The Mill on the Shore

by Ann Cleeves

  With relief Molly turned her attention from the children to a latecomer, who hovered awkwardly at the edge of the pool of light.

  ‘Aidan,’ Meg said, ‘come and join us. This is Aidan Moore, our most famous tutor and great friend. You’ll know his work. Aidan, perhaps you’ll have met George Palmer-Jones. He’s here to help sort out what happened to James.’

  And me, Molly thought. I’m here too. But having showed off her children Meg ignored her throughout the rest of the meal.

  The food was served by two cheerful young women who sat together later at the end of the table to eat. They were competent and energetic, the sort of girls, George thought, you’d expect to find running riding stables. Very healthy and fit with strong, red hands.

  ‘You’ll have to talk to Rosie and Jane,’ Meg said. ‘They run this place between them. Jimmy and I always said that we’d never manage it without them.’

  The young women smiled politely. They were not taken in, George thought, by the flattery but were too good-humoured to resent Meg’s patronizing manner. They ladled home-made soup into bowls which they carried deftly round the table on trays. The bread, Meg said proudly, had been baked by them this morning.

  As the excellent dinner progressed George found it increasingly difficult to imagine James in this setting. The Jimmy Morrissey he knew had never been able to sit still for the length of a meal. He would jump to his feet between courses and move restlessly around the room, even if he were in a restaurant. In a private home he would pick up objects of interest: a book from a shelf, a photograph, then discard them immediately. He had considered food as a fuel, eating ravenously whatever was to hand if he was hungry. It would not have mattered a jot to him if the bread had been baked that morning or bought from a supermarket the week before.

  George listened with detachment to the conversation going on around him. Meg led it all. Without her prompting they would probably have eaten in silence. The talk was of local people, the children’s school work and domestic problems related to the field centre. They really would have to buy in new sheets and towels before the summer, she said as if it were a matter of extreme importance. And if Florrie wasn’t more reliable this year they’d have to consider someone else from the village for the cleaning. She was obviously determined to make a go of the Mill on her own.

  James would have been bored to distraction by the subjects under discussion and George wondered if at last he had found a convincing motive for suicide. Perhaps it was triggered by nothing more sinister than the tedium of his life here, the endless family dinners. Then he thought that James had other means of escape. He had never cared much for convention. What had there been to stop him just walking out and leaving Meg to carry on the show alone? Or had his bouts of depression made him too dependent on her to run away?

  ‘And James?’ George asked, interrupting Meg in full flow. ‘Did he always eat with you?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, but at the same time Caitlin across the table broke in with, ‘Not if he could help it!’

  It was the first spontaneous statement of the evening and they all stared at her.

  ‘Well it’s true,’ she said defensively. ‘He hated this kind of thing.’

  ‘Sometimes he didn’t feel up to it,’ Meg conceded. ‘Since his accident he sometimes felt uncomfortable in a crowd. Then Rosie or Jane took him something on a tray to the flat.’

  There was an awkward silence.

  ‘Is it all right if I go out tonight?’ Caitlin said, taking advantage of her mother’s lack of composure.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘Rosie and Jane are going to the Dead Dog. They said I could go too.’

  There was another silence.

  ‘You may go,’ Meg said at last, ‘if Ruth will be there too.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, she’s not my minder!’

  ‘And no alcohol.’

  Caitlin appeared to sulk but she had got her way, and she left the table happily.

  After dinner Meg took George and Molly to her flat for coffee. The younger children had been sent to bed. Heavy brocade curtains had been drawn across the large window, and the room was warm.

  ‘Now,’ Meg said bravely. ‘ George. I expect you’d like to ask me some questions.’

  ‘Thank you,’ George said. ‘I’m sure Molly and I both have questions to ask.’

  The dear, Molly thought. He’s learning!

  ‘Of course,’ Meg said. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Did James eat with you on the evening of his death?’ George asked. It was a development of the conversation begun in the dining room.

  ‘No,’ Meg said reluctantly. ‘He decided not to come in to dinner that night. He said he was engrossed in his autobiography. He could see the end of it, he said, and he wanted to crack on until it was done.’

  ‘So somebody brought him a meal on a tray?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I believe Rosie took dinner to him in his study.’

  ‘Where is that?’

  ‘It’s on the ground floor,’ Meg said. ‘As far away from the guests and the family as he could manage.’ She smiled but could not hide her resentment.

  ‘What time was dinner?’

  ‘At seven o’clock,’ she said. ‘We always eat at seven so the children can join us.’

  ‘You and the children ate with the guests as usual?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Did you come back to the flat for coffee?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Aidan was here too. He needed a break occasionally from the students.’

  ‘But James didn’t join you?’

  ‘No. I went in to see him after dinner. He seemed preoccupied, excited. He’d hardly touched his meal and when I asked him about it, it was clear he’d forgotten it was there. I asked him to have coffee with us. The study’s close to the front door and rather draughty. I thought he might like to come and get warm by the fire. It was a freezing night. There’d been snow.’

  ‘But he didn’t come?’

  She shook her head. ‘He said: “It’s nearly finished, Meg, and I’m not going to stop until it’s done even if it takes me all night.” So I asked Jane to take him coffee to the study.’

  ‘Did he drink it?’ Molly asked. ‘Did you find the cup the next day? Was it empty?’

  Meg seemed surprised and confused by the question. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘One of the girls in the kitchen might know.’

  ‘Do they do the cleaning as well as the cooking?’

  ‘They supervise,’ Meg said. ‘A couple of women come in from Markham Law for a few hours to do the bulk of the cleaning but I leave the organization to Rosie and Jane.’

  How very convenient! Molly thought. It must be much easier to be a wonder mother without having to worry about the cooking and the cleaning.

  ‘What time was that?’ George asked gently. ‘What time did you ask Jane to take the coffee in to James?’

  Meg shrugged. ‘ I’m not sure. Eight thirty. Nine o’clock. I’d read to Emily and Tim and put them to bed.’

  ‘Did you see your husband again that evening?’ George asked.

  She shook her head. ‘ I didn’t want to disturb him,’ she said. ‘He seemed so involved.’ She paused then added hurriedly: ‘ Before I went to bed I walked down to his study. I knew he was there because his light was on but in the end I decided not to go in. He was always accusing me of fussing. I thought he’d be angry if I interrupted. So I came back to the flat and went to bed.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘Ten thirty,’ she said. ‘I read for a while, hoping that he might join me then I must have fallen asleep.’

  ‘Did James have any other visitors that night?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said. ‘ He didn’t mention anyone when I asked about the coffee. Someone might have come to the study later but I don’t think he would have encouraged the disruption.’

  ‘What about Aidan? Did he spend all evening with you?’

  ‘Yes. He le
ft at about ten.’

  There was a silence. George tried to picture the events of that night. The atmosphere of the Mill must have been very different when it was full of students. Presumably some of them, like Rosie and Jane, must have been tempted to visit the village pub.

  ‘Was the front door of the Mill left open?’ he asked. ‘Or did the students have their own keys?’

  ‘It’s locked at midnight,’ Meg said. ‘Usually by Rosie who doesn’t mind staying up late. If a student wanted to be in after that we’d give them a key.’

  ‘But before midnight anyone could have got in?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Anyone in the world.’ She got up from her chair by the fire and filled their cups with coffee.

  ‘Had James seen anyone earlier in the day?’ George asked. If this was suicide, he thought, something must have triggered it, something must have made that day different from all the rest.

  She paused. ‘Grace Sharland, the nurse, came at about three,’ she said at last and added lightly: ‘ James always seemed to find time to talk to her.’

  ‘That was the woman who encouraged him to write the autobiography?’

  ‘Yes. Our GP arranged for her to visit when we first moved here. After his accident James had suffered from spells of depression and anxiety and the doctor thought it might help. For some reason James seemed to take to her and she came every month even when he wasn’t feeling particularly low.’

  ‘Was this one of her regular visits?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice was even but he sensed her irritation. ‘I was surprised to see her.’

  ‘Did you ask why she had called?’

  ‘No,’ Meg said frostily. ‘She made it clear from the start that her interviews with James were confidential. I suppose he must have phoned her. He did that occasionally. I think he liked the attention.’

  ‘You didn’t ask James why he’d sent for her?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It never came up.’

  George did not believe her. From her attitude it was clear that Ms Sharland had been a subject of contention, an unwelcome intrusion. He thought there would have been arguments. Meg would have wanted to know what the visit was about.

  ‘Where did he see the nurse?’ George asked. ‘Here or in the study?’

  ‘In his study. He spent most of the day there.’ She stopped suddenly as if remembering. ‘He did come out at lunch-time to go for a walk along the shore,’ she said. ‘Towards Salter’s Cottage. He probably called to see Phil. It was a Saturday so he would have been there.’

  ‘Were your husband and Mr Cairns friends?’ Molly asked. ‘They didn’t find the situation awkward?’ Although they shared a wife, she almost added but there was no need. The question was understood.

  ‘Of course not.’ Meg’s voice was sharp. ‘ Why should it be? We’re civilized adults.’

  ‘Didn’t you feel any reluctance about moving here so close to James’ first wife?’

  ‘None at all. Phil and Cathy are happily married. We’d all become rather good friends actually. We first saw the Mill when we came to visit them for a weekend.’

  Like Meg’s perfect family it was too good to be true, Molly thought. In her career as a social worker she had never known separation or divorce without bitterness.

  ‘Whose idea was it to take on the Mill?’ she asked.

  ‘It was a joint decision,’ Meg said firmly. ‘We both fell in love with the place as soon as we saw it.’

  ‘But James must have seen it before then,’ Molly said, ‘when he came to collect Hannah for access visits.’

  ‘Of course he had seen it before.’ Meg allowed her voice to become impatient. ‘But that was before his accident. His attitude to everything changed then. He realized that he couldn’t cope with the stress of running Green Scenes. Starting our own field centre in the Mill seemed a practical alternative.’

  ‘Did he realize or did you realize?’ Molly asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘People who are under stress find it hard to step away from it, to admit that they can’t cope. I wondered if you had to persuade James to consider resignation.’

  Meg hesitated, unsure whether criticism was implied in the statement, defensive.

  ‘I told him I was worried about him,’ she said at last. ‘Green Scenes was going through a turbulent time. The board was very demanding. James was a fighter. It would never have occurred to him to change the magazine’s policy without a battle. I showed him that there was an alternative. Once he’d grasped that he didn’t need any persuasion.’

  They sat for a moment in silence. It was plausible, George thought. Just. If James had lost all his confidence after Hannah’s death he would be susceptible to Meg’s suggestions. He thought Molly was being too hard on Meg, that she should be more sympathetic.

  ‘So James went to see the Cairns at lunch-time and he saw the community psychiatric nurse in the afternoon,’ he said gently, intending to bring the interview to a conclusion. ‘And the rest of the time he was working alone in the study?’

  ‘So far as I know,’ she said. ‘He may have gone down to the schoolroom to see if any of the children were there. He did that occasionally if he’d come to a break in his work. He liked to see them then.’

  ‘You don’t mind our talking to the children?’

  ‘I don’t mind anything,’ she cried, ‘so long as it helps find out what happened.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ George said, ‘to have to ask all these questions. I expect the police went over the same ground.’

  ‘No,’ she said. She sounded exhausted. ‘The police assumed from the beginning that James had killed himself. They sent a man called Porter, whose attitude I found very offensive. Once he heard that James had been treated for depression he stopped asking questions. He just gave up. It’s discrimination, isn’t it? James should be treated in death like everyone else, not dismissed as a madman.’

  ‘Where did James keep his pills?’ George asked, prompted by her talk of his illness. ‘ Here in the flat or in the study?’

  ‘Here,’ she said. ‘In the bathroom. There’s a cupboard where we keep all our medicines. They’d have been in there.’

  ‘So he’d have had to fetch them specially?’

  She nodded.

  ‘He could have done that easily I suppose without your knowing. For example, while you were all at dinner?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Do you lock the flat when no one’s in it?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘What danger could there be here?’ She stirred in her chair and seemed to be trying to find the energy to move. ‘I expect you’d like to see his study,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you.’ ‘No,’ George said. He felt sorry for her. ‘Tomorrow will do.’

  And he and Molly left her sitting by the dying fire with the pile of mending still at her feet.

  Chapter Five

  The pub in Markham Law was called the Lord Nelson but was known to the locals as the Dead Dog, because of a stuffed terrier in a glass case which stood on a shelf behind the bar. Ruth did not like going to the pub much. She had the feeling that most of the regulars resented their presence. It was like gate-crashing a private party, if you could call such a sombre gathering a party.

  They always sat in the public bar. Rosie and Jane saw that as a sort of political statement. They said only yuppies went in the lounge, though Ruth thought that in Markham Law yuppies were pretty thin on the ground. In her experience the lounge bar was inhabited by pleasant middle-aged couples out for a drive from Mardon or students from the Mill who had escaped for the evening. She suspected they would be better company than the public bar regulars, who were without exception unfriendly and miserable.

  The room was long and narrow with a brown linoleum floor and brown varnished tables. It was usually heated by a calor gas heater in one corner and the smell of its fumes always caught at Ruth’s throat when she walked in. She would recoil from the smell and from the stares of the old m
en who spent all evening at the table next to the heater. They must have known who she was – she knew most of them by name – but whenever she entered they glowered as if she were a stranger. Once she had plucked up courage and shouted: ‘Hello, Ron!’ to a retired farm worker who helped occasionally in the garden at the Mill but he had ignored her. Since then she had crept into the pub and sat on the bench nearest to the door pretending to be invisible.

  Not all the regulars of the Dead Dog were old. There was Florrie Duffy’s son who worked in the tannery in Mardon and came with his biker friends because they had been banned from all the pubs in town. The atmosphere of the Dog seemed to affect them. They caused no trouble there but sat in a gloomy silence, their leather-clad elbows on the tables, steadily swallowing beer, as unwelcoming as the old men playing cards.

  Rosie and Jane had breezed into the place as if they owned it right from the beginning. They drank pints in straight glasses and kept their own darts behind the bar. Young women had never behaved like that in the experience of the Dog regulars, especially well-spoken young women like Jane. They should have been in the lounge making a glass of lager and lime last all night. But since their first appearance the attitude of the drinkers had softened. They admitted that ‘ those girls from the Mill’ were all right. They recruited them into the pub darts team and let them play cribbage if they were short-handed. But their suspicion towards Meg’s daughters remained.

  Tonight Ruth felt her usual reluctance as she entered the bar. She would have refused to go despite her mother if Aidan had not asked to join the party. If anything it would be worse tonight because they would be curious about James’ death. They might even have heard of the Palmer-Jones’ arrival at the Mill – Florrie saw it as the main responsibility of her post as cleaner to pass on information about the Morrisseys to her friends. The regulars of the Dog weren’t known for their sensitivity and Ruth imagined probing questions about her stepfather’s suicide and a discussion about her mother’s sanity.

  Caitlin, she saw, would make an exhibition of herself as she always did when she was released from her mother’s supervision. She was in Morticia mode, wearing a long black, closely fitting dress which almost reached the floor. She had already made her way to the table where the bikers sat and draped herself round the neck of Florrie’s son Malcolm.