A Bad, Bad Thing

by Elena Forbes

  She showered and changed into a clean pair of trousers and a shirt, taking time over her makeup to compensate for the fact that she had brought nothing special to wear. The written directions Gavin had given her earlier were clear and the drive to Westerby from the pub took less than ten minutes. The entrance was just off the A4, along a narrow lane, which led up a steep hill, past a public parking area to a pair of white, wooden gates. A smart-looking sign with the words ‘Westerby Estate. Private’ in large black lettering was fixed to the fence beside it. She got out of the car and, following Gavin’s instructions, rang the bell marked ‘Westerby Farm’. A moment later, the gates slowly parted and she drove through. Apart from the immediate area lit up by her headlamps, she could make out little on either side, except dark fields, with a few trees here and there, sweeping upwards to an almost empty skyline. The road continued to climb, then levelled out about half a mile further on, just before a fork. Her headlights picked up a silver Range Rover with new plates, which was parked to one side of the road, half up on the verge, lights dipped, engine idling. Two men sat in the front and even before she pulled alongside, she heard raised voices. She couldn’t remember if Gavin had said to turn left or right and there were no signs. She braked and put down her window. A moment later, the driver’s window was lowered and a middle-aged man with a square jaw and a full head of thick, greyish hair peered down at her.

  ‘Can I help you, luv?’ The voice was gruff and deep, with a northern twang.

  ‘I’m looking for Westerby Farm,’ she said, peering beyond him into the car. The man beside him, in the passenger seat, stared steadfastly out of the front window, as though he didn’t want to be part of the conversation. A bit younger, dark hair, was as much as she could tell.

  ‘Take the left-hand bend just in front of you. You’ll find the house at the bottom.’

  Before she even had a chance to say ‘thank you’, or ask anything else, the window slid upwards and the man looked away. Wondering who they were and what they were arguing about, she took the turning for the farm, keeping an eye on the Range Rover in her rear-view mirror until its lights were hidden behind the brow of the hill. A little further along, she came to another set of white gates, which opened automatically as she approached.

  The house was at the end of a long, tree-lined drive. She pulled into the gravel turning circle at the front and floodlights came on illuminating the gabled brick façade. As she switched off the engine and climbed out of the car, the front door opened and Gavin came out into the porch. He hurried towards her and embraced her warmly, then ushered her quickly up the steps and out of the cold into a wide, stone-floored hall. A series of old racing prints covered one wall and a huge, bare Christmas tree stood at the foot of the small staircase, with a number of cardboard boxes stacked beside it. From upstairs came the squeaky sound of children’s voices, coupled with the rapid thud of small feet.

  ‘It’s the boys,’ Gavin said, with a brief glance upwards, as he took her coat and draped it over a chair by the door. ‘They should be in bed by now, but Melissa picked up the tree this morning, and they’ve been waiting all day for me to finish work and do the lights. Would you mind giving me a hand?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  She heard whispers immediately above and, looking up, saw two small faces peering at her through the banisters. They were in pyjamas and had their father’s blonde hair and blue eyes.

  Gavin smiled. ‘That’s Sam on the left, and Frank on the right.’

  ‘Frank? You named him after your dad.’

  He nodded. ‘He’s just turned six. Sam’s only four. Mum was still more or less mentally together when Frank was born. His having Dad’s name meant a great deal to her.’

  Upstairs a woman’s voice called out and the boys ran off giggling. For a moment, she thought of her own little brothers, not much different in age, their small, warm arms looped around her neck, legs clamped tightly around her middle, fingers playing gently with her hair, as she carried them each in turn to bed to read them stories. How she missed them.

  Gavin pulled a thick coil of lights from one of the boxes, unravelled the end, then plugged them in and switched them on, passing Eve the coil of green wire. It was studded with tiny white bulbs, which looked like tiny stars in her hands. He started at the bottom, looping them carefully around the base, then climbed up the stepladder to reach the higher branches. As she followed him around, paying out the string, she became aware of the aromatic smell of the tree. Clem and Robin had always had a fake tree because Clem hated the idea that a tree should be cut down every year, just for Christmas. But her own mother had always insisted on having a real tree, as big as she could afford, or fit in whatever tiny flat they were living in. She had helped her decorate it every year with paper chains and ornaments they would make together. She remembered the smell of baking, the peculiar, soggy cakes and misshapen biscuits her mother insisted on making, mingled with the sweet smell of dope that permeated the little flat whenever her mother’s occasional partner, Daz, returned to the fold. It was usually at Christmas, as though he liked a brief shot of family life at that time of year and to claim paternal rights over his small sons, when nothing else of interest was going on. Although she tried to capture again each detail and smell, each voice and laugh and intonation, more than twenty years on the images were dimming. Sometimes she didn’t know how much was real memory and how much her own imagination.

  Tears pricked her eyes and, biting her lip hard, she pushed the images away, forcing herself to focus on the minutiae of what Gavin was doing, on his strong hands, the crisp cuffs of his pale-blue shirt that peeped out from the sleeves of his jumper as he looped the string around the branches.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked, turning to her when he had finished.

  She stood back and studied the tree. ‘You need a few more lights at the bottom, I think.’

  He rearranged the string until he was satisfied. ‘That looks better. I’ll do the decorations after dinner.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Right. Let’s go and get ourselves a drink.’

  She followed him along a passage into a huge kitchen, which was on one side of the house. The room was very warm compared to the chilly hall and delicious cooking smells were coming from a series of pots on the large green AGA.

  ‘Melissa should be down in a minute. What can I get you?’

  ‘Anything soft would be great.’

  He opened a cupboard and studied the contents. ‘There’s coke, elderflower or tonic, unless you want the boys’ squash or Ribena.’

  ‘Tonic is fine. Thanks.’

  As he sorted out their drinks, Eve gazed around the room. It had a comfortable, lived-in feel, with faded, blue-checked blinds and pale, yellow washed walls, the old floorboards scuffed and worn over the years by many feet. In a glazed extension to one side, a long refectory table was already set for dinner. It was covered with a navy oil cloth patterned with gold stars, and a jug of water and a vase of daffodils sat in the middle. She counted four places and wondered who would be joining them. Just as Gavin handed her a glass, a small, slim woman with short, blonde hair entered the room. Eve recognized Melissa from her picture on the Westerby website. She stopped just inside the door, and stared at Eve for a moment, her mouth a little open, as though she had seen a ghost.

  ‘Melissa,’ Gavin said, giving her a pointed look. ‘This is Eve.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Melissa said, recovering herself. ‘Yes of course. My mind’s somewhere else. I’ve just remembered something … something I’ve forgotten to do.’ She spoke hurriedly and a little breathlessly, her small hand flapping in the air as though trying to brush her confusion away. ‘So you’re Eve? I’ve heard a lot about you. I gather you and Gavin go back a long way.’

  Eve nodded. ‘We used to live next door to each other in Lymington. We went to the same school.’

  ‘I was a couple of years older,’ Gavin said.

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ Eve added, hoping to reassure Melis
sa, if that was what she needed. She had no idea what Gavin had told her. ‘We haven’t seen each other for a very long time.’

  ‘Gavin tells me you’re here looking into Jane McNeil’s murder,’ Melissa said.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I remember Jane well. It was awful when it happened.’ Her tone was a little flat and Eve had the impression she was just being polite.

  ‘Is dinner ready?’ Gavin asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Melissa said. ‘We’re just waiting for Harry, as usual.’

  She went over to the AGA and, using gloves, took out a small stack of plates from one of the ovens and transferred them to the top of the island unit opposite. She opened another oven and removed a large, heavy-looking casserole dish. Her movements were quick and staccato and she had a harried look in her eyes.

  Eve wondered why she was so tense and off-key. She had given little thought to what had happened to Gavin in the past twenty years, let alone to what sort of woman he had married. It was often impossible to understand the dynamics of attraction, let alone love, she reasoned. But seeing Melissa, she was surprised. She was perfectly nice-looking, pretty even, but there was something a little prim about her, in her pressed, unflattering jeans, sensible, flat shoes and crisp, long-sleeved, pink blouse, the buttons done up almost to the neck, as though nothing of her femininity should be on show. Perhaps that was what a wife ought to be, she thought, someone who wasn’t going to set the world on fire, who wouldn’t give a man sleepless nights.

  ‘Harry’s Melissa’s brother,’ Gavin said, pouring Melissa a large glass of wine and handing it to her. ‘He’s divorced and lives on his own in a flat above the office, so he usually eats with us, unless he’s got a better offer.’

  As if on cue, the kitchen door opened and Harry entered the room. She recognized him instantly from his picture on the family website. She was also sure he was the man in the passenger seat of the silver Range Rover.

  ‘Hello. You must be Eve,’ he said, striding over to her and holding out his hand. It was cold from outside and his handshake was very firm. ‘I’m Harry.’ He held her gaze unblinking for a moment.

  She nodded. Genetics were extraordinary, she thought. Harry was not particularly tall, but he was muscular, with dark hair and a broad, strong-featured, very masculine face, while Melissa was like a pale, dainty, little bird. Even allowing for the differences between male and female, and the fact that Harry must be several years older than Melissa, she would never have guessed that they were brother and sister. Yet Gavin’s little boys were like two peas in a pod, dead ringers for their father. Her own genetic heritage was equally a mystery. Her mother had had long, straight, light-brown hair, fair skin and greyish-blue eyes. Eve remembered how it used to upset her to be told she didn’t look like her mother at all. She was the dark, little gypsy child, found under a bush, someone had once teased her. She remembered how much it had hurt her and how much she had cried about it, in spite of all her mother’s attempts to soothe her. The phrase, and the sense of not belonging, had stuck in her mind all her life. She must have taken after her father, whoever he was. He had been long gone before she was born. But doubtless he had been another bad lot. Her mother’s chief flaw had been to fall, time and time again, for the wrong man.

  ‘Right, everybody. Come and sit down,’ Melissa said briskly, carrying plates over to the table, Gavin following behind with various bowls and dishes. ‘I’m sorry it’s a bit rough and ready, but I didn’t have much time today.’

  ‘Eve, come and sit next to me,’ Gavin said, pulling out a chair for her, as Melissa started dishing out some sort of pleasant-smelling stew.

  Harry placed himself opposite. ‘So how do you and Gavin know one another?’ he asked, adding a dollop of English mustard to the side of his plate.

  ‘They were next-door neighbours when they were growing up,’ Melissa said. ‘I told you earlier.’

  ‘I see,’ Harry said, helping himself to some mashed potato. ‘When was this?’ He looked up at Eve.

  ‘In our teens,’ Gavin said.

  ‘But you kept in touch?’ Again he was looking at Eve.

  ‘The last time I saw Eve was when I’d just gone up to Oxford,’ Gavin replied, before she had a chance to speak.

  ‘Did you go out together, or something?’ Harry asked.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean by “or something”,’ Gavin said, spooning some peas onto his plate. ‘We were very young. It was a long time ago.’

  His expression gave nothing away, but his manner was off-hand and Eve had the impression that he wanted to dismiss it all as some crazy teenage thing that meant nothing, no doubt for Melissa’s benefit. Even though it wasn’t true, she was happy to go along with it for his sake.

  ‘Are you married?’ Harry asked, his pale, steady eyes meeting hers across the table.

  ‘Don’t be so nosey, Harry,’ Melissa said sharply.

  ‘It’s a fair question.’

  ‘If a blunt one,’ Gavin said. ‘You’ll have to forgive Harry, here. He doesn’t like to waste time with small chat.’

  ‘I don’t mind answering,’ Eve replied. She had nothing to hide, or feel ashamed of, on that score. ‘No, I’m not married. Never have been.’

  ‘So you’re single?’ Harry asked, his gaze still on her, as though they were the only two in the room.

  ‘Yes.’

  Up close, Harry’s face was a little weather-beaten, as though he spent a lot of time outside. A neat scar ran at an angle right across his cheek, puckering one side of his top lip, giving his mouth a slightly disdainful look. She wondered how he had got it. The dark colour of his hair made his pale eyes all the more striking and she had the impression that there wasn’t much he would miss. She also had the feeling that he was deliberately needling Gavin, for some reason.

  ‘Did young Gavin, here, break your heart?’ he asked, with another faint smile.

  ‘Eve’s unbreakable,’ Gavin said firmly, before she had a chance to answer. ‘At least as far as I was concerned. Now, let’s leave the lonely-hearts stuff to one side. Please, Eve, can you tell us about what you’re doing here. We’re all dying to know.’

  It was a relief to get off the subject of her personal life. She gave them a basic version, leaving out John Duran, saying that she was just doing a favour for a friend, who was a supporter of Sean Farrell’s cause. She mentioned 4Justice and Harry seemed particularly interested, asking a series of questions about the appeal, while Gavin and Melissa mostly listened. She wondered if he remembered Dan snooping around the cottage. If so, he wasn’t saying anything.

  ‘How did Jane get the job with you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Melissa said. ‘Do you remember, Harry?’

  He shook his head. ‘Word of mouth, usually. Racing’s a small world and we don’t normally have to advertise, even for clerical staff.’

  ‘But she wasn’t local,’ Eve said. ‘As far as I know, she didn’t have any friends in the Marlborough area.’

  Harry shrugged. ‘I haven’t the foggiest. It was a long time ago.’

  ‘She was probably recommended by someone Father knew,’ Melissa said.

  ‘Yeah, I think you’re right,’ Harry replied. ‘He always liked to do things the old-fashioned way. A personal recommendation counted more than anything with him. He always said you could trust people more if you knew where they came from.’

  He was again looking right at her as he spoke and Eve wondered if he was talking about her, rather than Jane. Once more, she was curious to know exactly what Gavin had said.

  ‘So, what happened? You reported her missing?’

  Melissa nodded. ‘She didn’t turn up for work Monday morning, which was unlike her. She’d been unwell at the Christmas party on the Saturday and had gone home early. When she didn’t ring in sick on Monday, I was worried about her and went over to the cottage to check on her. Her car was gone and there was no answer, so I let myself in. First thing I noticed was a window had been smashed at
the back. It looked like there’d been a break-in, so we called the police. To be honest, they didn’t seem that worried. They said Jane wasn’t a child and had probably just gone off somewhere. Apparently, people do all the time. They seemed pretty sure she’d come back.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘Father got the window repaired and we thought no more about it until the police came calling again.’

  ‘What was Jane like?’

  Melissa turned to Harry. ‘You probably knew her best, didn’t you?’

  ‘I guess. I suppose I saw the most of her on a day-to-day basis, apart from Father.’

  ‘And?’ Gavin said. ‘I think Eve wants a bit more than that.’

  Harry leaned back in his seat resting his elbow on the top of the empty chair beside him. ‘Well, she was quite quiet, but she seemed to be hardworking and pretty organized. She just got on with things, far as I could tell. She basically ran my father’s diary and dealt with the race entries. If you come into the office tomorrow, I’ll show you the set-up, if you like.’

  ‘That would be useful,’ Eve said, curious that Harry hadn’t once mentioned Jane’s looks. Both Farrell and Wilby had found her attractive, but to him, it seemed she was just another faceless person in the office, not a real girl with personality or appeal. ‘Was she attractive?’ she asked, wanting to get more of a reaction.