by Penny Kline
‘No it doesn’t,’ said Jack, ‘it could have been just luck.’
Shannon had her head thrown back and had closed her eyes. Kristen assumed she was thinking about what she had just said, but when she spoke her name the girl’s eyes jerked open and she started apologising for not listening properly.
‘Barnaby’s got gigantic feet,’ Hugo said, ‘and terrible writing.’
‘There are always exceptions.’ Kristen was aware that she had explained badly, was confusing them, but just as she was about to provide a better example Shannon suggested, very quietly, that the ones with larger feet could be older and that was why their writing was better.
‘Well done, Shannon.’
‘It’s a swindle,’ Hugo complained, ‘when you said twenty children I thought you meant they were in the same class.
‘She never said they were.’ Shannon made an angry sound with her tongue.
‘I didn’t say she did.’ Hugo muttered something under his breath, and Shannon pushed back her chair and stood up, folding her arms.
Kristen sighed. ‘Sit down, Shannon. I’m sorry, Hugo, I should have made it clear. Let’s see if we can come up with some more examples. I’ll give you five minutes to think.’
To her relief, Shannon sat down again and started sharpening her pencil. Hugo nudged Jack and they both made faces at her but Shannon had her back turned.
Sitting down at the end of the table, Kristen took some papers from her bag and pretended to be looking through them. Ever since she’d learned about Eve’s suicide, she had been going over in her mind all the things she and Cameron had talked about. If he’d told her what had happened to him – but why should he? She was far too preoccupied with her own unhappiness to consider he could be suffering. Vi had said Eve died two years ago. Not very long, especially if Cameron blamed himself, felt he could have done something to prevent the tragedy. She had taken him at face value, treated him as if his cynical remarks were all there was to him. No, that wasn’t quite right. If she had thought that would she have …
Hugo had started humming ‘Why are we waiting?’ Kristen glanced at her watch and asked if anyone had something they would like to try out on the rest of them.
Hugo nodded vigorously. ‘I know one, except it’s a different kind of mistake.’
‘Let’s hear it.’
He hesitated then took a deep breath. ‘All dogs like biscuits. My dad likes biscuits. So my dad is a dog. My grandmother told me that. She died last year. She was only sixty-two.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Kristen had picked up the sadness in his voice.
‘What did she die of?’ asked Amy.
‘Cancer. Everyone dies of cancer or a heart attack unless they get killed in a road accident, or murdered.’ He broke off with a gulp. ‘Hey, what’s up with Shannon?’
The children turned to look. Shannon was breathing very fast, clutching at her neck as if she was about to be sick. Becky offered to fetch a glass of water but before she reached the door Shannon had beaten her to it.
Kristen caught up with them in the corridor. ‘What is it? Calm down. Try to breathe more slowly. That’s better. No, keep breathing.’
Hugo had joined them. Kristen asked him and Becky to go back to the classroom.
‘Is she going to die?’ Becky squeaked.
‘No, of course not. I expect it’s the heat. She’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.’
The coffee room was empty. Kristen led Shannon through the door and carried two chairs to a space by the open window. A breeze blew in, lifting the tops of their hair and fluttering the timetable Neville had pinned to a board. Shannon was wearing new clothes, a pink cotton top, white shorts, and a pair of Indian sandals with a pattern of red and gold triangles.
She was breathing more easily now but her face was still very white. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry.’
Kristen put a hand on her arm. ‘Have you been feeling unwell or did something upset you?’ Shannon said nothing, just kept moving her head from side to side until Kristen was afraid the panic was going to start all over again.
‘Come on, Shannon, you can tell me. Is it something to do with the man I saw speaking to you at the bus stop?’
‘What?’ It was obvious Shannon had no idea what she was talking about. Then she relaxed a little. ‘Oh, him. I told you. He said he had a friend who had a boy who came to the classes.’
‘Which boy? He didn’t tell you his name? You’ve only ever seen him on the bus?’
‘Not on the bus.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘I suppose he goes on a different one, except that’s the only number that goes past that stop. He said something about how you have a little boy. I think he’s a bit funny in the head.’
Kristen wanted to know more. But not now. ‘What is it then, Shannon? Did Hugo say something that upset you?’
It was as if she hadn’t heard. But a few moments later her head dropped down and she muttered something Kristen had to ask her to repeat.
‘They’d say I was a troublemaker and I wouldn’t be allowed at the classes any more.’
So it was something to do with the college. ‘Of course they wouldn’t. Nobody’s going to blame you. Something’s been worrying you for a long time, hasn’t it? Whatever it is you’ll feel better if you talk about it. Your parents – do they know how upset you’ve been feeling?’
There was a longish pause. ‘Mum said I looked peaky. She thought my periods might have started but I’d have told her if they had and anyway they haven’t.’
Kristen waited patiently, wondering what the rest of the group were doing, back in the classroom, wondering if any of them were listening outside the door.
‘I told Mum I was a bit tired,’ Shannon explained, ‘only then I thought she wouldn’t let me come here so I said it wasn’t that, it was just that I was worrying about when I have to change schools.’
‘But that wasn’t the real reason.’
She shook her head. ‘I thought you’d guessed.’
‘Guessed what? Is it something to do with someone at the college?’
‘No!’ Shannon’s hand went up to her mouth and she started tearing at one of her fingernails. ‘He didn’t do it. The man the police … It wasn’t him. I know it wasn’t. I spelled it wrong the first time only it didn’t look right without two m’s. You know how hopeless I am at spelling.’
‘Two m’s?’ It took Kristen a moment to take in what she was saying. ‘The letter? You sent it?’
‘I saw them. His picture was in the paper. Jackie thought he was really good-looking. She kept going on about what a waste it was.’
Kristen could feel her blood drumming in her ears. ‘Who is it you’re talking about? You mean William?’
‘And Theo was taken away from you. It’s not fair. None of it’s fair. William and Brigid … Me and my friend were taking Benji for a walk. They were near Oldbury Court – the day he was murdered. I’d have told you before but I thought you wouldn’t believe me. You do believe me, it was them, I promise it was.’
‘You saw William and Brigid together. Oh, Shannon, I think you must have made a mistake.’
‘No!’ She was on her feet. ‘She reached up to kiss him.’
‘Go on.’ Did he kiss her back? But she wouldn’t ask. She didn’t want to know.
‘I heard her shout his name and she started punching him and he shouted that she shouldn’t be so stupid.’
Kristen pushed her gently back onto the chair. ‘All right, I believe you.’
‘Now you’ll hate me. Yes you will. I wish I hadn’t said but they think someone else did it. I heard her. I heard her shouting. She said she’d like to kill him.’
She was halfway across the room. Kristen raced after her but long before she could catch up Shannon had reached the safety of the classroom.
She said she’d like to kill him. Surely Shannon realised people say things like that all the time. But she had seen the two of them together and ever since Kristen took over the classes she ha
d been fretting, wondering whether or not to tell her. Obviously, she knew Brigid well, but she had only seen a photograph of William in the local paper. All the same, she knew all about the murder. And about Theo being returned to Ros.
Kristen had allowed time for Brigid to go home and feed the baby. Would Rebecca be asleep now, having her afternoon nap, or was she one of those babies who insisted on being held or played with for large parts of the day?
As she approached the house, she thought she saw Alex’s car but it turned out be black, not dark blue, and a newer model. Unlike many academics, Alex dressed smartly, but sneered at people who wasted money on shiny new cars that would lose their value the minute they left the showroom. There was still over a month until the students returned to the university. Some of the lecturers worked at home for part of the vacation, but Brigid had said Alex spent most of his time in his laboratory unless he was writing up research. The time Kristen had seen him on the Downs with the baby he had seemed happy to be looking after her, but since Brigid had led her to believe the reason she sometimes seemed tired and irritable was because Alex didn’t give her enough help, perhaps it was a one-off.
When she rang the bell, Brigid appeared at once, holding Rebecca so that the baby covered most of her face. ‘Kristen! Come in. I’ll put her in her cot and we can have some coffee. Have you eaten? Go through to kitchen, I won’t be long.’
What was it about their kitchen that made it feel so uninviting? The large expanse of grey tiles, the shiny hardness of the table? The fireplace had been opened up but since it was summer the grate was filled with a brass pot containing a huge bunch of dried leaves and poppy heads. A framed photograph in the middle of the mantelpiece – Brigid and Alex standing in the garden with Rebecca when she must have been only a few days old – was flanked on either side by a carved wooden bird, placed symmetrically and carefully chosen to blend with the cinnamon walls.
When Rebecca was older, Alex would fix a pinboard to the wall and her first attempts at drawing would be displayed. Daddy by Rebecca. A bird in a tree. Kristen had loved Theo’s paintings when he was little – vivid, uninhibited pictures of her and William, and the puppy he longed for but was never allowed – but by the time he was seven he preferred to draw with a carefully sharpened pencil, tiny figures of soldiers, footballers, imaginary inhabitants of other planets.
‘Let’s hope she’ll settle.’ Brigid entered the room then stepped back into the hall to listen for any small cries that might be coming from upstairs.
‘Does she sleep through the night?’ Kristen asked.
‘Mostly.’ Brigid gave a huge yawn. ‘Although last night she was rather restless. I think she may be getting a cold.’
‘I didn’t realise they caught colds that young.’
‘Oh yes.’ Brigid spoke with the authority of someone who has read all the right books. ‘It’s only for the first few weeks they still have their mother’s immunity. Breast-fed babies are less susceptible to viral and bacterial infections. I fed her for the first twelve weeks but there was never quite enough so she had a supplementary bottle.’ She broke off, laughing. ‘Sorry, it’s deadly the way people go on about their babies. It’s just – I used to worry so much, but lately she’s been more settled, more content.’
‘Shannon had a panic attack,’ Kristen said.
‘Shannon?’ Brigid frowned at the sudden change of subject. ‘I saw her going home. She looked all right. What happened?’
‘She was afraid if she told me what was worrying her she might get into trouble and be stopped from coming to the classes.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’ Brigid bent to pick up a wooden rattle that had been left on the floor. ‘You’re not going to tell me she’s made some accusation against Neville. Someone must have put the idea into her head, all those television programmes.’
‘It had nothing to do with Neville. It was about you. She told me she saw you with William – the day he was killed. She said you were having a row.’
Brigid had her back turned, filling the kettle at the sink. ‘That’s crazy,’ she said quietly. ‘If you ask me you were right all along, the girl’s disturbed, should have been referred to a psychologist.’
‘It’s not true then?’
‘Of course it’s not true.’ She plugged in the kettle then turned to face Kristen. ‘If you must know, Shannon and I have never got on too well. I don’t know why she’s made up such a silly story but I imagine it must be because of something I said to her during one of the classes.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Just that she shouldn’t be so scathing if one of the others made a mistake.’
‘Shannon? Scathing?’
‘Don’t you find her a bit full of herself?’ Brigid’s voice was steady as a rock. She was lying.
The baby seemed to have fallen asleep. In the next door garden, someone was whistling part of the Enigma Variations, out of tune, and a child’s voice called out, ‘Mummy, Max has broken Barbie’s roller blades.’
‘All right,’ Brigid took two cups and saucers from the cupboards. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’
‘Hugo mentioned how his grandmother had died of cancer when she was only sixty-two. Then he said something about everyone dying of either cancer or a heart attack, unless they were in a road accident or got murdered.’
‘What’s this got to do with what Shannon told you?’
‘I’m coming to that.’ Kristen had a moment’s doubt, wondering if Shannon had been lying. But why would she want to do that? ‘I was concentrating on Hugo then I noticed – no, Hugo noticed – Shannon was breathing much too fast, gasping for air. Then she pushed back her chair and rushed from the room.’
Brigid gave a short humourless laugh. ‘So it wasn’t in front of the others that she made this announcement about me.’
‘I’m not accusing you of anything, Brigid, there’s probably some explanation –’
‘But you still think I was with William. Where were we supposed to be?’
‘Near Oldbury Court. Close to where he was killed. Shannon and a friend were taking her dog for a walk.’
Brigid had made the coffee and was attempting to pour it. But her arm seemed to have lost its strength. ‘How did she know it was William?’
‘She and her sister saw his photograph in the local paper.’
Kristen picked up the jug and poured the coffee herself. Before she came to the house she had been quite prepared to believe Shannon had made a mistake. Now, putting herself in Brigid’s place, she tried to imagine how she would have reacted to a false accusation. Not the way Brigid had.
‘All right,’ Brigid said again, ‘we did meet, very briefly. We’d bumped into each other near Broadmead a few days earlier. William wanted to talk but at the time I was in a hurry.’
‘What did he want to talk about?’
Brigid swallowed. ‘His work. Finding a new job. Someone he’d met.’
‘Who?’ Kristen tasted the coffee. It was undrinkable. ‘Another mythical person who was going to give him some work, or was it just a nice out of the way place where you were unlikely to be seen? Why were you arguing?’
‘Arguing?’ Brigid said vaguely. ‘Yes, I can see how Shannon might have interpreted it that way. William wanted me to persuade Alex to take him on again as a research assistant. I told him there wasn’t a hope – Alex was too annoyed about what happened in America – then William tried to turn on the charm and…’
Kristen’s eyes were fixed on Brigid’s face. ‘I don’t believe you.’
Brigid shrugged. ‘Well, there’s not much I can do about that.’
Kristen carried her cup to the sink and poured the contents down the drain. ‘William wanted Alex to give him his old job back and you ended up saying you wanted to kill him?’
She expected Brigid to react angrily, accuse her of believing a child’s story rather than her own, suggest they both go round to Shannon’s house and have it out with her. Instead, Brigid had left the kitchen
and when Kristen followed her, she was standing by the open front door.
‘I wanted to help,’ Brigid said, ‘that’s why I suggested you for the job at the college, but it hasn’t worked out as I hoped. It was too soon, you were too traumatised. When you’re feeling better I hope things will be different between us. You should go home and rest. I’ll give you a ring later on to see how you are.’
27
Kristen had found Bimbam’s in the Yellow Pages and driven there, arriving just after nine when there was still light in the sky. She had expected the club to be for “Members Only”, but was unprepared for the hostility of the man on the door.
‘What are you, a journalist?’
Presumably it was her appearance, the fact that she wasn’t dressed for a night out. Or because she was on her own.
‘I’m looking for someone called Pascale,’ she told him, ‘I need to give her a message.’
‘Name?’
‘Kristen Olsen.’
When he returned a few minutes later he was shaking his head triumphantly. ‘Not here.’
‘You know her then.’
He said nothing, just made it clear from his expression that as far as he was concerned the conversation was at an end. Kristen tore a page from her diary and scribbled a note, folding it twice although she knew the man would read it as soon as she had left.
‘If she comes in later perhaps you could give her this.’
Back in the car, she sat staring at the passing traffic, trying to decide what to do next. She was reluctant to return to the flat having achieved nothing, and frustrated that she could think of no other way to get touch with the woman. Was Pascale her real name? Tisdall had mentioned something about her being a singer although, according to him, Bimbam’s was now just a drinking club and any attempt to provide entertainment had been abandoned.
Switching on the engine, she reversed into the few inches the van behind had left and began easing the car out, watching all the time for the traffic that kept shooting past.