That Still andWhispering Place

by Kathy Shuker

  Tim had been adamant he wasn’t involved. Talking with his family back at the house he had sounded by turns shocked, indignant and upset. She wanted to believe him but the accusations lingered in her mind and both frightened and revolted her. Her brother, messing around with a young girl. And what else might he have done? After all, there was no doubt that Gilly had disappeared. She tried not to let her thoughts go there. But Tim didn’t deny the photographs so what on earth had he been thinking?

  Could she believe him? After all this was Tim, her kid brother, the young-at-heart and soft-hearted, generous one. But a small part of her would have preferred that he admit it because then it was settled and she would know that Phil had never been involved. Phil would be off the hook and she could start to breathe again. They could make a fresh start.

  The conflict inside her was immense, the guilt for feeling that way difficult to bear. She felt strained to breaking point. Even standing here in this sweetly familiar place and watching the water bubbling past, it felt as though something oppressive was hanging in the air. More would come out yet. They might all be in denial - Eve certainly was - but this thing came too close to them. Deep down, she had always known that.

  She turned away and returned to her car to drive back up the hill to the vineyard. She had to put it away from her and think about the vines and the wine; it was the only way she was going to get through this.

  Chapter 24

  Adam stood in his living room and stared at the display of photographs on the wall. The pictures of Zoe were still there: Zoe on the beach; Zoe pretending to shoot a seagull; he and Zoe together, grinning inanely at the camera, eyes half-closed against the sun.

  ‘It can’t be easy to keep looking at them,’ Claire had said. No. But it didn’t seem to hurt as much to look at them now as it had at that time. Perhaps that was a sign that he had finally made the right decision. More than any real pain, he simply felt sad that it had come to this. And perhaps a little feeble-minded too that it had taken him so long to work out what he wanted and what he didn’t. But he had at least given the relationship his best shot; he really had tried.

  Some couples seemed to grow together over the years, he thought. They knocked the corners off each other, found interests in common, developed shared passions. Stuck in a canoe together, just the two of them, they understood the need to both be paddling in the same direction. Whereas he and Zoe had kept moving apart. Progressively, their common ground appeared to have dwindled until it barely existed. If they were still both paddling the canoe (and he had sometimes felt as if he was doing it alone) they were working against each other and just going round in circles.

  In the end, Adam had reluctantly accepted that they simply didn’t want enough of the same things and all the wishing in the world wouldn’t change that. How can you build a future on that kind of foundation? He had become tired of the endless negotiations, the barbed remarks and accusations - and he’d contributed a goodly share of those himself. He didn’t want to be that person any more, that half of a dysfunctional couple. They had lost something along the way - if, indeed, they had ever had it.

  So he had ended it, before it could get any worse.

  ‘You’ll be happier without me,’ he’d said to Zoe’s protests. ‘You will, you know. You can go back to Bristol, find someone new, someone who’ll make a great father and live the life you want. And I can stay down here and live my sad little bohemian existence with no responsibilities.’ He’d even tried a joke. ‘Imagine, if we’d had kids, I might have had to get a regular job or something.’ He’d shivered, theatrically. ‘I’d have hated that.’ It hadn’t gone down well

  There had been tears - he had even shed a few himself - but Zoe hadn’t argued much. Maybe she was relieved; he certainly was. A huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps if he had really loved her, heart and soul, he would have been able to make the sacrifice she needed. Though he wasn’t sure - and that didn’t seem like a good basis for a future together anyway.

  Now he raised a hand and pulled the photos of her from behind the elastic stays and studied them a moment before tucking them in a drawer out of sight.

  There was a knock at the front door. The bell only worked occasionally; it was one of the jobs on his list of things to do, the list that never seemed to get any shorter. It was unusual for anyone to come to his door in the evening though, and he automatically glanced at his watch - ten past seven - before walking into the hallway. The front door had two frosted glass panels in the upper half which tantalisingly showed a shape but gave no indication who it might be. He opened the door warily.

  ‘Hello Adam. You probably didn’t expect to see me here.’

  ‘No-o. No, I can’t say I did.’

  ‘I need to tell you something. In fact, I need your help. Can I come in?’

  He hesitated a moment, then stepped back, waving a dubious arm of invitation.

  *

  Claire closed the phone call and put her fingers to her forehead, massaging her brow. For nearly twenty minutes she had been holding a largely one-sided conversation with Laura and felt she had achieved nothing. Her daughter was back in the Cotswolds with Katie and insisting she was all right. ‘I’m having a good time here. Cheltenham’s not far away and Dad gave me money to do some shopping. You don’t need to worry about me.’ To be fair, her voice sounded much the same as usual but Claire couldn’t stop worrying. But maybe she was taking the photo thing harder than Laura now. The girl had grown up. She kept insisting that nothing had happened and there had been no more photos. Whatever trauma she might have felt had perhaps slowly dissipated and she had come to terms with it. She had refused counselling point blank. Perhaps making her talk about it would only make the situation worse, dragging up memories she would prefer to forget. It was noticeable that neither of them had chosen to mention Gilly.

  After speaking to her mother in Greece, Claire had suggested that Laura might like to spend a couple of weeks out there with her grandmother. But Laura wanted to stay in the Cotswolds. ‘Sam said he might come up to see me,’ she’d said, sounding almost offended. ‘Good,’ Claire had responded in that falsely positive tone that parents always use when they want to encourage and don’t know what else to say. ‘That’ll be nice then.’

  That’ll be nice then, she thought now and cringed. What a trite thing to say.

  The phone rang in her hand, making her jump, and she assumed Laura had rung back, but it was Adam.

  ‘Can I come round?’ he said tersely.

  She glanced at the clock: five to eight.

  ‘Of course. Do you…’

  ‘I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.’ He rang off.

  Five minutes later he was knocking at her back door. When she opened it he had his back to her, facing the woods, and, turning, his expression was taut with tension and something else she couldn’t place.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, feeling a shiver of unease.

  He tried a smile but it was unconvincing. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Well come in. You don’t need to stand there.’

  He strode in then stood in the kitchen looking like Gilly used to when she’d broken something and didn’t know how to tell you.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ she offered. She glanced round. That had been rash; she didn’t have much worth offering.

  ‘No, I’m fine. In any case, I won’t stay long.’ He hesitated, put a hand to her arm. ‘Can we sit for a moment?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He walked ahead of her.

  ‘Adam?’ Panic was starting to knot her stomach. ‘What is it?’

  He perched on the edge of his chair, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, clasping and unclasping his hands.

  ‘I need to tell you something and I don’t know how you’ll take it but let me finish before you react. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ she said doubtfully.

  ‘I had a visitor tonight. Jane Sawdy. Don’t look at me like that. She had something to te
ll me which she thought was important. When I heard it…’ He paused. ‘…I thought maybe it was important. No, Claire, I think she genuinely wants to help. Give her, give me the benefit of the doubt, will you?’

  ‘OK,’ she repeated, frowning.

  ‘Jane goes up to the spring sometimes,’ he said, ‘the one that feeds the stream down to the lake. She likes to bathe in the water there - she thinks it’s healing. Anyway, she went up there at the end of the afternoon and on her way back she cut through the clearing the way she always does. But this time she noticed some flowers growing. I mean there’ve been wild flowers growing up there all summer but these were different and unusual so she went for a closer look. They’re bee orchids. They’re rare round here but she says you see them on roadsides sometimes or waste ground, anywhere the ground has been disturbed. The seeds blow in on the wind but they can lie dormant for years until the conditions are right and up they come. They can be used for some remedy or other - that’s why she knows about them. Do you see where I’m going with this?’ He looked at her anxiously. ‘Disturbed ground?’

  Claire leaned towards him. The blood drained from her face.

  ‘I think so. You’re saying that…that this might be…’ Her face crumpled suddenly and she swallowed hard. She put a hand to her mouth. Now Adam was out of his seat and kneeling on the floor in front of her, taking her hands in his. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Oh no, please not.’

  ‘Claire? Claire? Listen. You knew when you started this that it might come to this. Didn’t you? We’ve talked about this before. And if you’re right about Tim, you must have known that there was little chance she would still be alive. There, I’ve said it. Isn’t the most important thing that we find out what happened to her, that we find out where she is?’

  She nodded, pressing her lips together, her heel starting to bounce nervously on the floor.

  ‘We can’t trust Jane,’ she said. ‘Have you been there? Does it look like anything important?’

  ‘I haven’t been because I thought you’d want to go yourself. Of course I’ll go with you if you like. The thing is…’ He took a breath and hesitated. ‘…the ground is pretty flat, she said, but the way the flowers are growing, Jane says it suggests a sort of long oval shape.’

  ‘Dear God,’ she murmured. ‘Can it be true?’ She pulled her hands away from him and put them to her face again, covering her mouth.

  ‘Perhaps we should just tell the police,’ he said softly. ‘I could ring them if you like?’

  ‘No. No, I want to go and see for myself.’ She pulled her hands down and straightened up, raising her chin. ‘Even if Jane means well, she may be completely wrong. I’m not going to be made a fool of. Anyway…’ Her chin quivered. ‘…if it is what we think it is, I want to see it first before a bunch of strangers walk all over it.’ She looked towards the window. The light was beginning to fade. ‘Let’s go now. I’ll bring a torch. Did Jane tell you where it was exactly?’

  ‘She’s in my car outside. She said she’d show us if you wanted to go. She didn’t want to come to you directly. She wasn’t sure you’d believe her.’

  ‘I see.’ Claire took a slow, calming breath. ‘I’ll put some shoes on.’

  They cut through the woods and over the river, walking silently, single file, with Jane at the front, a macabre procession. By the time they reached the clearing, the sun had already sunk below the tree canopy and the surrounding woods were a dark cloak of stillness. Claire shivered though the night air was mild and unusually dry.

  Jane led them on then stopped on the edge of the tree line maybe half way between the footpath from The White House and the stream from the spring. She turned to look at Claire.

  ‘Here,’ she said, and moved her hand to indicate the ground to her right. ‘See the flowers? They’re very delicate. You don’t tend to see them unless you’re almost on top of them.’

  Claire came closer, unwillingly, and bent over. She got down on her hands and knees and fingered the tiny blooms, ran a hand over the ground, unsure what exactly she expected to feel.

  ‘I had a sensation,’ Jane was saying quietly. ‘I felt that someone was here. I stayed here a while to be sure. And I’ve got it again now.’

  Claire looked up at her. ‘You think it’s Gilly?’

  ‘I know you don’t believe me and of course I may be wrong. But yes, I think it is.’ Jane looked down at the ground. ‘Look at the size,’ she added gently. ‘It has to be a child.’

  Claire thought so too. Tears began to run down her face but she hardly noticed as she stared back down at the small plot of ground. She closed her eyes and found herself mouthing a prayer; she hadn’t prayed in years.

  Eventually she stood up and gathered herself, groping through her pockets for a tissue. She pulled her phone out too.

  ‘I’ll tell the police,’ she said.

  *

  Julia walked into the kitchen of The White House and stopped short. The atmosphere was heavy with something intangible and bad. Neil was standing with his back to the worktop where the filter coffee machine stood, a mug in one hand; Eve was sitting at the table, an untouched cup of coffee in front of her. Both had stopped speaking as soon as she walked into the room and turned their heads to look at her.

  ‘I know I’m late but we wanted to finish tucking in the row we were on,’ Julia said into the unnatural silence, forcing a positive note. ‘The vines are growing like crazy now.’ She frowned. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Is Phil with you?’ said Neil.

  ‘He’s just putting some things away. Why?’

  ‘There’s been a development.’ His expression rigid and grim, Neil turned and put his mug down, reaching for the jug on the machine and pouring coffee into a new mug. He handed it to Julia. ‘Milk’s on the table.’

  She took it without thinking, bent over to take the jug and add milk, then straightened up.

  ‘What?’ she demanded. ‘Come on, tell me. What’s going on?’

  ‘The police have gone to arrest Tim,’ Eve said, dully. Her eyes were glazed, lifeless. ‘They’ve found Gilly’s body in the clearing.’

  Julia’s mouth fell open and she looked from Eve to Neil, then back to Eve. Her mother was staring into her coffee again.

  ‘Drink your coffee, mum,’ said Neil. ‘It’ll go cold.’

  Julia saw her mother mechanically pick up the cup and put it to her lips.

  ‘Please explain,’ Julia murmured, moving across to stand in front of her brother. ‘How did they find her? Why do they think it was Tim? Has he admitted it?’

  ‘Jane Sawdy noticed something unusual about a small patch of ground there. Claire went to see it and rang the police. They cordoned it off and were there at first light, digging.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Julia said on a breath.

  ‘They’re pretty sure it’s Gilly because she still had her little bead necklace on. There’ll be tests of course.’ Neil’s face was drawn, haggard even. He hesitated, let out a juddering sigh. ‘There was a thin leather wrist band in the grave too. Just like the one Tim always used to wear. He said he lost it, remember?’

  Julia stared at him open-mouthed. ‘So it’s true.’

  ‘Maybe. Who knows? But the police have been in touch with the police in Suffolk. They’re going to bring Tim in and send him down here for questioning.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Maybe he’s already on his way.’

  They both fell silent and sipped desultorily at their coffee.

  ‘How’s Claire?’ Julia said eventually, flicking Neil a glance.

  ‘I don’t know. She won’t answer when I call. Jane said that painter bloke’s with her.’

  ‘Adam?’ Neil didn’t reply but Julia didn’t notice. She shook her head. ‘Why? Why would Tim do that? I just…’ She couldn’t find the words and gave up.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Eve said. She looked up at them, eyes hard and cross now. She looked more like the mother Julia knew. ‘I don’t believe he did anything to her. It’s a mistake. Or he’s b
een set up. I bet Claire had something to do with this.’

  ‘What are you suggesting, mum?’ said Julia. ‘That Claire…’

  ‘Let’s not jump to any conclusions,’ Neil interposed quickly. ‘We’ll have to wait and see what happens.’

  Julia caught his eye and saw in his expression what she thought herself: it wasn’t a mistake; it was a fact they were all going to have to come to terms with. Life on the vineyard was never going to be the same again.

  There was a noise in the hallway. The door opened and Phil came in, the smell of cigarette smoke wafting in with him.

  Julia put her mug down and hurried across the room, flinging her arms round his neck, pulling him close and burying her head on his chest. He laughed awkwardly, putting a hand up to rub her back and glancing at Neil and then Eve.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ he muttered to Julia.

  She didn’t reply; she couldn’t imagine ever being able to explain to him why she felt like this.

  ‘We’ve had some bad news,’ Neil told him.

  Chapter 25

  Gilly had been a slight girl. It hadn’t been difficult to carry her nor to dig the ground made soft by recent rain, just enough to put her well down out of sight and cover her over. Tim was used to working outside; he had been clever at covering his tracks and the grave was not a big one. Positioned on the tree line, far enough away from the neighbouring trunks to avoid the roots, he had cut the top carefully to keep at least some of the grass layer, then firmed it down hard afterwards and strewn the surface with the odd broken twigs, leaves and moss which were so evident elsewhere in the clearing. With time, the grass had grown more firmly, weeds and wildflowers had spread over it and, with twigs and leaves constantly falling and blowing about, it had blended in seamlessly to its environment.