by Kathy Shuker
Gilly Pennyman
Always remembered
Claire reluctantly raised her eyes to look at it. She and her father had nearly fallen out over this. He’d been a keen church-goer and he had paid to have that plaque put there, was desperate that Gilly should have some sort of memorial so she would never be forgotten. But Claire had hated it because it was too final; it felt like an admission of loss, a defeat. Now she was confused and didn’t know what to think. Her boundaries had shifted; time and repeated despair had brought a measure of acceptance.
She sat down in a pew and waited. Her sight line to the main door was obscured by a pillar. It was four-thirty exactly when she heard it open.
A woman wearing a broad-brimmed floppy sun hat over straight dark hair came into view, walking slowly up the main aisle. Unconsciously, Claire must have made a noise because the woman's head turned.
‘Claire? You came then.’
‘Yes.’
The woman took off the hat and smiled. The hair colour was wrong and, with the passage of so many years, it took Claire a full minute to register that the woman was Jane’s cousin, Fiona.
Chapter 22
‘I met Sam in Fowey.’ Laura looked at her mother imploringly. ‘You do remember Sam? We were good friends at school.’
‘Yes, I remember him, but I thought he’d gone abroad.’
‘He did. His dad had a two-year contract in the States but they’ve been back a year now. Steve’s at Exeter uni. Anyway, it was good to see him.’ Laura flushed. ‘He’s really tall now.’
Claire managed to smile. ‘And that’s good is it?’
‘Well, he’s kind of hot in other ways too.’ Still flushed, Laura laughed, embarrassed. ‘He’s asked me out tonight, mum. I told him about the dance. I said I was supposed to go and he said he could come. But it’d be kind of awkward having him at a village do when, like, I haven’t seen him in ages and we need to catch up.’
Normally, Claire might have argued the toss. A village dance was surely a good way to have some fun and get to know a boy again without pressure. But she didn’t want Laura at the dance. In fact, after what she had heard in the church, it suited her perfectly if Laura was well away from Bohenna that night.
‘Go out with him then,’ she said. ‘Where does he want to take you?’
‘A friend of his is having a birthday party at the yacht club.’
‘OK.’ Claire stretched another smile, trying to appear relaxed. She hadn’t queried Laura’s delay in coming back for the fête, hadn’t brought the subject up at all in fact. ‘How will you get there?’
‘He said he could pick me up. He’s got a car. And…’ Laura stopped, looking awkward.
‘What?’
‘He said his parents won’t mind if I sleep over at his house ‘cause…well…’ She shrugged. ‘…it’ll be kind of late. There’s a spare room.’
‘Is there?’ Good, and will you use it? Claire wanted to add, but this wasn’t the moment for that kind of parental conversation. ‘OK, but you take care, won’t you?’ she said instead, reaching out a concerned hand to touch her daughter’s arm.
*
Sam picked Laura up just after seven.
Claire waited until they were out of sight, then went back to the sideboard and opened the top drawer. She pulled out a polythene bag and held it up to look at the hair slide it contained. It had taken her twenty minutes on her hands and knees when she got home from the church to find this at the bottom of the garden. Now she studied it, desperately hoping for inspiration about what she should do. The dance started at seven thirty and Neil would be waiting for her. She didn’t have long.
She perched on the edge of a chair, stood up again, sat down, the conversation with Fiona running through her mind for the umpteenth time.
Fiona had been a pretty girl, not striking like Jane and rather flat-featured, but she’d been delicate and fine-boned with pale copper-coloured hair and a soft, breathy voice. She had been remote, Claire remembered, but had only spent occasional holidays with the gang and probably hadn’t found it easy to fit in. Adolescents, too preoccupied with fitting in themselves, aren’t always that understanding of others.
She was still slight - and bundled up now in an oversized cardigan - but her hair was a heavy dark brown, whether from dye or from a wig, Claire couldn’t tell. But something about the woman suggested barely disguised fear.
She’s had some mental health issues too. Had a breakdown or something. That had been Jane’s dismissive assessment but what did it mean exactly? Lots of people had mental health issues; it didn’t stop them functioning just like everyone else. In any case, if what Eddie had told her was true, Jane was hardly in a position to comment.
Fiona sat in the pew next to her. ‘You put an advert in the paper, didn’t you? About a hair slide that was given to last year’s fête?’
‘Yes, I did. What do you know about it?’
Fiona fidgeted on the wooden seat, wringing her hands as if they were cold. Maybe they were: the sunshine of the day might have touched the interior of the church in rainbow patterns but it hadn’t warmed it.
‘I’ve been arguing with myself for days,’ she said. ‘I knew I should tell you but I wasn’t sure if…’ She broke off and looked away, glancing in the direction of the door.
‘There’s no-one else here, Fiona. Tell me what you know. Please.’
‘I think he saw me this afternoon.’
‘Who?’
‘Tim. I put that slide to the fête, you see. I found it.’
‘Tim? I don't understand. You found it where?’
‘In a box of Tim’s things. We lived together for a while. Didn’t you know? We broke up last year.’
‘You were Tim’s last girlfriend? No, I didn’t know.’ Claire frowned, trying to take this in. ‘OK, so you found the slide in Tim’s things. How? Where?’
‘You have to understand, Tim can be really difficult. He doesn’t give that impression, does he? But he’s got some weird ideas.’
‘Weird in what way?’
‘He likes to take photos.’ Fiona stopped, her eyes flicking around nervously. ‘You know, pictures of his women in the nude. I mean, I thought it was a bit of fun at first, a laugh, but he takes it very seriously. He calls it ‘art’. Anyway, after a while I decided I didn’t want to do it any more and he completely lost it, told me we were through.’ Her speech was getting faster and faster, her hands now pressed hard together. ‘Most of the time he’s so calm, so easy, isn’t he? But then suddenly he was like a different person: really angry. He was about to go away for a couple of days with work and he said he wanted me to take my things and be out of his house by the time he came back. Just like that. Spoke to me like I was a bit of dirt under his feet. He got hold of me…and…’ She swallowed hard. ‘He hurt me.’
Again she looked round, the whites of her eyes showing. She ran a dry tongue over her lips but didn’t speak.
‘So you left?’ prompted Claire.
‘Yes. But I wanted to find the photos he’d taken of me. I didn’t want to leave them there.’ Again she started to babble. ‘He’s got one of the bedrooms kitted out as a darkroom, and another with a chaise longue and fancy lighting. He keeps his photos there too, with a load of other stuff in a big old cupboard. But the wardrobe was locked and the key wasn’t where he usually kept it. I suppose he’d guessed I might look for them. Anyway I looked all around, just nosing, and I found this shoe box, pushed up on top of the wardrobe in the bedroom. He obviously hadn’t touched it in a while because it was really dusty and it was full of all sorts of childhood stuff. You know, a little teddy bear and a fluffy duck and Scout badges and games, a compass, a magnifying glass. Silly kid’s treasures. And then this hair-slide too. It struck me as odd but I thought maybe it had been his sister’s or something - or a previous girlfriend’s even. Anyway, I decided I’d take the box for revenge and, later on, I chucked the useless stuff and gave the rest to the fête. I wanted him to see them there, for sale
. But it was a silly prank and I don’t think he even noticed. He doesn’t bother with the stalls. And maybe it’s just as well ’cause he’d have guessed it was me. It was a stupid thing to do.’
‘But he must have missed the box?’
‘Probably not unless he went looking. You couldn’t see it unless you stood on something.’
But he’ll have gone looking now, thought Claire, because I mentioned it in the advert.
‘So where have you been?’ she asked.
‘I stayed with a friend in Lostwithiel for a couple of months. Then I got a job in Plymouth and moved away. I tried to forget about the whole thing. But I was staying with my friend again and saw the advert in her paper.’ She paused, looking at Claire sidelong. ‘I didn’t like what I was thinking. I guessed it was you put the advert in. My friend had heard you were back in the village and asking questions. That’s when I decided to try to see you.’ Again she flicked a dry tongue over her lips. ‘Do you think that slide was your little girl’s? I mean…’ She shrugged. ‘…could there be an innocent explanation for how he came to have it?’
‘I don’t know, Fiona. I’m…’ Claire shook her head, frowning. ‘I don’t know.’ She searched the other woman’s face. ‘Will you tell the police what you’ve told me?’
Fiona’s eyes widened. ‘But there’s no proof of anything, is there? It’s just one slide. He’ll deny it. And we don’t know he had anything to do with Gilly’s disappearance. I can’t go accusing him of anything. No.’
‘We’re not accusing him,’ Claire said desperately. ‘We’ll just tell the police what you found and leave it up to them to look into it.’
Fiona shook her head and got to her feet. ‘No. It might be absolutely nothing. Maybe he found it lying around somewhere. If I go saying stuff like that to the police, he’ll know it was me. He’ll find me…If it was him who…you know…Anyway, he has a temper. I’ve seen it. No, Claire. We’d need some sort of proof.’ She glanced round again, pulling the cardigan tight across her skinny body, already edging away. ‘Look, I’ve got to go.’
Claire stood up now and paced restlessly round her little sitting room. She glanced at the clock: time was going on. Fiona was right: there was no proof. And Claire struggled to believe that Tim was involved anyway: Tim had been a friend of Gilly’s; he was with her father when the girl disappeared. Perhaps Fiona wasn’t a reliable witness after all. But there might be a way Claire could get some proof - if Fiona’s story was true. It was a long shot and she didn’t like the plan but it was better than nothing.
She went upstairs to get changed. If she was going to carry this off, she had to go to the dance, otherwise they would all get suspicious.
*
Claire dressed in a slinky jumpsuit she had bought on a whim and hardly worn. It was more practical than a dress for what she wanted to do and she walked up to the vineyard in trainers carrying a cute pair of soft-soled slippers in a bag.
Neil met her outside and gave her a slow, warm kiss. Her nerves were so taut she struggled to respond.
‘Great outfit,’ he said doubtfully. ‘Unusual.’
Then he asked about Laura and wasn’t happy with what he heard but, since there was nothing he could do about it, he let the matter drop.
The room was already busy, the volume of chatter and laughter an assault on her ears as she walked inside. Business at the bar was brisk and there were many familiar faces but few people dancing. Adam was there with Zoe, she noticed, sitting at a table in a corner. She smiled briefly in his direction then quickly turned away, dreading him coming across to speak to her. If he mentioned the missed phone call, she wasn’t sure how she would pass it off.
She and Neil circulated - Neil was as bad as Eve about playing Lord of the Manor - then settled, inevitably, with Tim and Shannon at a table which fortunately was on the opposite side of the room from Adam. Claire chatted and smiled. She found herself wondering what normal behaviour was. Was it normal for her to smile like this? Was she talking as much as usual or too little? Or maybe too much? Was the dark shadow of suspicion which now haunted her obvious in her face? Could Tim see it in her eyes when she spoke to him? Could he read her confusion and distrust? He didn’t appear to; she was clearly a better actor than she thought.
The music got louder. Gradually the large space in the middle of the room filled with jigging, twisting bodies; the room throbbed with sound and movement. Claire danced with Neil with a vigour she was amazed she could muster. Conversation was difficult and involved leaning forwards, speaking slowly and clearly, keeping each sentence brief. Tim asked her if she enjoyed the fête, commented on how popular the teddy bears had been. She liked them, didn’t she? he pressed.
‘Julia’s in a snit about them,’ he said, ‘but she doesn’t get that they’re just advertising.’
Did she stay on the field to see the Morris Dancing? he asked. He seemed to study her face. Maybe that was just her imagination, her concern that her meeting with Fiona was obvious to him. He looked happy and at ease; he was drinking and laughing. But then he generally did. She found herself seriously doubting Fiona’s story but couldn’t see any reason why the girl would make it up. Unless she were genuinely unbalanced. She might be. Or maybe Tim had been given the slide by someone else? Maybe he was covering for somebody? Immediately she found herself glancing sidelong at Neil and the thought made her sick to her stomach.
It was around nine when she first rubbed at her temples, brows furrowed.
Neil leaned closer solicitously. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Just a bit of a headache. I’ll be fine. I’ll get some water.’
Half an hour later, she said it had got worse and she opted out of dancing. A short time after, she said she would leave because the music wasn’t helping.
‘I’ll go with you,’ Neil offered.
‘No, you’re having a good time. Stay. I’ll have to have an early night.’ She embraced the table with what she hoped was a brave smile, put a hand to Neil’s shoulder and bent down to kiss him. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said by his ear.
She walked slowly to the doors, changed into her trainers in the foyer and slipped outside. But for a bashful half-moon, it was dark. Perfect.
She began walking casually along the track towards The White House, then broke into a jog. An earring which had been knocked loose when she was dancing, fell to the ground just past the house entrance, but she didn’t notice and kept running. She was desperate to get in and out of Tim’s place before he left the dance and went home.
*
Zoe wasn’t enjoying the dance - which meant that Adam was struggling to do so too. She had looked miserable from the moment they’d arrived. Or maybe bored would be a better description, he thought. Her sister had originally said that she and her partner would join them but Ellie had called on the last minute to say they couldn’t make it. So now they were sharing a table with Ted, the stained glass artist and his wife. They had had a couple of drinks, had even danced once but mostly they sat. It was difficult to talk over the music and Adam had decided he couldn’t be bothered anyway. Zoe was cross because he had refused to drive - he wanted to have a drink or two - and she didn’t want to walk. But she didn’t want to drive either, so she had tottered up the road in inappropriate shoes which had got muddy and had blamed him for it.
Occasionally he looked across at Claire on the other side of the room, sitting with Neil and his brother, and wondered why she had tried to ring him that afternoon. She had left no message either which seemed odd. Though at least she and Neil appeared to be getting on well. He had seen them dancing together and talking, heads pressed close. It had occurred to him recently that he and Zoe didn’t really talk. Or rather they both talked but they didn’t have conversations any more; they expressed opinions or said what they had done that day but they didn’t communicate. Did they ever really listen to each other? He had begun to doubt it.
‘More drinks anyone?’ he asked, grabbing his glass and standing up.<
br />
‘I thought we weren’t going to stay late,’ Zoe said peevishly.
‘It’s still early.’
Adam looked expectantly round the others at the table and Ted asked for another pint. There were no other takers so Adam strolled to the bar but when he got back Ted was on his feet. He’d had a call from the babysitter saying their youngest son wasn’t well. They had to go.
‘They’re going to give me a lift home, Adam,’ Zoe said, already standing. ‘I’m tired and I can’t face the walk back.’
‘You want a lift too, Adam?’ Ted offered.
Adam didn’t. He wanted to stay and drink. Even if he’d wanted to leave, he wouldn’t now. He wished Zoe a good night and offered a facetious smile. He was being small-minded, he knew, but he could see a pattern emerging in their relationship these days and he didn’t like it. He watched them go and took a long pull of his pint, savouring it.
He sat, idly watching the swirl of dancers, hearing but not listening to the music and the undertow of laughter and conversation. He was only half way down his pint when he noticed Claire put a hand to her head, stand up and say something to Neil, then head for the door. Maybe she wasn’t well. He took another swig of beer. There was something about her behaviour that struck him as odd. The DJ started the next track, playing I Can’t Dance, by Genesis, and the floor rapidly filled up again.
Without being sure why, Adam got up, eased his way round the periphery of the dance floor, weaving between tables and the crush of onlookers, and made the door. There was no-one in the foyer. He stepped outside and peered towards the road back down to the village. There was no sign of Claire but she couldn’t have gone far - unless she was running. And why would she do that?
He stepped further away from the building, out of range of the security light, let his eyes accustom to the darkness and looked slowly round, finally staring long and hard down the lane and her route home. No-one. He walked back inside, worked his way back to his seat and picked up his pint. No doubt Claire was right and the drinking didn’t help but tonight he didn’t care; he was going to get plastered.