Plots and Errors

by Jill McGown

  Sandie felt very much improved now her weekend with Paul had been brought to its abrupt end, and she was almost used to her aching eye and bruised cheekbone, her throbbing jaw and swollen mouth, her punched ribs. She was dying for a cigarette, but Paul hadn’t given them back to her, and he wouldn’t have let her smoke anyway. Even so, she had felt better with every mile they had put between themselves and the cottage, was even rather enjoying Paul’s predicament, and his reaction to it.

  She had had to begin the journey crawling about the car in order to pick up all the blood-stained tissues, and check for any that might be lurking under seats or in glove or map compartments, not to mention any items of underwear that might still be lying around, and that had struck her as funny. But laughing made her lip bleed, and her chauffeur even angrier.

  Once on the motorway, she had asked for an explanation of their instant turnaround, but even for Paul the expletives had been so abundant as to render the account incoherent. At one point he had seemed to suspect Josh of having had carnal knowledge of Angela, but she assumed, on reflection, that he had merely been employing his usual term of abuse when referring to Josh, and had tripped up over the syntax. Mother and brother were very similar words, after all.

  The other problem was that the word he used when referring to her sexual relations with Josh and the word he used for emphasis were one and the same; this led to confusing repetition. When she had asked him originally what the problem was, his answer had consisted of the word ‘you’ and the word ‘Josh’, with the same word inserted three times in between.

  At last, he felt able to ration himself to one four-letter word per sentence or so, and had told her that when he had gone into the living room to get glasses for the red wine he had brought with him, he had found a fax from Josh. That Elizabeth hadn’t stayed in London; when she had seen the size of the queue, she had known she had no chance, had come back, and had booked herself into Josh’s theory class, to let Paul know that she was on to him.

  Sandie had said that she couldn’t see the problem; Josh would just say he’d forgotten to let Paul know. She had then been treated to a five-minute tirade about her and Josh being the problem. If Josh hadn’t been trying to make a fool of him, none of this would have happened. It wasn’t Elizabeth seeing Josh that mattered; it was her not seeing Sandie.

  ‘She’s booked in so that she can see the divers, see for herself if you’re there! So you’re going to be there, and you’re going to do this dive, because she’s quite likely to go to the dive site to see that you do. Is your gear at the club?’

  ‘Yes. But I might not be fit to dive,’ Sandie had said.

  ‘I don’t care if you fucking drown.’

  Her nose and her ears were all right, and they were the bits that mattered. She might not drown. She looked at Paul’s watch as the car sped along. It was twenty past seven; they were cutting it very fine. The night-dive was scheduled for half past eight. She pointed out that if one of them had had a mobile phone, this wouldn’t be happening. It didn’t go down too well with Paul.

  She had been told that he was going to drop her off on the dual carriageway where she could cross a field down to the reservoir; she would be able to see the landing-stage. All she had to do then, according to Paul, was run along the shoreline, and she could reach the club in only a few minutes, whereas the car would take significantly longer. That way, she would arrive in time to assemble with the other divers, and she would do the dive, or else.

  Meanwhile, after he’d dropped her off, he would be carrying on to his mother’s house, because if he had really gone to the boat and found that Josh wasn’t there, that was what he would have done, to ask where Josh was. Then he would go to the diving platform ostensibly so that he could ask her, Sandie, if she knew where Josh was. Once she’d done her dive, he would go home and wait for Elizabeth to come back from dinner with his mother, and pretend that he thought she’d been in London all day.

  Where, Sandie had asked, had he gone shooting off to when he’d found the fax? The boat. Because if Elizabeth was snooping around at the club, she was quite likely to snoop around at the boat, and his story would be blown if he hadn’t been there. Someone, Paul had added, had apparently broken into the boat; the lock on the wheelhouse door had been smashed. She might care to let Josh know.

  At ten past eight, he threw her out, bag and baggage, at the appropriate place on the dual carriageway, and she stood for a moment watching the Range Rover’s rear lights shoot off into the distance, before picking up her belongings and beginning her jog to the diving club.

  SCENE XV – BARTONSHIRE.

  Saturday, September 27th, 8.20 p.m.

  Little Elmley Diving Club.

  Sandie arrived at the club at twenty past, thinking that she could slip into the changing room and put enough gear on to mask the injuries, but the first person she saw was Howard, and the sunhat and glasses were inadequate to the purpose.

  ‘God Almighty,’ he said. ‘What happened to you?’

  Sandie couldn’t believe that she hadn’t given a thought to a cover-story, but things had happened too fast. ‘I was mugged,’ she said. ‘But you should see the other guys.’

  ‘Mugged? Did they get anything?’

  ‘No. I hung on to my bags. That’s why I’m in this state.’

  ‘What on earth are you doing here? You can’t dive like that.’

  ‘I’m not going to let a couple of thieving bastards stop me doing what I was going to do,’ she said. She did hope that this third degree would stop soon. Her mental processes weren’t as quick as they might be. ‘Where’s Josh?’

  ‘He’s still taking the theory class. Where did it happen?’

  ‘In the multi-storey in Stansfield.’

  ‘Did you tell the police?’

  ‘No. What would be the point? I didn’t see them well enough to describe them or anything.’

  She looked anxiously over his shoulder at the room where Josh was taking the theory class, and caught a glimpse of him through the little glass pane in the door. ‘Can you tell him I’m here when he comes out?’ she asked Howard. ‘I’ll be in the changing room.’

  SCENE XVI – BARTONSHIRE.

  Saturday, September 27th, 8.45 p.m.

  The House at Little Elmley.

  Angela had arrived back from Barton at five o’clock, and had spent a pleasant afternoon in the garden, doing the little jobs that the part-time man never bothered with. She should have spoken to him about them, but she hadn’t, because she really rather liked doing the light work. She used a special tool that she didn’t have to grip too tightly, and took her time.

  As the light faded, she had come in and spent some time choosing wine to go with the meal; she might be able to tempt Elizabeth with it, and get her into a more relaxed frame of mind. There was no need for her to drive home, after all; Paul wasn’t going to be there. She could stay the night. She did hope she had got her ticket; that would, presumably, cheer her up a little.

  Angela wished she hadn’t actually organized this tête-à-tête; it wasn’t what she had intended in the first place, and an evening of unadulterated Elizabeth would not have been her choice. It was what she was going to have, though, and she would make her as welcome as she could.

  She was in the hallway, on her way to the dining room with the opened bottle of wine, when she heard the car pull up, heard the key being inserted in the lock. She was early, Angela thought. And it didn’t really seem right, Elizabeth having to let herself in just as though she was coming to work on the book. This was a social occasion, and she must try to strike the right note from the start. She put down the wine, forestalled the unlocking, and opened the door with a determinedly welcoming smile.

  But it wasn’t Elizabeth.

  SCENE XVII – BARTONSHIRE.

  Saturday, September 27th, 8.55 p.m.

  The Reservoir at Little Elmley.

  Howard was down with the first diver, and Josh stayed on the boat, keeping an anxious eye on Sandie
. She shouldn’t be doing this dive, not in that state, but she had very little option about that.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off the bruises, and he didn’t want to look at them. He wanted to hold her, to cry, to go after Paul. And he would do all of these things in time, but for the moment, there was nothing he could do, except what he had to do, which was make the dive with her.

  It was all his fault; he had underestimated Paul, who had worked out that what had happened to the boat had been no accident. Sandie had had to admit that she and Josh were lovers in order to drag him off the scent, and get him to the cottage, and she had taken that beating for it. Josh smiled sadly. Sandie thought like lightning; Paul had had no chance against her. Just as she had had no chance against his fists.

  In the gloom, he could see Paul, standing by his car, his recently acquired binoculars trained on the boat. Sandie could go down next, now that he was here. If Josh hadn’t already hated his half-brother, this violation alone would have given him the motivation to go through with his plan.

  SCENE XVIII – BARTONSHIRE.

  Saturday, September 27th, 9.00 p.m.

  Paul and Elizabeth’s House.

  Elizabeth got home at about nine; she had a quick shower, and changed out of her jeans and tee-shirt into something more fitting for dinner with her mother-in-law. She was tired after her long day, but she had a date with Angela, and she was keeping it.

  She was getting ready to leave when Paul came home; he looked pale and angry, and brushed past her in the hallway, going into the sitting room, pouring himself a drink. Elizabeth smiled. Something had upset his plans; what a pity. She went in after him. ‘What are you doing home?’ she asked.

  ‘I got to Penhallin to find that Josh wasn’t there,’ he said. ‘The boat had been broken into.’

  ‘And you drove all the way back again? Why didn’t you just stay at the hotel?’

  ‘I wanted to find out what had happened to Josh! But he’s taking this night-dive that Sandie’s doing. He just didn’t think of letting me know.’

  SCENE XIX – BARTONSHIRE.

  Saturday, September 27th, 9.25 p.m.

  Outside the House at Little Elmley.

  Elizabeth arrived at Little Elmley at twenty-five past nine. She parked the car, and wondered, briefly, if she should use her key or ring the bell. She thought perhaps she should ring the bell. Angela was a bit of a stickler for protocol, and Elizabeth was sure that dinner-guests shouldn’t let themselves in.

  It was one of those old-fashioned bells, and always reminded Elizabeth, not inappropriately, of the ones in horror films. She heard it toll deep in the house somewhere, and waited. When nothing had happened for some moments, she reached out her hand to repeat her summons, but withdrew it. Angela could be anywhere in that house. It took about a week to get from some parts of it to the front door.

  But after another few moments, she did ring again.

  SCENE XX – BARTONSHIRE.

  Saturday, September 27th, 10.30 p.m.

  The Reservoir.

  Josh had taken her to the submerged houses, just in case the torchlight gave away their location to anyone watching, but she hadn’t spent any time exploring them; she would have found it hard to see anything with two good eyes, and anyway the diving mask had been too painful to wear, so she had taken it off. The mouthpiece of the aqualung was doing her no good either, but it was less damaging to leave it in than to keep taking it in and out.

  Josh had been worried about her doing the dive, but she had been all right. Relieved, though, when he had swum up to her and indicated in the light of his torch that they were going to surface. Then she had sat in an uncomfortable heap as Howard and Josh took turns at minding the boat and going down with the divers.

  She wasn’t sure Howard had believed her story about being mugged, but it was the most plausible explanation she had been able to come up with in her less than perfect condition, and she hadn’t felt that she could explain away a black eye, bruises to both sides of her face and a cut mouth by anything other than a human agency. It would have had to be a very aggressive door.

  The near-euphoria that she had felt as she had done the trip home with Paul, which had made her find the situation almost funny, had left her; that had been the adrenalin pumping, giving her a high. Now, she felt very down, and all she wanted was for this ridiculous dive to be over, to be back in the club, to have a shower and change into something that wasn’t wet, that didn’t smell of sick and hadn’t had blood dripped all over it.

  Josh surfaced with the final diver; they took off their aqualungs and handed them up to Howard and one of the others, then were hauled aboard. Sandie’s ribs ached again just watching the process. Josh came and sat beside her as she dabbed at her mouth with yet another tissue.

  ‘I thought you said you didn’t tell the police,’ said Howard, as he guided the boat in.

  ‘I didn’t,’ she said.

  ‘I think someone must have,’ he said. ‘Or why else are they here?’

  ‘What?’ Sandie looked up and saw the police car that waited on the roadway, lights glaring, and the two police officers who stood by the shore. She looked at Josh.

  ‘Is there a Mr Josh Esterbrook here?’ one of the policemen called, as Howard tied the boat up.

  Josh stood up, and stepped out of the boat. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s me.’

  Sandie felt very strange when she stood up, and Howard had to help her out. She could hear the police talking in low voices to Josh, then look over at her.

  ‘What’s happened to you, love?’

  SCENE XXI – BARTONSHIRE.

  Saturday, September 27th, 11.45 p.m.

  The House at Little Elmley.

  Josh was taken into the dining room via the French window, to find a woman – dark-haired, well-dressed, attractive – in charge. Elizabeth and Paul were already there, sitting at the table, twisting round when he came in. The woman went out to talk to one of the policemen, and Josh sat down a little way away from the other two, his fingers nervously tapping the table.

  He was worried about Sandie; she had looked terrible after the dive, and it had been obvious when Howard helped her out of the boat that she was disoriented and unwell. The police had, of course, asked what had happened to her, and she had stuck to her story about the mugging, but he wasn’t sure she could keep it up. The police had called an ambulance, and had persuaded Sandie to go for a check-up, promising to bring her back as soon as she had been passed fit. Josh sighed tiredly; Sandie’s injuries had made her a suspect, presumably, or she wouldn’t be getting a taxi service from the police.

  The woman came back in and introduced herself to Josh as Detective Inspector Hill of Barton CID; she wanted to know where he had been, and he told her, then Paul watched his half-brother’s display of checked grief with distaste, as he trotted out the story he had had to concoct on his way home with Sandie. He especially liked the part about how worried Paul had been about him when he had found the boat broken into, and the emotional catch in his throat as he got to the end, when he’d found out what had happened to Angela. He got himself under manly control, Josh was pleased to note; his father would have been proud of him. Paul wouldn’t cry for days just because his mother had died.

  Josh didn’t feel anything about Angela’s death, and he wasn’t going to pretend to. They could make of that what they liked.

  Detective Chief Inspector Lloyd – not very tall, dark-complexioned, with a fringe of slightly greying hair round a mainly bald scalp – came in then; Josh had seen him in the kitchen with his stepmother’s body as he had arrived in the police car. He would have thought they would have covered it up, but they hadn’t.

  When Sandie arrived back, Josh took her to one of the small, high-backed upholstered benches that were dotted at intervals round the walls, so he could sit beside her. She looked ill, much worse than she had when he had first seen her at the club, and that had been bad enough. She should never have done that dive.

  Paul’s
simulated shock was no better than his grief, Josh thought, as he looked over at him. Elizabeth, of course, hadn’t been anywhere near the club; Josh hadn’t thought that she would be. And while poor Sandie trotted out her mugging story yet again, Josh caught Paul’s eye and held it until Paul looked away.

  Obviously, Elizabeth didn’t believe a word of it, but she didn’t challenge it openly in front of the police. The Esterbrooks were all playing their cards very close to their chests, thought Josh, and some of them were cheating. It was quite possible that he was the only person who had given them a true account of his movements that day.

  Paul thought a burglar must have got in, but Lloyd didn’t seem too happy with that explanation, wanting to know why he would have carried a gun if he expected the house to be empty. Josh knew people who carried guns all the time; he was surprised that Chief Inspector Lloyd didn’t.

  Another detective came in then – youngish, blond curls, wearing clear plastic gloves. ‘There’s an answering machine in your mother’s—’ he began.

  ‘Stepmother.’ It was a simple enough concept; one which even the police ought to be able to grasp, but Josh had had to correct several of them already tonight. This one wanted to know what was on the tape in Angela’s answering machine, but Elizabeth told him that the machine wasn’t working properly, and he wouldn’t be able to play the tape. He didn’t seem too bothered by that.

  DCI Lloyd asked permission to use their first names; all this courtesy was amusing Josh, because once they had checked him out, it would vanish, and he would be treated as he always had been before. And the courtesy was skin-deep, obviously, because Sandie looked dreadful, and they had no business questioning her. But she had been given a beating, and his stepmother was dead, and as far as the police were concerned, that couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. Oh, they didn’t say anything like that, but Josh knew how policemen’s minds worked. They probably had him down for both offences already, and they certainly would once they knew his history.