts, then call the guy.
After drying her unruly mass of fair hair, Erica called Steve. His mum answered, and fetched him to the phone.
‘Hi, it’s Erica,’ she said feebly. ‘Sorry if you were in bed.’ She blushed invisibly at the thought of him, dark against the white sheets. Down girl, down.
‘With a three-year-old son? Chance would be a fine thing.’ He sounded friendly and casual. Oh god, she thought, he’ll be thinking I’ve rung to ask him out or something. She plunged straight in.
‘It’s about Point View care home. I won’t get a chance to talk to Lily or anyone else, if I just go for a look round. I was wondering if you could come with me, maybe with Toby.’ Silence. Erica rushed on, ‘Do you realise it’ll be three weeks tomorrow since Lucy went?’ Of course he does, idiot.
‘Yeah, course I do. You’re right, we should both go. Thing is…’
‘Look, I’m sorry about last night. But we need to put embarrassment on hold, for Lucy’s sake. And Toby’s.’
‘It’s not that.’ Why did I mention last night, Erica asked herself in vain. She could see her first Saturday morning patient hovering outside. Steve went on, ‘It’s just that I’ve been keeping Toby away from Stonehead. I’ve even kept him from his grandparents.’
‘Oh. Well I know, but they’re away…’
‘But we don’t know for sure it’s them she was worried about, do we? For instance, that Julie Reed works at Point View. Or there might be somebody else we don’t know about. I can’t risk Toby, however unlikely the risk. I couldn’t face Lucy and tell her something bad’s happened to him.’
‘Ok, Steve. Fair enough. How about just you and me? You take me as your, erm, friend, maybe I’m thinking of putting my gran or mum in there or something. You call and see Lily, especially with the rest of the family away, she won’t be getting her usual visits from Liz and Peg. Maybe take her some kind of present from Toby.’
‘Ok. You’re right, we’ve got to go. I can bring another of Toby’s paintings. The house is full of them. How about this afternoon? I’ll borrow Mum’s car, pick you up about two, ok?’
‘Yes, thanks, got to go, patient waiting. See you then.’ Erica put down the phone. It was going to be awkward sitting in a car with Steve. Think of him as a giant Penguin, she told herself. The image made her laugh, until she remembered her Penguin-fuelled session with Julie Reed. Julie might be there, or at least hear about her visit. She’d have to be careful. Steve was right not to take Toby. It might be the Reeds Lucy was afraid of.
‘Come in, Jonathan,’ she said to the waiting youth. ‘I’ve had a good idea for a remedy we can try for your acne.’
Steve drove his mother’s Honda Civic with casual flair, his long legs filling the footwell. Erica smiled, remembering his Ferrari ambitions. Would he end up a pompous consultant, with a bow tie and a set of golf clubs in his office? On the back seat, there lay a wonky but just recognisable painting of this same yellow car, Toby’s offering to his great-gran and their ticket into Point View.
‘You’re a good kisser,’ Steve said suddenly.
Totally unprepared, Erica felt his words like a finger stroking her belly. She managed to say, ‘Thanks. So were you.’ Deliberate use of past tense.
‘Wouldn’t mind doing it again. Honestly, Erica, there’s no need to worry about what Luce would think. We’re friends, and Toby’s parents. I care for her, hell, I’d do anything for her. But we don’t expect each other to live lives of celibacy.’
‘Di- does Lucy?’ Erica suddenly remembered she hadn’t asked about boyfriends.
Steve’s face twitched as he registered her almost use of past tense, but he didn’t mention it. ‘Doubt it, she’s gorgeous, but we don’t tend to talk about that. I don’t know of anyone in particular.’
‘Or anyone she dumped, who might be, you know, hanging around, bearing a grudge?’
‘Bennett and his henchpersons already grilled me about that. All I can say is I can’t think of anyone. I gave them a couple names of blokes she dated, I assume they’ll get the hot lights on them or whatever.’
‘And I suppose you’ve got all those pretty nurses,’ Erica said cheesily. She didn’t know, couldn’t ask, what Lucy really felt about Steve. And if he was burning with jealous rage on her behalf, he was doing a good job of hiding it.
‘Nice to see someone who isn’t connected with hospitals.’ Steve really was hiding it well. Or had nothing to hide.
‘Anyway, just give it some thought. You and me.’
‘Yeah. Sure. Anyway, we’re nearly there, right? Did you have to ring ahead?’
‘Terrible change of subject, and no.’
They drew up at the care home. The car park was full, and they had to park on the street. ‘Must be a popular visiting day,’ Erica remarked. She felt jumpy, but relieved to be out of the car, with some fresh air between her and Steve. He carried the painting like a flag of truce. The door had a fingerpad, and Steve pushed the right buttons and the door clicked open.
‘Clearly you’ve been here before,’ Erica said, as they passed into a spacious, chintzily decorated reception area.
‘No, just hit the shiniest buttons. You’re not the only genius on the block you know.’
A smell of urine hung about like an unwanted relative though everything looked spotlessly clean and plush. Neither of them remarked on it.
A member of staff came forward, and greeted them. Steve brandished his painting.
‘We’re here to visit Lily Travis. She’s in room 15, isn’t she? I’ve brought her a painting from her great grandson.’ Steve b
abbled nervously.
‘I didn’t think you’d painted it!’ The girl was already leading them down a long winding corridor, past lounges and conservatories in which old people sat with visiting relatives hovering uncertainly round them. Guilty for not visiting more often. Guilty for putting them in here. Trying not to realise that it would be their turn one day. ‘You see,’ the girl was saying to Steve. Obviously fancied him. ‘The home is designed on a circular plan. The dementia patients can roam round, and come to no harm. They forget where they’ve been and just keep circulating. Not today, of course, it’s a busy visiting day.’
Like frigging goldfish in a bowl, thought Erica. She felt like running out into the fresh air and never coming back. It was stiflingly hot too, but all the old folk they passed had woollies on.
They stopped at Lily’s room. ‘You and your girlfriend are welcome to have some tea,’ the girl, whose left breast was called ‘Tracy’, said.
‘Oh, we’re fine.’ Steve opened the door, and Erica, quelling the urge to deny their relationship, went in first.
‘Look, Lily, you’ve got visitors,’ Tracy said brightly to the old lady who sat there in her armchair. She was gazing at the window, where a patch of blue sky showed through the summer leaves. Gazing vacantly, or dreaming of her lost freedom? Erica didn’t know which to hope for. Was there a homeopathic remedy for this? The penalty of living too long. Oh death where is thy stingalingaling.
‘Hi, Lily,’ said Steve. She ignored them. Erica looked round the pleasant room, and saw the wall of family pictures. Lucy’s face caught her eye, and she felt suddenly desolate. She went over to the wall as Steve chatted to Tracy about Lily’s progress, if such a word is possible for someone whose brain is relentlessly closing down. All the smiling faces in the photos. But Lily’s husband, Frank, was dead, as were George, her son in law, and Molly, her granddaughter.
She turned back as Tracy left to fetch Lily a cup of tea. The sound of trolleys and teacups could be heard in the corridors, no doubt incessantly punctuating each day.