That Still andWhispering Place

by Kathy Shuker

  Julia fitted the tube to the spout on the next stainless steel tank and turned the tap. Tim had already put the tube from the pump into a clean empty tank and he flicked the pump on. They had done it so often that they worked automatically, barely speaking, and, standing waiting for the tank to empty, Julia found herself thinking about Gilly. She had done that a lot since Claire’s return.

  The little girl used to come up to the winery, sometimes with her father, far more rarely with Claire. She wasn’t supposed to go there alone but she often spent an hour or two with her grandfather at the nursery and sometimes she would wander across, occasionally with his permission, often without him knowing. She hadn’t been a naughty child - Julia had always found her good-tempered and polite - but she’d been inquisitive and curious and fiercely independent. And stubborn. She liked to ‘help’. When they were racking she would ask to put the tube on or switch the pump on, then she’d climb the steps and watch the wine frothing into the new clean tank. Everything seemed to fascinate her.

  Julia had been fond of her; she would have liked to have had a daughter of her own. It was ironic that Neil had fathered two girls when he had been so keen to have a boy. Maybe that was why he had seemed to struggle to connect with his daughters. Or maybe it was because Neil was such an ambitious person. His children weren’t necessarily the first thing on his mind. Indeed, he had sometimes given the impression that they held him back.

  ‘Done.’ Tim switched the pump off and turned to look at her then waved a hand slowly in front of her face. ‘Julia? Finished.’ He grinned. ‘Jesus, where were you then?’

  ‘Sorry Tim. Miles away.’

  They moved on to the next tank.

  Half an hour later, Eve turned up at the winery and stood, watching intently, saying nothing. Julia saw her out of the corner of her eye but carried on working. Eve appeared there virtually every day at some point. She couldn’t physically work any more because her arthritis had weakened her and gave her too much pain, but she had to keep making suggestions or commenting, had to feel involved. Julia suspected she would feel the same way one day, a thought which generally managed to make her more tolerant.

  ‘All right, mum?’ she said, coming across to join her.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Eve’s beady eyes watched Chris attach the pipe onto a tank.

  ‘Fine. Nearly half way through now.’

  Eve nodded. Her gaze shifted, searching the winery, frowning.

  ‘No Daniel, I see.’

  ‘No. He went out. Football this afternoon.’

  ‘He should be helping you, Julia, learning the trade. You’re too soft with him.’ Her voice had risen.

  Tim walked slowly across to join them.

  ‘He’s only fifteen, mum,’ said Julia. ‘He’s got time. He’s got to have some fun.’

  ‘You were working in the vineyard at his age.’

  ‘But I wanted to.’ Julia looked at her brother. ‘Tim didn’t do much in the winery till he was older, did you?’

  ‘Not really.’ He glanced uneasily between them. ‘Why?’

  ‘I worry about the future of the vineyard,’ Eve said curtly. ‘It seems I’m the only one who does.’ She glared at Julia. ‘You’re saying Daniel doesn’t want to work in the winery. But since you only had one child and this one…’ She gripped Timothy’s arm with her bent fingers. ‘…has so far chosen not to have any, where’s the next winemaker to come from? Hmm? I think about that. Your father would be desperate to think the vineyard would leave the family.’

  No, you’re the one who’s desperate to think that, Julia thought. My father would have just wanted his grandson to be happy.

  ‘Anyway,’ Eve was saying, ‘maybe Neil can have a word with him at Christmas. He’s always been good with Danny.’

  ‘Neil?’ Julia frowned. ‘He’s coming, is he?’

  ‘Yes, he’ll be staying here a couple of days. He’s got a new girlfriend, you know. Samantha. I told him to bring her too if he wants.’

  Eve smiled sweetly and left. Julia knew that smile. Eve was at her most dangerous when she was being charming.

  She turned to Timothy. ‘But hasn’t she invited Claire?’

  ‘Yes. She had to because she wanted Laura to be there. You know how she believes in getting the family together.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Should be interesting.’

  Back at the tanks, Julia forgot Gilly and thought about her mother instead, wondering what plans she was hatching now, schemes which she clearly wasn’t planning to share.

  *

  Nick Lawer lived in a semi-detached house on Tap Lane, a road which ran south from Long Lane, climbing the valley side, and which eventually, after a few winding miles, reached the coast. His home was a small, rough-rendered cottage with a gravelled front garden and a glimpse of washing hanging on the line at the back. On the drive stood an ancient Ford Fiesta which looked as though it might fall apart at any moment.

  Claire walked slowly past, glancing idly at the other houses stretching along the lane. They were a mixture of new build infill and the old cottages of agricultural workers. On the other side of the road, about twenty yards higher up, was the turning to the estate - The Paddocks - where she had lived with Neil. Gilly had walked this way every day to and from school. Beyond The Paddocks, on higher ground behind a hedge, was a gently banked field where sheep grazed and a stile gave access to a footpath. Claire crossed the road, climbed the stile and took a few steps along the path. Stopping and looking back, she could see the house through the bare branches of a tree growing out of the hedge.

  She had been here before, several times already. Nick Lawer had quickly obsessed her. Having found out where he lived, her days off had been organised around visiting this place and checking out his movements. Increasingly she was convinced that he knew what had happened to Gilly. She suspected - was certain in fact - that he might be keeping her captive. His girlfriend had donated things to the fête and Nick’s salacious and violent reputation spoke for itself. And, glancing down the drive of the house, she had seen sheds in his back garden.

  But she needed him to be out so that she could investigate. He was out now, clearly, because his Toyota was nowhere in sight but the Fiesta on the drive suggested his girlfriend Mandy was still at home. Claire made a pretence of walking a few steps along the path then turned to come back. The sound of an old engine turning over made her look up quickly and hurry back to her vantage point. Mandy had got in the car. The ignition didn’t fire and the engine turned again. Reluctantly it started and, rattling disconcertingly, the car reversed out of the drive.

  Claire waited until the car was out of sight then crossed over the stile and walked briskly back down the road. Glancing each way in case anyone was watching, she hurried down the drive to the back of the house.

  The back garden was scruffy. There had been an attempt to plant a border up but it was choked with weeds and the small square area of lawn was uneven and overgrown. On the left was a single brick garage with two rotting wooden doors. Behind it were two sheds built of corrugated iron which had both been painted jet black. The first was small, the second much larger and given the size of the house, surprisingly big. Claire was barely breathing. Neither shed had windows and both were padlocked. She stood by the side of the first one, listening, but could hear nothing. She tried the door and pulled at the padlock but it was locked and wouldn’t move. She did the same thing on the larger shed, leaning her ear against the metal this time, hearing nothing but the beating of her own heart. She tapped gently.

  ‘Gilly?’ she murmured, then repeated it a little louder. ‘Gilly? Are you there?’

  Was it her imagination or did she hear something, a rustle maybe, a movement? She tapped again but now heard nothing.

  She straightened up, unsure what to do next, and stood, staring at the shed then slowly glancing round the scruffy garden in case there might be any sign that Gilly had been there. What did she really expect: a child’s toys? Gilly would be half grown-up now, we
aring trendy clothes and make-up, listening to music Claire wouldn’t understand and drooling over posters of boy bands Claire had never heard of. Except that she wouldn’t. Not if she was shut up in a shed. She wondered if she could pick the padlock or maybe even break it. She glanced around for a large stone.

  ‘What the hell are you doing in my garden?’

  Claire spun round. Lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t registered the taxi pulling onto the drive and now Nick Lawer was standing just a few yards away. He was wearing his ‘taxi’ clothes: dark, neatly creased trousers and a thin navy sweater over an open-necked shirt, but his legs were spread aggressively wide as if spoiling for a fight, his expression black as thunder. Her mind went blank. He took a step closer.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said. He looked her up and down, stuck a tongue in his cheek, then glanced towards the sheds and back at her as if he’d been checking that they were still locked up. ‘What are you after here?’ The aggression had dropped a little and his eyes challenged her suggestively. He surveyed her a second time, slowly, in that offensive way he had. ‘Come to see me, have you?’

  ‘No. I was walking down the lane, and I…I saw a cat come in your garden. It was limping badly and I was worried about it. But I can’t see it now. Do you keep a cat?’

  ‘No.’

  Claire gestured a hand towards the sheds.

  ‘Maybe it’s gone in one of your sheds.’

  ‘It couldn’t have. They’re locked.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Did I hear you talking to someone just now?’

  ‘I was singing to myself,’ she said. ‘I do that a lot.’ She glanced round the garden again. ‘Well. No sign of the cat.’

  She moved to go but Nick stayed where he was, saying nothing, obliging her to walk round him. He grabbed her arm as she passed, holding her tight with steely fingers and leaned his head close to hers.

  ‘Don’t come on my property again…’ He spoke low with just a grumble of menace. She could see the heavy stubble on his chin starting to show through and the broken veins on his cheeks. ‘…not without an invitation.’ He raised his free hand and ran one lewd finger over her lips, then down her chin and neck. ‘That could be arranged, mind. Fancy a bit of fun, do you?’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she said, pulling her face away and trying to shake him off.

  He let go of her and she walked away as calmly as she could, her arm burning where his fingers had dug into her flesh. She heard him laugh as he watched her go.

  *

  ‘It couldn’t have been Nick Lawer,’ the Family Liaison Officer told Claire firmly. ‘I promised I’d look into the case when I saw you last, Mrs. Pennyman. And I did. We checked his whereabouts at the time of your daughter’s disappearance and he wasn’t in the village; he was taking a couple to Exeter airport. We checked the flight times and spoke to the couple as well. There was no doubt about it. He was telling the truth.’

  Claire stared at the constable. She heard what she was saying but struggled to accept it. She had rung Lyn James as soon as she’d got home because she had been so sure that Gilly was shut inside one of those sheds. She wanted someone to come and break them open, straight away, as soon as possible. But she had been obliged to leave a message and it had been a couple of hours later before Lyn had called her back. And now it was early evening and the officer had turned up at her door, her frustration clear at what she saw as more time-wasting.

  ‘Mrs Pennyman,’ she was saying now, ‘I’m concerned that you’re trying to take the law into your own hands here. It’s quite clear from the records that we looked into everything. We spoke to everyone who was anywhere near Bohenna at the time, anyone who had a connection with the case in any way. If any new information comes forward we’ll look at it again - of course we will. But you must let us do the asking and investigating. You aren’t helping by digging around like this.’

  ‘Then how will your ‘new information’ come to light if I don’t do the digging?’ said Claire, getting to her feet, pacing a couple of steps then turning to face the constable. She raised her arms in a gesture of despair. ‘You’re not doing it are you? And yet I know that Gilly never left this village.’

  ‘How do you know? The hair slide?’ Lyn’s expression softened. ‘It’s not evidence, Claire.’

  ‘But I know,’ repeated Claire. She stabbed the air in front of her with an incisive finger. ‘I know she’s here somewhere.’

  ‘You’re going to make yourself upset. Please don’t do this. I did read the report into the investigation, checking if there was anything to follow up on. There was nothing.’

  ‘You checked everyone in the village? Everyone? Do you know where they all were when Gilly disappeared?’ Claire could hear the hysterical note in her voice but she couldn’t let it go now.

  ‘Yes, we checked. Of course we checked. That’s what we do. We followed up family, friends, acquaintances. We did a door to door. You know that.’ Lyn James frowned. ‘You’ll make yourself ill if you keeping worrying at it like this, Mrs. Pennyman.’

  The officer stood up. Her manner had become impersonal again; the interview was at an end.

  ‘You mustn’t go causing trouble, nosing into other people’s private lives or trespassing. You’ll only make living here uncomfortable for yourself and maybe provoke complaints to us. And if someone complains, we have to follow it up. Let it go…please?’ She offered a kind smile and walked to the door.

  Claire watched her go but didn’t move to show her out. She sat down and stared into space.

  Half an hour went by. She picked up the phone and rang her mother. She had rung her once since arriving in Bohenna only to get a well-meaning lecture on how strange Sally Hitchen thought her daughter’s behaviour was in going back to Cornwall at all. It had proved pointless trying to explain but just at the moment Claire needed to talk to someone.

  ‘Claire darling,’ her mother said with genuine enthusiasm. ‘Are you all right? You sound tired. How’s the new job?’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘Good. Antiques, didn’t you say? I was a bit surprised; I didn’t know you were interested in antiques.’

  Sally Hitchen’s voice sounded remarkably clear. Claire could imagine her mother in her bright, airy Greek house, her only garden a few pot plants in a courtyard, the sea five minutes away and the nearest taverna even closer.

  ‘I suppose some of them could be classed as antiques, mum, but mostly they’re collectibles. You know, kitchen things and old advertising boards and bits of designer pottery. Some of it’s junk but there are some nice things too. Anyway, I needed a job. It’s fine. And it’s convenient.’

  ‘Yes, but you had a job, Claire - in Kent. I can’t understand why you’ve gone back to Bohenna especially after what happened. Of course, you know what I think of the place: it gives me claustrophobia. And it’s so dismal this time of year. Is that why you rang? Are you unhappy there darling? Why don’t you come and stay with me for a while? The spare room’s free. Graham wouldn’t mind.’

  Claire thanked her but brushed the invitation aside. She’d heard it before. She loved her mother. Despite her endless maternal words of advice there was nothing judgmental about her and she did care about her children - from a distance. But even if she wanted to go, Claire couldn’t leave Bohenna now. She listened to her mother chatter on and found it vaguely comforting but when she finished the call the house felt emptier and more silent than ever.

  She flicked the television on but didn’t watch it, then got up again and went upstairs to her bedroom. From the bottom of her wardrobe she pulled out a box, laid it on the bed and ripped back the brown tape holding the flaps down.

  ‘We should get rid of some things,’ Neil had said.

  ‘We can’t get rid of them,’ Claire replied. ‘Gilly might want them.’

  ‘She’ll have grown out of them…’ If she ever comes back, she knew he wanted to add. ‘It’s already been three years. Her clothes wouldn’t fit her.’

  ‘No. No, you’re right
.’

  Of course he was right. She knew that. You can’t keep everything. And they didn’t. It became an issue as soon as they decided to move. Did they create another bedroom for her, the girl who didn’t live with them any more? Or did they package things up and ‘rationalise’, as Neil put it. They argued. Claire thought there should be a room that was Gilly’s; Neil thought it inappropriate. He said they would be creating a museum piece, that it was unhealthy, especially for Laura. Laura, when asked, didn’t express an opinion.

  ‘But what will Gilly think if she comes back and finds we’ve removed her from our lives?’ Claire argued. ‘She’ll think we don’t care, that we don’t want her.’

  So they had compromised and had got rid of some things and kept others, and they kept one bedroom ‘available’ and put her remaining things in it. With the passage of time, more clothes and toys had gone. I’ll buy her more, Claire had thought repeatedly, feeling treacherous. It’s not as though it’s final.

  And this box now contained most of what was left: a few of Gilly’s favourite games and books, some much loved trinkets and cuddly toys and her magnifying lenses and ‘bug traps’ for examining beetles and butterflies and anything else that strayed her way. Claire pulled out the soft toy that sat on the top. It was a hedgehog. Gilly loved hedgehogs.

  Claire sat with it on her lap and stroked its unrealistically soft coat absent-mindedly. She hadn’t told her mother about the hair slide but had she really thought she would? Sally Hitchen would have thought it foolish too.

  She thought back over the conversation with the policewoman again. She had been so certain that Nick Lawer had Gilly in one of his sheds that her disappointment was like a punch in the stomach - she felt winded by it, knocked back, unsure where to go next.

  Chapter 6

  At the beginning of December, Claire and Penny decorated the unit for Christmas, stretching tiny fairy lights round the window, putting candles in gilded glass bowls and spreading tinsel and holly about. Penny brought in Christmas music - carols and schmaltzy selections from a variety of crooners - and, exactly as she had predicted, the number of visitors rose dramatically as the days passed. Claire was busy serving customers for the first time since she had started there.