Summer of '76

by Ashdown, Isabel

  ‘Di, you run in and phone Art Brewer down at the station – tell him to get over here, and don’t forget to mention Martin.’ He clicks his fingers at Luke. ‘What’s his surname, son?’

  ‘Brazier,’ Dad answers, shaking his head as he opens the passenger door.

  ‘Brazier – Martin Brazier. OK, Di? You got that? When you’ve called him, you and Joanna need to knock on every door along the street and ask if they’ve seen her. We’ll meet you back here in an hour, if not before.’

  Luke can feel the blood rushing through his veins as the insufferable sun beats down on the cracked lawns of Blake Avenue. ‘What about me? What am I meant to do?’

  ‘Wait here!’ Mike shouts from his window as he reverses from his drive. ‘Wait here for Art Brewer.’ He bumps down the pavement and speeds off along the road, taking Tom and Dad with him.

  Still standing on the path outside their house, Mum and Luke wait for Diana to return from her phone call. Mum reaches for Luke’s fingers and squeezes them. ‘Someone needs to be here when Kitty comes back on her own.’

  ‘You know it’s not true, don’t you? About Martin?’

  Her face crumples again, and she drops against his shoulder, her tears silently soaking into his sweat-damp T-shirt. ‘They should check with Simon – he might have seen her on his way out.’

  ‘OK, Mum. I’m sure they will. But Martin,’ Luke says, his body stiff against hers, unyielding. ‘You know he’d never do a thing to hurt her.’

  An hour later and everyone has returned home, with still no sign of Kitty. Chief Constable Brewer has arrived with PC Paley, whom Luke recognises as someone two or three years older than him from school. Dad is showing Art Brewer around the house, answering his questions as the PC takes down notes.

  ‘Write that down,’ Art tells the PC with a tap on the page. ‘No previous instance of wandering off. And Richard, you’ve phoned Simon Drake?’

  Dad nods. ‘He says she was still here when he left at half-two. She waved him off from the front door.’ He trails off, deep in thought.

  PC Paley makes a note, nervously double-dotting the ‘i’s. He moves aside for Luke, who’s been following them around to hear what’s going on.

  ‘Show me her bedroom,’ Chief Constable Brewer demands, striding down the hall. ‘This one?’

  Dad holds open the door.

  ‘They normally turn up within a few hours,’ Paley tells Luke as they stand outside the door. ‘She’s probably just wandered off and found a friend. Lost track of time.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Luke replies.

  Art Brewer appears in the doorway. ‘Go and ask Mrs Wolff what the child was wearing, Paley. And find out what the neighbours were doing at the time.’

  Luke returns with him to the kitchen, where Mum is at the table with Diana, staring into a cold cup of tea. Mike and Tom are by the back door, unconsciously mirroring each other’s pose, their arms folded, feet planted wide.

  ‘Mrs Wolff, could you tell me what Kitty was wearing when she went missing.’

  For a few seconds Mum looks wide-eyed, as if desperately trying to retrieve a lost image. ‘I was in a rush. I can’t remember.’ She draws a shuddering breath. ‘I didn’t even kiss her goodbye.’

  ‘I remember,’ says Luke. ‘I was with her in the garden before I went to work. She had that flowery dress on, Mum. The one she was wearing on Martin’s birthday.’

  Mike Michaels shakes his head and sighs heavily.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ Luke snaps, turning to face Mike, raising a searching hand.

  PC Paley turns to Mike. ‘And you, sir, you’re the neighbour?’

  ‘Yes. Mike Michaels. This is my wife, Diana; my son, Tom. Diana was out shopping with Jo when this ghastly thing happened.’

  ‘Do you have to say stuff like that?’ Luke demands. ‘This “ghastly thing”? For Christ’s sake.’

  Mum pushes her cup away and lowers her head on to her folded arms.

  ‘May I ask where you were, sir, while your wife was out?’

  Mike’s head recoils slightly, a tiny movement, but enough for Luke to notice. ‘Next door. At home.’

  ‘Anyone with you?’

  Mike looks deeply offended. ‘No.’

  ‘And you – Tom? Where were you?’

  ‘With Luke.’

  ‘Up at Sunshine Bay. The holiday camp,’ Luke says. ‘We work there.’

  PC Paley turns back to Mike, jotting a few notes in his pad. ‘I’ll just have to report back to the Chief. It’s possible he’ll want to make an inspection of your house too, sir.’

  Mike rears up, his face livid. ‘I can’t say that I like the line of your questioning, young man!’ He marches across the kitchen, passing through them, into the hall. ‘It’s that Brazier boy you should be more concerned with.’

  Tom shakes his head. ‘Why does he have to make everything about him? Sorry, man,’ he says to Luke. ‘I don’t know what to say. What an idiot.’

  ‘Tom,’ Diana chides, but Tom just glowers at her in response and follows Luke into the hall.

  They meet the others heading out on to the front doorstep, Mike now nearly puce with rage, and Dad looking as though he’s aged twenty years in an afternoon.

  ‘Relax, Mike,’ Art Brewer says. ‘Everyone’s just a bit fraught, understandably. I’ll put PC Paley straight; no one’s suggesting you had any part in it. God knows where they find these new recruits.’ He rests his hand on Mike’s elbow. Sweating and huffing in the afternoon heat, they look like a pair of fattened-up old pigs. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  Mike takes his handkerchief from his pocket and mops his brow. He reaches for his cigarettes, stepping out on to the front doorstep to light one, inhaling deeply as he wanders across the concrete driveway where he perches on the dividing wall.

  ‘I think we’re done here, Richard,’ the Chief says. ‘We’ve got all our men out, scouring the streets, and we’ve already sent someone round to the Brazier house to see if they can track down Martin. There’s not much more we can do for now.’

  ‘We can keep looking,’ Luke interrupts, angrily. ‘Can’t we, Dad? We’ll just keep looking until we find her. Tom’ll help.’

  Tom and Luke step aside as the PC joins them at the front door. ‘So you’ll call us?’ Dad says, following the officers as they make their way towards the police car parked out on the road. ‘As soon as you hear anything?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Luke watches, feeling helpless as Art Brewer gets in and slams the door, clicking his seat belt into place and starting up the engine. Dad pats the roof of the car once – and then he freezes, his arm held strangely aloft, as his gaze rests on something further down the street. Luke observes him from the shade of the house, momentarily disconnected as his gut turns beneath his ribcage.

  ‘Jo!’ Dad calls out, his voice emerging strangulated. ‘JO!’

  His urgency shatters Luke’s trance and he jumps to attention, craning in through the front door to shout back into the house. ‘Mum! Dad wants you!’ He sprints to the gate, as Mike throws down his cigarette to join Dad, and Chief Constable Brewer eases himself back out of the car.

  Luke follows their gaze. There, strolling along the road in the bright evening sunlight, is Martin, his face dappled in the shade of the overhanging leaves and branches. He lumbers towards them in his usual loose-limbed gait, his flared jeans flapping about his thin ankles, his mousy hair swaying lankly across one eye. Bony-elbowed arms protrude at right angles as he holds them high above his head, where his large hands steady the small floral bundle of laughter that sits astride his shoulders. It’s Kitty.

  The next minute passes in a surreal blur of activity, like a film on slow-play: Mum running from the house screaming Kitty’s name as Dad reaches above Martin’s shoulders to fetch her down; Chief Constable Brewer taking Martin by the elbow and leading him to the car; Mike Michaels waving his arm in the air, barking instructions to the officers. Tom and Diana recede into nothing as sparkling motes of dust
rise and fall between the shards of tree-split light, and the heat of the evening sun continues to beat down on the usually quiet street.

  ‘Thank God,’ Mum repeats over and over, smothering Kitty with kisses.

  Dad stands, limp, his face in his hands, as Kitty reaches towards him from Mum’s shoulder, her tiny face crumpling when he doesn’t look up. She dangles her little blue-haired elephant from her fingers and starts to cry.

  ‘Aren’t you going to handcuff him, Art?’ Mike demands.

  Art Brewer ignores him, removing Martin’s rucksack from his back and passing it to PC Paley.

  ‘Luke?’ Martin says feebly. His visible fear makes Luke feel nauseous. ‘Luke?’

  ‘What do you mean, handcuff him?’ Dad interjects, suddenly regaining his composure. ‘You haven’t even asked him where he found her.’

  ‘Found her?’ Mike splutters. ‘He took her, man!’

  ‘No!’ Luke roars, stepping forward to stand between Mike and Dad.

  ‘Martin didn’t take her,’ says Mum, hugging the quietly weeping Kitty closer. ‘Martin, tell the officer!’

  Martin says nothing, his pale mouth hanging open in a dreadful mask of surprise.

  ‘Martin!’ Luke says crossly, stepping up close, shaking his shoulder. ‘Martin, tell them where you found Kitty. Martin!’

  Mike Michaels crosses his arms and puffs out his chest, and Luke sees in that moment just how much he’s enjoying the drama. ‘God knows what he’s done to her.’

  There’s a collective intake of breath as everyone turns to look at him.

  ‘Mike,’ Chief Constable Brewer says firmly, releasing Martin’s arm. ‘Mike, this isn’t helping. I’ll take it from here. You and your family can go back inside now – I need to talk to Martin and the Wolff family alone. OK?’

  Mike shakes his head and backs off like a disgruntled bear, indicating for Diana and Tom to join him. ‘You just give me a shout, Richard. If you need me.’

  Art Brewer turns to the group with a small nod. ‘Now, Martin, why don’t you tell us what you were doing with Kitty?’

  ‘I found her,’ he mumbles, at last.

  ‘You found her? Where?’

  ‘With the dogs. You know?’

  ‘Are you getting this down, PC Paley?’ Art asks impatiently, wrinkling his brow. The young PC tugs at his earlobe as Brewer turns to Kitty. ‘Kitty?’

  She looks terrified, and her face screws up again as she whimpers into Mum’s hair.

  ‘Kitty?’ Art repeats curtly, wiggling the trunk of the little elephant to gain her full attention.

  Mum scowls at him. ‘Kitty, darling? Can you tell Mummy where you’ve been today? Who were you with?’

  Kitty casts a suspicious glance in Art Brewer’s direction and throws her head back in an exhausted howl. The little elephant drops from her hands, bouncing to the side of the kerb. ‘Marteee!’ she screams as she watches the elephant land. ‘Marty, Marty!’

  Dad’s expression is a picture of confusion. ‘Martin?’

  Luke looks around the group in panic. Mum now seems to be in complete meltdown as she lowers herself to perch on the wall, drawing Kitty up as if she might squeeze the breath out of her.

  ‘Kitty doesn’t mean that Martin took her!’ Luke shouts, but no one seems to be hearing him.

  Martin has taken on that glazed over look, like he does when he’s eating, and Luke knows there’s no reaching him now. PC Paley is going through his rucksack, and he pulls out the Brownie camera and holds it aloft. ‘Chief,’ he says, ‘it looks like he’s used a full reel.’

  ‘We’ll drop that in at the chemist’s for processing on our way back to the station, Paley,’ Art Brewer says, looking at his watch. ‘Could be evidence.’

  Luke runs his hands up through his sweat-soaked scalp, watching as Art moves closer to Mum and Dad and talks to them in a low tone.

  ‘I think we’d better take him down to the station, Richard. I take it he’s over eighteen?’

  ‘Christ,’ Luke murmurs, as he watches PC Paley cuff Martin and ease him into the back seat of the police car.

  ‘We’ll question him fully there. In the meantime, it’s important that you give Kitty a thorough checking over – do you understand, Joanna? And if anything seems out of the ordinary, call me and we’ll send someone over to take a look. See if you can get any more sense out of her about where she’s been. She’s clearly too traumatised at the moment, but you may get more from her later.’

  ‘But she’s only four,’ Mum says, her voice barely a whisper. She looks at Dad. ‘Martin wouldn’t do anything to Kitty, would he, Richard?’

  Luke pushes between them to be heard. ‘Mum. This is Martin we’re talking about!’

  Dad shakes his head, unable to meet Mum’s eye. ‘I gave him that camera,’ he says, barely audible.

  ‘I’ll let you know how we get on,’ says Chief Constable Brewer, and he gets into the police car and drives away, leaving Luke with nothing more than the appalling image of Martin’s haunted face as it passes by.

  The phone rings early the next morning, and despite a restless night’s sleep Luke leaps from his bed and into the hall, where he waits expectantly beside Mum in his pyjama bottoms, trying to catch a thread of the conversation.

  ‘Yes, I checked her over. Yes, thoroughly. She’s completely fine. No – nothing at all.’ She glances sideways at Luke and mouths ‘the police’ at him. ‘Yes. Yes, thank you, Art. Thanks for calling so early. Oh, and Art,’ she says, turning her back to Luke. ‘How is he? Martin. Did he get home alright?’ A pause. ‘We’re very fond of Martin – I’d hate to think this could have repercussions for him.’ She tilts her head, listening to the Chief. ‘Good. Well, thanks again,’ she says, and she returns the phone receiver to its cradle.

  ‘Well?’ asks Luke, running his finger along the ridged glass of the front door panel.

  Mum pushes her hand through her hair, scraping it up into a thick bunch and letting it fall. She releases a deep, relieved sigh. ‘That was Chief Brewer. They let Martin go late last night. Apparently he’d only bumped into Kitty minutes before we saw him – he’d spotted her playing with the dogs in Sara Newbury’s front garden, and he was just bringing her home. Art says they’re confident that it was all just a big mix-up.’

  Luke pulls at his bottom lip, remembering the grey spectre of Martin’s face as he passed by in the police car. ‘Not helped by Fatty next door. So, what now?’

  ‘So, nothing. That’s it.’

  ‘You say that, but you know what this place is like once people get hold of a bit of gossip. I’ll bet Mike Michaels has already dispatched an emergency telegraph to warn the rest of the island. People are bound to ask questions.’

  Mum rubs his shoulder. ‘Well, if they do, we’ll all just have to put them right.’ She inspects her face in the hall mirror, brushing a finger under her lashes to wipe away the traces of yesterday’s mascara. ‘Maybe you should give Martin a call, Luke?’ She leans in to stroke his cheek, and smiles gently before running a distracted hand through her hair and disappearing into the bathroom.

  For a minute or two Luke stands in the hallway alone, staring at the telephone, building up the courage to make the call. When he does, Martin answers on the second ring, with a weak urgency to his voice that unsettles Luke to his core.

  ‘Mart, it’s me,’ he says, in his cheeriest voice. ‘The police just phoned to say you’d gone home. Are you OK?’

  A little puff of breath at the end of the line lets Luke know he’s still there. He waits for Martin to speak.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ he eventually says, talking with a pronounced lisp, and what sounds like a blocked-up nose.

  ‘What’s up with your voice? Are you sure you’re OK?’

  ‘Yesss. I’m fine.’ Martin has lowered his voice to a whisper.

  ‘Is your dad there?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘What did he say, mate? Did the police explain it to him?’

  There’s a long silence, an
d in that instant, Luke knows why Martin’s lisping; it wouldn’t be the first time his dad has knocked him about. ‘Mate, it’s all going to be alright, you know? You’re not in any trouble. Chief Brewer told my mum on the phone; he said they know it was all just a mix-up.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘So what are you sounding so worried about, then?’

  Martin clears his throat, the pause seeming to go on for an age. ‘It’s the film from the camera, Luke. They’ve put it in for processing.’

  ‘So what?’ As soon as the words are out, he understands. Martin’s talking about the photos he took on the night of the party. ‘Jesus,’ Luke murmurs. ‘The film was still in your camera?’

  ‘I’d forgotten about it. There were two films, Luke – the police only took that one, the one in the camera, and I don’t know what I’ve done with the first one, but I’m sure I’ll find it if I have a good look in my room –’

  ‘Alright, alright,’ Luke interrupts, his impatience breaking through. He checks along the hallway to ensure he’s not being overheard. ‘Just slow down, mate. So, can you remember what’s on that film the police have got? It’s important – are there any pictures of my folks on it?’

  ‘That’s the thing, Luke. I can’t remember. I just can’t remember. My mind’s a complete blank.’ There’s a rattle in the background as Martin’s dad enters the room and tells him to get off the phone. ‘I’ve got to go now,’ he says, the tremble in his voice close to tears. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  The receiver goes down and Luke stares at his own dishevelled reflection in the hall mirror, as the blood drains from his face, and a slow, deep panic sets in. Is this how it feels when someone has died? he wonders. Because right now, nothing, nothing in the world, could make him feel any worse than this.

  9

  Met Office report for the Isle of Wight, late July 1976: Maximum temperature 74°F/23.6°C

  Since the last smattering of rain in the middle of July, the heatwave is predicted to soar again to Mediterranean levels. Temperatures continue up in the seventies and news reporters continue to talk of almost nothing else. Yesterday, when Luke took Kitty to the marshes in search of newts, the area was desert-dry, the rushes wilting like hay against the sun-bleached wasteland of the ponds. ‘Where did they go?’ Kitty had asked sadly, slotting a small finger into one of the broad cracks that fractured the heat-baked basin. ‘They must have found a new home,’ he’d answered, certain that the ill-fated newts were long-dead.