She nods as if she accepts my explanation. ‘She said she didn't know who he was and that he was just a guy who fancied her.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘I didn’t really give him that much attention. I suppose he was ordinary, average. Between 30 and 40. No glasses. Short hair. Dark blond, I think.’ She stops abruptly, her eyes wide. Astonished. ‘Yes! I do remember something! He had an expensive looking watch, although I suppose it might have been a cheap copy.’
‘Good. That’s the sort of detail I’m looking for.’
She continues with new energy. ‘After that, Alicia seemed a bit distracted. Not really worried or concerned, but there was something. She was different. Quieter than usual. She kept looking at the door as if she was expecting someone.’ Denise stops talking and grows pensive, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. ‘Perhaps she thought that he was coming back,’ she adds.
‘Did he?’
‘No, she suggested going somewhere else and that’s what we did.’
‘You went to Barrie’s Bar.’
‘Yes.’
‘This is at the other end of town. You said Alicia wouldn’t walk if she could avoid it.’
‘That’s right, but we’d both been drinking. And besides, there was no point in getting her car and trying to find a place to park near Barrie’s.’
‘So you walked from the Central Bar to Barrie’s.’
‘We did. Oh no, we stopped at Angelo’s.’
‘Angelo’s? You didn’t mention that in your first statement.’
‘I must have forgotten.’ She looks embarrassed, almost on the brink of tears. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Not to worry, Mrs Shaw, it’s perfectly normal to forget some things. You have probably remembered more details since you spoke to my colleagues.’
‘We didn’t stay long at Angelo’s,’ she says by way of apology. ‘There were a couple of rather noisy groups on a stag night. It was as if the two groups were competing to be noisily. As soon as we entered the bar, one of the groups saw Ali and they started shouting at us. Sent from heaven, they said. We turned and left the place without even having ordered a drink.’
‘And then to Barrie’s Bar? What time was that?’’
‘It was about half past ten. We met some friends there and we had a good time. Alicia … she enjoyed it. I’m glad that she had a good laugh on her … last evening.’
I nod, not giving her time to burst into tears. ‘Was there any sign that someone showed more interest in her than normal?’
‘Not that I noticed. She was relaxed again, after the incident with the man. When we went to the ladies together she told me she was relieved he hadn’t followed us.’
‘You didn’t go anywhere else after Barrie’s Bar?’
‘No.’ This is the part where she starts feeling overwhelmed by guilt. ‘Well …’ Her face is pale. Ashen. ‘It must have been well after eleven when I saw Alicia on the dance floor with a different man. Again, for some reason I thought they knew each other. Although, I had never seen this guy before, it was clear that Alicia knew him.’
‘Hm. Did she introduce him to you?’
‘I think she said his name was Chris. When he went to the bar to fetch us some more drinks, I asked her about him but she was a bit vague. I can’t quite remember, I’m sorry. She said that she knew him from way back, from school even, maybe, and that she hadn’t seen him for a while. Anyway, her tone was so casual that I didn’t think anything of it. Then he came back with our drinks and he sat between Ali and me, so we couldn’t really finish our conversation.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘He was about our age. Slim built, about as tall as Alicia. Blond curly hair, a bit of a tan but not the same as surfers have. Grey eyes. His nose looked like it had been hit on one side. You know.’
‘That is a pretty good description,’ I say, thinking it shouldn’t be difficult to find him on camera images and take a detailed shot of his face. ‘Do you remember what he was wearing?’
‘Faded blue jeans, a white long-sleeved shirt over a white T-shirt.’
‘Was he alone, or with anyone else?’
‘Not that I was aware of.’
‘Would you recognise him again?’
She frowns, uncertain. ‘I can try.’
‘Okay. Now, back to that evening. He sat between you and Ali, and then what?’
‘He … he whispered something in her ear and she smiled and they both got up. I wasn’t really paying attention because, at that moment, I received a message from Jake asking if it was alright if he came home half an hour later. I can’t remember the reason but I said yes. I mean, I was having a good time, and I hoped he was too. I was texting him when Alicia and the guy got up. She said something to me, winking at me meaningfully, and I understood that they were going off somewhere.’
‘Off somewhere?’
She seems surprised. ‘Yes, have a bit of time together. Private. You know.’ I don’t know, but I can guess.
‘Was that her normal behaviour?’
She shrugs. ‘She had always been faithful to Trevor. Then they split up and she started being … a bit more reckless, I suppose. I mean, like, having one-night-stands. Then she met Ken and … well, she didn’t seem to have changed. I mean, it didn’t really seem to bother her so much any more that she was married again and that she ought to be faithful. She always claimed that Ken was rather open-minded. But only on our nights out, which happened only once a month. It was like she felt free for that night and she could do whatever she wanted.’
‘Did Ken know?’
‘I’m not sure. Ali knew that he had an affair with his secretary, who is also in a relationship of some sort, and she didn’t care about that either.’
‘So, on Saturday night, the two of you went out. Alicia had intended to stay the night with you and she would go back home the following day. But she left Barrie’s Bar to go somewhere with that guy. Did you see her come back to the bar?’
‘No.’
‘And she didn’t show up to sleep at your house?’
‘No.’
‘Did you try to call her?’
‘Of course I did but she didn’t answer. On the other hand, she’d done it before, you see, not coming back to my house, but instead she went straight back home. I thought she’d done the same on Saturday.’
‘But you didn’t check.’
‘No, it was …’ Her face turns pink and her eyes are swimming in tears. ‘Jake had come home sick and I was a bit worried about him.’
‘You mean he had been drinking?’
She shrugs, well aware that her son is underage to drink alcohol. ‘He was feeling sick,’ she says eventually.
‘Okay,’ I nod, deciding to let the issue go. ‘Would you mind coming to the station to help us build up a picture of both of the men you saw with Alicia?’
8
Harradine Curtis, infuriating to most of the residents of our apartment building, is a very unlikely man to have as a friend. He is very opinionated and expresses his thoughts to anyone whether they want to listen or not. He works for Newquay town council dealing with people either living on the poverty line, or those trying to claim benefits when they have undeclared income from undisclosed sources. That’s what he told me in a determined kind of tone when I came to live next door to him, as though he was warning me that he wouldn’t tolerate it if I ever had the nerve to apply for benefits.
Aged fifty-three, he looks about twenty years older. His shoulders are hunched like a modern day Atlas carrying the weight of the world. The corners of his mouth are consistently pulled down and his watery grey eyes seem never to sparkle as if he can see a bright future ahead.
We had brief conversations in the beginning but, other than the fact that we were both living alone, we didn’t have much in common. Then an issue over a parking space created a miniature cold war between us, which seemed to bother him more than me. It was a surprise to us both, let alone to other residents w
ho wouldn’t speak to him, when he helped me out once in a rather difficult situation. Since then, we are once again on speaking terms, both of us benefiting from it in some way.
He must have been looking out for me, because his front door opens as soon as I climb the stairs.
‘Tregunna,’ he says, as per usual, fervently ignoring my repeated requests to call me Andy. ‘Just the man I wanted to have a word with.’
‘That sounds serious, Mr Curtis.’
‘Yeah well, it is.’
‘How can I help you?’
He chuckles good-naturedly. ‘It is not me who needs help, Tregunna, but you.’
‘Do I?’ Since we have reached a stage in our relationship that comes close to being friends, I have stopped wondering how his mind works. I have learned to take him as he is, at his pace, in his time. He can’t be pushed, forced, let alone manipulated. He is more likely to do that to me.
‘I am sure you do, Tregunna.’ Placing one foot over the threshold of his flat, he grins expectantly. ‘Coffee?’
I sigh. Mr Curtis has the habit of inviting himself into my home and never seems embarrassed by it. He doesn’t seem to care if it is convenient for me. He doesn’t even ask. He claims that he prefers the strong black coffee from my coffee machine, but then pours so much milk into it that I doubt if he can taste the coffee. He brings packs of cheap biscuits that contain the most preservatives and E-numbers imaginable, then munches his way through half of them and takes the rest home. If he ever notices that I never take one, he doesn’t say anything about it.
‘Coffee, Mr Curtis. Yes, why not?’ My sarcasm is lost on him.
He wraps a woollen scarf around his neck, makes sure he locks the door behind him, and follows me into my flat. I have two heavy shopping bags, but he doesn’t bother to offer to help. Making himself comfortable on my sofa, he pushes newspapers and magazines to one side and grabs the remote control to turn on my TV. Having the TV on in the background, albeit with the sound muted, is one of his other habits. At first, I turned the TV off again, but he declared he liked to have it on as it made him feel he had people around for company, in the background.
I have grown used to his funny habits by simply ignoring them, as there is no point in even trying to discuss them with him. In his job, I suspect he is a man who always wins an argument. Or, more likely, people just give up, worn down by his stubbornness.
Having said all this, he isn’t an unpleasant person to deal with and I have got used to his visits, usually a rather colourful, but otherwise reliable source of information about the neighbourhood and what goes on in the council offices.
I make two coffees, one in the special mug he brought with him once - yellow with purple pansies painted on one side - and give him a plate for his biscuits. This time, he has brought dark chocolate digestives. The packaging says that it contains 30% more biscuits, which may be the reason that he didn’t buy the cheaper plain biscuits. Along with his other rather peculiar habits, he is also careful with money.
‘I’m here to assist you,’ he announces rather pompously, as I sit down, trying to keep my eyes off the TV screen. I have discovered it is rather difficult not to look at it, even though I can’t hear it.
‘With what, Mr Curtis?’
‘That young lady of yours.’
I feel myself stiffen. I know who he means: Lauren. He knows her and he persists in trying to put things right between us. In other words, he feels bound to act like a modern Cupid.
‘Which young lady?’ I ask, evasively.
He sniffs disapprovingly. ‘I hope you’re not telling me that there are more young ladies in your life?’
‘I’m not telling you anything, Mr Curtis.’
He grins stubbornly. ‘Indeed not. Anyway, I am talking about the redhead. The one with the two boys.’ He pauses briefly, then he adds, mockingly, ‘You remember?’
Reluctantly, I nod. ‘Lauren.’
‘I’m glad you remember her name,’ he says sarcastically.
‘Mr Curtis …’ I start, but he interrupts me without even acknowledging that I’ve spoken.
‘I met her in town today,’ he declares with a hint of pleasure, as if he is telling me a secret. ‘As it happened, she was in front of me at the till in the bakery shop and I invited her for a coffee.’
I’m sure the fact that he was behind her at the till, was not a coincidence but orchestrated with the intention of inviting her to have coffee with him. I get the distinct feeling that I don’t want to hear any more.
‘I felt honoured that she accepted the invitation. She is a looker. As a man, it feels pretty good to be seen with her.’
He looks at me expectantly, but all I offer is, ‘Hm.’
He grins again, satisfied with my reaction. ‘We talked. Mostly about you.’
Suppressing a sigh, I say: ‘You mean that you, Mr Curtis, talked about me all the time?’
‘If you like to put it that way, then yes. I talked about you. A lot.’
There is no point in asking him what he told Lauren about me. In fact, I think I prefer not to know.
‘And your point is?’
I pick up a chocolate digestive and take a bite, ignoring the look of surprise on his face. Consequently, he realises that he has achieved his first goal: my undivided attention.
‘She is not happy about the way your relationship has developed.’
‘Oh.’
‘Or, rather, the way it has ended.’
‘We haven’t fallen out, Mr Curtis. And besides, it is …’
‘None of my business. I’m sure you were going to say that. And you are right. But I have a different opinion about the two of you.’
‘I’m sure you have, Mr Curtis, but Lauren and I …’
‘You just walked out of her house. Without a word.’
‘Uhm …’ I feel my cheeks reddening. ‘Did she tell you that?’
‘Not in so many words, but I can read between the lines.’
‘It was weeks ago.’
‘Exactly. She invited you for an evening meal. Then you played games with her sons, who seem to adore you. Then they went up to bed and …’
‘I know exactly what happened, Mr Curtis,’ I interrupt breezily, wondering why I allow this man to interfere in my private life, and, worse, tell me what I should do.
He ignores me. ‘She went upstairs to say goodnight to her sons and when she came back down the two of you had some more wine and …’
‘I know, Mr Curtis, probably better than you do.’ For some reason, I almost doubt that.
‘One of the boys called down that he wasn’t feeling very well, so Lauren went upstairs again. And when she came down, you were gone.’
‘It wasn’t exactly like that,’ I say lamely, knowing very well that only a truthful explanation would make him, and Lauren, understand what I am not prepared to explain. To anyone.
‘I’m sure there is a lot more to it but, indeed, that is not my business. The only thing I would like to say is that, clearly, she is still upset about it, and I can see now that you are uncomfortable with the situation as well. Which tells me that there are feelings between you. And that is what matters to me. And the two of you.’
‘There isn’t the two of us.’
’And I beg to differ, Tregunna. The poor lass was almost in tears.’
I swallow. Although I can’t imagine Lauren crying in the presence of Mr Curtis, or in a public environment, the thought of it doesn’t make me feel better about it. On the contrary.
‘She thinks it has something to do with your illness. She thinks you haven’t told her everything about it.’
Once more I swallow. My throat is dry.
‘She thinks that your illness is terminal and that’s the reason why you don’t want to commit to her. You don’t want her to get hurt when you die.’
‘I’m not dying, Mr Curtis.’
‘That is the only reason she can come up with.’
‘I am not dying,’ I repeat. ‘The tumour was
removed and the doctors decided to keep a close eye on me, but any further treatment was, or is, not necessary. Lauren knows that, because she was there when I spoke to the oncologist just a couple of weeks before … that evening.’
‘It is now nearly six weeks later, Tregunna. She believes that they have found more tumours in your body and that you can’t be treated any more. She believes that you are giving up.’
‘Do I look like a terminally ill person, Mr Curtis?’
‘Sometimes you look very pale and very tired,’ he replies, with alarming honesty.
‘We all have those periods, but that doesn’t mean we are going to die. I certainly have no intention to do so. And there is no reason for her to think that I would lie about that.’
‘You haven’t spoken to her since then. You didn’t call her to apologise, to explain or anything. You did nothing.’
‘I know. But there are other reasons …’
‘Of course you have your reasons. Believe you me, Tregunna, I don’t want you to tell me, but you should tell her. I think that you need to speak to that girl and see how you can patch up your relationship.’
‘We have no relationship.’
‘Maybe so, but you two do want a relationship.’
‘Who says … ?’
‘I do, Tregunna. I have seen the two of you looking at each other and it must have been special for her to invite you for dinner at her home. Alone. I mean, who else did she invite?’
‘There was nobody else …’
He nods triumphantly. ‘Exactly my point.’
‘Mr Curtis, I don’t …’
‘All I ask is that you go and see her and explain to her why you left her that evening.’
I close my eyes and press my fingertips against my temples. My head is aching. Against my will, the evening is floating back in my mind. I can’t deny that I was over the moon when Lauren invited me for a meal with her and her ten-year-old twins, Joe and Stuart. It had been a pleasant, rather quiet meal. The boys were suitably impressed with the presents I’d brought for them. They were also looking forward to the next day, which they were going to spend with their father and his new partner. Lauren had made an effort with the meal. Beautiful fillet steaks, and burgers for the boys. Home made apple crumble with Cornish cream and for her sons a choice of ice cream cones in different flavours.
COVER THE LIES: A TREGUNNA CORNISH CRIME NOVEL Page 6