“This is the first time we’ve been out in years. Without…” Tricia’s voice trailed off.
“Dad.” Veronica finished Tricia’s sentence. “It’s OK, we can talk of him. I promise I won’t go to pieces. I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just – we’re all having a nice evening and I don’t want you to get upset Mum.”
“Getting upset is part of things Trish. I don’t try to stop that. Let it all out is what I say.”
As the couple on the next table looked at them, Veronica thought she should probably keep her voice down a bit. Especially coming out with comments like let it all out.
Hazel laughed as she stood. “I’m with you on that – let it all out! It’s my round anyway.”
“I don’t think I could make it to the bar.” Veronica also laughed. “I couldn’t walk in a straight line. You’re a bad influence, you two.”
“You needed an evening out Mum. You look lovely too.” Tricia touched the waves she had made with her curling wand in Veronica’s dark, grey-flecked hair, though the heavy rain between the taxi and the pub had flattened them somewhat. “Dad wouldn’t want you moping at home all the time.”
“I know. But we should have eaten before starting on this gin. If we don’t go soon, I’m worried I’ll get past it.”
“I’ll check the Indian Restaurant has got a table in an hour. They’re open until about one in the morning.” Tricia plucked her phone from her bag.
Veronica tried to feel sober by turning her attention to the bustling bar. It was the first time she had been out for the evening since Shaun had died ten months before. Part of her had gone with him, but there was no denying it was good to get out. After all, she was only fifty-two, not eighty-two. She didn’t ever want to meet anyone else. Shaun had been the love of her life. He lived on in Tricia though – she was the image of him.
“Stop staring at me Mum.”
“You’re so like your dad, you know.”
“So you keep saying. Snap out of it. Enjoy yourself.”
“I can’t. I miss him.”
Hazel returned with three more gin and tonics. The drink had always made Veronica cry, and tonight was no exception. A big fat tear managed to plop into the glass Hazel had put in front of her.
“Oh Mum.” Tricia’s chair scraped on the wooden floor as she moved herself closer to Veronica.
“I’m sorry. We’ve been having such a lovely time. It’s just the gin. They don’t call it mother’s ruin for nothing.” She shrugged off her daughter’s attempts to put an arm around her. “I’m nipping to the loo. I’ll give my face a wash, then I’ll be fine.”
Veronica sat on the loo for a few minutes, trying to clear her head. Fancy crying in the middle of a pub. It was no good. There was no way her head would be clearing until she’d had some food and a good night’s sleep. She was too old for this going out malarkey. She blew her nose, then flushed the loo.
Putting some make-up on and having Tricia do her hair had made her miss Shaun even more than usual. Normally he’d have either been out with her, or waiting at home for her return. He’d always say, you look lovely honey – I’m a lucky man, or words to that effect. Veronica couldn’t believe he’d been snatched from her.
She’d pulled herself together a bit, whilst sat on the loo, but fresh tears were stabbing at her eyes as she stepped towards the sink area. The giggling girls stood there didn’t react to her – she might as well have been invisible. She tried to reapply eyeliner to her bloodshot green eyes, then wondered why she was bothering. Nothing was worth bothering with anymore. Not since Shaun had died. Tricia had said a night out would make her feel better. But it hadn’t. She should never have agreed to it. Veronica felt ten times worse.
She needed some air. That would sort her out. Just five minutes or so. Then she would go back inside and insist to Tricia and Hazel that they get some food.
Tricia and Hazel were deep in conversation as Veronica emerged from the toilets. They didn’t seem to notice as she slipped around the edges of the room towards the exit. If Tricia had noticed, Veronica was sure she’d have wanted to come out with her and really, she just needed a few more minutes on her own.
Chapter Six
Lauren
I feel scruffy beside our immaculate wedding coordinator.
“So, how many guests are we catering for?” She flicks her hair behind one shoulder. She’s easily ten years younger than me and wears a smart tailored suit and perfect make-up.
My face is bare, and my hair is loosely fastened up on top of my head. Mark says he prefers my natural look though. He’s always liked my green eyes and says he can’t see their colour when the powder is piled on. Anyway, I had enough trouble getting Alysha ready this morning, so the idea of finding a minute to concentrate on my own appearance is laughable.
“We can accommodate a maximum of one hundred and fifty,” she says.
“Let’s go for that then,” Mark replies. “We’ve both got good-sized extended families, all disgruntled that they can’t come to the Maldives with us.”
“Then there’s all our work colleagues, Mark’s in the police so has a few, and not forgetting all our friends.” I look around the function room. “I think it’s a great idea, having another party when we get back. I’ll be able to wear my dress again.”
“Perfect.” The woman watches Alysha, who is bounding around all four corners of the room. I see disapproval in her eyes. There’s not much damage Alysha can do in this large, empty room though.
“Excuse me. I must take this. It’s work.” Mark sweeps his phone up from the table and walks to the edge of the room. I strain to listen to what he is saying as the wedding woman continues to fill out a form, firing questions at me about the DJ, the food and about timings.
I’m more interested in Mark’s conversation. From his tone, it sounds as though something has happened, but with the wedding co-ordinator still talking away, I’m struggling to focus on both things at once.
“I’ll be there soon,” he says, walking back towards our table. “I’ll have to drop Lauren and Alysha at home first, then I’ll be with you.”
Irritation coils itself around me. We’re at our wedding meeting and he’s supposed to be having the weekend off. What could be so important?
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go into work. It’s urgent.” He rests his hand on my shoulder. “Can we wrap this up another time?”
“There’s just the small matter of the deposit.” The wedding woman slides a sheet of paper towards me.
“I’ll sort it.” I stand up quickly, grabbing my coat from the back of the chair. “I’m really sorry about this. I’ll transfer the deposit and email you to sort another meeting.” I fold the piece of paper into my pocket. “It must be important for him to have to go like this. He’s got a lot on at work. Alysha, come on please.”
Mark is back on his phone as we walk from the function room along the thick carpet to the hotel entrance. He is striding ahead of me so quickly that Alysha and I are almost at a run to keep up. I get a warm blast as we pass the open fire in reception.
The remainder of the day looms before me. I was looking forward to spending it as a family, and I’m not sure what I’ll do now. I could do some work but that will be impossible with Alysha around.
“Another woman?” He says in a loud voice, glancing back at me. “How old? What time did they find her? Was she already dead?” It’s not exactly a cheery conversation. I hope no one is listening. Guests are arriving for a wedding that must be taking place this afternoon. I’m straining to hear what he’s saying, so chances are, no one else will be able to make it out either.
Being that I only catch one side of his conversation, I’m not privy to the answers he gets. But I ask him anyway as we make the short drive back to the house.
“I don’t know much yet Lauren. I’ll find out when I get to the station. I’m sorry that I’m having to leave you and Alysha. Especially when we’d
planned to do something.”
“I guess the lifebuoys and fencing didn’t help?” I realise how crass that sounds, the moment as I’ve said it.
“I don’t think anything’s moved there. It hasn’t been sorted yet.” Mark glances in the mirror at Alysha. “I’m sorry I’ve got to go to work sweetie pie. I’ll get home before you go to bed.”
“Great.” I slump in my seat. “You’re going to be that long?”
“Lauren. I thought you understood. When I’ve got to go, I’ve got to go.”
“How can I understand? You won’t tell me what’s going on.”
I let myself into the house and listen as the car engine dies away. “Right, what shall we do then?” Alysha slides her feet into her pink slippers. She’s a very pink girl. Everything is glitter and princesses. I love that about her. I always wanted a daughter - someone I could be as close to as I am to my mum.
At least Alysha has got one grandparent who’s happy to see us all. We’re lucky to have my mum. I’ll ring her later. I’ve not spoken to her for nearly a week. But first I need to ring the press office.
“Can I watch TV Mummy?”
“Just for a while. I’ve got some things to do and then we’ll go to the park.”
“Yay!” She skips into the lounge.
I walk to the kitchen, flick the switch on the kettle and press Lindy on my phone. She answers quickly, as always. “Lauren. What can I do for you?”
“Have you heard? Another woman has gone in. Into the river, I mean.” I spoon coffee into the cafetière as I speak. “Last night.”
“You’re kidding. No, nothing’s come through yet.”
“I was just with Mark as he took a phone call. He’s gone straight into work to help deal with it.” The kettle clicks off and I fill the cafetière, only half full with the hot water, resentment prickling me that Mark isn’t here.
“Another woman, you say?”
“Yep.” Despite myself, I suddenly feel excited. I might get the chance to break this story.
As if reading my mind, Lindy says. “I’d like you to ring through to the copy department Lauren. Make a few notes first on exactly what you know - tell them what you can. Obviously with a little embellishment. And bring in what you know about the individual women. As quick as you can please.”
There’s no point me telling her that I’ve got Alysha to take care of so as quick as you can, might not be as instantaneous as she would like it to be.
“When exactly did it happen?”
“From what I can gather from only hearing one side of Mark’s conversation, it was in the early hours again.”
“Well, keep your ear to the ground, won’t you? We want to be providing the lowdown on this story since it’s on our patch. We certainly don’t want some jumped up national journalist getting their hands on it.”
“I will. I really think there’s more to this than women just falling in.”
“Me too,” Lindy says. “I think that’s the reporting slant you need to take. There’s been no mention of this being suspicious from the police so far though.”
“I know. But I have a strong feeling about it. Someone is behind those women’s deaths. And I’m going to be the one to get to the truth.”
“Good. Well, you have my full support. If you need to pass any of your current assignments back to focus on this, do so. Anyway, I’ll let you get on with your piece.”
“I’ll speak to you later.”
I’ve only just put my mobile down when the landline rings.
“Is Mark there?”
“He’s working.”
“Thought he was off today. I’ll ring his mobile.”
Then he’s gone. Will, Mark’s brother. He’s always so abrupt. No. Rude is a better word. His wife Eva is lovely and I’ve no idea what she sees in him.
Alysha barely looks up from the TV as I plonk a cup of juice and a biscuit in front of her. “I’ve just got to sit at the kitchen table for an hour. I have some work to do and then we’ll go out.”
“OK Mummy.” Luckily, she’s an easy going girl and doesn’t tantrum at a delayed promise. She’s so engrossed in the TV that she’s possibly forgotten all about the park, anyway.
I grab a pad and pen from the sideboard drawer, pour my coffee, and settle at the kitchen table. I fire my laptop up in case I need to look up any details. Though I’ve taken such an interest in the river deaths that lots of the information has etched itself into my mind. I make a few notes on what I know already, referring to news reports when I need to.
Woman One. Joanna Mason. Age forty-nine. Out on her hen night. Getting married to someone called Robin. Second time marriage.
Woman Two. Rebecca (Becky) Thorpe. Age thirty-two. Had an argument with her boyfriend and appeared to have been hitting the wine. Maybe I’m using a bit of journalistic licence here.
Woman Three. What do I know? She went into the river last night. Hang on. I check the dates. They’ve all been Saturdays. The early hours of Sunday morning, to be precise. Drink seems to have been involved with all of them. Each of the women seems to have been alone. I don’t know the age of the woman from last night, but I’ve got enough facts and with a bit of speculation, enough to put a report together.
I ring through to the press office to dictate it and then add more on:
All the deaths have occurred in the early hours of a Sunday morning, and the bodies have been found along the same quarter of a mile stretch of river. Each victim has been alone at the end of a night out.
Perhaps it is not coincidence that unites these tragedies. This avenue of inquiry has not yet been pursued by the police.
After this latest fatality, pressure must be mounting on them to step up patrols on a Saturday night and to install more CCTV, like they have promised. Meanwhile, women need to be looking out for one another. This should result in whoever is responsible for their deaths being caught.
“Blimey, you’re right,” says the copy taker. “It’s happened three times now, hasn’t it? Not to mention all the other drownings there last winter.” Copy takers don’t normally comment on the content of copy, but this article has seemingly hit a nerve. “We’re all women in our thirties in this office,” she continues. “The drownings are happening too close to home for our liking.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” I chew the end of my pen. “There’s no way those women are just falling in, drunk. There has to be more to it.”
Chapter Seven
Lauren
It’s a relief to hear the squeak of the front door and to see Mark appear in the kitchen doorway. “I’m sorry I had to rush off this morning love.”
I look up from stacking the dishwasher, towards the clock. It’s after nine o’clock. “OK.” I try to keep the wobble out of my voice, but I feel wobbly. Especially with all the thinking and the research I’ve done today around the women, from this year and last year, who were ordinary women, just like me, going about their lives, but who’ve drowned in the river Alder. Mark’s holding something behind his back. Suspicious as ever, I try to peer round him to see what he’s hiding.
“Alysha’s asleep now. She’s been asking for you all day.”
“I’ll make it up to her. Promise. And to you. I’d been looking forward to spending the day with the two of you. Here, I got you these to say sorry.” He produces a bunch of roses and a bottle of wine.
I take them from him, place them on the kitchen counter behind me and step towards him. “You don’t need to be sorry. I totally understand. I just miss you sometimes.”
“I know.” He pulls me towards him. “One day we’ll both be earning so much that we’ll be able to reduce our hours. Or take early retirement.”
“Will rang earlier.”
“I know. He got me on my mobile.”
“He sounded happy.”
“You know what he’s like!”
“Yeah, rude, obnoxious and arrogant. Sorry, I know he’s your brother.” I take two glasses from the cupboard.
&
nbsp; “I’m just thankful I’ve got Claire as a sister. She makes up for him. He’s not as bad as he used to be though. He’s definitely mellowed since they had Heidi.”
“OK, I admit. He’s a good dad… and uncle. Just not potential brother-in-law! What did he want, anyway?”
“Nothing much. Just police stuff. Anyway, get that wine cracked open. I need a glass after the day I’ve had.”
“So what’s the latest?” I pass Mark the bottle and the corkscrew.
“Another death – well you knew that anyway. Poor woman. She was pulled from the water at first light after being reported missing just after midnight.”
“At first light? Why didn’t they send someone straightaway?”
“They don’t send the frogmen in, not in the dark, unless they’re saving someone.” He uncorks the wine and passes it back to me.
“God. How awful. If I were to choose how I had to die, it wouldn’t be by drowning. Especially in that dirty, freezing river.” I fill the glasses and pass one to Mark. “Where was she pulled from? Please don’t tell me it’s the same spot.”
“A little further downriver.” He takes a gulp from his glass. “She could have drifted though, or been dragged along by the undercurrent, as she was in the water several hours. We don’t know exactly where she went in.”
“Have you looked at the CCTV?”
“Of course. It’s not great though. It doesn’t reach far enough. I spent a couple of hours looking at it. She’d gone outside for some air. Her daughter said she was feeling worse for wear after mixing her drinks. I’ve got her coming out of the Yorkshire Arms just after midnight, but then she walked out of range of the cameras.”
“Her daughter? How old was the woman?” I feel like grabbing my notebook, but I’ll have to just remember what he’s saying to me. He’d go mad if I started writing things down.
The Yorkshire Dipper Page 3