by Mary Grand
There was a double garage, the door open. Beth could see a motor bike and Patrick’s car, back from the garage. He must be here somewhere: she rang the doorbell again; still no answer.
Beth walked along the front of the house. She couldn’t see anyone through the windows. Either side of the house there were enormous locked gates. There was no way she could get around the back.
She called out for Patrick, and finally someone shouted, ‘Hold on. I’ll unlock the gate.’ Sean opened it and let her in.
‘Sorry. I rang the doorbell. Patrick asked me to come round.’
‘He’s probably got his headphones on. Come on through into the garden while I find him.’
Sean locked the gate while she walked ahead. There was no one in the garden and she felt rather self-conscious walking on her own. She started to feel like she was intruding. The temporary fence was still there. She walked down towards it; was it really less than a week since Kathleen had died?
Beth looked out to sea and then realised something was missing from the scene. A sound. She looked to her left: the hens, they had gone, and not only the hens but the coop, the run, everything. There were holes in the grass, and some grain but nothing else remained. Beth found it heart breaking. Kathleen would have hated it. However, her mind returned to the morning Kathleen died. It was odd about the hens. Kathleen would never have let them out, so how did they come to be running around the garden?
’I’ve tracked him down,’ said Sean and she followed him back towards the house.
‘How is he?’
‘He doesn’t say much. He is on his computer a lot, looking at photos.’
Beth looked back to sea. ‘The last time I stood there was with Kathleen, in the dark. I feel somehow like I’m stuck there. Nothing makes sense any more.’
‘I’ve been speaking to Kathleen’s mother. She’s devastated, of course.’
Beth blinked. ‘I’d not even thought about her family over there; only how it was affecting me. That’s awful, isn’t it? She has a sister, hasn’t she?’
‘Yes. Roisin. A few years older than her.’
‘Do you know her family? Sorry, I tend to assume that because you are from Dublin as well you are bound to know her, like people think everyone here on the Isle of Wight knows each other.’
‘I do know them a bit. I first met them at Pat and Kathleen’s wedding. My wife had been to school with Roisin.’
‘Your wife must be missing you. How long are you staying?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m concerned about Pat. I can’t leave him yet. He worshipped her, you know, from the first time he saw her. You know, he wouldn’t let me meet her for months.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘He was paranoid, scared she’d prefer me. Crazy. I was happily married, but he had this thing that I was in a steady job, she’d prefer that and, of course, if she made a play for me, I wouldn’t be able to resist. Pat never trusted anyone with Kathleen.’
Beth looked down. ‘And their marriage stayed strong, did it?’
Sean screwed up his face. ‘Of course. Why are you asking?’
‘It’s a bit confusing.’ Beth looked at the badge of a shamrock pinned to Sean’s jumper. ‘Erm, happy St Patrick’s Day. Sorry, I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to say.’
‘It’s fine. Kathleen loved it.’
‘I haven’t cancelled the get-together at the pub tonight. You could mention it to Patrick. You are both welcome, but obviously I’m not expecting him to come.’
‘I’ll tell him.’
‘It’s one of those things we have done for years. On St David’s Day Kathleen always brought me a bunch of daffs, and we’d go up the pub, just the two of us. This year was the first time we missed that.’ Beth paused, remembering the text:
Sorry, I can’t make today. Life’s hectic, but Happy St David’s Day.
Beth felt a pang of guilt as she remembered she’d been offended by Kathleen cancelling, and had been off hand in her reply. Why on earth hadn’t she realised then that something was very wrong?
‘The Family Liaison Officer, Sue, has been round a few times,’ Sean said.
‘Oh, good. I wondered if they were keeping you up to date.’
‘She seems competent, reassuring. Tells Pat just what he needs to know.’
Beth tried to keep her voice level, calm. ‘On the morning that Kathleen died, when they were all down here, do you know if they found anything unusual?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ve had a few chats with them. Sue said they didn’t find any footprints, no physical objects that had been left, no scraps of material or hairs: nothing. She said they also check things like broken branches or for signs of a struggle. No, there was nothing.’
‘So they don’t think anyone had come down here? There wasn’t a hint that someone could have come and attacked Kathleen?’
Sean looked puzzled by her intensity. ‘That’s been troubling you? I have to admit it seemed highly unlikely to me.’
‘Sami and Alex were saying they were asked about what they were doing on Monday morning. Obviously, I don’t think they were suspected of anything, but I did wonder if they were doing routine checks because they had suspicions of foul play as they call it.’
‘I’m surprised they were asked questions like that, but in my conversations with the police, no one suggested anything had been amiss.’ Sean gave a slight smile. ‘Having said that, Patrick did tell me they’d checked he’d not taken out some massive life insurance on her, but of course he hadn’t.’
They started to walk back to the house.
‘Patrick told me you were coming to go through some of Kathleen’s things. That’s kind of you. By the way, if you find Kathleen’s phone and headphones could you let us know? We can’t find them anywhere and they should have been down there. She usually used them for her mindfulness, and anyway, she always had her phone with her.’
‘It’s odd. Weren’t the police concerned about that?’
‘They said they had noted it, like the hens.’
‘Ah. Did they manage to find out how they escaped?’
‘Funny. They did look into it. There were never padlocks on but the hen coop door and the gate to the run were secured with substantial sliding bolts. Both had been slid back. It must have been something Kathleen did by mistake.’
‘I can’t think why she would do that.’
‘I think it will be written off as one of those things.’
Beth couldn’t feel as relaxed about it as Sean: things didn’t add up.
‘It’s great you are helping with the clothes. Pat has no idea what to do with them, and I’m no help with that kind of thing. It seems a shame to dump them.’ Sean sighed. ‘Sorry, it’s not a particularly pleasant thing to have to do.’
‘I don’t mind. Anything I can do to help. You more than most of us know how much practical stuff needs doing when someone dies. I hadn’t been at all prepared for it when my mother died. I’m an only child. I was so glad of a solicitor who was joint executor. I’d have been lost without him.’
‘I’ve been working through things. I’ve already sorted out her car, so he doesn’t need to worry about that.’
‘And what about Conor? How is he doing?’
Sean bit his lip, raised his eyebrows. ‘Conor’s a complicated lad, isn’t he? Him and Pat get on well. He might stay, although he had been talking about going travelling after his exams. I’m not sure what he’ll do now.’
They walked through large patio doors into the open living space. At one end Beth could see Patrick with his back to her, engrossed on his computer. She walked towards him and then stopped. On the screen she could see a picture of Kathleen. Patrick seemed to be using a programme to enhance the photo, making the eyes a bit bluer, a bit wider. Beth watched, feeling uneasy, remembering what Gemma said about Patrick’s obsession with Kathleen, remembering his words, ‘You are mine for ever now.’ Was it possible that Patrick’s obsession was deeper, darker than anyone had e
ver realised and Kathleen was secretly desperate to get away? Patrick might have been fighting to keep her, threatening even to kill her if she tried to leave him and so she’d kept quiet. If Beth was right about that, then Kathleen’s plan had been to reveal all the next day, but death had intervened, silenced her.
Beth steadied herself, some of that was possible, but the final step was not. Patrick had conveniently ensured he was not here. He appeared at least to have no way of getting here that morning.
Beth heard Sean shout, ‘Pat.’
Patrick turned, slowly blinked as if surprised to see them, and then quickly closed the programme. ‘Beth. Hi. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘Sean let me in the garden. I see it’s all back to normal out there.’
‘Thank God. They’ve taken down that awful tape.’
‘The hens have gone?’
‘Jilly next door has taken them on. Honest to God, I had no idea what to do with them. I feel guilty. Kathleen loved them so much, but they are better off with Jilly.’
‘That’s a good idea. Kathleen would have wanted the best for them.’
‘Jilly’s made up with them. Strange isn’t it?’ Patrick stood up. ‘Let me get you a drink. Have you had lunch?’
‘Yes, thanks. A cup of tea would be lovely, though.’
Although Patrick had stood up, Sean went to make her drink.
They went upstairs together, Beth carefully carrying her mug of tea. Patrick pushed open the door to Kathleen’s room, but Beth noticed he stayed at the entrance.
‘Sean has put boxes there. If you could put in things for the clothing bank, things for charity. If you want anything—’ He paused.
Beth smiled. ‘Kathleen was a few sizes smaller than me, so, no thank you. Don’t worry. I’ll sort things out.’
‘Her books as well?’
‘Of course.’ Beth was aware Patrick was looking straight at her, averting his eyes from the rest of the room. ‘Are you sure you want me to do this today? You don’t have to rush this, you know.’
‘No, please. I’d like you to do it.’ Beth saw the flash of pain, real grief.
‘OK, fine. You can leave me to it if you want.’
Patrick walked quickly away. Beth felt awkward: this was Kathleen’s private space.
She found a coaster and put her mug on the bedside table, Then she went over and nervously opened a large fitted wardrobe, full of beautiful clothes that looked like and smelt of Kathleen. It was a shock, more upsetting than she anticipated.
At the bottom she saw a small wooden box, which she opened. Inside were some scarves which Beth took out and put on the bed. Inside, at the bottom, was a small jeweller’s box which she opened. Inside was a pair of stunning earrings, which Beth recognised straight away as matching the necklace Amy had given Kathleen. She held them up. The light shone in a thousand tiny beams of light. What surprised her was the name on the box: De Beer, the diamond company. So, they were real. Her hand shook. These were very expensive earrings and they matched the necklace Amy had given Kathleen. But why were the earrings shut in a box down here?
She picked them up and went to Kathleen’s dressing table, opened the drawer. In there was a large, leather jewellery box. She put the earrings inside it, alongside the other bracelets and earrings: very good quality but nothing as special as these. Beth noticed a small clear bag containing a thin square box and was curious. She opened it, and found a large silver coin with a heart and butterfly engraved on it. It was very Kathleen. Beth smiled, put it back and returned to sorting clothes.
Taking a deep breath, she realised most were immaculate and, she reckoned, could be folded carefully and put in the box for the charity shop.
Beth decided to start with coats and jackets. Put the heavy things at the bottom of the box. Starting with a beautiful camel jacket, she checked pockets before folding them. She realised that if someone did this with her coats, they would be pulling out handfuls of tissues, a roll of dog poo bags, the odd cough sweet, but Kathleen was obviously far more meticulous than her. It wasn’t until she got to a thick wool coat that she found anything, and that was a tiny scrunched up piece of paper, pushed deep inside the pocket.
Beth pulled it out and was about to throw it in the small wastepaper bin when out of curiosity she started to unfold it. It was a receipt from a supermarket in London: not many items. What caught Beth’s attention was one item: a pregnancy test. It had been purchased in the January of that year.
Beth stared at the piece of paper. Was it possible that Kathleen had been pregnant? Had she been pregnant when she died? Beth sat on the edge of the bed. It would come out in the post-mortem. No one had mentioned it yet. Had Patrick known he was about to be a father? What if the father had been the person Kathleen had the affair with? Beth felt a wave of nausea. She thought of Sami. Oh God, no.
The idea of Sami being unfaithful broke her heart. The idea of him fathering a child with Kathleen smashed that broken heart into a million pieces. A one night fling she might have eventually forgiven, but to have fathered a child… No, she didn’t think she would ever get over that. Sami would have known that. He knew his whole way of life would have been lost for ever, and if any part of him had wanted to preserve that, the pressure to silence Kathleen would have been immense. Beth stared at the receipt: a tiny, scruffy bit of paper, but one that might be the touch paper that destroyed her entire life.
12
Beth returned home numb, exhausted. On the kitchen table she saw the copy of the local paper Sami had brought in that morning. She picked it up, expecting to read about one the usual rows about whether to build a fixed link to the island or how to fulfil the latest quota of new houses. She was not prepared for what faced her. Smiling at her on the front page was Kathleen, a copy of one of Patrick’s photos taken in the garden of their old home, the hens in the background. ‘Much loved local woman dies in tragic cliff death’. The whole page was given over to Kathleen’s life and death.
Shaking, Beth sat down and read the article. It was so strange: she had to keep reminding herself this was her friend they were writing about. There were warm words from people Kathleen had worked with, a few from Patrick. The detective inspector overseeing the case spoke briefly, saying that Kathleen’s death was being treated as ‘an unexplained death, but at present it appeared to be a tragic accident’.
It was the next part that was news to Beth. ‘Early on the morning the victim died, close to the house, a silver car was seen parked between 6.50 and 7 a.m. The car was parked off road, in the entrance to a house opposite. If you have any information, please contact us on this number—’
Beth reread the sentence: a car parked by Kathleen and Patrick’s house at the time she died? Her heart beat faster. A car, why would they be asking about a car? Did anyone who had been there on Sunday evening have a silver car? Of course, her car was silver but neither Sami, William, Imogen or Alex had a silver car, and Patrick’s had been in the garage.
Obviously a different car could have parked close by in all manner of places but this showed that the police were still asking questions. The matters of the phone, the hens, and now the car all stacked up. Despite Sean’s reassurances, the police believed that there were at least some reasons to suspect someone had been involved in Kathleen’s death. Beth had a moment wondering if she should be sharing what she knew with the police but dismissed it immediately. She had to know more about Sami and Kathleen before she did anything.
Ollie, as always, seemed to sense she was unhappy and came and sat next to her. ‘I think I’d better at least pretend to do some weeding. I’ll go mad just sitting in here,’ she said to him. He followed her outside. Ollie rolled around on the grass, wonderfully at peace with his existence.
When Sami arrived home from work, he looked exhausted. He stood, half turned back to the back door.
‘Hi. So, how did Layla get on with her exams? How did you get on with Patrick?’ he asked.
‘I have no idea how Layla got on
. As for Patrick’s—’ she paused, wiped the mud off her hands. Sami was clearly impatient to go up and change out of his ‘work clothes’ and so she said, ‘It went OK.’ Sami headed upstairs.
Beth started to empty the dishwasher but decided no, she had to talk to Sami. They couldn’t go out this evening acting as if nothing was wrong. She couldn’t face asking him about his relationship with Kathleen, but there was something she could ask him. How he answered may well give her the answers she needed. Before she could change her mind, Beth ran upstairs, went into their bedroom, and closed the door behind her.
‘Sami, I need to ask you something,’ she blurted out. ‘Was Kathleen pregnant?’
Sami did a long hard blink, and sat on the edge of the bed loosening his tie. ‘Why do you ask that?’
Beth told him about the receipt.
‘That doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Kathleen bought a pregnancy testing kit. She thought she was pregnant. I think that matters. Has this anything to do with her being in hospital?’
‘Beth, stop pushing me about all this. It doesn’t matter any more.’
‘It does. Why are you keeping secrets from me?’
‘Beth, what has got into you? I made a promise not to tell anyone certain things. You have to respect that.’
‘But—’
‘No, enough.’ He stood up. ‘Now, can we have a decent night out at this St Patrick’s meal without you endlessly speculating about Kathleen?’
He opened the bedroom door, anxious to get away, but she said, ‘Did you see all that stuff about a silver car seen by Kathleen’s house the time she died?’
He turned. ‘It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘You don’t want to talk to me about a lot of things, do you?’ she said quietly.