by Jo Allen
‘I don’t think it was, but if it was it was a well intentioned one.’
‘Yes. That’s why I’m not going to judge Max Sumner for his relationship with his wife. It’s why I’m not going to judge Dawn for walking out on a husband when he needed her.’ How could he do that, when his own father had walked out on his mother less than a week after she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer? ‘I only judge people on one thing, and that’s on whether they’ve broken the law.’
‘Oh, Jude.’ She patted his hand, as she’d patted Dawn’s, but the smile that she gave him was brighter and more intense. ‘Maybe you could loosen up a bit, eh? Maybe you should judge other people for the mistakes they make. It might make you feel better about yourself.’
He pushed his chair back. He’d hardly known the girl a week, knew nothing about her heart or her soul. He wasn’t the type of fool to rush into something because he’d starved himself of a woman for three years, out of spite and an inability to accept what was lost, but he couldn’t deny that Ashleigh, knowingly or not, was dangling temptation in front of him. ‘Maybe I should.’
‘Jude.’ Doddsy, too, pushed his chair back, feeling in his pocket for a packet of cigarettes. ‘I need a fag break. Coming out to keep me company?’
‘No worries.’ Ashleigh edged closer to Tammy and Chris, who instantly moved his chair to create space next to him, welcoming her into their conversation with the broadest smile.
There were many times when Jude had been thankful for Doddsy’s intervention. Clever, compassionate and mostly silent, his best friend was a bunch of contradictions. A vegetarian, teetotal, chain smoking gay churchgoer, he was the model of common sense, the man who showed the importance of balance and sometimes, he felt, kept him sane. ‘Yes, okay. I can do with a bit of fresh air.’
‘That perfume’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?’ Even as he approached the door, Doddsy had his cigarette dangling between his fingers, and the second he was over the threshold he touched the tip of it to the flame on his lighter. ‘If you get close to it. And you were getting a bit close to it, weren’t you?’
‘I didn’t think so.’
‘Just ca’ canny, Jude.’
‘I’m not sure why you think you need to tell me that.’ Famously angry, with everyone and everything, most notably with himself, Jude couldn’t find it in his heart to be angry with Doddsy for saying out loud what he’d barely finished saying to himself.
‘It was an observation. Because I care about you, and because I don’t want to see you self-destruct.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Jude, out of habit, glanced up and down the road. On the other side of the street a middle aged woman strode purposefully along, a small dog on a lead behind her struggling to keep up. A couple paused to smooch under a street light, barely able to wait until they got home. A car, just slow enough to be legal but just too fast for sense, sped past them and round the corner into Market Square. He relaxed. None of his former friends were hanging around in the middle of Penrith on that hot summer night, or not that he could see. ‘I’m not making a move on Ashleigh, if that’s what you mean.’ Not tonight, not the next day, but maybe some time. Who knew?
‘It isn’t. And if you were, that would be okay. But you know what I think?’
‘I don’t know if I want to.’
Doddsy blew a measured puff of smoke out into the night air. ‘Then I’ll leave the advice for another day, until you’re ready for it.’
‘I’m thirty-five and single. I’ve seen a bit of the world. Thanks for your support, but when I need relationship advice, I’ll ask you for it.’ Jude had never smoked, but he’d often thought that if there was one advantage, it was that it gave you something to do. You could strike a pose, or you could waft your fag around making pretty patterns with the glowing tip, or you could just exhale those long, thoughtful streams of smoke, as Doddsy was doing, and clothe yourself in the aura of wisdom they offered.
‘Ah, well. How’s Mikey?’
‘As far as I know, fine.’ Jude relaxed at the change of subject. ‘Sowing his wild oats in Ibiza for a couple of weeks, then back home for a couple more weeks before he goes back to uni.’
‘Have you heard anything from him since he went out?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think you’re just what that boy needs, even if he doesn’t know it. Keep up the good work with him. You’ll both be glad you did. In the end.’
The dog walker came back round again. She must have dragged the poor creature round the churchyard at some speed. Jude ran fingers through his hair. The longer Mikey stayed away, the better. That way he wouldn’t keep torturing himself with additional excuses to pop back to Wasby and see if his kid brother was okay, when there was no need at all to do so and he knew for himself that Mikey wasn’t the reason for his visits.
*
‘Dad.’ Standing in his stockinged feet in his kitchen, Jude sighed. ‘I’m sorry. Something came up.’
‘Something always comes up.’ At the other end of the phone, David Satterthwaite’s voice wavered a little against a background of shouting. He must be in the pub, and he’d had a drink or two. That wouldn’t help. ‘I’m not surprised. Never surprised by that, Jude.’
It was a fair point. It cost Jude a lot of emotional effort to keep things civil with his father, and going to the football on Saturday afternoon was the easiest way of keeping his conscience quiet and channels of communication open. Too often, he found a good reason not to go. ‘I had to go down to Windermere for something. There was no way to get back up in time.’
‘It’s clear how important I am to you, son. There’s no need to explain.’
Yes, so important that he was prepared to put himself through grief and criticism over and over again, instead of doing what Mikey had done and turning his back on him completely. ‘It couldn’t be avoided. Sorry.’ He wrenched the window open. It had taken the sun all day and the room was airless and hot.
‘Son. Let me give you some advice.’ His father, an amateur actor, was prone to overplaying emotional scenes, even when he hadn’t had a drink. ‘It’s never a good thing to neglect your family relationships.’
Jude laughed out loud. This time he didn’t care if David heard him: he could keep his temper with his father only for so long, and the more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger tone pushed him over the edge. ‘Maybe that runs in the family. I’m trying to keep things civil.’ He wrestled back control of his temper before he could do any more damage. ‘Let’s try and catch up again next week.’
‘It’s an away game next week. You’ll hardly spare me the time to go all the way to Coventry.’
‘The week after, then. I’ll do my damnedest to keep it clear. I will.’
‘And cancel again at the last minute? It’s no wonder Becca fell out with you. She got tired of hanging around waiting. Didn’t see you as very reliable. But I’ll always be here for you, Jude. No matter how badly you treat me.’
It was the mention of Becca that did it. Jude hung up, still standing at the open window, still staring out at the tiny garden in the house he’d bought just to be free of all his memories of her. But it didn’t work like that. Memories weren’t something you packed into boxes, unpacked when you were ready, or sorted into piles for keeping or reusing or recycling, or simply throwing away. They clung to you with the tenacity of the devil, and ambushed you when you least expected them to. Even as he watched, a grey cat, the double of Holmes, slunk across the darkening garden from one tangle of dried up vegetation to another, pausing to stare at him as if to get the message across about who was in charge.
And his dad was right. Work, but not the volume of it, was why Becca had left him. Perhaps it was as well that the two of them had separated when they did, because they’d have been sitting there, in this house or the previous one, on a Saturday night and she’d have been complaining about all the plans they’d made and that he’d cancelled. Or maybe he’d be on his way home from the pub, fantasising abou
t the allure of Ashleigh O’Halloran, laying up yet more troubles for the future, yet more tension and argument. So maybe, after all, it was a good thing that Becca had decided to move on.
He uncorked a bottle and poured himself a large glass of wine. One thing was certain: the night would have ended with him doing in that case exactly what he was doing in this – sitting up late, turning and worrying at the case in hand.
Carrying the glass over to the kitchen table, he sat down, opened his laptop and began to work.
23
Nicole woke early, a habit she couldn’t break. It didn’t matter that the dog was scratching at someone else’s door, not hers, or that today was a Sunday so she wasn’t going to get up early and go to the gym. She lay for a moment watching the feeble sunlight as it crept through the curtains, and after five minutes she realised she wasn’t going to go back to sleep.
A doer, she sighed as she recognised the fact that she’d have to get moving. There were plenty of options. The first thing was to find out what Dawn had been up to, get the full story of that Saturday evening out. She couldn’t blame her sister for having a lover. Being loved by Max, with his chilling sense of ownership and that cold heart that he struggled and failed to overcome, would have driven any self-respecting woman into the arms of a passing stranger. Maybe that was what had happened. She’d find out, and between them they’d scheme to come up with some story to keep it their secret. And who knew – she might be able to help her sister meet her mystery lover in the future.
Whatever, they’d need to get their story straight before Max came back, and it would be just like him to opt for the early Sunday start and surprise them all. She’d been asleep before Dawn got back – Sophie, so precious, was so much in need of attention and support, and Nicole’s children had left home, leaving her out of practice – but she’d need to make sure she knew what to say. Going down to the kitchen, she made two cups of tea and carried them back up the stairs. It would be just like it used to be when they were teenagers, sitting on the bed together, giggling and sharing secrets.
With her elbow, she pushed open the door to the main bedroom. The curtains were open, drawing her eye immediately towards the lake. At the bottom of the garden, the security man sat with his chin on his chest, dozing.
The bed was empty.
Setting the mugs on the bedside table, Nicole stopped to think. Dawn had said that the security people would be off overnight. Maybe, judging by the somnolent pose of the man at the back, they’d been instructed to stay while Max was away. Being a practical sort, she considered the options. Dawn would have called her if there had been a problem. She must have come back and, seeing the man at the gate, sneaked away, waiting for a moment to get back. That moment hadn’t yet come. Somehow they had to get her back into the house without one of the men seeing, or else they had to come up with a compelling – no, a totally convincing – reason why she hadn’t come back.
She texted her sister, but there was no reply. She hadn’t expected one, and wasn’t surprised when the message rebounded on her with a mournful ‘not delivered’. There were plenty of nooks and crannies around where the phone signal never penetrated, where you could enjoy a secret tryst and know that you wouldn’t be tracked down there, at least via your mobile signal.
Even as she made plans, there was one thing that scared her, and that was the clock, ticking on to Max’s return. Then what? She knew he loved Dawn and she knew Dawn loved him – but would he really believe that a woman could love two men, maybe two very different men, at the same time? She didn’t think he would. And in fairness – she tried to be fair, even as she shivered at the potential consequences of his fury – most men wouldn’t, and even Dawn seemed bemused that it had somehow happened to her.
She sat on the edge of the bed and sipped her tea, looking at the picture of Dawn and Max on their wedding day that sat on the bedside table. Dawn had left her rings there. Weird. Unless, of course, she’d run away, and the abandonment of her rings was symbolic of the abandonment of her family. Her lip curled at such selfishness, leaving her daughter behind, and Nicole herself as de facto guardian, but she didn’t really believe it. The most likely scenario was that Dawn had been overcome by her emotions, and was still asleep in her lover’s arms. She’d have left the rings behind because the mystery man might not know, or might not want to remember, that she was married to someone else.
Of all those possibilities, not one offered the prospect of a happy ending. Nicole’s practical approach had its limits and she knew them. She had to evaluate the possibilities, understand the end game. And with the increasingly imminent prospect of Max erupting into fury, which would break over her before gathering power and crashing down on her sister, she must seek help.
There was only one person she could think of to turn to. Leaving her empty mug by the bed and ruffling up the bedclothes so that the bed looked as if it had been slept in, in case she needed to buy herself and her sister some time, she went downstairs to the kitchen and there, on the pinboard, she found the number. Ashleigh. FLO.
*
‘It can’t even be eight o’clock!’ Rolling over, Ashleigh thrashed about in the tangle of covers until she reached the bedside table and found her phone, to be met by a number she didn’t recognise and the unwelcome confirmation that it was, indeed, far too early for a Sunday morning, even when she knew she’d be heading to the office later on. ‘Hello?’
‘Ashleigh?’
She sat up, pulling the duvet around her as if there were someone to see her naked. The voice was well bred, with a Liverpudlian trace to it. ‘Yes. Hello.’
‘It’s Nicole. Nicole Underwood. Dawn Sumner’s sister.’
‘Dawn Sumner’s sister? Has something happened?’ Alarmed, Ashleigh swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, opening the drawer, fishing about for some underwear. Any chance of a lie in was gone, gone, gone.
‘No. Not yet. But I’m afraid something will. I think Dawn’s run away.’
‘Run away?’ Why was she unable to do anything but echo the woman’s words? ‘What do you mean? Was someone after her?’
‘No. She went out last night to meet someone. And she didn’t come back.’
‘A man?’ Dawn Sumner, who loved her husband, had gone to meet a lover? She must be braver, or more foolish, than Ashleigh had believed.
‘Yes. But she didn’t tell me who it was, because she didn’t want Max to shout at me if he found out I knew. So she told me as little as possible. But I do know she went out to meet him last night. Max was away.’
‘And she hasn’t come back?’ Oh, God. Poor Dawn. Ashleigh lost control of her rational self, her brain filling with Death and the Hanged Man, but it took just an instant to pull herself together. Nothing terrible need have happened, but, in the light of Greg’s death, something might have done. ‘Nicole. I’m going to get someone down to you.’
‘No blue lights. I don’t want to alert Max. She’s probably just staying with this man because she couldn’t get back in past the people on the gate.’
Max Sumner was like that, making his wife a prisoner in their own home. No wonder he hadn’t been keen for police protection. He wouldn’t have had the same control and Dawn could have overruled them and gone freely where she wanted without fear of her husband finding out. ‘Have you tried to contact her?’
‘Yes, but the messages aren’t getting delivered. I expect she’ll phone me. I’m not worried about Dawn. But Max has such a hell of a temper. If he comes back before she does, there’ll be trouble. Real trouble. He could take it out on anybody. On me. On the guys at the gate for not stopping her. And when she does come back—’
‘Okay.’ Ashleigh scrambled into her knickers and a pair of jeans, switching the phone from hand to hand as she tried and failed to put on her bra one handed. ‘Let me have a think about what to do.’
‘I don’t want you to think. I want a detective in this house when Max comes back, and I want him here when Dawn comes back, and I
want you to make sure that he doesn’t hurt her because you’re the family liaison officer and it’s your responsibility.’
Talk about entitled. Nicole was as bad as her brother-in-law. ‘Okay. I’m going to call DCI Satterthwaite and someone will get down to you as soon as possible. I’ll call you back when we’re leaving. And you have my number. Don’t be afraid to call any time.’
*
Jude’s Mercedes crunched to a halt outside the house barely twenty minutes later. Watching from the doorway, Ashleigh ran down the drive and jumped into the passenger seat. ‘God, I look a fright, but I don’t suppose that matters. We need to get moving before Max gets back.’
‘You look fine to me. Reasonably clean, at least, and I like your hair like that.’ He slid an encouraging smile over his shoulder. ‘I managed a shower but not a shave, and no doubt that’ll go down as a black mark against us in Mr Sumner’s book.’
‘If that’s the worst thing that comes out of today, I won’t be complaining.’ She clipped her seat belt into place. ‘What do we say when we get there?’
‘We have about forty minutes to think of a reason to be at his door before nine on a Sunday morning. I’ll leave that to you. Be creative.’ He turned right at the Morrisons roundabout and up past the castle. ‘Is Nicole sure that Dawn went to meet a man?’
‘She seemed to be. It must be what Dawn told her, though of course it might not be true.’ Because people lied to people they cared about to spare them from harm. Didn’t he know that?
‘And she’s no idea at all where she went? No hints? No suggestions? No indication if it’s someone who lived locally, or was up visiting?’ Jude turned up the air conditioning against the heat.
‘No. None of those.’ She tapped her fingers on the dashboard as they passed the industrial estate and turned onto the roundabout. As Jude took the lane that led left onto the M6, it came to her in an unwelcome flash of intuition. ‘Jude. Not that way. Go straight on.’
‘I want to get there quickly, not look at the scenery.’