Chapter 16
Edie: October 1993
Mum was singing in the kitchen, the strains of Julie London’s ‘Cry me a River’ carried into the lounge.
‘Mum,’ Edie called from the door.
She continued singing, her voice rising for the chorus.
‘Muuuum.’
She paused from stirring a stew.
‘We’re going out with Raquel,’ Edie said.
‘OK. Stay away from Roswell Park.’
Edie turned back through the lounge where Tess was waiting at the front door.
Raquel was already outside her house, sitting on the low wall in front, kicking her heels. She jumped up as Edie and Tess came outside.
‘I said I’d meet Clark later at Roswell.’
‘I thought your boyfriend was called Daryl,’ Edie said.
‘Him. Nah. Got bored with him.’
‘We’re not allowed to go to Roswell,’ Tess said.
‘You don’t always have to do as you’re told, Tess.’
Raquel looked over to Edie. She was curious about Roswell Park and wanted to meet Raquel’s boyfriend. But she had a vague fear Caitlin might be there. She’d left them alone at school, but if her older sister was with her, she wouldn’t miss the chance to get her own back.
Edie wondered if Raquel was thinking the same, because she didn’t argue when Edie said, ‘It’s too cold to go to the park.’
‘How about the garages then?’ Raquel said. ‘I can’t smoke here.’
The garages belonged to the tower block at the edge of the Limewoods Estate. Cans, condoms and the occasional needle littered the tarmac, but in the early evening they were deserted except for a ragged fox, which slipped under the wire fence at the far end as they arrived.
Raquel leant against a garage with ‘Carlos suck my dick’ sprayed across it. She placed one foot on the metal door, one on the ground, then lit a cigarette she’d stolen from her mum.
‘Did you find out what happened to Val Vickers yet?’ she asked.
Tess shook her head and glanced at Edie. She must have told Raquel about it when Edie was out of earshot.
‘I did,’ Raquel said.
She let out a long stream of smoke and smiled. Tess glanced at Edie again.
‘Where is she?’ Tess asked.
‘She doesn’t know anything,’ Edie said. ‘How could she?’
‘Well if you don’t want to know…’ Raquel said.
‘Tell us,’ Tess said.
Raquel tossed a look at Edie to see if she had any more to say. Edie kept quiet. She wanted to know as much as Tess and it wasn’t like they’d gone snooping again.
‘You were right, Tess. All that stuff about her staying at her sister’s was a load of bull.’
‘I knew it,’ Tess said.
‘She’s gone off with her fancy man.’
‘Oh.’
Tess looked disappointed.
‘How do you know?’ Edie asked.
‘Mum’s hairdresser told her.’
Raquel’s mum’s hair was set in a solid block, high on top of her head. Robert’s salon on the high street created the exact same style for all the old ladies.
‘How does he know?’ Tess asked.
‘Hairdressers get to know everyone’s secrets.’ Raquel spoke in a slightly posher voice as if quoting a grown-up. ‘And Ursula Mowbray told Robert she’d seen Valentina Vickers with a new fella.’
Edie snorted.
‘That’s Marcia’s gran and even Marcia can’t stand her. She made it all up because she’s got nothing better to do when her hair’s stuck under those driers.’
Raquel stood up straight and flicked her cigarette butt across the tarmac.
‘Why else would she go off then?’
Edie didn’t reply.
‘Who was he?’ Tess asked.
‘Ursula didn’t know,’ Raquel said.
‘It could be Mr Vickers who put the rumour about,’ Tess said. ‘That’s what he wants you to think. He could still have killed her. I saw the exact same thing on—’
‘TV, yeah, we know,’ Edie said and rolled her eyes.
Tess scowled.
‘You’re soft in the head, you are,’ Raquel said. ‘Why would he kill her?’
‘Jealousy, he—’
‘Shut up, Tess,’ Edie said.
She’d been dragged along by Tess into this murder mystery plot. When it was just the two of them, Edie half believed it. Tess was so enthusiastic, so convincing. But said out loud, in front of Raquel, it sounded silly and childish.
‘The police came and took him away,’ Tess said.
‘That was because of money. You know he’s a gambler?’ Raquel said. ‘That’s why they’re posh with no money. Y’know the way he speaks, all la-di-da. You, girl, stay away from my car.’
She pronounced it in the harsh voice of Mr Vickers. Edie giggled and Tess looked anxious.
‘It’s not funny,’ she said. ‘The police wouldn’t put him in handcuffs because of gambling; it’s something more serious. Men always say their wives have run off when they’ve killed them. John Christie’s wife was under the floorboards.’
‘Who’s John Christie? Edie’s right, you watch too much TV. She’s got herself a fancy man more like. The place is on the same road as her sister, that’s all, she’s with a fella, I’m telling you.’
‘I don’t believe it. I’m going to find where her sister lives. If Valentina’s not on the same road we’ll know he’s lying. Or we could find out who the man is,’ Tess said.
‘Mum knows something but she won’t tell me,’ Raquel said.
‘Why did she bother telling you anything at all then?’ Tess asked.
‘She didn’t. I was listening to her talking to Sharina’s mum in the kitchen; they didn’t know I was at the back door until I sneezed.’
‘They could have been talking about anyone,’ Edie said. ‘You’re really dumb sometimes.’
She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Raquel would think Edie was talking about her reading problems.
‘I’m not dumb. I heard them say her name. You think you know everything, don’t you, Edie Piper?’
‘I didn’t mean …’
‘If you’re so smart, tell me why your mum married your dad?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Edie took a step towards Raquel, who stared hard at her then slumped back onto the garage. The metal door banged against its frame.
‘Nothing,’ she said.
None of them spoke for a while. They rarely argued. Edie was wrong to call her dumb. Then again, Raquel shouldn’t have talked about Mum and Dad. Tess looked scared. Raquel stared at the ground.
In the end, Tess said, ‘Shall we go up the high street? I want a magazine.’
Tess read comics but called them magazines to make her sound more grown up.
‘Alright,’ Raquel said. ‘I’ll get some more cigarettes.’
‘They won’t serve you,’ Tess said.
‘I wasn’t going to the shops,’ Raquel scoffed.
They wandered up to the high street in silence. Edie thought about what Raquel had said about Mum and Dad. It was probably something else she’d overheard and half understood. Still, Mrs McCann must have said something. Why did your mum marry your dad? Because they were in love. Isn’t that why people got married?
Only the off-licence and newsagents were open on the high street. Raquel walked straight past them to a group of lads sitting on a bench, smoking and drinking cans of Skol. They were older, about fifteen or sixteen. Edie and Tess hung back as Raquel walked up to them.
One of the boys glanced up then looked away again. No one acknowledged her until she was right in front of the bench.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m after some fags.’
‘Piss off,’ said the boy in the middle who’d looked up.
‘Come on, you sold me some before.’
‘What?’ he said.
One of the boys st
anding behind him whispered something in his ear.
‘Alright then,’ the first boy said.
Raquel gave the boy at the back a brief smile and placed a couple of coins in his palm. The first boy gave her four cigarettes.
‘They’re bad for you, y’know,’ he said.
‘Yeah?’ Raquel said.
She waved the cigarettes in front of her as she walked back towards Edie and Tess.
‘Told you.’
They were about to leave when some other girls arrived. From their height, Edie guessed they were a similar age to the boys, but they behaved more like adults. They didn’t slouch and their hair, worn loose, had a satisfying swish as it swung from side to side. Edie became aware of her own unruly curls pulled into a haphazard ponytail or worse still, Tess’s close crop that made her look like a boy.
All the boys stared at these new girls. The one who’d told Raquel to piss off sat up and smiled. Edie couldn’t hear the exchange, but she saw one of the girls hand him some notes and he passed her a small packet.
Later, she couldn’t remember which girls she had seen, or if she met them again. All she remembered was the word.
‘They’re JAGS,’ Raquel hissed.
JAGS. Just the word, the long vowel, hung in Edie’s memory long after the girls had left.
‘They’re what?’ Tess asked.
‘JAGS,’ Raquel repeated. ‘Joseph Amberley’s Girls’ School. JAGS.’
‘What does that mean?’ Tess asked.
‘It means they’re stuck up and they’re sluts. They only come over this way to buy weed; wouldn’t bother speaking to Bridges Academy boys otherwise.’
‘We’re going to Bridges Academy,’ Tess said.
‘I’m not going back to school, so it doesn’t matter,’ Raquel said.
‘You can’t not go to school,’ Tess said.
Raquel laughed.
‘Sharina and Mel all hang out in Roswell Park. You can join us if you get bored.’
‘Mum says they do drugs there.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Raquel. ‘Honestly, Tess, you’re such a kid sometimes.’
The conversation went on, Raquel insisting she wouldn’t be going to secondary school and Tess insisting she didn’t have a choice.
Edie was still thinking about the JAGS. Raquel had spat the word out but there had been envy in her voice. Edie, too, was envious. Somehow, she knew these girls with the swishy hair and leather bags would grow up to be like Valentina and smell of cake and Chanel No. 5, not Domestos and B & H like Mrs McCann. Edie understood Raquel’s venom. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to go to Bridges Academy, she wanted to be one of them, she wanted to be a JAG.
Chapter 17
Tess: June 2018
‘You need to go into fifth, Becs,’ Ray says.
Becca obediently changes gear. The 4 x 4 engine roars then drops and we glide past a slow, chugging Fiat.
‘Stay in the middle lane,’ he says.
I don’t know why he doesn’t drive himself if he thinks Becca’s incapable. But she doesn’t seem to mind his instructions and it saves us from having to talk. Dad’s not spoken since I told him I was thinking about doing the police appeal.
DS Craven sounded alarmed when he rang up to arrange it and I wouldn’t give him an answer. Vilas called, too. If I don’t want justice for my sister. The thing is, I agree with Natalie, it’s a trap, after the speculation last time, and I don’t want to put Dad through that again. Then again, it could lead somewhere.
We pull onto the slip road. ‘Keep left, stay in third,’ and drive up a winding residential street before reaching the cemetery, where Edie’s to be buried, next to Mum. I want to see it before the funeral.
Once, it must have been a beauty spot, lying on a hill overlooking fields. Now, the West Midlands conurbation sprawls below and the air is polluted from the nearby motorway. It’s like a little town with a flower stall at the entrance and roads running in a neat grid.
I can’t remember the last time we came here together. I can’t remember the last time I came on my own, and if Dad visits, he never tells me.
We slide out of the car and though we’ve not discussed it, we’re all wearing black. I’ve forgotten the location of Mum’s grave. Ray leads the way, in a well-cut wool suit, which is far too thick in the fierce summer heat. Light perspiration speckles his brow. Becca’s swapped her usual slacks for a long skirt and Dad’s wearing trousers and a shirt with frayed collars and cuffs.
‘Edie hated this place,’ I say.
Ray slows his pace and turns to me.
‘I can’t say I blame her.’
Faint whisky fumes carry on his breath. That’s why he didn’t drive.
‘She said it wasn’t a proper graveyard,’ I say. ‘No cracked lopsided headstones or yew trees. Just rows of graves mapped onto a grid, like a diagram you draw in maths.’
‘It’s a cemetery,’ Becca says. ‘Churches have graveyards.’
‘Ordered and heartless. That’s why she wouldn’t come.’
‘She could be stubborn,’ Ray says and smiles.
We’ve come to view the family plot, to decide what’s appropriate and what will fit on the headstone, and to make sure it’s the right place.
‘It is,’ Dad insists.
He was horrified when I suggested a cremation.
‘She should be with her mother,’ he said.
Mum’s plot is row G31. The large curved headstone is of black granite flecked with gold, and the lettering is gold: Gina Piper, beloved wife and mother, 12 April 1963–17 December 1993. It’s hideous. Mum would never have chosen it. I don’t know who did. A desiccated bunch of lilies is lying on the flat stone. I bend down and pick them up.
‘Who left these?’ I ask.
Dad stops a couple of yards behind us and doesn’t answer. Becca looks at Ray. He takes them from me. One of the greying blooms drops off.
‘It was probably your dad.’
Dad always used to bring blue delphiniums, Mum’s favourite. I pick up the fallen lily and stick it in my pocket.
Becca and Ray have a bunch of roses each, one red, one pink. They place them on the grave. Dad catches up and places his bunch there, too.
I scan the cemetery: a few families, but it’s mostly individuals. Some are just standing, others are sweeping away dead wreaths and placing fresh flowers in pots. Perhaps Dad did leave the lilies. He’s showing no interest in the grave now he’s placed his flowers; instead, he stares up at the sky and passing clouds.
I realise Ray and Becca are looking at me.
‘Shall we go?’ I say.
‘Eh?’ Dad says.
‘Go,’ I say and gesture back up the hill with my head.
He nods and we trudge back to the 4 x 4. Ray places the dead lilies in a bin. I want to rush over and retrieve them; instead, I place my hand in my pocket. The flower has disintegrated into individual petals. I rub one between my thumb and index finger and extract the tiny drop of remaining moisture.
‘I don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink,’ Ray says.
‘Me too,’ I say.
‘Becs?’ Ray says.
She gives a thin smile and opens the car.
‘The Gypsy’s Tent?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ he says.
Ray gets the drinks in: two whiskies and two pints for him and Dad. Becca has an orange juice. I go for wine, house red.
The pub is bustling with Sunday trade. We take a table by the window, the remains of the previous occupants’ lunch still strewn across it. Dad and I sit opposite Ray and Becca. The glass panes magnify the sun’s heat. Becca is flushed, but even the heat can’t erase Dad’s tired grey look. Only Ray appears healthy.
A woman in her forties with glossy black hair comes over and starts clearing the table.
‘Sorry about the mess. Two staff called in sick and we’re so busy today.’
‘No worries,’ Ray says.
‘Can I fetch the food menu for you?’
/>
‘Just drinks today, thanks.’
‘Well let me know if you need anything.’
She smiles at Ray.
‘We’ll let you know, thank you,’ Becca says.
I suppose Ray’s attractive for his age. He looks younger and taller than Dad, even though they’re the same height and Ray’s two years older. Dad’s shoulders slump and though thin, his middle sags and his face is being pulled into bags and jowls. I’m sure he never gets smiles from waitresses. It’s a shame, in old photos he’s just as good-looking as Ray.
You’d imagine Ray with one of those women who retain their allure long into middle age, slim, with expensively maintained hair and tailored clothes, not Becca. She’s always been plain and plump, living in black slacks and shapeless tops. Though the last time I saw her, the slacks hung more loosely around her thighs. Either she’s lost weight or she’s buying a size up.
‘To Gina,’ Ray says.
He sounds falsely cheerful. I wonder how many drinks he had before the cemetery.
‘And Edie,’ I say.
‘And Edie,’ Ray agrees and downs his whisky.
I drink the wine. It’s slightly sour and I wish I’d chosen a short. I touch the petals in my pocket again.
Ray starts on his pint.
‘Drink up, Vince,’ he says to Dad, whose whisky lies untouched.
Becca sips her orange juice.
‘We were thinking, after the funeral, we could invite people back to ours.’
Becca’s super house-proud, lots of strangers wandering around, bringing in dirt and spilling drinks, would be her worst nightmare.
I look at Dad. He’s staring out of the window.
‘That’s kind, Becca, but I thought we could use the church hall, where Mum’s was held.’
She pulls a face.
‘It’s not a nice part of town, Tess. I bet you’ve not been back. We can have it at ours.’
‘You know we can’t ask people to take their shoes off,’ I say.
‘We can get carpet cleaners in afterwards,’ she says.
‘What do you think, Ray?’ I ask.
‘Becca’s right and there’s less chance of press intrusion. I can ask one of the lads from the site to check the guests.’
I look at Dad for his approval.
‘I need a cigarette,’ he says and stands up.
Someone You Know Page 10