WHEN VERA GOT BACK TO THE Seahorse, Joe and Holly were sitting in the lounge bar, with drinks and cutlery in front of them. They were chatting as if they were almost friends. Vera wasn’t sure what she made of that. It was good that they had a constructive working relationship, but she wouldn’t want them forming some sort of alliance against her.
The lounge had been arranged with tables, like a restaurant, but it still felt like a traditional pub. There was no television. No piped music. A coal fire belted out the heat and covered every undusted surface with a fine coating of soot. The dining tables were a new addition in the lounge. The Seahorse had only just started serving food, an attempt to attract tourists as well as the locals. In theory. In the snug, which had its main door from the street, there was lots of noise. It seemed all the islanders had decamped there.
Vera looked across the hall into the smaller room, at the locals standing at the bar, the elderly men playing dominos, the women at the dartboard, and felt a moment of envy. In the over-heated bar, there was a sense of community which she’d never experienced in her personal life, except perhaps when she went to visit Jack and Joanna. They always managed to make her feel welcome.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘They’re planning on going skinny-dipping in the lough in the morning. A kind of tribute to Rick Kelsall. I might go and watch.’ A pause. ‘I might even join them.’
The look of horror on the young officers’ faces made her laugh. ‘Ah, I’m only kidding. About me, at least. The world’s not ready for that. But really, I thought you youngsters weren’t into body-shaming. You should have a word with yourselves.’
A young waitress arrived and Vera ordered pie and chips and a pint. She waited until the lass had disappeared behind the bar before speaking again.
‘Did you find out any more about the single woman who was staying on the island on Friday night?’
‘Yes.’ Holly was drinking white wine and soda, which had never seemed like much of a drink to Vera. Neither one thing nor the other. ‘She was staying here. Gave her name as Joanne Haswell, but no ID was required and she paid in cash.’
‘So, she hadn’t booked in advance?’ Vera thought that was very strange. Would you just turn up to a place like Holy Island on spec and risk being stranded with nowhere to stay?
‘No.’
‘Was that usual?’
‘The landlady thought it was a bit weird, but there’s not much call for single rooms, apparently, not over half-term at least, so there was no problem finding her a place.’
‘Have we got a description?’ Vera was running through possibilities. ‘Was she a young woman?’
Holly shook her head. ‘Middle-aged. The landlady checked her in and had her down as a teacher making the most of the last weekend of half-term. She didn’t remember anything else.’
‘Not one of Kelsall’s victims seeking revenge then,’ Vera said. ‘Those were all young lasses, weren’t they?’
‘I still haven’t got any details,’ Holly said, ‘but that’s certainly the impression given in the press.’
Vera took out the photograph she’d taken from Annie Laidler. She wiped the table with a napkin and put it so they could all see. ‘This is the Pilgrims’ House lot, at that first weekend. Still kids.’ She pointed with a stubby finger. ‘In the middle is Judy Marshall, the teacher. Let’s see if we can track her down. She hardly looks older than they are, so she’s probably still alive. Can you recognize the others?’
‘That’s Annie! She’s hardly changed.’ Joe shook his head. ‘The others? That’s obviously the glamorous Charlotte and the short, skinny one is Rick Kelsall.’ A pause. ‘He’d have been bullied at our school, looking like that.’ He pointed to the two lads standing together. ‘And they’d have been the ones doing the bullying.’
‘Ken and Philip,’ Vera said. The lads were staring out at the camera, intense, unsmiling. She stuck out her finger again. ‘That’s Annie’s ex, Daniel. I’ll talk to him. He was at the first reunion when this woman died, apparently after having a major row with Rick Kelsall. And this is the deceased: Louisa’s big sister, Isobel Hall.’ Her finger hovered over the image. ‘She’s bonny too, isn’t she?’
Bonny, she thought, was an understatement. The young woman was wearing a high-waisted floral dress, and she had a black cloak around her shoulders. It looked as if she was an actor in a romantic costume drama, but perhaps the girls did dress like that in the seventies, even when they weren’t trying to impress. The breeze had caught her hair and dark curls were blowing away from her face. Vera spoke to the woman in the picture.
‘Eh lass, let’s find out why you died.’
It was nearly closing time and though the noise in the public bar was as loud as ever, the lounge was empty. Holly and Joe had finished their meals and headed upstairs. To their separate rooms. Vera had a little giggle at the thought that it might be otherwise. She’d slipped in another beer when the pie had arrived and drunk it so quickly that it had gone to her head. A proper pint! It was impossible to imagine Holly and Joe having a wild night together. Joe was too upright and Holly too uptight. But all the same … She giggled again.
She climbed the stairs with its threadbare carpet to her room. It was big and draughty, and over the bar. She propped the photo up against the dressing table mirror, and random thoughts drifted in and out of her head, as the sounds of the late drinkers provided a background.
Only Connect. Let’s connect those young things to the people they’ve become and we might get some sort of answer. She was still listening to the laughter below when she fell asleep.