The Silence Before Thunder

by Kathy Shuker

  His face puckered and he shook his head. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Look, I just need your help. I’m trying to figure out who you might have seen that night up on the terrace with my aunt.’

  Again the scowl. ‘You’ve not told anyone what I said?’

  ‘No. I’m doing it by myself, trying to eliminate anyone who had a reason to be somewhere else.’

  ‘Oh.’ Now he looked intrigued. ‘Like a P.I. sort of thing?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, something like that, only without the grubby raincoat. So I need to know roughly what time it was you heard those voices. I checked and low tide that night wasn’t until around half eleven. What time would you have got here?’

  ‘I can get around when the tide’s about half way out. Depends how choppy it is.’

  ‘So, what, maybe three and a half hours before low tide?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Is that what you did that night?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘That would make it somewhere around eight o’clock. And how long had you been here when you heard them?’

  ‘Dunno. Not long. Twenty minutes maybe. It was still light. The sun didn’t set till late.’

  She nodded and smiled. ‘That’s great, thanks.’

  ‘Will you tell me what you find out?’

  ‘If I find anything out, I will. Only you’ve got to promise you won’t tell anyone what I’m doing.’

  ‘And get into trouble for being here. No way.’

  ‘Fine. See you soon.’ She smiled and turned to go.

  ‘Jo?’ She looked back and he pulled the earphone lead out of his phone, allowing the music to thump and echo around the beach. ‘You really should learn some moves yourself.’ He raised bent arms again and shimmied his shoulders side to side, shuffling his feet. ‘Come on. Try.’

  She hesitated then lifted her arms and mimicked him, feeling silly but then starting to laugh, stamping her feet and shaking her shoulders to the beat. The song finished and she stopped, grinning and shaking her head.

  ‘I’ve got to go.’

  He grinned back. ‘Nice moves yourself.’

  She laughed again and made her way back up the shore but she wasn’t smiling by the time she reached the steps. There was too much going on in her head. As if finding out who had argued with Eleanor wasn’t problem enough, now she had the added complication of Matthew. On closer acquaintance, he wasn’t what she had expected. Coloured by Harry’s descriptions, she had almost wanted to dislike him. But she didn’t. So was he the difficult, angry person Harry described or the pleasant, softly spoken one she’d sat and had a drink with? Either way, wouldn’t it be wiser to stay away from this all too complicated relationship?

  She climbed the steps, unaware that someone had been watching her talking and dancing with Harry from high up on the cliff, pushed into a gap in the screen of bamboo.

  *

  Frank drew his car into the car park at the back of the pub, killed the engine and glanced at his watch. Twenty past five. He’d arrived ahead of time so there would be no rush. The pub was called the Travellers Arms and stood not far from Jo’s route home from the hospital. He had suggested the rendezvous to her in a text and was a little surprised she had agreed. Need to talk with you, he’d said. Even to him it sounded cryptic.

  He went inside. The place wasn’t busy and the bar was deserted. He ordered a pint, sat at a table nearby, and waited.

  Jo was ten minutes late. He was nearly half way down the pint, agitation making him drink too fast, and he got up as soon as she entered.

  ‘Jojo. Thanks for coming at such short notice. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Thanks. Ginger beer please. Ice, no lemon.’

  She sat down and he came back with the bottle and a glass with ice.

  ‘This is very cloak and dagger,’ she remarked lightly, pouring the beer over the ice and taking a sip.

  He smiled. ‘I suppose it does seem that way. But it’s nice to have a chance to talk - away from all the pressures of that place.’

  ‘That place?’ She raised her eyebrows, replacing the glass on the coaster and fingering the condensation down its sides. ‘How sad that it’s come to that. “That place” used to be a refuge of calm. You told me once that you thought that way too.’

  ‘I did.’ He shook his head. ‘But these last weeks have changed everything, Jo. You know that.’

  ‘I think it changed for you a while back.’

  ‘It did.’

  ‘Irrevocably?’

  ‘You know the answer. Nothing stays the same forever.’

  ‘Change to survive, adapt and thrive, The dodo never did. See how I remember.’

  ‘You always did quote my poetry back at me. It’s a little unnerving.’

  She smiled but her expression gave nothing away. Jo had changed it occurred to him now. As a child she had always been reserved, emotionally restrained: she had spent too much time ducking and diving her mother’s moods. But with Eleanor’s influence she had come out of her shell as she got older and expressed herself more, become easier to read. She was quick and well read - inevitably - and could be good company when she relaxed. But now she looked more shuttered than ever, as if intentionally holding something back. That was unnerving too.

  She took another sip of her drink. ‘Why did you want to see me, Frank?’

  ‘Tell me about Eleanor. I can’t ask on the estate.’

  ‘No? Well, she’s improved but…’ She gave a quick shrug. ‘…it’s kind of superficial. She’s moving better and speaking more clearly but her thoughts get very jumbled and mostly all she can remember is way in the past, like her childhood, sometimes with astonishing detail.’ She glanced up at him, coyly, he thought. ‘She was catheterised but they’ve taken that out which is creating a few issues, shall we say. She gets very frustrated at times.’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘She never did like not being in control.’

  ‘Who does?’ She fixed him with a look. ‘Your text suggested there was more to this meeting than a polite enquiry after Eleanor’s health.’

  He bridled. ‘Why the accusatory tone, young lady? You don’t think I still care about her? We were lovers for a long time, Jo. That doesn’t just go away because you break up.’

  ‘I suppose not. I suppose it depends on why you break up.’

  He studied her shrewdly. ‘You sound like someone who’s recently broken up yourself.’

  ‘It’s a little while now. I took your words to heart: I’m learning to adapt. I’ll survive.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. I’ve always been impressed by your resilience. So was it that Richard? I imagine Eleanor was relieved. But you’d been together a while. I hope he didn’t hurt you too badly.’

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t ask me here to discuss my love life - or the lack of it.’

  Again the cool rebuff. He smiled an acknowledgement and took another draw on his beer.

  ‘OK. You’re right. Though it is nice to be able to talk freely with you. There’s an atmosphere on the estate right now. Everyone’s a bit jumpy. It makes them tetchy.’ He glanced round the pub. ‘This is good: old world, faded, relaxed.’

  Jo said nothing but continued to watch him.

  He met her gaze. ‘Imogen said you were asking about some appointment that Eleanor had made, someone referred to with just a couple of initials.’

  ‘Yes. I bumped into her and asked, just in case she’d seen anyone that night. I know you wouldn’t have - I gather you and Mari were in Exeter.’

  ‘We were. Mari gave a wonderful performance that night to much acclaim. I’m afraid it’s been overshadowed with subsequent events. But, tell me, where has this come from suddenly?’

  She shrugged carelessly. ‘It’s probably nothing. I found something hanging around on a piece of paper and I didn’t pay it much attention at first, then I wondered. It might not have been an appointment though. You know how
bizarre Eleanor’s scrappy notes are.’

  He nodded, choosing his words carefully. ‘The thing is, Jojo, I’d rather you didn’t pursue this with Louisa. She’s pretty rattled by Eleanor’s accident as it is and she’s fragile at the best of times. I don’t want her upset any more.’

  ‘I see. She was here that evening though?’

  ‘Yes, we arrived late afternoon. But what is there to say? She was very tired and had a bath, then an early night. She’d have told the police if she’d seen anyone.’

  ‘Of course. I probably misinterpreted Eleanor’s writing anyway.’

  ‘I’m sure Lawrence would have known if she’d got an appointment with someone.’

  ‘Even a private meeting?’

  ‘Lawrence makes everything Eleanor does his business - or tries too.’

  ‘True. It doesn’t seem to be on his radar certainly.’

  ‘So you won’t speak to Louisa?’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like there’s any point.’ Jo finished the last of her ginger beer, put the glass down and stood up. ‘Thanks for the drink.’ She frowned, then spoke more softly. ‘Are you happy with Louisa, Frank?’

  ‘Really Jo, what a thing to ask a man who’s just got engaged. Of course I’m happy.’ He hesitated, reaching out to take her hand. ‘Louisa isn’t the reason Eleanor and I split up, you know. We simply couldn’t live together. That’s the way it goes sometimes, however much you love someone…’ He shrugged. ‘…they drive you crazy.’

  She smiled sadly, extracting her hand from his grip. ‘I know. I hope it all works out for you this time.’

  He watched her walk away. Yes, Jo had changed. There was a lot she wasn’t saying. Why was that? Had he become the enemy now? The thought saddened him though he couldn’t really blame her. But she hadn’t promised not to speak to Louisa after all that.

  Chapter 12

  Inviting Jo out for a drink was a mistake. Over successive nights, Matthew fretted into the small hours, wondering if he should cancel. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her; he did. He loved her eyes, their vibrancy and warmth, and he liked her natural and unaffected manner; she was direct, like her aunt. And there was a stillness about her which made him feel comfortable somehow. Even the way she regularly arrived late and apologetic for meetings was endearing. But he couldn’t have Jo in his life without pushing Sophie out of it and he couldn’t do that. It was too soon, much too soon. Apart from anything else there was that lingering, barely acknowledged sense of guilt.

  But the house felt emptier than ever and Harry more distant. It would be nice to see her again. In any case Jo had accepted his invitation and he couldn’t go back on his word.

  He finally made the call on the Thursday evening and suggested a drink at The George the following night, maybe a meal too. Keep it simple, he thought, casual. The Mill would suggest something more serious. She accepted and offered to meet him on the village road by the turn-off for Skymeet so they could walk up together. He was there on the dot of seven-thirty; she was late - of course - and apologised, and they walked in an awkward silence. Matthew hadn’t been on a date like this since he was a student and now he was forty-two. He felt old suddenly. This was an absurd thing to be doing.

  They fell into a conversation about the festival, how it felt too last minute and shambolic, how it should have been arranged sooner but, without Eleanor’s guiding hand, had understandably faltered. Jo had tracked down a friend of Eleanor’s, another thriller writer, who thought she might be available to speak and was happy to help out. The subject kept them safely occupied until they were in the pub.

  It was busy but Matthew had rung ahead and reserved a table. They sat by the fireplace - dark and empty through the summer months - and silently studied the menu. Jo was quiet, uncomfortably so. She wasn’t making this easy for him. He went to the bar and ordered.

  ‘What made you choose to come to Petterton Mill Cove?’ she asked when he returned.

  He didn’t want to talk about himself. He should have asked her something first.

  ‘A fresh start. And it’s a lovely place, isn’t it.’

  ‘It is. I’ve always liked it here.’ She hesitated. ‘But why here particularly?’

  ‘I saw Millie’s advertised. It was an opportunity.’

  She was watching him. She was astute: she knew he wasn’t telling the whole story. Perhaps because she never did herself.

  ‘Have you settled in?’ she said. ‘Does your son like it here?’

  ‘More or less. It’s not been a year yet.’ He gave a light shrug. ‘Millie’s takes up more of my time than I’d expected. Naïve, I guess. But Harry’s OK. These things take time.’

  She smiled, then her expression fixed and she shifted her gaze a couple of times slowly to look over his shoulder.

  ‘Are you all right?’ He automatically turned to glance round.

  ‘Yes. It’s nothing. One of the workshop tutors is here. Vincent. He also happens to be my aunt’s cousin, which makes him my…something cousin too, I suppose.’ She was still looking across and she gave a weak smile and nod of acknowledgement to the man somewhere behind him.

  ‘Does he bother you in some way?’

  ‘No, he’s just…’ She looked back at Matthew and the smile mutated to a rueful grimace. ‘I’m never sure where I am with him, that’s all. I hope he doesn’t come over.’

  ‘That’s the trouble with a small place like this. I found it took a bit of getting used to - everyone knowing your business. It’s intrusive. When I first arrived, a couple of the local women found out I was widowed and they tried to organise me, take me out of myself, meet people. Talk about it, they said, it’ll be good for you. Christ, talk about insensitive.’

  He stopped suddenly. Jo was staring at him, wide-eyed with concern or maybe wariness. He could hear an echo of his voice in his own ears and the bitterness it exuded. Anger was never far away, he’d found. It sneaked up on him when he wasn’t looking.

  ‘Maybe I’ve seen this guy,’ he said, trying to shake it off. ‘Some of the tutors come down to the café. There’s a woman who often comes in: loud voice, straight blonde hair and quite a bit of make-up. And that Frank Marwell, the poet you mentioned, he’s been in a couple of times with her. He wasn’t what I’d expected somehow.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I don’t know. You think of poets as being all other-worldly and head in the clouds. He seems fairly normal.’ He laughed. ‘Stupid thing to say. What’s normal anyway?’

  Her lips twitched into a knowing smile, as if party to a secret. ‘You should see Frank perform his poetry. He can sell it.’

  With her gaze fixed in mid-air, she began to recite:

  ‘I remember

  When there were bees,

  Great colonies of them.

  I remember

  Meadows and swaying swathes of colour in the breeze

  And tiny whir-winged messengers, flitting

  From flower to flower.

  I remember

  The heart-slowing drone of their wings

  The sleepy day buzz of them:

  Mailmen, sugar-drunk, gold-dusted.

  I remember.’

  Now she looked embarrassed and grinned. ‘I saw him recite that once. He was mesmerising. There’s more of course but I can’t remember the rest by heart - all about how important the bees are and how sorry we’ll be when they’re gone.’

  ‘You sell it pretty well yourself,’ said Matthew. He found her mesmerising too.

  Their meals arrived and the conversation stuttered. Neither of them seemed sure where it should go next and they ate, wary, exchanging nondescript remarks.

  On the walk back down the hill afterwards, Matthew felt the pressure to speak. In any case there was something he needed to know. Keep it casual, he told himself.

  ‘It must be quite difficult staying here, away from your usual life. Do you have a boyfriend back home? You said you live in Sussex normally?�
�

  ‘Yes, but no boyfriend at the moment. I’ve just broken off an engagement actually. We’d been together a while so it was kind of hard…’ She laughed awkwardly. ‘I don’t have a great record in that department. Anyway, my work can be done anywhere there’s an internet connection these days so being here isn’t a problem. It’s just, you know, difficult with Eleanor at the moment, not knowing…’

  ‘I understand.’

  He opened his mouth to add something, thinking of offering to help somehow, moral support perhaps, but closed it again. He didn’t like hospitals. He had spent too much time in them with Sophie and couldn’t face doing that again. That hospital smell; the sound of trolleys clanking up the corridors; the curtained beds and hushed voices and sympathetic glances from the nurses…

  ‘I hope the festival is a success,’ Jo said suddenly. ‘I want it for Eleanor.’

  ‘Is she pleased it’s going ahead?’

  ‘She doesn’t know what I’m taking about when I mention it. At least I don’t think so. Sometimes she just stares at me. I have no idea what she’s thinking.’

  They had reached the turning for the estate but there was no invitation to go in this time. That was probably his fault for refusing before or maybe for scaring her by sounding so angry.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It was nice to…’ She waved a hand vaguely towards all that lay beyond the trees. ‘…get away from all that for a while.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I enjoyed it.’ He felt clumsy. He should say something else but wasn’t sure what. He had a sudden desire to hug her, just to put his arms round her and hold her for a minute, but pushed the thought away before it could take possession of him.

  ‘Please don’t tell anyone else what I said just now about Eleanor, will you?’ said Jo. ‘It wouldn’t be…’

  ‘It’s all right. I understand. I wouldn’t say anything anyway.’

  She leaned towards him suddenly and stretched up to press her lips briefly to his cheek. ‘Thanks.’ She started to move away. ‘Night Matthew. Thanks again.’

  He watched her go. ‘Night Jo,’ was all he managed to say and she probably didn’t even hear him.

  He glanced at his watch as he trudged down the hill home, Jo’s musky scent still in his nostrils. He had told Harry he was meeting up at The George with someone from the committee, thinking it too soon to explain about the date since it wasn’t likely to lead to anything anyway. He’d been right about that.