The Silence Before Thunder

by Kathy Shuker

  She crept into the side gardens and among the shrubbery, stopping behind a small bay tree, straining to listen, hardly daring to breathe. He had gone the other way, she was almost certain, but it mightn’t take him long to realise that he had been fooled. Where could she go? The beach? No, it was a stupid place to hide - the sea always reflected a little light. But it was low tide somewhere around now. If she kept to the rocks at the side, she would be hard to see and she could climb round like Harry did and get back to the village and safety. Difficult in the dark, yes, but what other option was there? None with Frank prowling around the grounds. He knew them as well as she did, knew all the places to hide.

  She crept out from the shrubbery, straining every sense for a sign of Frank returning. Down on the lower terrace, she made for the steps and turned to go down backwards, gripping the hand rail, moving as fast as she dared. The wind was getting up. In the distance below, she could hear the sea crashing onto the shore. Perhaps the tide had turned already. Even so there would be time. She kept feeling for the next step down.

  As she took the last step onto the shingle, a dark shape appeared on the terrace, looking down. It made for the steps too.

  *

  The sound in the cove drowned out everything. The wind was getting stronger by the minute. Jo edged away, as close in to the cliff as she could and waited, listening. Maybe Frank would have given up or chased the wrong way; maybe she didn’t need to go any further. But she heard shoes on the steps, descending, and she started moving again, hoping the sound from the wind and the sea would mask the crunch of the pebbles beneath her feet. She kept to the right, heading for the big rocks lining the bottom of the cliff lower down the beach, inky black and obscure but offering a more silent route, and clambered onto one, feeling more than seeing what she was doing.

  She kept moving, reaching out her hands, touching the rocks, scrambling carefully, keeping as low as she could. It was slow progress but she was heading in the right direction at least, towards the sea, the headland close on her right. She was sure Frank was coming behind her but didn’t dare look round, afraid she would be more noticeable if she did. She didn’t know him any more; he scared her. She stopped now and then, staying very still, then moving on, flattening herself and keeping close to the cliff as she made towards the relative brightness of the sea. She prayed that Harry was right and that this would be easy.

  Now she was level with the breakers crashing onto the shore. The tide had definitely turned and the weather was closing in. This wasn’t the night for climbing around the headland; it was madness. Whipped up by the wind, the sea had a new energy and was beating inexorably up the beach. She stopped, listened, then cautiously looked round. For a moment she saw nothing, then she made out the shape of a man on the rocks up nearer the beach. He had been following her and now stood, facing towards her, legs apart, balancing against the wind. Could he see her? She couldn’t be sure. She flattened herself even more into the rocks. Already she was bruised and cut, her fingers raw and chilled, but she barely noticed.

  There was no way Frank was going to let her go. He didn’t dare: he knew she would talk. But then he knew Eleanor would talk too. It was impossible to imagine her aunt being sweet-talked into keeping his secret. Jo’s heart sank even further. Eleanor. Please God Imogen and Mari had stayed with her and didn’t leave her back at the house alone. Eleanor would say she was fine, that she didn’t need them, and Frank would be waiting.

  Jo moved on. A huge wave took her by surprise and washed up over her legs but she held on grimly, gritting her teeth, desperately trying to keep her body and the jacket up out of the water. If the cutting and the recorder got wet, she would have no proof of anything. The wave receded and she reached up to the rocks above her, climbing higher, keeping moving. As she came out from the relative shelter of the cove, the full force of the wind hit her, taking her breath away. She steadied herself and moved on.

  Out in the bulge of the headland, exhausted, she managed to find a shelf of rock to rest on. It looked high enough to keep her out of the sea, for a little while at least. Surely she was safe from Frank now. Either way, she had to rest; she couldn’t go any further. With numb fingers, she pulled out her phone. Wonderful: it was still working. Nearly eleven thirty. She had been climbing forever. But she stared at the screen disbelievingly: there was no signal. She rested her head back against the cliff and closed her eyes, too tired even to swear.

  Chapter 24

  Harry wasn’t there when Matthew got home which was no surprise. Matthew had left the concert before the second half had even started and his son had already disappeared. Jo appeared to have slipped out too. He had hoped to speak to her; there were things that needed saying, but she had gone and suddenly the event held no interest for him.

  Now he switched on the television for distraction, opened a bottle of beer and sat on the sofa, directing the remote at the screen, flicking through the stations. Nothing impressed him much. He took a swig of beer from the bottle and settled on some dark-screened thriller. It barely held his attention but he watched the moving pictures and took another pull on the beer. Sophie hated him drinking from the bottle. For more than a year after she’d died he used to pour the beer into a glass. He remembered the first time he’d drunk from the bottle again, in a moment of mental abstraction, and the feeling of guilt. And the acute feeling of loss, twisting him inside, sucking the air out of his body. It had been like that all along: slow, excruciatingly painful steps to acceptance. Jo was wrong if she thought he hadn’t moved on. He had. Just not quickly enough, and not caring enough of his son. He had been too swallowed up in his own pain. But if he hadn’t moved on at all, he would never have asked her out.

  He put the bottle down and stood up again, taking the stairs two at a time up to his bedroom and the box in his wardrobe. This was the box Harry had found when they’d moved in, when Matthew had lost his temper and torn into him. He was mortified when he thought about it now. The box held Sophie’s jewellery and a pile of photographs and Matthew had refused to look at any of it since, had sealed it with tape and put it away. Now he lifted the box onto the bed and sat down beside it, pulling the tape away, pushing back the cardboard flaps.

  There were neat little padded ring boxes and a bigger wooden box which held Sophie’s necklaces and bracelets. Another round box contained her earrings. He wasn’t sure why he kept them all except that he still couldn’t imagine parting with them. He took them out and laid them aside. Then he pulled out a picture frame. It held a photograph of him and Sophie together, his arm round her shoulders. The next frame held a photo of Sophie with Harry, the boy still in short trousers and a shy expression on his face. A tear rolled down Matthew’s cheek and dripped onto his sweater. He managed to brush the next one away with the back of his hand.

  There were other pictures - dozens of them - some in frames, most in albums or loose in envelopes. He didn’t look at them. These two were enough for now. He put the box away and took the two photographs downstairs, propping them up on top of the cupboard in the sitting room.

  He had just done it when he heard a key in the lock and turned and Harry rushed in looking hunted, panting, leaving the door swinging open behind him.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Matthew, concerned. ‘Are you all right?’

  Harry stood, staring wildly at him, as if he had lost the power of speech and was trying to will his father to understand the problem on his own. Matthew stepped round him and pushed the door to.

  ‘You’ve been smoking again,’ he complained. ‘I can smell it on your clothes.’

  ‘Jo’s in trouble.’ Harry’s words came out in a rush. He turned to face his father, clenching and unclenching his hands. ‘I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Jo? Slow down. What do you mean, “she’s in trouble”?’

  ‘She’s being chased by this guy and she’s on the headland somewhere and the tide’s coming in.’

 
Now Matthew paid attention.

  ‘Start from the beginning, Harry. What guy and why is he chasing her?’

  ‘You don’t believe me.’

  ‘Yes, I do. But I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘There’s no time.’

  ‘You have to explain.’

  ‘I was outside The Mill. I was smoking. Yes, I know, I shouldn’t. And I saw Jo leave. Then I saw this guy leave too and he was obviously following her, dead suspicious-looking, so I tagged on and watched what he was doing. Jo went back up to Skymeet and this guy followed. So I climbed over the fence and went after them. She went in the house and then to a room at the back. Her aunt’s study I think. There was a light on and this guy was watching her through the window. Then he went in too.’

  ‘What? He broke in?’

  ‘No, she’d opened the patio door to call the cat in. Anyway they were talking and arguing - I couldn’t hear much of it - and the next thing she ran out of the door and he chased after her. She got away and I’m sure she went down to the beach. I saw the man go down too. I waited for a while but then he came up alone and left. I went down then but there was no sign of her. I think she’s trying to climb round the headland like I do but the tide’s rising quickly and she doesn’t know what she’s doing. We’ve got to rescue her. Dad, please?’

  Matthew put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed.

  ‘It’s OK Harry, we will. We’ll make sure she’s safe.’ He struggled to get his thoughts in order. What was the best thing to do? He turned away and picked up his phone from the table. ‘I’ll ring the coastguard. They’re the only people who’ll be able to find her in the dark. Who was this man, did you see?’

  ‘His name’s Frank Marwell. I think he might be the guy I heard with Jo’s aunt…you know, round about when she fell.’ He hesitated. ‘I was on the beach that night, Dad. I didn’t like to tell you. I heard a man but I didn’t know who it was. I was scared but I should have said. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Matthew pressed the phone to his ear and smiled at his son. ‘You’re telling me now.’ A woman’s voice answered in his ear. ‘Yes, coastguard please. It’s an emergency.’

  *

  Jo hadn’t managed to move from the ledge. The only rocks that seemed to offer any purchase on her way forward were lower down and were already being lapped by the sea. In the dark it was hard to see where else she could go. Perhaps she should go back, but that looked scary now too: the water was washing the last rock she had climbed from. And, dear God, she was so tired and cold and her teeth kept chattering. It was hard to believe she could be this cold when August was barely over. She hugged herself and tried to stay tight and compact to conserve her heat.

  She closed her eyes. She might have dozed a little, she wasn’t sure. Eleanor kept looming into her mind. She hoped Imogen and Mari were looking after her, that they had stayed with her. Of course Lawrence might be around somewhere. Frank hadn’t admitted pushing Eleanor over the cliff but Jo was sure he had done it so it wasn’t Lawrence after all, or Vincent or… She drifted, half asleep, different faces and snatches of conversations running through her mind. But Lawrence didn’t know Eleanor was in danger. No-one else knew. Still, Imogen and Mari would stay with her wouldn’t they...? She dozed again.

  She came to with a start as water washed over the ledge and soaked her trousers. The sea was all around her now, choppy, frothing, buffeting the cliff. There was nowhere else to go. Another wave overran the ledge and soaked her worse than before. She tried to unfurl herself and stand up but she was stiff and weak with the cold and it took time. She stood on shaky legs.

  There was a throbbing noise deep in the back of her head, filling her ears, and then it was all around her and getting louder. She turned her head. A bright light was rapidly approaching and suddenly she was flooded with it.

  A helicopter, and it was scanning the cliffs. She lifted her arms and waved as hard as she could.

  ‘I’m here,’ she shouted ineffectually over the roar. ‘I’m here. Here.’

  The helicopter homed in and now she was sobbing with relief. It was over.

  *

  It was a long night. After her nerve-jangling recue by the search and rescue helicopter, Jo was taken back to the village where they landed in the village car park and were met by the coastguard team on the ground. The on-board paramedic had checked her out but, other than numerous minor cuts and bruises and some mild hypothermia, she had no obvious injuries. She refused to go to hospital anyway. She was fine, she insisted; she had to get home.

  Most of her clothes were sodden and she sat, wrapped in a space blanket, feeling both agitated and yet strangely numb. It was after one in the morning but, through the open door of the helicopter, she could see a small group of local people gathered in the car park to watch what was going on. A police car arrived too and the officer came over to speak to the coastguard crews. She glanced at her watch. She needed to go. She tried to stand up but her legs felt like jelly and she sat down again.

  ‘Jo?’

  ‘Matthew? What are you doing here?’ He was standing at the entrance to the helicopter, peering in anxiously.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She leaned forward. ‘Where’s Eleanor, do you know? Is there someone with her?’

  ‘Don’t worry about her. She’s OK. I’ve spoken to Imogen. They’re all back at the house.’

  ‘Thank God. And Frank?’

  ‘He’s disappeared. I don’t understand what this is all about Jo.’

  A policeman appeared at Matthew’s shoulder and introduced himself, then began asking questions. Matthew disappeared. Jo told her story while the officer took notes with a non-committal expression. She gave him the digital recorder.

  ‘Frank didn’t know I was recording him. I thought the water might have got to it but I’ve checked it and it’s still working. It’s a bit muffled at times but you can hear all the important parts.’

  Then she gave him the magazine cutting and explained how it had been the trigger for Eleanor and also the reason she was pushed over the cliff. The paper was slightly damp but still intact and readable.

  ‘Did Frank Marwell actually admit to pushing her?’

  ‘No-o. He said he only spoke to her on the phone. But he did admit to being upset that she was starting to remember things. I’m sure he did it, officer. He was frustrated and desperate. It was obvious in the way he talked.’

  The police officer nodded slowly, his expression giving nothing away. Jo had begun to doubt whether he believed any of it.

  ‘I’ll need to speak to your aunt too,’ he said.

  ‘Can it wait till tomorrow? She’ll probably be in bed by now. She’s still getting over her fall. I’m very worried about her safety. You have to find Frank Marwell.’

  ‘We’ll look into that, Miss Lambe.’ The officer glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll come back later this morning to speak to your aunt.’

  The next few minutes passed in a blur. The police officer left but the paramedic insisted on checking on her again, telling her she must stay inside, keep warm, take warm drinks to get her temperature up. Then Matthew reappeared with a bundle of dry clothes and ten minutes later she was in the passenger seat of his car, wearing a pair of Harry’s joggers and a sweatshirt, a blanket draped across her. Harry sat in the back, silent, while Jo offered an increasingly rambling account of what had happened.

  ‘That’s an amazing story,’ said Matthew. ‘But Harry’s the hero, you know.’ He glanced in the rear view mirror at his son. ‘He’s the one who raised the alarm.’

  Jo turned to look back at him. ‘Thanks Harry. How on earth did you know?’

  ‘Later,’ said Matthew firmly. ‘Keep that blanket over you, will you?’

  She sat back. The sea and the wind still crashed in her ears but the rush of adrenaline was fading; her eyelids felt heavy and drooped.

  Back at Skymee
t, Imogen and Mari fussed over her, making her tea, pressing her to eat. Eleanor had insisted on staying up, waiting to see her, but the events of the night had taken their toll and she looked pale, exhausted and frayed.

  ‘What on earth are you wearing?’ she demanded, frowning at the joggers rolled up at the ankle and the sweatshirt with doomed printed on the front.

  ‘They’re Harry’s.’ Jo sat next to her aunt on the sofa and flashed Harry a grateful smile. He was sitting on a cushioned stool at a slight remove from everyone else. ‘My clothes got wet.’

  ‘People keep saying it was Frank who caused all this but I don’t understand how.’

  ‘I’ll explain in the morning, Eleanor. Why don’t you go to bed now? I’m fine. It’ll wait.’

  ‘No, I’m not going till you tell me.’ Eleanor glared round at them all. ‘Come on, what is it I’m missing? What is it I can’t remember? I have to know.’

  ‘OK, look, do you remember telling me earlier this evening about the bust of Shelley? How Hugh Shrigley had bought it and shown it both to you and Frank years ago?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been having dreams about that party but they never seemed to finish. It’s been driving me mad.’

  ‘Well, that’s when the whole thing started - at that party.’ Jo explained again, how Frank had gone back to see Hugh afterwards and what had happened. ‘He admitted it, Eleanor,’ she said. ‘Frank told me all this himself.’

  Eleanor searched her face, then looked away, saying nothing.

  ‘You were sent a magazine cutting with a photograph of Frank and Louisa. They were in his study and that bust of Shelley was on a shelf behind them. You must have recognised it and put it all together. You realised Frank shouldn’t have had that bust and you challenged him about it.’

  Eleanor was still silent. Everyone watched her, waiting.