That Still andWhispering Place

by Kathy Shuker

  He frowned. ‘Well, we’re saving up aren’t we?’ He was aware she didn’t like the location of the bungalow much because she found it too quiet and the cattle spooked her, so they had talked several times about going somewhere else - sometime. ‘Maybe when the next contract finishes we’ll be able to find something better.’

  ‘Where better?’

  ‘I dunno. Nearer the centre of the village maybe. Where would you like to be?’

  She shook her head crossly. ‘You don’t listen, do you, Adam? I’ve told you before: I don’t want to live anywhere in Bohenna. There’s nothing going on here.’

  ‘But we talked about what coming here would be like. You were quite keen.’

  ‘You said we’d be near the sea.’

  ‘You’re saying I lied to you? That’s not fair. I showed you where it was on the map.’

  ‘Yes, and on the map it does look close to the sea. But it’s not really is it? It’s in the middle of the country and the roads are so narrow and twisty that it takes forever to get anywhere. There’s just mud and cows and…and cabbages everywhere. I had no idea it would be like this.’

  ‘It’s not that far to the sea. I know you can’t walk there but it’s only fifteen minutes in the car. And there’s all sorts of great places not far away. Anyway, we haven’t been here very long. It takes time to settle in and get to know the place.’

  He got up and went across to kneel down by the side of her, putting his arm round her shoulders and resting his head against hers. She let him so that was a start.

  ‘We’re together aren’t we?’ he said softly. ‘It’s an adventure. We both said we wanted to try something new. And it’s wonderful here for my work. I got that print deal after doing those pictures of the river. That’s going to make a big difference to our income and it’ll make all sorts of things easier.’

  He felt her relax into him and he turned his head and kissed her lingeringly on the mouth. She responded and he felt the arousal immediately. It was almost embarrassingly quick. He let his hands wander down her body, kissing her back greedily. He’d begun to think she didn’t want him any more. It had been a while.

  But she was turning her head away again and he had to force himself to let her go.

  ‘If our income’s going to be better then it’s time we talked about starting a family. Again.’ Zoe fixed him with a penetrating look. ‘I’m thirty-four, Adam. I can’t put it off much longer. And it’ll maybe take me a few months to catch. You said that this would be a good place to bring up children.’

  Adam sat back on his heels, staring at her. He felt like he’d been tricked. She was manipulating him.

  ‘We’ve talked about this,’ he said coldly. ‘We agreed to wait until we’d got ourselves established.’

  ‘We didn’t agree, Adam. You insisted. How established do we have to be?’

  Adam got to his feet and looked down on her. ‘We’re not ready to do this yet. We’ll talk about it again. Anyway, I need something to eat.’ He headed for the kitchen.

  ‘That’s right. Walk away. Why do we always have to talk about it again?’ he heard her shout after him.

  He didn’t reply.

  Chapter 3

  Walking into the village shop the next morning to buy the local newspaper, Claire became aware of the other shoppers stopping to glance at her, of voices dropping and people turning away. At the till, she could tell from the way the owner, Steve Carthy, looked at her, at the things he didn’t say, that he had been talking about her. He was a little too polite. She had been back three days and already the word had got around. She wondered what the gossipmongers were saying about her now, after all this time, but didn’t want to know. Had it changed from what had been said before? Had it become more benign with time or more extreme?

  Back home, she trawled through the job adverts: a care home assistant - experience required - and a bar job at a pub in a neighbouring village. She checked the internet on her phone for anything else she could find. There were more bar jobs in Lostwithiel and Fowey and a chef and an early morning office cleaner required. Nothing that appealed. The job at V and C taunted her. It was close - she could walk there - which meant she’d use no money in travelling, and the hours were sociable. And she’d probably never see the Pennymans - certainly not Eve. And maybe her dad would be pleased to think that she was up there, back in the old place, even if it had changed out of all recognition. At the end of the day it was work, and she needed the money. It was becoming a major issue.

  A couple of days later, swallowing her pride, she went to see Penny Shalcross. Penny, big and sardonic with a deceptively languid manner, had clearly heard the gossip too because she already knew who Claire was and she had only lived in the village a couple of years.

  ‘You’re the poor woman whose child disappeared,’ she said, with refreshing directness. ‘I’m so sorry. That must have been dreadful.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. It was.’

  Penny studied her with a shrewd gaze and Claire felt like a schoolchild called up to see the headmistress, though Penny could have been her senior by barely eight or nine years.

  ‘I had a school leaver here until a couple of weeks ago,’ Penny said in the brisk, no-nonsense manner Claire would come to know well. ‘She couldn’t hack it. Too slow for her, she said. Boring. Well, of course it’s got slower now the summer’s over. If the girl was looking for excitement I don’t know why she came here.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Can you cope with boring? It’ll pick up again near Christmas but it’s going to be slow till then. I need you to clean, iron, sort through things. And serve. You’ll have to man the place while I go out sourcing stock. Can you do that?’

  ‘Yes, I can do that.’

  The job was hers.

  Claire started the following Monday, working four days a week, nine-thirty to five, and alternate weekends. Penny stayed with her to start with, explaining the stock, the till and the record-keeping. Having always favoured old things with a bit of history, Claire hoped the job might actually prove interesting. Penny sourced most of her goods from house clearances and auctions and made occasional trips to France to buy from the street flea markets. The stock was varied: shelves of folded quilts and racks of antique linens; an assortment of pottery and china and bundles of silver cutlery; old wooden trays, rusting advertising boards and kitchen storage tins. A couple of pieces of fine furniture were prominently displayed but the rest were covered in items to sell. There were two bookcases of second-hand books and a rack of vintage clothes. At the back of the room stood a locked, glazed cabinet with a display of valuable, ‘easily pocketed’ items, mostly jewellery. Behind a partition wall at the rear was a small kitchen, just big enough for a sink unit, an electric kettle and an automatic washing machine and tumble drier.

  On the Monday of the second week, Claire worked her first day alone. The unit felt empty without Penny’s larger than life presence and she switched on the CD player behind the counter and flicked through the discs piled beside it. They were mostly compilations of French ballads or classical albums. She put on something by Ravel to fill the silence, pushed the vacuum cleaner over the floor, swiped a duster over the polished surfaces then got out the silver polish and began cleaning an old canteen of cutlery.

  Her phone started its familiar stupid jingle and she smiled when she saw the name.

  ‘Hi Laura. Are you all right? I tried to ring you last night.’

  ‘I know mum. Sorry. I was out. No reception.’

  Out where? thought Claire. And who with?

  ‘Did you have a good time?’ she asked, rubbing her thumb ineffectually at the black marks on her fingers.

  ‘It was OK. Just a few of us freshers getting together.’

  ‘You’ve made some friends then? Anyone in particular?’

  ‘I’ve only been here a month, mum. Give me a chance. I have been doing some work too.’

  Of course she had. Laura was conscientious and hard-working. She had managed to get a place at Oxford readin
g history and philosophy. How she had been able to study and concentrate when everything around her had been falling to pieces, her mother couldn’t imagine. Though maybe the work and the reading were what had kept Laura sane.

  ‘You’re enjoying the course?’

  ‘Yes. It’s good.’

  Claire waited but there was no further comment. Laura was never very forthcoming. Too quiet, Neil used to say, too serious, but that was probably their fault.

  ‘Laura, I’ve been thinking about Christmas. Is there anything you particularly want?’

  ‘I haven’t thought.’ There was a brief silence at the other end of the line. ‘Are you going back to Kent for Christmas?’

  Claire hesitated. ‘No Laura. I’ve brought some furniture down here, remember. I wanted to make this place feel more like home.’ She paused. ‘I think your grandmother wants to have us over for Christmas Day. Did your dad mention it?’

  ‘He might have.’

  There was another silence.

  ‘Well we can decide what we want to do nearer the time, can’t we?’ Claire said brightly. ‘The cottage here’ll be lovely with decorations up. And there’s a wood-burner to roast chestnuts in too. Do you remember how we used to roast chestnuts when we lived down here before?’

  ‘Yes.’ The word came out flat and empty, like the sound of a torn drum.

  ‘Is there a problem about coming here?’ Claire asked gently. ‘You can tell me if there is Laura.’ She’d thought Laura was genuinely unperturbed by her move; she’d said all the right things when Claire explained.

  ‘No, it’s fine. It’s just going to be…odd.’

  ‘I know. But I think it’s an oddness we need to get over, don’t you?’

  ‘Sure. Don’t go on about it, mum.’

  ‘No. OK.’ Silence. ‘Oh, by the way, I’ve got a job.’

  ‘Really? Good. Well done. Look mum, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a tutorial.’

  ‘OK. But, don’t forget to think about what you’d like for Christmas, will you?’

  Claire closed the call and stared at her phone thoughtfully. Laura had never talked much about her sister’s disappearance despite much intrusive though well-intentioned prompting. Her feelings had been kept all bottled up, untouchable. In the end Claire had thought it best to let it lie.

  The bell over the door tinkled and she looked up as Jane walked in.

  ‘So you took the job. I’m so glad.’ Jane stood by the sales desk and glanced around, shaping her lips into a little moue of disdain. ‘It’s pretty crammed in here, isn’t it? A bit claustrophobic. Much healthier to allow room for the energy to flow, you know. Though you’d better not tell Penny I said that. Anyway, I can’t stay. I’ve got a client coming to see me. Soon though, we must spend some quality time together.’

  Claire forced a smile.

  Jane reached out a sympathetic and unwelcome hand to touch Claire’s arm, then walked out. Claire watched her walk away and saw her duck in at the door of the art studio before returning to her own unit next door.

  Her thoughts quickly returned to Laura, doubts crowding in on her again. They had dragged their eldest daughter away when she was a confused and vulnerable adolescent. Was it fair now to make her return, as if the intervening five years had changed everything? Had they? She and Neil had run away, desperate not to keep seeing Gilly out of the corner of their eyes or lie awake at night wondering where she had gone. And they’d assumed it would be better for Laura too. They were doing it partly for her benefit, they’d said. Then they’d turned their frustration, guilt and anger on each other instead and eaten their marriage away from the inside out.

  But Claire didn’t want Laura’s memories of Bohenna to be tainted in that way. She was young enough to wash it out of her mind and make fresh memories. And she had to come back to do that, had to see the family and experience the place again. Bohenna was in her blood, like it or not.

  ‘She’ll be fine, once she’s here,’ Claire murmured to herself, turning resolutely away from the window and going back to the cutlery. ‘We’ll have a good time. We will.’

  *

  Julia, Phil and their son Daniel lived in a self-contained extension to the back of The White House. It was convenient and cheap, but also meant that they were always on the job and, at this time of year, Julia started work early.

  That morning, she had been in the winery for three hours already. She and Tim, with the help of Chris - a young man from the village - were working their way round the vats of red wine, pressing the cap of skins, stalks and seeds down into the liquid in each one, breaking it up, allowing the flavours and tannins to enrich the juice. It was demanding work, the more so because it had to be done three times a day.

  Or maybe I’m just getting old, thought Julia, rubbing at her shoulder as she moved on to the next vat. There were machines you could get to do the job of course, but they cost money, and there wasn’t that much spare to go round. They had recently bought a new bottling machine. In any case, Julia preferred working the more traditional way and, despite their expansion over the years, they were still small enough to be able to do that. It was one of the things that made them special.

  She placed the steps by the new vat, climbed to the top and glanced round. There was no sign of Phil. He’d gone to have a smoke half an hour since and still hadn’t returned. It was dry so maybe he’d gone down into the vineyard. There wasn’t much to do there this time of year but Phil always found room for a bit of ‘housekeeping’. He didn’t like to spend much time indoors anyway, said he couldn’t breathe.

  She pushed the plunger down into the wine with a grunt, working her way systematically over the crust. She’d seen the signs: Phil was smoking cannabis again though there was no point confronting him about it. He’d only deny it. And he swore it was harmless but they both knew that wasn’t true. Normally Phil was a quiet man, protective of his own routines, but good-natured and a patient and caring father. But grass made him irascible and forgetful and in the past it had fuelled his anxiety and even made him paranoid. He was fine while he was smoking it - he felt good and it calmed him down; it was afterwards the problems kicked in. He was a fool to be dabbling in it again. She was concerned - and cross too - and gave the last push into the wine an extra effort in her frustration, managing to splash juice up her arms. Damn.

  She stepped down to the floor to find Tim waiting for her.

  ‘We’re done,’ he said. ‘I’ve sent Chris for his break. Where’s Phil?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  Tim gave her a meaningful look but she refused to rise to it. It was none of his business.

  ‘Coffee?’ he said. ‘Mum’s out. She’s at the dentist’s this morning.’

  Julia nodded, relieved. It was vineyard lore that they all went up to the house for a break each morning but it was a great deal more relaxing when Eve wasn’t there.

  They rinsed off the plunging discs, washed their hands and walked up together.

  ‘Chris was having another go at me about a pay rise.’ Tim filled the coffee machine in the big breakfast kitchen and switched it on.

  ‘If we put his pay up, we’ll have to put all the wages up.’ Julia put a pan of milk to heat on the Aga. She turned to face him. ‘I don’t think we can afford to do that.’

  ‘No, I know, but it must be difficult for him. He’s trying to save up to buy a car. Maybe we could increase the Christmas bonus? It’d be something.’

  Julia grabbed a couple of mugs from one cupboard and the biscuit tin from another. She put them on the table and turned to look at him, smiling indulgently.

  ‘You’re a soft touch, aren’t you? We’ll talk about it at the next meeting.’ She took a biscuit out of the tin, bit into it and went back to watch the milk. ‘How’s the new brochure coming on?’

  ‘Fine. The new photos work well.’

  There was the sound of boots being dumped by the back door and Phil walked in. He said nothing, pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. Where Tim was slight
and wiry, Phil was solid and strongly built, his hair receding off his forehead and grizzled. Julia glanced at him as she poured hot milk into a jug and put it on the table.

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘Kids messing about in the vines again. I went down to see them off. Threatened them with a hiding. They’ve pushed down the wire on the fence.’ He shook his head, lips compressed. ‘As if I haven’t got enough to do. Trouble is, there’s too many places along that river path where they can push through. You mend one bit, they just come in somewhere else.’

  ‘Who were they?’

  ‘Dunno. Maybe from the new estate.’

  Julia looked at him just a little too long and he caught her eye.

  ‘They’re only kids, Phil,’ she murmured. ‘Playing.’

  He didn’t respond and she looked away, grabbing another mug and the sugar bowl.

  ‘They won’t be back in a hurry,’ Timothy was saying with a grin. ‘If I know Phil, they won’t have stopped shaking yet.’

  He tipped coffee into the three mugs and sat down. The smile faded and he stared into his mug pensively.

  ‘Claire’s working in the yard,’ he said. ‘At V and C.’ He looked up, flicking each of them a glance. ‘Did you know?’

  Julia shook her head, frowning.

  ‘I knew,’ said Phil. He reached into the biscuit tin and took a custard cream.

  Julia watched him and looked away again. She wondered how he knew and what he thought about it. The Craft Yard was very close.

  They lapsed into silence and no-one mentioned Claire again but Julia could still feel the resonance of her name lingering in the air around them.

  *

  The days of November grew shorter. Autumn settled on the village softly like the drifting fallen leaves at the sides of the road. There were morning mists along the river, showers of squally rain and brief spells of vapid sunshine. It was a quiet spell, uneventful, and just what Claire needed. If she wanted to jog - and these last years it had become a regular part of her routine - she was usually obliged to do it in the dark, morning or evening, and she took to wearing a head-strap torch. She knew it looked stupid but there were few out to see her and she developed a couple of familiar routes: running the roads through the village or cutting through the woods and along the riverside footpaths. Added to her new working routine, the regularity and monotony of it were soothing.