by Kathy Shuker
‘Ah. It was bad, that.’
Adam nodded, still chewing.
‘Claire’s told you all about it, I suppose?’ Phil glanced up slyly at Adam’s face.
‘Nah, not really. Not the sort of thing you talk about when you first date, is it? Makes it difficult for me though ‘cause I don’t really know what happened.’
‘And yet she’s been going round askin’ questions about that day it happened.’ Again the crafty look. ‘So it must be on her mind.’
‘Has she?’
The wind was getting stronger. Phil held the stub of his cigarette cupped in his hand as he drew on it, fixing his now dreamy gaze on Adam. His pupils had markedly dilated. Adam recognised the signs: he’d smoked a reefer or two in his time. He knew the high it could make you feel, the relaxation, the expansiveness; he’d also found that, afterwards, he didn’t always remember much about it and later he’d felt ill and been really bad-tempered.
‘Can you remember what happened exactly?’ Adam hazarded.
‘There’s nothing much to know.’ Phil blew smoke up in a column which the wind immediately whipped away. ‘Gilly came home from school, went out to play with our Danny. He stayed for a bit then came home and she never came back. She was like Claire for wandering, see. But she was…trickier.’
‘Trickier? How do you mean?’
‘Oh, I dunno. Dead stubborn sometimes and she answered back. Kid stuff. You know, pushin’ it to see what she could get away with. And nosy too. Always wanted to know what people were doin’ and why. Neil used to get real cross with her for it - quick to lose it is our Neil. But she liked her own way - it’s likely she got that from him though he probably didn’t see it.’
Phil took a last drag on his cigarette, then trod it into the ground at his feet.
‘Better get on,’ he said shortly and swung himself back up into the tractor.
Adam pulled his things out of the way to let the tractor pass and watched Phil drive on down the row. It occurred to him that, working in these sloping fields, Phil had a good view of the vineyard and a lot of the village beyond. Had he seen anything the day Gilly disappeared? If she had wandered along the river or into the vineyard, wouldn’t Phil have been likely to know? Did that mean she hadn’t come near? And was he making some particular point about Neil, a veiled accusation for some reason? Of course, it was his own son who had been playing with Gilly that day. Perhaps that was significant. Maybe he was covering for his son? Or himself? But all the family had alibis, didn’t they?
Adam finished up his last sketches and notes and packed his things away. Phil’s tractor had marched its way up and down the remaining rows on that field and had moved on. Adam thought he’d heard it drive up to the top. It was after one now so probably lunch time. He trudged up himself, all the conflicting ideas and questions swirling in his brain. Along with his conviction that Gilly must have known whoever abducted her, it occurred to him that the vineyard - central to the village in so many ways and effectively her back yard - might hold the key to her abduction. The police would have searched it of course, but the words ‘needle’ and ‘haystack’ came to mind. The place was extensive and widely spread - so how easy would it be for anyone else to do better?
*
Claire had baked a cake. She had spent all Saturday morning in the kitchen and now had one cherry cake and two types of biscuits to show for her effort, all cooling. This was exceptional: she had never been a big baker. When the girls were small and she was still doing her illustrations, between working, caring for the girls and running round after Neil, there had never been the time. It had never bothered her - she wasn’t naturally domesticated in that way - but she had sometimes felt guilty when the girls had been asked to take something to school. She could tell from their shifting eyes and disappointed expressions that she was probably the only mother who sent them off clutching a supermarket sponge, still in its box.
But Eddie kept leaving eggs on her doorstep and it had become embarrassing. She wanted to give him something in return and she had settled on a cake while the biscuits were an afterthought in a sudden and unexpected flurry of enthusiasm. Now she was icing the cake, trying to mask its slightly lop-sided shape, decorating it with glacé cherries, then wrapping it loosely in foil.
Eddie was in the garden when she walked round, wielding a hoe around his neatly regimented strawberry plants. Claire waited by his back door and called his name and he hobbled across to her with a puzzled and suspicious expression. She nodded at the foil-wrapped plate.
‘I made a cake using your eggs. For you.’ He didn’t immediately respond. ‘Shall I put it in the kitchen?’
He reached out two soil-rimed hands and took it off her, stared down at the parcel then looked into her face. He nodded, just once, didn’t quite smile, and walked inside, clutching his gift.
Returning to her own kitchen, Claire found Timothy there, standing vulture-like over the biscuits.
She jumped and put a hand to her chest. ‘Tim. You frightened me.’
‘Sorry. The door was open.’ He flicked a meaningful look at the biscuits. ‘I was wondering if I could try one?’
‘Of course...’ She closed the door behind her. ‘…if you want to be a guinea pig. But I don’t know what they’ll taste like. They certainly don’t look like that in the book.’
He picked one up, took a bite and smiled. ‘Delicious.’ He crammed the rest of it in his mouth and chewed with affected relish. ‘Special occasion?’ he said, swallowing. ‘Baking for someone in particular? I had heard you were going out with Adam, our local Van Gogh.’
‘Of course you had. Hasn’t everybody?’
‘It’s Bohenna, Claire.’
‘Mm. Coffee?’
‘If you’re having one.’ He looked back at the biscuits. ‘Can I try one of the others?’
‘Be my guest.’
She picked up one of the burnt ones from the edge of the tray and ate it while she filled the kettle. It was certainly crunchy.
‘I should call more often,’ said Tim. He dropped onto one of the wooden chairs by the table and grinned. ‘Does my brother get treated to these too?’
‘We’re divorced, Tim. The final decree came through this week.’
‘I know. I was only teasing. Neil said he’d had a meal with you on your birthday, that’s all. Like old times, eh?’
She was aware of him scanning her face, checking her reaction.
‘I don’t think I’d have described it that way.’
‘No…well.’ He glanced round. ‘OK here are you? It’s a bit dark down this end of the village. Don’t you find the trees a bit spooky at night?’
‘Not really. I know these trees well, remember.’ She spooned instant coffee into two mugs and poured hot water on it. ‘Neil said you’ve got a new girlfriend.’
‘Yes. Shannon. Nice girl. Shy though. Haven’t risked taking her up to the house yet.’
‘Why? Think Eve might eat her? Of course, if her face doesn’t fit…’ Claire added milk to the mugs and carried them across to the table. ‘Is she from the village?’
‘No. Fowey.’
She nodded and sipped her coffee.
‘We don’t see much of you at the vineyard,’ he said.
‘No, I haven’t used the restaurant much these last few weeks.’
‘Or called to see us.’
‘That’s not going to happen, is it Tim?’
‘You could.’
‘I’m sure Eve would love that.’
He shrugged and drank his coffee. ‘Y’know, if you’d made an effort with mum early on, you could have won her over. You were too proud.’
‘Is that what it was?’
‘You don’t think so?’
Claire drank too, considering this. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. There’ve been a lot of things I should have done over the years that I haven’t. But in your mum’s case, I just think she didn’t like me. We got off on the wrong foot early on.’
He didn’t respond an
d they sat in silence for some minutes. Claire was convinced he had come for a reason. She waited.
‘There was something I wanted to run past you,’ he said eventually. He glanced up at her with the coy lift of an eyebrow. ‘We’ve applied for planning permission to extend the shop. We’re going to sell gifts as well as the wine so we’ll need more space.’
Then he produced his undoubtedly winning smile. He could be very charming, Tim, when he chose.
She found herself smiling back. ‘And you’re telling me this because…?’
‘Because I thought you might like to come and run it for us.’ Again the smile. ‘You’re used to retail. I was speaking to Penny the other day and she seems very happy with your input - you know, the creative eye in arranging goods, stuff like that.’
‘Should I be flattered or cross that you’re going behind my back talking to Penny about me?’
He looked surprised. ‘Flattered, I suppose.’
‘And did you tell Penny you were thinking of poaching me?’
‘Of course not. Give me more credit than that. But I thought you’d be pleased at the thought of running the shop yourself. That’s promotion, isn’t it? I’m sure we’ll pay you more than Penny does.’
She read something condescending in the tone and bridled.
‘Neil put you up to this didn’t he? He keeps fussing over whether I’ve got enough money.’
‘Everything doesn’t revolve around Neil, Claire,’ he said coldly, ‘though I know he gives that impression. This was my idea. I was trying to be helpful. If you’re not interested, say so.’
She was taken aback at his sudden change in tone; he’d never spoken to her like that before.
‘You were the one who brought Neil up first,’ she retaliated, feeling childish. ‘As for the job…well, I don’t know. I’d like to think about it. When do you need to know?’
He drank the last of his coffee and stood up. He shrugged benignly, his anger already dissipated, it seemed.
‘There’s no immediate hurry. The permission isn’t through yet but that won’t be a problem. We thought Laura might like to work there too in her holidays. We’ll need seasonal staff.’
‘I’ll tell her.’ She stood up too, hesitated, swallowed her pride. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry Tim. I am grateful for the offer.’
‘Forget it.’ He hesitated. ‘You know Claire, we all walk in Neil’s shadow to some extent.’ He paused, appearing to choose his words carefully. ‘Even if we don’t agree with everything he does. Generally, it’s easier to go with the flow.’
He smiled and left and she stared after him, frowning.
*
Adam received a text from Claire suggesting a meal and a chat the following Saturday evening, somewhere out of the village. He came up with The Fox, a pub in Penmarna which had developed a bit of a reputation for its food but when they got there, the place was heaving and there was nowhere to sit, let alone eat.
‘I thought you said you’d book,’ said Claire.
‘I forgot. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be an issue.’
They went back outside.
‘There’s nowhere else in Penmarna,’ he said, feeling guilty. ‘We’ll have to drive somewhere else.’
‘Everywhere’ll be busy by this time on a Saturday.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Never mind, it doesn’t matter.’
They stood. Adam swung his car keys back and forth between his fingers.
‘There’s the chip shop,’ she said. ‘They used to do a great fish and chips there. We can talk while we sit in the car to eat them.’
They bought cod and chips each and sat in the village car park eating with tiny wooden forks while the car windows slowly steamed up. Adam glanced across at Claire a couple of times. She was quieter than usual, preoccupied perhaps. Maybe there was an issue with Neil; he didn’t want to get involved.
‘So we can rule out Richard Poldreen?’ he said, in an attempt to kick-start the discussion.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not really sure about George. I went for a walk on that footpath up above the estate and you can see George’s back garden from there. Well, you can with binoculars anyway. I watched him pottering about. He’s got a shed but the door was wide open and he was wandering in and out of it, really casual. Gilly could be shut up in the house but it doesn’t seem likely. The police must have searched all the houses nearby so where would they have put her?’
He looked at her sideways. ‘George had been seen watching Gilly at the village playground, you know.’
Claire quickly turned to look at him. ‘I didn’t know that. Who told you?’
‘I have sources,’ he replied cautiously. ‘It could have been quite innocent. Lots of people like to see children play, especially if they know them. Most of them aren’t paedophiles, thank God.’ He broke off a piece of fish and flicked Claire a reluctant glance. ‘Of course, we keep talking about sheds and things, assuming that she’s still alive.’ He hesitated. ‘We have to consider the possibility that she isn’t Claire.’
‘I know.’ She stared ahead into the darkness, tight-lipped. ‘And if she’s dead she could be buried anywhere.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
The car filled with a choking silence.
‘And you’re sure there’s nothing to suggest Jane might have been involved?’ Claire said.
‘Yes. I asked around - carefully - and I checked out her house but there was nothing to implicate her. I think she’s just a harmless head-case, Claire.’
‘It’s not so harmless when you play on people’s grief and pain.’ she said bitterly.
‘No. Of course, you’re right. It’s not.’
They finished eating without speaking, rolling up the paper into tight balls which Adam threw in the litter bin nearby. He offered to take her back to his place so they could figure out what to do next and ten minutes later they were driving up a narrow lane on the fringe of Bohenna and turning sharp right onto a weed-ridden drive. When he turned the car beam off, the world went suddenly black; there wasn’t the light of another house in sight.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I keep forgetting to fix the outside light. Stay here while I put one on.’
Inside, he sent her into the sitting room while he went to get their drinks. It was his tidiest room - a square space with a long low fire surround of flat grey stones and an overpowering matching chimney breast. And Zoe’s softening touches were still there because he couldn’t bear to part with them: pale floral curtains; a colourful rag rug in front of the hearth; a framed board on the wall with diamond elastics holding a disorganised arrangement of photographs.
When Adam walked in to join her, Claire was standing studying the photos. He handed her a glass of wine and stood at her shoulder, surveying the pictures too though he knew them all too well. There were photos of waves crashing on the shore jostling with moody pictures of both the village and the river. And there were snaps too: him standing on the beach pulling silly faces; Zoe pointing two fingers at a seagull on a wall as if preparing to shoot it; Zoe again, giggling at something and holding a hand up to the camera. There was a photo of the two of them together, his arm around her shoulder.
‘You probably think I’m stupid to still have them up,’ he said.
‘It’s nothing to do with me. But it can’t be easy to keep looking at them.’ She looked sideways at him. ‘She’s a pretty girl.’
He dropped into a chair and put a bottle of beer to his mouth, taking a long pull. ‘Yes, she is,’ he said tersely. ‘And it’s not easy to take them down either. Have a seat.’
They sat, cradling their drinks, silent.
‘I don’t know what to do next, Adam,’ Claire said eventually.
‘I know. We’re not getting anywhere at the moment, are we?’ He shook his head lugubriously. ‘They make it look so easy in those cop shows, don’t they?’ He purposely avoided meeting her eye. ‘I know you don’t want to but I think we have to at least consider th
e family again.’
‘Oh come on, Adam. They were all accounted for.’
‘But maybe something’s been missed.’
She shrugged. ‘OK. If you want. Whatever it takes.’
‘Let’s start with Neil. The papers said he was late back from a business trip?’
‘He was. He got stuck in traffic. There was an accident on the A road - the one which passes Stonehenge - and the queues were backed up for miles. He didn’t get back till nearly seven. The police checked and there was a huge hold up.’
‘Right. But it’s not conclusive, is it? He could have been anywhere. Don’t look at me like that. What about Timothy?’
‘He was with dad. He often visited the nursery at the end of the afternoon. They got on well. Sometimes he’d help him out with an odd job and then they’d have tea together. When I rang dad to ask if he’d seen Gilly, they both started looking for her.’
‘Hang on. I need a map so I can place everyone.’
He stretched an Ordnance Survey map out on the rug in front of the fireplace and they both got down on the floor, bending over it. Claire stabbed a finger at her father’s nursery which had still been there when the map was drawn.
‘Tim was here.’
‘And Julia was…where, in the winery?’
‘No. She was with Phil, having tea up at the house.’ She put her finger on The White House. ‘Eve was at the hairdresser’s. That would have taken her a while because she goes to one in Lostwithiel. She doesn’t like the gossip that goes on in the village hairdresser’s - thinks they all talk about her as soon as she’s gone.’
‘She’s probably right. So Julia and Phil are each other’s alibi? There was no-one else at the house with them?’
‘Well, Danny was at the house but he’d probably have been in his room.’ She pointed to the extension at the back. ‘Bit of a loner. Plays sometimes for hours by himself.’
Adam stared at the map. ‘And that’s Tim’s house there, isn’t it?’ Adam pointed further along the ridge from the main house. ‘Did he have a girlfriend or anyone else staying there?’
‘Not then, no.’
Adam nodded thoughtfully and took another pull of beer.