‘How do you know?’
‘Because Sonia would’ve mentioned it when I saw her today.’
Maria came back into the room. ‘They said they’ve made a note of it and will have a meeting in the morning to discuss what to do with the information. Now, I’m exhausted. Does anyone mind if I have a bath?’
‘Help yourself,’ said Helen without looking at her.
Mick waited until Maria had gone, then lowered his voice. ‘I didn’t want to tell you in front of Maria. Pauline from your work called this afternoon. I had a little chat with her. She says she’s worried about you and all the time you’ve been taking off. She said you weren’t there last Friday morning. The police have been making enquiries.’
Helen felt the blood rush to her face. She stared at Mick rigidly.
‘I don’t know what’s going on with you, Helen,’ he said, ‘but I think you need to get your record straight.’ The look he gave her as he left the room was just like the one he’d given Barney. As if he despaired of them both.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Saturday
Sonia
I’m in the bathroom the next morning, doing my face when the police come. Greg stands at the foot of the stairs and calls up to me. Harry and Kit have their bags packed, they’re getting the 10.33 up to Charing Cross.
‘Oh God, has something awful happened?’ Kit’s asking as I come down the stairs. ‘Is Grandma OK? I should have gone to see her. We should have gone to see her, Harry.’ She plucks at Harry’s cuff while he frowns at the police, then glances at his watch.
‘It’s not your grandmother,’ the policewoman says, ‘but if you wouldn’t mind staying while we ask a few questions.’
Greg takes the two police officers, a young man and the woman, into the living room. There’s a fire alight in the grate that he must’ve lit earlier. Greg and I sit side by side on the sofa, while Kit perches on the armchair under the window and Harry stands behind her, one hand on its back.
The woman introduces herself as Inspector Hailey Kirwin and explains that a boy with whom she believes we have some acquaintance has been reported missing and that he hasn’t been seen for over a week.
‘I think you know about this,’ says the woman turning vivid blue eyes on me. ‘You met his aunt at the opera house yesterday.’
‘Yes. Helen. It was in the papers too,’ I say.
‘Jez!’ Kit exclaims. ‘God! He’s gone missing? Why didn’t you tell us, Mum?’
‘I didn’t want to worry you. ’
‘But he’s Barney and Theo’s cousin.’
‘So you know him?’ the woman asks, turning her eyes on Kit.
‘I did. He’s younger than me. Used to live round here. He moved to Paris but he sometimes stays at Barney and Theo’s. I know them better. Our dads used to play guitar together. And our mums were friends. Oh God. That’s terrible. What do you think’s happened?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. It’s out of character for him to go off without telling anyone. And it’s been over a week now.’
I have the oddest sensation that a pane of glass has come down, that I’m viewing and hearing everything through the misted panel. I catch some of Inspector Kirwin’s words, but they are disconnected . . . no one noticed . . . over twenty-four hours . . . river search . . . never arrived.
‘What we need to know,’ she continues, and her voice seems thick, muffled, ‘is whether he ever turned up here for the album?’
‘When was this?’ Greg asks.
‘A week ago yesterday,’ the young male constable says.
‘So while I was away,’ says Greg, looking at me. ‘Did Jez come round while I was away, Sonia?’
My mouth is so dry I can barely get the word ‘no’ out.
‘The album he wanted to borrow, it was apparently . . .’ the constable looks at his notebook, ‘by someone called Jim Butler.’
‘Tim Buckley,’ Greg corrects him. ‘That’s right. I have a copy. It’s hard to get hold of. He and I were talking about it at Mick’s fiftieth birthday party, under the arches. Do you remember, Sonia?’
‘What was that?’ I ask.
I feel much too hot. I take off my cashmere scarf, and fling it onto the back of the sofa.
‘I told you. He’d been trying to get hold of the album. I said I had a copy that he could borrow. I remember because I was impressed that such a young man could be interested in music like that.’
The fire in the grate crackles and spits as if it is joining in the conversation.
‘And I said of course he could borrow it, as long as he returned it in good nick.’
‘Oh yes,’ I say.
‘But he never did come?’ says Kirwin, who must wear coloured contacts lenses. No one’s eyes are that blue.
‘No,’ I say again.
‘Do you think we could just have a look at the album we’re talking about?’ she asks.
‘Of course,’ says Greg. He gets up. ‘It’ll be up in what we call our music room. I’ll go and get it. Or do you want to come up?’
‘Perhaps Sonia could take me,’ says Kirwin. ‘Since she was the one who was here on the day he planned to call in. My colleague would just like to ask you and your . . .’
‘This is my daughter Kit and her boyfriend Harry. They’ve just been here for the weekend. They’re students at Newcastle University and actually have a train to catch. They’re due back today.’
‘We won’t keep you long,’ says the woman, and smiles. She raises her eyebrows at me. I stand as if in a trance and she follows me up the stairs to the music room.
I know exactly where the Tim Buckley album is because Jez waved it at me the other day when he told me he was leaving, and no longer wanted to borrow it. But I make a bit of a show of not being certain. I rummage through various piles and riffle along the shelf before I find it and hand it to her. Kirwin looks at it, turns it over, puts it down and scribbles something in her notebook. It means nothing to her as an album, but what about as a piece of evidence? Jez’s fingerprints must be all over it. I wonder if she’s going to take it with her, because if she does, the forensics will have a field day.
Why hadn’t I told them he’d come and taken it away?
I could’ve said, Yes, he came, I handed it to him, and he left. You can’t think quickly enough in these situations. But then what if she still wanted to search the music room, and had found the album? I’m aware of how precarious my situation is. It’s the simplest things that catch you out. Since Greg and Kit came home, I’ve covered all traces of Jez’s visit, and worked so hard to keep him tucked out of sight in the garage, yet I’ve left his finger-prints all over the music room.
The policewoman turns the album over and over. I wait for the moment where everything crashes in on me. I’m ready to give in, to let everyone else take over. If they arrest me for incarcerating a boy against his will – because without a doubt they’ll assume it’s against his will – all the tension, anxiety, and emotional turmoil of the last few days will be over. This thought seizes my heart and crushes it. Losing Jez after all we’ve gone through would be more than I could bear. I need more time. I need to nurture him back to health and regain his trust. I cannot lose him, however hard it has been for us both. I cannot bear for it all to come to nothing.
‘Thanks,’ she says handing it back to me. ‘So he never came?’
She’s examining me as she asks this question. Her unnaturally blue eyes flash as she does so. I shake my head.
‘And you haven’t seen him, out and about along the river, in the pub, anywhere? You know what he looks like, I take it?’
‘Oh yes,’ my voice seems suddenly loud, high pitched, ‘as Kit said, his aunt’s a friend of mine. I’ve met him, though not recently. I don’t see Helen as much now our kids are grown up.’
‘Apparently he used to do a bit of base jumping on the river walls,’ she says. ‘You know, jumping off the bridges. Climbing up and down landing stages and things. You don’t remember
seeing him down there, just over a week ago? No recollections at all that may be of help to us?’
I decide to think about this for a minute. She suspects nothing! I want to talk and laugh and discuss this boy and his extraordinary talents at great length.
‘I saw him last . . . Oh, it must be a year ago now, maybe two, with his cousins, shinning up the walls down there, near the pub. I remember his aunt having kittens about it. “Boys!” she kept saying, and I was grateful I didn’t have any to deal with. Just the one daughter. I should think myself lucky.’
‘So. Nothing recently? You didn’t see him about here lately?’
‘Lately? I don’t think so. Nothing I noticed, no.’ I realize I’m gabbling in relief, and try to steady my voice. ‘I’m here most of the time. I work from home, so I’m sure I might have noticed.’
She makes a note.
‘You say they’ve searched the river?’ I ask, though I already know from what Sheila told me yesterday at the pier, from the paper and from Helen.
‘Yes. But they’ll keep looking,’ she says. ‘Thanks for your help. Now let’s join the others. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the aunt. Helen Whitehorn. How well you know her and so on.’
My heart starts to thud again. This isn’t over. I walk behind her down the stairs. I look at her muscular calves not flattered by the flesh-coloured tights she’s probably forced to wear by the police dress code.
‘Have you any theories at all?’ Greg’s asking the young constable. I see he must be barely more than Kit’s age. He’s still spotty for goodness’ sake. Acne, poor lad. Fair sandy hair, and a pink complexion behind the spots.
‘In cases like this, if it’s not an accident, if there’s anything unlawful, it’s nearly always the family behind it,’ says the boy.
Kirwin nudges him in the ribs and gives him a stern look.
‘We have no clear theories at present,’ she says. ‘Though we’re following several leads.’
‘Oh well, Helen can’t have anything to do with it,’ Kit says. ‘Or Mick. They’re great. Jez always liked staying with them, in fact, he preferred their house to his own home in Paris. Helen and Mick are really laid back. Sound as anything.’
‘So you haven’t noticed a change in Helen recently?’ Kirwin asks.
‘Goodness, no,’ says Greg, looking at me. ‘Nothing, have we, Sonia?’
‘Not at all,’ I manage. ‘She was the same as ever when I saw her yesterday.’
‘She hasn’t been under any undue stress at work that you know of?’
‘We don’t see much of her these days,’ I say. ‘Yesterday was the first time I’d talked to her properly in months. She was obviously distressed about her nephew, but otherwise, no, she was her usual self.’
‘You didn’t notice her drinking?’
I stare at her. I did notice Helen drank a lot but what is she getting at here? What am I stirring up by mentioning it?
‘She enjoys her wine,’ I say. ‘Always has done.’
‘So nothing exceptional. Nothing worrying?’
I shake my head.
‘What about the father?’ Greg says. ‘He’s off the scene, isn’t he, Sonia?’
I stare at Greg. How much does he think I know about someone else’s nephew, for God’s sake?
‘I’ve no idea,’ I say.
‘Yes, Mum, d’you remember Helen telling us? Jez’s dad left and went to live in Marseilles. About three years ago.’
‘Oh, maybe,’ I say.
‘We’ve been on to him,’ says the policeman. ‘And the boy’s mother’s staying with her sister. So we’ve talked to her, too. In this case, at the moment, we’re thinking accident, possible drowning, though of course . . .’
‘Josh, that’s enough,’ interrupts Kirwin.
‘Have you any clues at all?’ asks Kit.
‘Not really. But unfortunately, a drowning is on our list of possibilities. Not a suicide, from the evidence, more likely a tragic accident. They’re more frequent than you’d imagine. Especially when the victim likes climbing up walls and under bridges on the river.’
‘That’s really awful,’ says Kit.
‘Thanks for your help,’ says the spotty boy officer, standing up.
‘Oh please,’ says Greg. ‘If we can do anything else, anything at all. After all, God, he’s almost a friend of ours. It’s terrible. Will you let us know if you hear anything?’
‘You’ll hear all about it, no doubt,’ says Kirwin. ‘The media love cases like this, I’m afraid. Though the publicity is a mixed blessing. It can help.’
We all stare at each other for a few seconds after they’ve gone.
‘It’s so scary,’ Kit says. ‘I get really freaked out by things like this. Poor Jez! It’s horrible!’
‘Let’s hope for a happy outcome,’ says Harry.
‘I’m like, you know, pretty resilient to most things I encounter in A and E. But when it’s something cruel or violent, especially when it’s someone I know, I can’t get my head round it,’ Kit says. She’s on the verge of tears.
‘Hey.’ Harry puts his arm round her.
‘You two need to leave,’ says Greg, looking at his watch. ‘Try not to let this get you down. I’m sure he’ll turn up. Teenage boys, they go off for all kinds of reasons. They’ll probably discover he’s been doing the hippy trail in Morocco or something, finding himself.’
‘Oh God, Dad,’ says Kit. ‘What century are you living in?’
‘Hop in the car,’ says Greg. ‘I’ll drive you to Euston.’
I glance up quickly. ‘Haven’t you got to get ready to go?’
‘Haha! I wondered when you’d ask. I’ve postponed my next trip. I’m staying at home a bit longer, darling, to be with you.’
He says it with a hopeful little gleam in his eye, as if now we’ve had sex he’s convinced I’ll be pleased to have him around.
I feel my jaw tighten. The fury I experienced at having to put Jez in the garage to begin with takes hold of me. It’s such an intense burning anger I begin to tremble. It’s all wrong! That he had to go in there in the first place. That he had to suffer yesterday’s horrible indignities that took us both over an hour to sort out when I got back from the opera. I had to clean him up and change him like a baby, keeping him restrained all the while so he couldn’t try anything in his distressed state. Then I had to insist he let me spoon-feed him. It was humiliating for both of us.
I kiss Kit goodbye. As I feel her hair brush my cheek, I have a fleeting yearning for the days when she was little and would hold on to me at night. Sometimes she’d tug me down onto the bed and I’d crawl in next to her and wait for her to fall asleep, her feather-light fingers finding some tense part of my face and stroking the stress away with a child’s instinct. Watching her walk across the courtyard now with Greg, and with Harry’s arm through hers, it’s as though she’s got hold of a bit of me, a loose piece, and her walking away unravels me. We never cuddle any more, we barely touch each other. She no longer needs me. Hasn’t really needed me for years. She disappears through the door in the wall, and I feel a chasm inside that makes me ache.
Thank goodness, then, that now I have Jez.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Saturday
Sonia
The minute they’ve disappeared, I go inside, drop some provisions into a bag and make for the garage. Infuriatingly, Betty is outside her house, on the steps polishing her brass door knocker. I glance up at the CCTV camera. I have a compulsive need to check it each time I come to see Jez, though I know it points away from the garages, at the building site where they’re erecting yet more riverside apartments and offices on the land which was once Lovell’s Wharf.
‘I don’t know why they have to keep changing things,’ Betty says, following my gaze. ‘It was fine as it was. And how they’re going to fill all those office spaces when there’s a recession I’ve no idea.’
Betty’s a woman I could be friends with, if I had time. I have respect for her and
her opinions.
‘I know. It’s a waste of time and money.’ It pains me to see these new builds going up, stripping the riverside walk of its history, tearing its heart out. The constructions could be anywhere, they have no link with the river and its business.
‘It creates so much noise,’ says Betty. ‘It’s constant. I sometimes think I’ll go mad if they don’t stop their hammering. And that crane’s been there for months now, that blue thing. Hanging over us like a gallows.’
The building site is, in fact, quiet today, but the whine of the drills has been replaced by shrieks of children, the cries of seagulls and a harsh chip chip chip of a blackbird in a small tree that overhangs the water. A plaintive warning call. And amongst all this I’m certain I can detect a thump, thump thump, coming from the direction of the garages. I’m afraid it’s Jez, trying to attract attention. My heart starts to race, the bang of blood in my ears drowning out all other noise. I’ll have to use the duct tape to tie and gag him more tightly. I hate using the tape. Finding him there yesterday was hell. It was torture for me as much as for him. But I can’t have him making that kind of racket. Anger sweeps over me again. If only Greg had left! And now I must get rid of Betty so that I can go and tend to Jez without arousing her suspicions.
‘Your doorknob and letterbox look beautiful,’ I tell her, hugging my carrier bag of food and drink close to me. ‘Shinier than all the others on the terrace.’
‘Well I like to take pride in the front of my house, especially now all these tourists have started using our alley as a short cut,’ she says. ‘They look at everything, you know, they would notice if things weren’t spic and span. You haven’t been to see my snowdrops yet this year. You must come now, before they finish.’
I daren’t decline. It’s a tradition that I view Betty’s garden each season and to refuse now might raise questions. The tiny grassed area lies over the road from Betty’s house. On the far side is the long drop down to the river. Only a short distance along from there Jez’s window looks out over the same view. We walk slowly amongst the shrubs, and under the little bare trees, her arm in mine.
Tideline Page 16