The Limewoods Estate was not the place for George Lawes’ daughter. Not the place for Mum, really, she must have expected better, though you’d never have guessed. My grandfather came over from Jamaica, worked in a factory and studied at evening classes until he qualified to go to teacher training college. There he met my grandmother, eight generations of her family had lived in Coseley and she was the first to stay at school beyond the age of fourteen. Both must have hoped for more for their daughter than for her to drop out of university in her first year to marry Dad and have two children, before becoming a receptionist at a vet’s surgery. Their other daughter, Aunt Lola, finished her degree and found a good job in the civil service. But if there was any disappointment, it was never expressed, either by my grandparents or by Mum.
As Becca says, she was always singing or quoting poetry. ‘It’s Too Darn Hot’ would be warbled as ice crept up the inside of single-glazed windows. ‘I have measured out my life with coffee spoons’ accompanied supermarket brand instant being dumped into chipped mugs. She laughed and chatted with the neighbours who popped in and out. My friends all confided in her and wished she were their mum. Edie and I didn’t know we were to be pitied for living where we did.
‘You never heard any gossip?’ I ask.
‘Really, Tess, I’d be the last person to listen to Limewoods’ gossip.’
‘I suppose it was embarrassing having relatives living there.’
I can’t keep the irritation from my voice, not that Becca notices.
‘Not embarrassing, depressing. Have you been back? You probably don’t remember how awful it was. I was so pleased when Ray gave Vince a job and you could move.’ She looks at me and smiles. ‘I know what it’s like, Tess. I lost my mother young, too. But to tell you the truth, I don’t think most people ever get to know their parents. Maybe their parents don’t let them. Maybe they don’t want them to. I think if Gina had lived you’d have known her longer, not better.’
‘Is that how you feel about your mother?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your father, didn’t you travel everywhere with him, after your mum died, the Far East, America, you must have become pretty close to each other?’
She hesitates.
‘As I said, Tess, your parents let you see one side of them. The one they want you to see. Perhaps it’s for the best. And don’t you think you’ve got enough on your plate, without fretting about Gina?’
‘It all seems part of the same thing.’
‘It must seem like that sometimes, losing Gina and Edie so close together. But the whole suicide nonsense was cooked up by Nathan Bexley and his lawyer, hoping to get him off the charge. I wish Edie had come to me with that clipping. I hate to think of her agonising over it.’ She glances at the clock. ‘I do really have to go now or they’ll cancel my appointment,’ she says.
She puts her teacup down. A thin film is forming across the top.
‘Of course,’ I say.
I stand up with her. She gives me a little encouraging smile.
‘After the funeral maybe then we could all go away for a bit,’ Becca says. ‘A holiday or something, with Vince and Ray.’
‘Yes,’ I say without thinking.
At the end of the street I look in the car’s rear-view mirror. Becca’s still standing at the door. I’m too far away to see the expression on her face. I don’t need to see it to know that she was lying. I just don’t know why.
*
I pull onto Dad’s driveway when my phone beeps. It’s a text from Jem:
Fancy meeting up?
The truth is, I do, just as an escape. But I remember Cassie’s warning about Jem and I’ve too much to do. I delete the text and I’m about to put the phone back in my pocket, when Craven calls. There’s an unspoken agreement that just as he is our contact in the police, I am their contact in the family. Dad’s mood swings between anger and despair. One minute pacing the room, railing against the police and press, the net staring blankly at the television. I worry how long he can go on like this and if he needs the sort of help he’d never ask for or agree to.
‘We’ve had a large response to the reconstruction and appeal,’ Craven says.
‘Is large the same as good?’ I ask.
‘Not exactly.’
Twitter has given me a glimpse of the attention-seekers, conspiracy theorists and moral crusaders who will waste police time, claiming close knowledge of the case when they’d never heard of Edie until a few weeks ago.
‘We’ve been through the calls,’ Craven says. ‘And we have several lines worth pursuing. In particular, a woman remembers the case from the time Edie disappeared. Her former husband was very possessive and she shouldn’t have been in the area on that afternoon. She felt sure someone would come forward with the same information as there were other cars around. But no one did, and then she thought it was too late and the police would be suspicious of the delay and she’d still have to explain to her husband why she’d not been at her art class on the other side of town as she’d told him.’
‘What did she see?’ I ask.
‘A schoolgirl, matching Edie’s description, arguing with a man.’
I’m revived by the thought that back then Max was only a boy, too small to be mistaken for a man.
‘Unfortunately,’ Craven continues, ‘she only saw him from behind.’
‘Do you think it’s the boyfriend my auntie Becca saw?’
‘We are making additional inquiries. There’s also—’
‘Speak to Michaela Gossington. If anyone knows who he was, she did. She lives on the Glades.’
‘We’ve spoken to Miss Gossington.’ He sounds irritated. ‘She or, more importantly, her current partner, are known to the police. Let’s just say she wasn’t exactly gushing with information.’
As if I could hate her any more. Michaela befriended Edie and the one time her friendship could help, she lets her down.
‘The point is, an argument does sound like someone Edie knows,’ Craven says. ‘The Joseph Amberley boys would have been in uniform, but we’ll be asking them. They may have a better idea of who it was, an elder brother perhaps. Boys do like to brag.’
If Edie’s boyfriend had bragged, someone would know who he was. Someone who’s keeping quiet, because either they don’t care or they’re afraid.
‘I’ll keep you informed,’ Craven says.
After the call, I phone the Gossingtons and am sent to their answer machine.
‘Hi, it’s Tess Piper here, who came to see you last week.’ I try my work trick of smiling whilst talking on the phone, to keep my voice light and happy, and hide my anger and frustration. ‘I haven’t heard from Michaela. I’d really like to talk to her. I thought, as one of Edie’s friends, she’d want to come to the funeral. It’s at one o’clock on Thursday at St David’s. It would have meant a lot to Edie to have her there.’
I’m going to find that bitch if it kills me.
Chapter 32
Edie: November 1997
Edie felt a little more grown up and sophisticated today. She wasn’t going shopping for clothes or make-up, she was heading to a record shop, a proper one, Irregular Records, not Woolworths or WHSmiths. Aveline’s party had been a disaster. Music was her escape.
Uncle Ray had been after ‘This is Love’ by Joe Curtis and Edie wanted to get it for his birthday. The only copy he had was on a barely audible cassette.
Irregular Records was on the far side of town and she passed Topshop and Boots on the high street. As she moved away from the centre, the shops changed from smart chain stores to second-hand shops, specialist bike outlets and stores selling T-shirts with nationalist logos. She passed Honey Rider, with its rubber-masked mannequins, the sex shop everyone joked about but she had never seen before. When she reached the ring road it started to rain and Edie pulled her hood up. Her enthusiasm for the trip started to fade. Irregular Records was proving more difficult to find than Uncle Ray’s single. The rain was driving down so hard that
it splashed onto her cheeks despite the hood. She dived into the nearest café.
Ketchup bottles in the shape of giant tomatoes sat on cracked plastic tables and the metal chairs were fixed to the floor. Edie ordered a tea and went to sit down with her polystyrene cup. Three lads were playing on the fruit machine in the corner. They were a few years older, maybe eighteen or nineteen. Another boy sat by the door with his back to her, a guitar at his feet; he was smoking and listening to a Discman. One of the lads by the fruit machine thumped it and laughed as money poured out. Edie looked over. He saw her watching.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
The others turned round and stared at her. Edie wasn’t sure if the boy was being threatening or flirty.
‘Nothing,’ she said.
The boys huddled together and started whispering.
Edie downed her tea, scalding her throat, then stood up.
The boy at the door looked up. Edie recognised him as Michaela’s boyfriend, Bob. He caught her eye. She looked away, hoping he didn’t recognise her. Everyone knew him, but why would he notice her out of the hundreds of girls who poured out of the school every evening? She wondered what he was doing in the café. It didn’t seem like his sort of place. Maybe he was caught in the rain, too.
As she moved away from the table, the boy who’d hit the fruit machine strutted over and barred her way.
‘You’re not going, are you?’
‘Yes,’ she said without looking at him.
‘Going shopping in Honey Rider?’
He threw a look to his friends. Edie shook her head.
‘Cos if you are—’
‘That’s enough, Jones.’
The voice came from near the door. Edie knew it was Bob.
‘Alright,’ the boy said. ‘Just having a joke.’
He stepped back.
Edie went to the door. She gave Bob a weak smile before darting outside. Had he recognised her? She hoped not. He’d tell Michaela. Who’d tell the whole school. After her embarrassment with the boys at the party, she didn’t need this.
The rain was weakening and looking up, she realised the record shop was only four doors down. She glanced back to make sure no one had followed her out of the café before going in.
The record shop was also full of boys but none of them took any notice of her, with their noses stuck between record covers. Edie headed for the Northern soul section, which she had to herself. The smell of cardboard mixed with vinyl reminded her of Uncle Ray’s record cabinet, nothing else smelt quite like it.
‘Looking for anything special?’
The man was Uncle Ray’s age with a large gut. He wore a T-shirt with the shop’s name printed across it.
‘I was looking for “This is Love” by Joe Curtis.’
‘You’ll be lucky to find that,’ he said. ‘I’ve not seen a copy for a few years. You could try one of the specialist magazines.’
Edie must have looked blank.
‘Is it for you?’
‘No, my uncle.’
‘Thought you were a bit young. We’ve some other good stuff. Here.’
He pulled out a couple of singles Edie didn’t recognise. Then she saw ‘Got to Find Me Somebody’ by The Velvets. Another one Uncle Ray only had on cassette. She tried to act as if she knew what she was doing, inspecting the sleeve and asking the man to pull out the disc.
The vinyl was unscratched but the sleeve was bent at the corner. It was marked at £15.
‘It’s a bit dog-eared,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you ten for it.’
‘Oh, a bit of a dealer. Twelve and it’s yours.’
Edie nodded. He took her to the counter and put it in a bag. She was beginning to get her feeling of sophistication back.
‘How do you know about this place?’ the man asked.
‘My uncle comes here.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Ray Piper.’
‘Ray, eh? I know him from way back. We used to go to the Wigan Casino together. Him and that girl, what was her name? Gina. Good dancer.’
Uncle Ray always talked about his Wigan Casino days, but never mentioned Mum. The man must be thinking of a different Gina.
‘So you’re his niece?’ the man said.
‘Yes.’
He looked her up and down.
‘His actual niece?’
‘Yes.’
The man looked amused. He handed her the bag.
‘Ray will like this one. Tell him Freddie says hi,’ he said.
After she’d paid she wasn’t sure if she should carry on looking. She had no money left, but she could impress Uncle Ray with talk about the shop. On the other hand, she was cold from the rain and wanted to get home.
‘I didn’t know you were into this,’ a voice said. ‘Took you for another Take That fan.’
Edie looked up from the records. It was Michaela. That’s why her boyfriend was in the café, he was waiting for her.
‘It’s Edie, isn’t it? What were you looking for?’
‘Northern soul,’ Edie said.
She wondered if Michaela would sneer.
‘I don’t know any of that. You’ll have to play it to me sometime.’
‘You probably wouldn’t like it,’ Edie said.
‘I might.’
‘What are you looking for?’
‘Old Stax stuff,’ Michaela said.
Uncle Ray didn’t rate Stax.
‘Anything special?’ Edie asked.
‘Nah, just browsing. I come here most weeks. I buy loads but that guy always follows me.’ She nodded to Freddie. ‘Thinks I’m going to nick something, I guess.’
Edie didn’t think that was why Freddie was following Michaela, in her minidress and knee-length boots.
‘He’s alright, he’s my uncle’s friend,’ Edie said.
‘You know him?’
‘A little,’ Edie said.
Not a complete lie. She felt Michaela looking at her with more respect. Then she thought of Bob telling her how pathetic she’d been in the café.
Michaela checked her watch.
‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘I told Bob I wouldn’t be long. See you next week.’ Edie watched her stroll out of the record store. She thought of telling Char and especially Aveline, who desperately wanted to be friends with Michaela, how they’d met and chatted about music. How Michaela had asked her if she could listen to some of Edie’s records. They’d be so jealous. But what if she told them and Michaela ignored her on Monday? They’d laugh and call her a liar. For now it would be her secret.
Chapter 33
Tess: July 2018
We’re back at the cemetery on the hillside for the burial in the hottest summer for over forty years. The cold and grey of January we had for Mum’s funeral seemed more fitting. Today, everyone’s itching and fidgeting in their formal wear, the black cloth soaking up the searing heat. Like Mum’s, the service was held at St David’s, and like Mum’s, Dad, Ray, Uncle Jake and one of the undertakers carried the coffin. Unlike Mum’s, there’s a news crew outside the church and a young reporter talking earnestly into the microphone as we leave for the cemetery.
The vicar read out the usual platitudes and like all who die young, Edie is described as a gifted student, well liked and popular, a pleasure to teach. Ray and Aunt Lola gave the eulogies. Neither Dad nor I could manage it. And now the eulogies and hymns are over and the only words left are those of the burial service, spoken by the vicar as he mops sweat from his brow.
‘Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower.’
Dad’s arms are wrapped around my shoulders as if he’s scared I’ll fall into the grave and be swallowed up as Edie’s coffin is lowered into the earth.
‘In the midst of life we are in death.’
Ray is leaning on Becca, his face in the crook of her neck. She stands straight and sad. Cassie and Uncle Jake are comforting Aunt Lola. My other
cousin, Corrine, is trying to keep her three young children silent and still. Ashley couldn’t make it back from Canada. Some of the Joseph Amberley girls have come. Michaela isn’t here and Charlotte hasn’t made it but Aveline, Hannah and Natalie are here, along with Mrs Stanley, one of our former teachers.
‘We therefore commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’
I can feel the dark and cold around the coffin as earth is thrown into the hole in the ground. As large as the hole inside me I’ve tried to fill for years, with different men, drinks and pills. But the hole never gets smaller and now I realise I’ll always be without her. That’s why I had to believe she was alive, so I wouldn’t have to face up to being alone. All my shallow friendships and meaningless relationships were just an attempt to feel the same connection with someone else, a connection that never came.
Dad has always been absent in my life. Even before Mum died, his depression ate too deeply into him to be a father. He chose cigarettes and television over his family. Edie’s teenage rebellion was against me, my restrictions. Dad never placed any upon us. I’m not sure he knew we were there.
‘We give thee hearty thanks, for that it hath pleased thee to deliver this our sister out of the miseries of this sinful world.’
*
Dad and I lean against each other as we leave the grave, neither of us speaking. We should talk to the other mourners, invite them back, but the truth is I wish they were all miles away. I can see the Joseph Amberley girls hovering. They’re standing far enough away to ignore them without being rude, but Aveline steps forwards.
‘Hi, Tess,’ she says.
I look them up and down. Three witches dressed in black. Aveline is a replica of her mother, thin, immaculately dressed, effortlessly negotiating the uneven ground in her Prada stilettoes. I barely recognise the once mildly rebellious Hannah who had a nose stud, red streaks through her hair and wore thick black eyeliner. The nose stud has gone, the only jewellery is a tiny teardrop diamond necklace. The red streaks replaced by long tresses twisted into a low ponytail, a flick of mascara around her eyes. Natalie has changed the least, her face is a little thinner but it’s still dominated by large, close-set eyes, framed with heavy brows, giving her an owl-like expression. I let go of Dad’s arm. Cassie rushes to take my place and he ambles on.
Someone You Know Page 17