That Still andWhispering Place

by Kathy Shuker

  The January days had begun to stretch out - the snowdrops had already come out in her garden - and these last days had been marked by a clear sky, a cold wind and a weak winter sun. Now it was a Wednesday afternoon in the middle of the month and Claire was taking advantage of her day off to go exploring. Have you been back to the boathouse? Jane had asked and the question had stayed in Claire’s head ever since. Why haven’t you, she found herself wondering. Because you’re scared? But scared of what? Remembering?

  She crossed to the further bank. The public footpath ran to her left, back towards the village. To her right the old fence which blocked access to the path eastwards had been replaced with a stronger one, topped with barbed wire. A sign read: Private Land, No Access. She glanced round, carefully climbed the fence and started walking, cutting north soon after on an overgrown track through the trees, though occasional broken stems suggested someone had used it recently. She emerged several minutes later into a large grassy clearing and stopped short. The dense, circling woods blocked out the village and the traffic, everything but the birdsong and a still stretch of water which twinkled in the winter sunshine. It was an uncanny feeling, as if she had stepped back in time.

  As lakes went, it was small, maybe the area of three tennis courts. It would have been tempting to call it a pond but the water stayed fresh, fed by a stream from a spring higher up the hill and seeping out underground down to the river. And there was the boathouse, over to her left, a small timber structure, sitting back from the water. Gerald had had it built when Julia, Neil and Timothy were small so they could all use it as a family at the weekend. Somewhere farther up, there was a footpath through the trees from The White House which made it accessible carrying bags of food and swimming gear. But it had never worked out that way because Gerald and Eve had always been working - seven days a week in the early years - just to get the vineyard on its feet. Instead, this clearing had become the youngsters’ own adventure playground, away from the eyes of the village – and their parents.

  Claire walked slowly towards it. The double doors on the right opened onto a rough concrete slipway - now barely visible under grass – which ran down to the water. The single door and a square four-paned window on the left gave onto a family room. The building was a sorry sight though. The roof was intact but was covered in moss and algae, and a window pane had been splintered. A broken hinge on one of the double doors had allowed it to twist open and it balanced precariously. There was no sign of a boat and she couldn’t remember when there had last been one.

  Turning the handle on the single door, she cautiously pushed it open. It creaked. A partition separated the boat store from the family room. Once, there had been a huge old upholstered sofa in here, a wooden table and chairs, a clock on the wall and assorted posters. There had been a camping stove, gas lights and a cupboard with odd pots and pans. It had seen swimming parties and picnics, smoking and boozing, secret assignations and their first adolescent sexual fumblings.

  The sofa had gone but a couple of chairs and the table remained, all with a fine covering of green slime. The posters had either been ripped down or rotted away. Someone had been in more recently though because the floor had been brushed off and there was a pile of scatter cushions in the corner along with a couple of cheap travelling rugs. And a slight scent hung in the air too which Claire couldn’t quite place, a perfume maybe. She stood, slowly looking around, remembering. There were too many memories.

  She turned on her heel and walked out, keen for fresh air, wanting to clear her head. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t get sentimental and she wandered a few paces away towards the water, watching two mallards rise up from the lake and fly away, leaving eddies in the water.

  What makes water wet? she remembered Gilly asking, and her thoughts immediately thrust forward to a different girl, thirty years later. Or maybe not so different. Gilly was always asking questions too.

  So where did Gilly go to play? Claire turned round again and looked back at the boathouse. She remembered mentioning it to Mariella and of course the police had searched it and found nothing. But she had only suggested it in desperation. The next generation of Pennymans hadn’t bothered with the place much. The boathouse had already become dilapidated by the time Laura, Danny and Gilly were running around and they had shown no real interest. Maybe they associated it too much with their parents.

  Gilly loved the riverbanks of course. But where else did she go apart from her grandfather’s nursery? Did Claire really know? At one time she thought she did but now she doubted herself. Though Danny might know, she supposed; those two had spent a lot of time together. She dimly remembered talking to him about it when Gilly disappeared but, in the upset of the moment, had no idea what she had asked exactly. She hadn’t been thinking clearly, had been turning in circles like a broken compass.

  She glanced at her watch. School had not long finished; Danny would still be on the school bus. If she could catch him when he arrived back in the village, she could talk to him away from the vineyard and house, away from the family. She quickly retraced her steps back to the river and, reaching the fence and bridge, pressed on along the river’s northern bank, breaking into a jog. She emerged by the stone bridge in the village, panting, at twenty past four, just as the school bus from Fowey came down the hill. A handful of kids disgorged the other side of the bridge and she saw Danny, rucksack on his back, head down, loping heavily back towards her, his long hair flopping over his face.

  ‘Hi Danny,’ she said as he drew close.

  He looked up, surprised, then immediately wary.

  ‘Hi Aunt Claire. What’s going on?’ He glanced nervously up the hill towards the vineyard, the first fields of which lay a few yards away to his right.

  ‘Nothing. I just wondered if I could ask you something. Are you in a hurry?’

  ‘Well, the thing is…’

  ‘It’ll only take a minute.’ She smiled, unsure of the best way to do this. ‘Now I’m back in Bohenna, I’ve been trying to…to reconnect with Gilly, you see. I suppose I want to remember her - but in a good way, you know?’

  He was staring at her, looking anguished. She smiled again, trying to sound casual.

  ‘Gilly used to love to explore, didn’t she, and you spent a lot of time with her round the village? I know she loved the river but I wondered if there were any other places you particularly used to go? Anywhere Gilly liked to play?’

  He was shaking his head already. He looked terrified and she hadn’t wanted that. And he wasn’t saying anything either, though he’d never been a big talker and now he was in that defensive and rebellious phase of adolescence.

  ‘I’m not accusing you of anything Danny,’ she added hastily. ‘I just wondered where you played…generally. Can you remember?’

  ‘Just the river,’ he muttered. He edged a couple of steps up the road. She followed him. ‘And the pond in Libby’s Wood. We went there sometimes.’

  ‘Of course, yes, the pond.’ The police had searched that too. ‘Nowhere else?’

  His eyes flitted around but wouldn’t settle on her face.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘You’re sure? You never went anywhere else, just on the spur of the moment maybe?’

  He dropped his head forwards, looking at his feet, and his heavy fringe of hair fell back over his face. He shrugged. ‘Well…maybe…sometimes…’ He stopped abruptly.

  ‘Yes?’ she prompted gently. ‘Where?’

  ‘Gilly…well, sometimes she liked to go places she knew we weren’t supposed to go.’

  ‘OK. Like…?’ He didn’t make any suggestions. ‘Maybe Piltons’ orchards?’ she offered, smiling. ‘Scrumping?’

  ‘Well, yeah. We did go there a couple of times.’

  ‘Anywhere else?’

  ‘Can’t remember. Anyway, I didn’t always go with her.’

  ‘Did you tell the police that she liked to go places she shouldn’t?’

  He snorted derisively. ‘Yeah, right. L
ike I was going to tell them that.’ He looked at her, curiosity getting the better of him. ‘What’s the point in asking now anyway?’

  ‘Like I said, I’m just…’ She shrugged. ‘…trying to get a feeling for…’

  Daniel’s phone rang and he grabbed it out of his pocket, staring at the screen as if it might save his life. ‘Look, I’ve gotta go. I’m going to meet someone.’

  ‘Thanks, Danny,’ she called after his retreating back as he strode up the lane to the vineyard.

  Then she turned away, unaware that Phil was standing at the edge of the lower field of vines, watching her intently.

  *

  It was the Friday night when Adam saw Trish in the pub, sitting in her favourite place in the lounge bar, a half pint of stout on the table in front of her. The pub was quiet but for a group of youths playing darts in the public bar.

  Adam bought himself a pint, talked to Dave for a few minutes, then turned and made a point of catching her eye. She liked to chat; company was the main reason she came to the pub at all.

  ‘All right Trish?’ he said. ‘Quiet tonight.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Time of year.’

  He glanced at her glass: it was nearly empty. ‘Can I get you one?’

  ‘Well, I won’t say no. Thank you. I’ll have the same again, please.’

  He bought a half of stout and took it across to the table.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’

  ‘Be my guest.’ She watched him sit. ‘You’re alone too then.’ She picked up her glass and drained the previous half. ‘She not coming back then, your girl?’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it.’

  ‘I’m sorry. But you’re still hoping?’

  He shrugged. This wasn’t the conversation he’d planned, nor did he want it.

  ‘You know Adam, since I lost Howard, I notice all sorts of things I’d never bothered with before: who’s with who; who’s fallen out; who’s looking out of sorts. It’s not that I’m being nosy. I just notice. Not enough to do, see? Anyway, I am sorry.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She picked up the new half. ‘Cheers,’ she said, raising the glass.

  He asked her about Howard and her face lit up and she talked at length. She asked about his work and appeared to listen to his answer. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw Tim Pennyman come to stand in the public bar and wait to be served, saw the man glance across, and Adam postponed his questions about Claire. In any case, Trish suddenly announced that she was leaving.

  ‘Two drinks is my limit or I’ll fall over walking home.’

  ‘I’ll walk with you if you like. I’m going now too.’

  She got up stiffly and a little unsteadily and he put a hand to her elbow. Stepping out of the front door into the fresh air, a cigarette flared with light as someone nearby drew on it.

  ‘Evening both,’ said Nick Lawer, and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

  Adam nodded. Trish said, ‘Evening, Nick,’ and slipped her hand through Adam’s arm as they began to walk up the dark street. He waited until they were out of earshot.

  ‘Do you remember the day Gilly Pennyman disappeared, Trish?’

  ‘Of course.’ She glanced up at him. ‘Such a lovely girl. It was a tragedy. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I only heard about it recently. It’s hard to believe she could just disappear without a trace in a place this size.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ she replied ambiguously.

  ‘Do you know Claire Pennyman?’

  ‘Claire Hitchen - as was. Yes.’ She looked at him slyly. ‘Why, have you heard stories about her?’

  ‘No, not exactly.’

  ‘When the child went missing, there were plenty going round. Some said she must have done something to the child herself.’ Trish shook her head. ‘But Claire Hitchen was never like that and most people didn’t think it.’

  ‘So what was she like?’

  ‘Claire? A spirited sort of a girl but gentle too. I remember her coming in to the shop one time with a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest. Another time she was crying over a badger that had been run over. Bit of a tomboy maybe but she was never mean or vicious.’

  ‘You knew her growing up then?’

  ‘Of course. Her father ran the nursery for years. Great plantsman he was. Good man too, Charlie Hitchen. Came to church regular. But then his wife upped and left him and he struggled to keep an eye on the two children. Jon was older than Claire and more stay at home. Claire roamed. And she was one of a bunch of kids when they were older, always hanging around together. Lord only knows what they got up to.’

  ‘That’s when Claire hooked up with Neil Pennyman then? They were childhood sweethearts.’

  ‘Ye-es.’ She hesitated. ‘But she was with Phil Borlase to start with.’ She glanced up at him as they walked. ‘It was Jane as went with Neil back then.’

  ‘Jane Sawdy? You mean, Neil dumped Jane for Claire?’

  ‘Yes. Well. You know teenagers: always in and out of love.’ The lightness of her tone sounded forced.

  They had reached her gate and she turned away and sidled through. Adam closed it behind her and she came round to face him.

  ‘Jane can’t have been too happy about it though,’ said Adam. ‘How did she react?’

  Trish sniffed. ‘We-ell, you know… They say there were poison pen letters. And I heard Jane took some things of Claire’s and burnt them, made a big bonfire on some rough ground down near the river. But you can’t believe everything you hear.’ She shrugged. ‘They didn’t speak much after, mind you, but Jane was going away to university anyway.’

  ‘Interesting. OK, so tell me about Neil…’

  She cut across him. ‘I’m not going to say any more. And a word of advice, young man: don’t get involved in other people’s affairs, even if you’re trying to help. They usually end up blaming you for it rather than thanking you. And I’m not sure it would be wise to go after Claire Pennyman, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  He was about to deny it but she was already tottering away up the path to her front door.

  ‘’night, Adam,’ she called over her shoulder.

  He walked slowly home. So it seemed likely that Claire Pennyman was the confused and grieving mother that she appeared to be, after all. But he was more exercised by the other things Trish had told him. He found himself wondering if the shared past of a small group of childhood friends in this insular community could have had any bearing on the disappearance of Gilly Pennyman.

  Chapter 9

  ‘Don’t you understand?’ Julia hissed into the mouthpiece. ‘Daniel doesn’t want to remember. Do you know just how much he suffered after Gilly disappeared? He was bad for weeks… for months afterwards. He was completely traumatised.’ Claire tried to speak but Julia cut across her. ‘He blamed himself. He was only nine too, you know. I will not have him being upset again or made into a scapegoat.’

  ‘I had no intention of making him a scapegoat,’ Claire said. ‘Honestly, Julia. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset him either. I didn’t realise.’

  ‘No, well perhaps you should look around a bit more, Claire. It’s not all about you, is it? And do you really think you’re going to find out anything now - after all this time? Just dragging it all up, causing a lot of unnecessary grief.’

  ‘No. Of course. Look Julia, I am sorry. Really.’

  Claire sounded genuinely penitent, mortified even, but Julia hadn’t forgiven her yet.

  ‘Well, don’t you go asking our Danny questions again,’ she almost spat. ‘He’s got exams this year too. He needs to be able to concentrate. So no more questions. I’m warning you, Claire, d’you hear?’

  Julia disconnected the call but continued to hold the phone in her hand, still bristling with anger and frustration. Phil hadn’t told her about Claire’s meeting with Danny; she had found out about it quite by chance. She had been due at a meeting in the village on the Friday evening but had forgotten her gloves and had popped back upstairs to get the
m. That’s when she’d overheard him cross-questioning the boy in his bedroom. ‘What was Claire saying to you?’ he was asking. ‘What did she want to know?’ She’d found herself standing on the landing, eavesdropping to find out more. In her own house. It had made her feel shifty and cheap.

  ‘When was this?’ Julia had asked Phil afterwards. ‘You mean you waited two days to ask him? And you didn’t tell me?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure how to bring it up,’ he grunted. ‘And I didn’t want to upset you.’

  Maybe it was true. He had clearly been waiting for an opportunity to speak to Danny when he’d be sure Julia wasn’t there. Either way, she let it go though it gnawed at her all the same.

  Not for the first time, she found herself wondering if Phil ever regretted that his youthful fling with Claire hadn’t lasted. Julia had seen the way Phil looked at Claire at Christmas. If Neil hadn’t stolen Claire’s heart, would she and Phil have remained a couple? He had never talked about Claire but that meant nothing. The man ran deep and even after all these years, she struggled to guess what he was thinking.

  As for what Danny knew, she had no idea - and she didn’t want to find out.

  She put the phone down, glanced at her watch and hurried off towards the winery. They had started racking the wine again and it would be a relief to be busy.

  *

  Claire took the change from the woman on the till, picked up her tray and looked round for somewhere to sit.

  Initially, she had refused to go near the barn restaurant, unwilling to stray too much onto Pennyman territory. But it hadn’t taken long for her to realise that her resistance was childish and the restaurant - a large, bright space with a self-service counter at one end and a run of patio doors overlooking the vineyard at the other - was an ideal place to occasionally take her lunch break. If she didn’t go there, it was her loss; no-one else cared. And only once had she seen Tim passing through, routinely checking that everything was OK. Eve was never there.