by Kathy Shuker
Returning to the terrace, she went as near to the edge as she dared and again threw a stone, landing it on the slope just beyond where she stood. It rolled and bounced and scurried down, bounced again, and missed the place Eleanor was found by a foot or more before rolling off the cliff. The second stone tumbled close to where her aunt was found and trickled into the bramble. A third fell even closer. She had known all along that there was something wrong about the theory of Eleanor falling from the steps. But Eleanor was not a stone and it wasn’t proof of anything, except that she almost certainly fell from the terrace. Jo needed to think this through and she needed something more concrete. If she could only find out if Harry truly knew something.
*
A new girl had started working part time at Millie’s - Sam, a university student on her summer break who lived locally. She had worked there the previous summer and came highly recommended by Gail. The coffee shop was getting seriously busy now and another girl called Cheryl was going to help out at weekends.
‘Are you sure we need this many people?’ Matthew queried, concerned about the wage bill, another aspect of running his own business that preoccupied him. He always worried about money. Sophie had regularly teased him about it.
‘Definitely,’ said Gail. ‘You think it’s busy now? Wait till the schools break up next week. We’ll be crawling up the walls.’
Matthew did think it was busy now. It had been October when he’d come down to see the place before buying and it had been quiet then. Mid-morning to mid-afternoon these days were hectic. Gareth hadn’t told him it would be like this. Or maybe he hadn’t listened. He had been too full of his own ideas and plans and his desperation to do something about Harry.
It was Harry’s sixteenth birthday before long and the night before the lad had asked for a drum kit. Matthew laughed, thinking it a joke. It wasn’t but neither was it going to happen, not when they lived in a tiny end-terrace in the middle of the village. And Matthew had looked them up online and they were bloody expensive. But he had no idea what else might please the boy.
‘You talk to Harry sometimes, don’t you Gail,’ he said on the Wednesday morning, sidling into the kitchen before the place got too crowded. She was making sandwiches as usual.
‘Ye-es.’ She looked at him with an odd expression.
‘What do you think he might like for his birthday? You know, for a treat?’
She frowned, pausing from spreading butter on a baguette. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’
‘Well yes. But I thought he might have said something to you. I was thinking of a surprise, I suppose.’
She wrinkled up her nose. ‘He didn’t have his phone with him when I saw him yesterday - you know he’s always listening to something on that? When I asked about it, he said it was broken. I guess he might like a new one.’
‘He didn’t tell me. How did it get broken?’
‘He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.’
She turned back to her sandwiches.
‘OK. Thanks.’ He went back behind the counter of the shop.
A broken phone? That was all he needed. How had that happened and why hadn’t Harry said something about it?
Then he saw Joselyn walk in. It was mid-morning, mid-week and he was surprised to see her. She dropped a shirt over the back of a chair at an empty table and came to the counter. Matthew acknowledged her with a nod but Freddie was already there, offering his lopsided smile and taking the order. She looked preoccupied. Maybe her aunt had got worse. He watched her walk back to her table and sit, looking out towards the beach. There were several boats drawn up and tethered on the sand and someone was pulling one down to the water’s edge ready for launching. A couple of wind surfers swung and sailed out in the bay.
A family came in with two young children who spent ages at the counter, unable to decide what they wanted. A group of young teenagers arrived behind them, joking and nudging; they had either skived off school or finished some exams. A couple came in. The queue at the counter grew; the sound of chatter in the room swelled. For half an hour Matthew, Freddie and Sam never stopped, making drinks, waiting on tables, clearing dishes.
Then, as quickly as the rush had started, it calmed down again. Matthew made a point of clearing the two empty coffee cups from the table next to Jo’s. She was staring, unfocussed, out of the window.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How’s your aunt?’
She visibly jumped. ‘Oh, hi. Sorry, er, yes, she’s improving slowly, thank you.’
‘Good.’ There it was again: the hedged answer. ‘Don’t see you down here much.’
She smiled, wanly, he thought. ‘No. I should be working but I needed a break.’
He wiped a cloth over the neighbouring table. ‘Perhaps I’ll see you Friday.’
‘Friday?’ She frowned. ‘What’s happening on Friday? I thought the meeting was next week.’
He straightened up. ‘It is. But I’m coming up to Skymeet on Friday. Lawrence invited me to discuss what we’d put on the website.’ She looked at him blankly. ‘Didn’t you know that Richard Medlar had pulled out of doing the publicity for the festival? An illness in the family apparently. Lawrence Felton offered to do it and he thought we ought to liaise. He thinks that publicity and the website go hand in hand and I suppose he’s right.’
Jo frowned at him. ‘No, I didn’t know. But I’m glad you told me. What time’s this meeting on Friday?’
‘Four o’clock. I gather there’s a lock on the gate but he told me the code.’ Jo’s expression had darkened. ‘That’s OK, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, yes, fine.’ She stood up to go. ‘Yes, I’ll see you then. Thanks, Matthew.’
He watched her go, then realised that she had left her shirt behind and took it off the back of the chair, folding it loosely into his hand. He made no effort to run after her. It wasn’t till he turned to go back to the counter that he saw Freddie watching him. Freddie grinned.
*
It was two minutes to four on the Friday afternoon when Matthew emerged from the woods on the Skymeet estate and walked up to the house, carrier bag in hand. Before ringing the bell, he glanced round, his first chance to see Eleanor Lambe’s private domain. From where he stood high, dense shrubberies masked much of the grounds but the scale of them, and the extent of the garages and hardstanding over to his right, suggested the sheer size of the place. Impressive. He turned. The house, too, looked big though not perhaps as huge as he had expected. He was about to ring the bell when the door opened.
Lawrence smiled at him. ‘Matthew, you’re punctual. Come in.’
He was shown into a large, bright sitting room where Lawrence offered tea or coffee, then went in search of the housekeeper to make it. There was no sign of Jo. He registered a minor disappointment. The room was nice though. He had expected something minimalist and pale, the sort of coastal house interior featured in the glossy magazines that Sophie used to buy. But this room was all colour and artefact, painting and photograph. He supposed it fitted Eleanor Lambe’s personality - what little he had seen of it. His attention was drawn by a photograph on a cupboard to the side and he picked it up to study more closely. Two young women side by side, not quite touching. One was saying something; the other was gazing steadily yet diffidently at the camera. That gaze reminded him of Jo. The other woman had to be Eleanor.
Lawrence returned and a small woman with short brown hair and an accusing expression appeared soon after bearing a tray of tea things. She set it down and disappeared, saying nothing. There were only two cups and saucers. Lawrence poured the tea and offered the plate of biscuits.
‘Thanks.’ Matthew gestured to the carrier bag lying beside him on the sofa. ‘Is Jo around? She left a shirt behind at the café the other day.’
‘She’s out. I’ll see she gets it though.’ Lawrence paused, sitting back, cradling his cup and saucer. ‘So Jo’s been to Millie’s then.’
Was it a question? It was hard to tell.
/> ‘Yes.’
Lawrence nodded, his expression impassive. ‘I suppose you met her at the festival meetings. Has she said much about what happened? With Miss Lambe, I mean.’
‘Not really. She’s not a big talker.’
‘I’m glad. We don’t want to excite the press again, not with that anyway.’
Lawrence swiftly changed the subject. They had just begun to discuss the kind of audience most likely to come to a literary event in a small coastal village and how best to target them when they heard the front door open and then footsteps. Lawrence immediately stopped talking and looked round, frozen. A moment later Jo walked in.
‘I see you decided not to use your office for this meeting, Lawrence,’ she said, tossing her handbag down on the empty sofa. ‘Interesting that you chose Eleanor’s sitting room. Sorry I’m late. Have I missed much?’
‘Not really.’ Matthew smiled. ‘I’ve brought your shirt.’ He patted the bag. ‘You left it in the café the other day.’
‘Oh, that’s where it was. Thank you.’
She smiled back. He didn’t think he had seen her really smile before. What a difference: she lit up. Matthew looked down at his teacup guiltily, then across at Lawrence who seemed momentarily lost for words.
‘I’ll get Charlotte to make more tea,’ said Lawrence, rising to his feet.
‘Don’t bother. I’m sure Charlotte’s got enough to do.’ Jo dropped onto the sofa. ‘So, where are we at? I’ve been ringing some of the people Eleanor listed as speakers. Some are already pencilled in but I managed to get two more to definitely commit this morning.’ She mentioned their names. ‘High profile people like that should help the publicity effort.’
‘Great,’ said Matthew, finding renewed enthusiasm. ‘Could you write me a brief resume about each of them? I want to put something about all the speakers on the website with links. I need photos too.’
‘I’ll arrange it.’
For over an hour they thrashed out ideas, making notes on things to do and people to contact. Matthew had already taken photos around the village for the website and showed them on his tablet; they discussed others he might take. It was a quarter past five when Lawrence got to his feet and thanked Matthew for coming, prompting Matthew to get up too.
‘Yes,’ said Jo. ‘That was useful.’ She glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Have you got time to stay for a few minutes, Matthew? I wondered if you’d like to see the garden? My aunt’s very proud of it.’
‘Ye-es, I’d like that.’
She stood. ‘I’ll see you Monday then, Lawrence. Have a good weekend.’
Dismissed, Lawrence hesitated, nodded curtly and left, pulling the door to behind him. Jo waited, listening, then crossed to open one of the patio doors. Immediately a bundle of grey fur appeared by her feet and she bent to stroke him.
‘This is Sidney. He’s a rescue cat and rather wary of people. Are you all right with cats?’
‘So long as he doesn’t scratch.’
‘Only people he doesn’t like.’ She grinned. ‘I’m joking. Come and have a look outside.’
They walked out onto the patio but she waited to speak until they were safely out of earshot.
‘I just wanted to thank you for taking all that in your stride.’
He smiled, momentarily fixed by the steadiness of her gaze. It was resolute, stubborn even, and drew him in. And her eyes were a deep blue-green, like the sea.
He collected himself. ‘I suppose you mean your determination to show you aren’t going to be pushed around?’
She gave a rueful smile. ‘Was it that obvious? Sorry, I didn’t mean you to get caught up in our petty power struggle. Lawrence planned this meeting assuming I’d be at the hospital. Fortunately I was able to rearrange things. Knowing about it also forced me to do something about organising the speakers; with so much else on my mind, I’d kind of let it ride. Thank you for that.’
‘But what’s going on here? Why would Lawrence exclude you?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s nothing. I didn’t see my aunt for a while so now he resents me being here, taking over, as he sees it. You can see his point of view.’
She wandered a few steps towards the gap in the wall separating the patio from the lawn beyond. As usual, he felt she was telling half a story.
‘Maybe,’ he said, drawing level with her. ‘But it’s also obvious that Lawrence is someone who has to be in control. I’ve worked with people like that.’
She turned her head, looking at him curiously, as if seeing him for the first time.
‘You’re right. He does. That’s exactly it.’
He felt himself being examined. He wondered what she saw.
‘I’d better be going,’ he said. ‘I need to check back in at the shop before it closes. And I’ve got a son at home. A single dad, you see. Well, I hope he’s at home anyway. His school broke up today but he’s a wanderer at the best of times. Drives me mad sometimes, trying to keep track of him.’
He turned back to the house, keen to leave now. He was talking too much.
Jo walked with him. ‘How old is he?’
‘Fifteen. Sixteen in a few weeks.’
She seemed on the point of asking something else but choked it back and they returned to the sitting room.
‘I noticed that photo over there earlier.’ He nodded towards it. ‘Is that your mother with Eleanor?’
Barely a glance at the photo. ‘Yes.’
‘It had to be. It’s the way she’s looking at the camera. It’s so like you.’
She looked uncomfortable. ‘Let me see you out.’
At the sitting room door, Matthew paused, stopping her from opening it.
‘Lawrence’s animosity seems very personal,’ he said quietly. ‘Be careful.’
Her expression clouded but she said nothing and he left, wishing he had never made that ‘single dad’ remark and wondering why he had. He didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t want anything.
Chapter 9
‘Were you able to get your phone working?’ asked Jo.
Harry looked disconsolate and shook his head.
‘Maybe an IT guy could rescue the photos though?’
He didn’t answer. It was Saturday morning and finally the boy was back on the beach.
‘It might be possible,’ she said. ‘A laptop died on me once and a computer geek I know managed to get a lot of the files off it. The laptop was toast mind you, but still…’ She shrugged.
He looked at her speculatively. ‘You think this friend of yours could get the photos off my phone?’
‘Oh no. I’m sorry, Harry. Really. That’s kind of difficult. She’s the sister of my ex-boyfriend and I’m not her favourite person, if you know what I mean.’
‘Whatever. It doesn’t matter.’
He picked up a stone and skimmed it half-heartedly over the water. Five skips.
‘I’m getting a new phone for my birthday,’ he mumbled. ‘It was kind of a deal. Dad went ballistic when he found out about the old one. Anyone’d think I did it on purpose.’
‘I guess new phones are pretty expensive. And maybe he was upset about the photos too.’
‘Nah. I told you, he’s not interested in photos of mum.’
A yacht came into sight round the headland and they both turned and watched its apparently effortless progress across the bay.
‘Harry, does your dad run Millie’s?’
He looked into her face, brows furrowed, and glared.
‘Yes. His bright idea for a new life. Why?’
‘Nothing. It’s just that I’ve met him a couple of times - we’re both involved with the literary festival in September.’
‘You’ve been talking about me, haven’t you? You said you wouldn’t tell him.’
‘No. I never mentioned you. It was something he said which made the connection for me.’
‘Oh.’ He wandered away and sat down on his favourite rock, pulling a small digita
l radio out of the pocket of his shorts and ramming the earphone in his ear.
Jo sat down nearby. ‘When is your birthday?’
‘September fourth.’ He restlessly bounced his leg up and down on the ball of his foot. ‘I’ll be sixteen.’ He flicked her a furtive look. ‘I was just kidding when I said I was seventeen.’
She nodded, straight-faced. ‘You know when I said I was thirty-six?’
He turned his head then, curious. ‘Yeah?’
‘I wasn’t…kidding, that is.’ She grinned and he did too, fleetingly, then began to nod his head to the music on his radio, staring out to sea.
Loneliness was etched all over him, a grieving child - he seemed little more - desperately trying to cocoon himself in his own private world because everything around him had crumbled to ashes. She was cross with Matthew, the more so because she thought she liked the man and felt obscurely betrayed. Why was he shutting the boy out like this, refusing to talk about his mother? Had the relationship been that bad?
‘What was your mum like, Harry?’
He turned to look at her. ‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘I think about my mum still, often late at night. She used to read to me some nights before I went to sleep. Other times she seemed to forget I was even there.’ She paused. ‘It’s not easy to talk about her. Isn’t that weird? But she had a great laugh. And when you were with her…’ She smiled ruefully. ‘…somehow you thought everything would work out. No idea why.’
‘Do you miss her?’
‘Yes. Living with her was really difficult at times but…’ She pursed up her lips and sighed. ‘…she was my mum and I loved her. Yes, I miss her. Sometimes. But not like at the beginning. It’s got easier.’
He nodded, still bouncing one foot up and down.
‘My mum was an English teacher. She loved books and poetry. She used to quote poetry sometimes. I hated that.’ An agonised expression contorted his face. ‘And whenever she had time to herself, she was always reading.’
He paused, pulling the earphone out of his ear as if this required his full concentration. Jo could make out the heavy pulse of a bass beat from the earpiece even from where she sat.