Salt Lane

by William Shaw

  Cupidi nodded; it was better to have something to do. She got back into the car and started the engine.

  THIRTY-TWO

  In the car Cupidi bounced down the pitted road past the lighthouses. Just beyond the lifeboat station at the bend, she paused, headlights picking out the dark black shape of the cottage David was staying in with his wife.

  What had he imagined? That he could sneak off and rekindle their affair while he was here?

  From where she was parked, she couldn’t see the front of the house, facing the sea, but the ground and shrubs that lay on that side caught the light that flooded from its big glass doors. It was as if the black wooden cabin were sucking in the brightness from her headlights and spilling it onto the shingle beyond.

  This was all his fault. If he hadn’t turned up at her door, Zoë wouldn’t have run off like that.

  Putting the car back into gear, she drove off down the single-lane track, dodging the rabbits that sat on the narrow tarmac lane, eyes shining back at her headlights.

  After half a mile, she reached the bird reserve’s main entrance, pulled up outside and parked. The way in through the visitor centre would be locked up now, but wouldn’t there be other ways round? She looked left and right. Sure enough, she found a marked path to the right of the building and began trotting down it, mud pale at her feet in the dull moonlight as she ran.

  When it divided she veered left, southwards, towards the beach and the reserve, the way she had come before. Ahead of her on the track a fox turned, stared for a second, then ambled off into the long grass.

  Though she was tired, it felt good, running through the night like this; it eased her anxiety. The land opened out; she must be moving alongside the first huge open expanse of water now.

  It was surprisingly loud here. Waterfowl quacked and squawked around her in the darkness. She heard birds abandoning their perches at the waterside, launching themselves into the safety of the water.

  At another fork she stopped, panting, to examine a wayside map. ‘Zoë!’ she shouted.

  A bird flapped loudly out of the undergrowth, startling her. Nobody answered.

  When she reached the first hide, it was half past midnight. It was empty.

  The second, too. At the third, Christmas Dell hide, she sat on the cold bench and fumbled in her pocket for her phone, then remembered she didn’t have it. What if Zoë were safe at home already? Maybe she was. She’d be laughing, now. Silly Mum, going all the way to the bird reserve to look for me. Serve her right.

  She stepped out of the hide into the night. In this flat land, there was so much sky. Even from here, the glow of the nuclear power station lit the southern sweep of horizon. Above her, stars started to prickle through the haze. A three-quarter moon shone on the water. This place they had moved to; it was so different from the city. It wasn’t small at all. It was gigantic.

  She heard a rustling to the right. Swinging her torch round to shine it into the air, she caught a huge heron in the beam. It took wing above the black water, curving away northwards.

  She drove back to the headland more slowly. Zoë had probably gone to bed already.

  The road was empty; there were no other cars driving at this time of night.

  At the bend, she paused again before the big black cabin. The lights were still on.

  Parking the car, she got out. On the far side of the lane was a single postbox, and behind it a telephone box, lit by the orange street lamp.

  It took credit cards. She dialled home, still looking at the black shack. The speed with which her mother picked up the phone and said ‘Zoë?’ betrayed her nerves.

  ‘Sorry. No, it’s me. Nothing?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ her mother said. ‘Annoying child.’

  Damn. ‘OK. I’ll keep looking.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Are you all right, Mum?’

  ‘Not really.’

  She thought of the bodies; the woman in the water. The empty boat on the beach. Alexandra.

  She left the telephone box and crossed the tarmac, walking over the wide beach, looking at the large black beach house. Stupid David.

  Had her daughter come here? To confront David? With Zoë, anything was possible.

  She made her way to the far side, to where the house’s entrance faced the sea. Out of sight, behind the slope of the beach, the tide was low. Waves lapped slowly. In the quiet night, her footsteps seemed ridiculously loud on the loose stones.

  And then she was standing in front of a large rectangle of glass looking into the folding doors that were ajar at one end, opening onto the beach. In a gentle light, half a dozen people sat around a table full of wine glasses, bottles and candles.

  They had guests.

  It was like watching a cinema screen, one of those nice middle-class dramas, people smiling at each other, raising drinks. They all looked well-off, happy, beautifully dressed, almost as if they had been posed by some European film director. In a pale blue shirt, David was sitting next to Cathy, who was still in that grey sweater. There was no sign of Zoë among them, but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t know something.

  Cathy was laughing at something clever somebody had just said, her mouth wide, her teeth perfect.

  And then a man she didn’t recognise, bearded, hair shoulder-length, stopped talking and stared at Cupidi, stationary on the shingle.

  He must have said something, because now everybody turned towards her and gawped. The film paused.

  She stepped forward into the light. ‘Hello, David,’ she said. ‘What a surprise, finding you here.’

  With the job, and being a mum, she had never been that interested in long-term relationships. Flings had suited her perfectly. There hadn’t even been that many of them.

  David was only supposed to be a fling; the whole stupid thing had just carried on longer than it should.

  But all through it, she had been convinced that Cathy, David’s wife, had never known about the affair. David was a man who wanted it both ways. He had no wish to lose his nice home and family. He kept photos of them on his desk.

  But from the way Cathy looked at her now, she knew that wasn’t true at all. And Cupidi had been stupid to think that she had harmed no one but herself.

  Cathy’s mouth was open; she looked wounded.

  After a second’s hesitation, Cupidi took another step towards them. David was up, almost running to the door in his haste to block her way into the room. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said, lowering his voice so the others couldn’t hear.

  ‘Actually, I live here,’ she said loudly, still striding forward.

  ‘David. Who is it?’ said someone.

  He turned, flustered. ‘Cathy. Remember Alex? DS Cupidi? She used to be a colleague at the Met.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Cathy said quietly. ‘I remember her very well.’

  Cupidi stepped inside the room; it was neat, geometric, its walls and eaves lined with perfectly painted tongue-and-groove boards. A lavender-scented candle was burning somewhere. With everyone looking at her, she felt she had to say something. ‘I’m so sorry to barge in. But my daughter’s gone missing.’

  There was suddenly silence in the room.

  ‘I mean, it’s probably nothing. But I was wondering if she was…’

  ‘Oh,’ said Cathy.

  It had been a mistake to blurt it out like that. A child is missing: it sounded so dramatic. As her mother had said, she was probably sulking somewhere.

  ‘Obviously she’s not here. I realise that now. But I thought—’

  ‘How did you know we were…?’ said Cathy, and she slowly turned her head to look at her husband.

  ‘When did you last see her?’ interrupted David. ‘Your child.’

  ‘This is quite awkward, isn’t it?’ Cupidi said. ‘She’s not here. I should go.’

  ‘Yes,’ said David.

  ‘What’s going on, David?’

  The other guests sat silently, uncomfortable, embarrassed. Of course, she sho
uld try to pretend it was just a coincidence, her being here; that she had just stumbled here by accident, but right now she couldn’t be bothered.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Cathy. ‘What are you doing here in Dungeness?’

  ‘I live here,’ said Cupidi. ‘With my daughter. About a quarter of a mile away, past the lighthouses.’

  ‘You knew that?’ Cathy turned back to David.

  ‘We should probably go to bed,’ said the bearded man, standing. ‘It’s late. It was a long drive.’

  ‘Obviously not when we booked…’ said David, reaching for a bottle of wine. He poured a glass for himself, then held it up, as if offering it to guests.

  ‘I need to speak to you in private,’ said Cathy to David.

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Cupidi.

  Cathy looked at her. ‘Yes. Maybe you should.’

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ said Cupidi.

  The others were scuttling out of the room. David was looking apprehensive. Cupidi moved backwards to the open door.

  Back in the car, Cupidi sat with her head on the steering wheel for a minute. ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ she said.

  Her mother was at her back door as she drove up. ‘Nothing?’

  Her unflappable mother looked frightened now. Cupidi put her arms around her, and they held each other for a minute. It felt strange. They hadn’t done anything like that for years.

  THIRTY-THREE

  By one in the morning, Cupidi had called in the news of her missing daughter to the officer on duty, in case anybody heard anything. The woman on the phone was sympathetic, but said there were so few officers on roster on a night like this, and there wouldn’t be much she could do except keep an ear out for any information.

  ‘I know how it is,’ said Cupidi.

  ‘We’ll do what we can.’

  She and Helen sat up in the living room as her mother dealt out patience cards on a coffee table. She watched her picking up columns and shifting them, but she wasn’t really concentrating at all.

  Be methodical, she thought. What is the best thing to do? ‘I should go out again and look.’

  ‘Look where?’ her mother said.

  They both jumped up when the doorbell rang.

  David and Cathy stood at the door; beside them was Zoë, her hands and face covered in dark oil.

  ‘Oh, Zoë.’ Helen rushed forward and grabbed the girl, throwing her arms around her. Cupidi watched them: granddaughter and grandmother hugging each other tight.

  ‘You have to help me,’ said Zoë, pushing herself free of Helen’s grasp. Her face was black, her eyes red. Cupidi noticed blood on her knee.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘We found her walking on the road outside our house,’ said David.

  ‘She said she had an accident on her bike,’ said Cathy. ‘She abandoned it somewhere a couple of miles away.’

  ‘Help me,’ said Zoë. She was crying. ‘Please.’

  ‘She was really distressed.’

  ‘Come in,’ said Cupidi. It was her turn to put her arms around her shivering daughter.

  ‘I’ll stick a kettle on,’ said her mother. Cupidi noticed her wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and realised she had never seen her mother cry before; never once.

  ‘You have to believe me,’ Zoë was wailing.

  ‘Believe what?’

  There were streaks in the dirt on her face. ‘I promised I’d go back for her. But then your bike broke and I didn’t have a phone and I waved at cars and nobody would stop and I had to walk all the way back on my own. I promised her I’d come back for her and now I’ve left her alone. We have to go.’

  ‘Back for who?’

  ‘The girl!’ Zoë shouted. ‘I told them but they wouldn’t go with me.’

  ‘She kept talking about this girl,’ said David.

  She was sobbing hard now, juddering in Cupidi’s embrace.

  Cathy said, ‘Obviously we told her she had to come back here first.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Cupidi. ‘I’m very grateful.’

  ‘It’s OK. We were awake anyway. We had a few things to discuss,’ said Cathy, unsmiling.

  Arms still around her daughter, Cupidi looked at her and said, ‘I want to say sorry…’

  Cathy nodded curtly as Zoë unwound herself from her mother, tugging at her hand. ‘We have to go and get the girl.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I was cycling out Walland Marsh way and met a girl. She was just running along the road. On her own. I promised to go back.’ Zoë was practically screaming now.

  ‘Shh, darling,’ said Cupidi. ‘Take a breath. How old was the girl?’

  ‘My age. I think. Bit older.’

  ‘Sixteen? Seventeen? What was she doing out at night?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s what I’m saying. Except she was scared.’

  ‘Do you think she had been sexually assaulted?’

  ‘No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘I’ll show you,’ she tugged. ‘She’s waiting for me. I promised to be back ages ago. She was so frightened, Mum. You have to come.’

  ‘She was like this with us too. Wanted us to go with her,’ said David.

  ‘I’m going to call the police and tell them what you saw,’ Cupidi said to her daughter. ‘Then I’ll drive there, OK? We’ll go and look for her now.’

  ‘And you should go with them,’ Cathy said to her husband.

  ‘It’s all right,’ replied Cupidi. ‘I can manage.’

  ‘It’s not that. I don’t really want him around right now,’ said Cathy.

  Cupidi said, ‘I didn’t ask your husband to come here. I don’t want anything to do with him, I promise.’

  ‘That’s not what I heard.’

  Cupidi and Cathy looked at David, then turned to meet each other’s eyes.

  ‘So you lied to both of us?’ said Cupidi.

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ David answered.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Mum. Not now. Please,’ said Zoë.

  ‘Maybe you’ll need some help,’ suggested David.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ said Helen.

  ‘She may be. But I may kill him if I spend another hour in his company,’ said Cathy.

  There was an awkward second in which nobody spoke. ‘OK. Come with us,’ said Cupidi. ‘You’re a policeman, after all.’

  ‘Come on!’ Zoë was screaming. ‘Now.’

  ‘What do you think, Zoë? Is it OK if David comes with us?’

  ‘I don’t care. Let’s go. Please. She’s waiting.’

  ‘My car’s round the back,’ said Cupidi. ‘Wait for me there.’ Before she left, she called up the officer on duty again, repeated what her daughter said, then followed David and Zoë out of the back door to where the car was parked.

  David folded himself into the back seat while Zoë fumbled with her belt.

  ‘Go,’ said Zoë. ‘Hurry.’

  They passed the black house, lights still on.

  The roads were empty at this time of night. Zoë led them through Lydd and past the church.

  ‘Right here, right here.’ Zoë pointed. ‘Now left.’

  They turned off Midley Wall, heading into the middle of the marsh.

  ‘You cycled all the way out here?’

  ‘It’s easy. It’s flat.’

  ‘And then walked all the way back?’

  ‘I had to. Your bike was broken. I hit a ditch in the dark and it bust the wheel.’

  In the headlights, the small trees leaned to the right across the road, shaped by the winds that blew across the flatland. The lane curved one way and the other, following the ancient pattern of dykes.

  ‘Left… left.’

  Caught in the full-beam headlamps, a black telephone cable looped rhythmically from pole to pole. They drove through a small hamlet; a children’s swing in a bare garden; then passed the narrow bridge that led over White
Kemp Sewer and veered off to the right, passing under the huge electricity pylons.

  ‘Look. There’s the bike.’

  Cupidi’s bicycle, front wheel bent, was abandoned in the grass at the side of the road.

  ‘Leave it. We’ll pick it up later. Why did you come all this way?’

  ‘I don’t know. To get away.’

  ‘Because David turned up?’

  ‘You promised you weren’t getting back together with him.’

  ‘We’re not. Swear to God.’

  David said nothing, just huddled in the back of the car as they swung round corners. These roads could be treacherous at night.

  They crossed the railway line, then Zoë shouted, ‘Here! Stop.’

  By the side of the narrow hedgeless road, Cupidi pulled the car over, switched off the lights. The night was still. Zoë got out and looked around.

  ‘It’s me,’ she said to the blackness beyond them. ‘I’m back. Sorry it took so long.’

  Nobody answered. Nothing moved.

  ‘Don’t worry. This is my mum.’

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ asked David.

  ‘The girl.’

  There was silence. ‘I can’t see anyone,’ he said.

  ‘Quiet,’ said Cupidi. Further up the road, the street lights of Snargate shone orange, but as far as she could see in this darkness the flat fields around were empty.

  Zoë stood there twitching her head from one direction to the next, looking.

  Then her daughter started up the road, first walking, then breaking into a trot.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘She came from over there,’ said Zoë. ‘She was running over the fields when I saw her. Maybe she’s gone back there.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Cupidi said.

  Zoë stopped. ‘What if she’s scared, still? It was me she talked to.’

  ‘I thought you said she didn’t speak English?’ said David.

  ‘She didn’t. I mean, she was trying. Something had happened and she was frightened. That’s why she was running away.’

  The teenager looked anxiously out over the marshes.

  ‘Where exactly was it you saw her?’

  ‘Right here,’ she said, agitated. ‘I think. She was coming from that direction –’ she pointed into the field – ‘and I almost cycled straight into her. Let me go. I’ll find her on my own.’