THIRTY-TWO

Simmy had put in an appearance. ‘Oh, Miss Seymour, Arthur likes you and he thinks if you ask my dad what happened to my mother ..

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Will you? Today?’

‘Yes, if I can find your father.’

‘Oh, thank you.’ Simmy’s contorted expression changed into a smile. ‘Arthur says Mr McNeill was an alpha male. The biggest ape in the herd. The one that mates with all the females.’

‘Yes, well you and Arthur ...’ A familiar figure was approaching and Jane was afraid she might have overheard. ‘Corinne. Are you looking for me?’

‘So you’ll ask him?’ Simmy was watching Corinne with narrowed eyes. ‘ A lady who brought her chair to be repaired said we could stay in her caravan in Cornwall, but Dad won’t go.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. As I said, I’ll talk to him later, dear.’ And she would. He would take it badly but knowing Eddie was innocent had given her new energy. However unpleasant he was, she would stick to her principles, refuse to leave until he had told her the truth. ‘Come inside, Corinne. Tea, or I think you prefer coffee.’ Jane had taken to drinking prune juice but now was not the time to discuss digestive systems.

‘I’m not sleeping, Jane.’

‘No, I’m sure.’ She could have added “join the club” but it might have sounded callous, and in any case, Gus’ revelation had meant that, for the first time for days, she had slept for seven uninterrupted hours.

‘It’s Barnaby.’

‘Didn’t he come to see you?’ Jane was staring at the woman from number twenty-two who was carrying a heavy box into her house. Something to do with her DIY? Gus would know.

‘Oh, he came all right.’ Corinne started to explain but a baby’s yells heralded the appearance of the Tidewell family.

‘Morning Jane.’ Tricia Tidewell was trying to force Ada into her buggy while simultaneously attempting to separate Liam and Pippa. She turned to Corinne. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs ... about your ... it was so awful. Ian and I had been thinking of having our loft converted. Oh, I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. Stop it, Liam, what did I tell you?’

‘Do as you’re told, Liam.’ Jane sounded fiercer than she had meant to, but it worked. ‘Stand still, Pippa. And you, Liam, can hold the buggy while your mother straps in Ada.’

‘Oh, Jane, it must be because you used to be a headmistress.’

‘Head of department. Go inside the house, Corinne, I’ll be with you in a second.’ School holidays were always too much for Tricia but, instead of buying them more and more toys and games, she should be teaching the two older children how to behave, if necessary, sending them to their respective bedrooms.

‘Sorry.’ Tricia was making her apologetic face. ‘Tell Corinne I didn’t mean ... about Ian wanting a loft conversion.’

‘Tricia?’

‘Yes. Oh, is there something I can do to help? I always feel so useless. Ian is away again; he says working away is less tiring than being at home.’

‘He should do his fair share.’

‘Except I was the one who wanted another baby. Ian thought two was enough. He said if we had another it would be no good asking him to help.’

‘I see.’ Jane did, but had no wish to discuss the matter. ‘Tricia, I meant to ask you, were you about on the afternoon of Noel’s ...’

‘I can’t remember.’ Tricia pulled down her white hair band. ‘I could have gone to the park. Saturday, it was a Saturday. I’ll have a think. You’re wondering if I saw something.’ Some of the wisps of hair had been caught. ‘If someone went up to the loft with Noel. Only why would they? Is that what you were thinking?’

‘Was Ian here? I mean, do you suppose he could have noticed what time Noel went up there?’

‘Ian? He never notices anything. And I’m always occupied with the children.’

‘It’ll be easier when they’re all at school.’

‘Yes, but ...’

Jane waited. Surely the silly woman wasn’t planning a fourth child.

‘I’ll have to find a job and I’m not qualified. I passed art and geography but not maths and you have to pass maths. Why did you want to know – about Noel going up to the loft?’

‘No reason. Just to get the facts correct.’ Jane lowered her voice. ‘For Corinne’s sake.’

‘Oh yes, of course.’ Tricia’s face flushed scarlet, and Liam and Pippa were silent, and even Ada was sitting quietly in her buggy. Did she know something? Had she been one of Noel’s admirers? No, of course not, she wasn’t his type, quite apart from the fact she never had any time on her own.

Back in the house, Jane found Corinne lying on the sofa with her eyes closed. In spite of her fragile state, she had still managed to apply ample amounts of eyeshadow and rouge. No, these days it was called “blusher”. And there was something called “eyeliner” that made people look like pandas.

‘He wanted money, Jane. Barnaby – he only came because he wanted money. For gambling debts. Not horses, football. Only they don’t play football in the summer.’

‘I believe they do in Australia.’ Should she tell Corinne how the boy had forced Noel to give him a “loan”? Not much point now, except Noel had been afraid the boy would ask for more? Was that what had happened – and had Noel refused? And Barnaby had followed him and ...

‘I’m not like you, Jane.’ Corinne hauled herself into a sitting position and fluffed up her hair. ‘I’ve never had a job, not a proper one. I did work in a shop for a few weeks when I was sixteen. Then I met Gerard and solicitors earn such a lot – just for letters and phone calls. It’s extortion. Me and Noel weren’t actually married. I told you that, didn’t I? It was only because Gerard was being silly about a divorce, I mean about the house, Gerard’s house. And mine. If you’re married even if you didn’t pay for the house and —’

‘You have no money of your own?’

‘I thought ... you’ll be shocked, Jane, but I thought he might have me back.’

‘Gerard might?’ Jane was shocked but managed not to show it. Still, when it came to the crunch, people were pragmatists, even if they pretended otherwise. Corinne never pretended. Something in her favour, although there was a place for subterfuge. ‘Are you sure that’s what you want, dear?’

‘I’m no good on my own.’

‘No, I see.’ Jane was thinking about the woman who had bumped into Barnaby in his birthday suit. Fiona. His father’s secretary. ‘It might be best if the suggestion came from Gerard.’

‘You’re so sensible, Jane.’

‘Take things slowly, test the water.’ Jane took a deep breath. ‘I wouldn’t be asking you this, Corinne, if it wasn’t important. Do you know what happened to Simmy’s mother?’

Corinne brightened considerably. ‘Oh, didn’t you know – she drowned. Noel told me but you must promise not to tell Simmy. It was in Cornwall. Noel was staying nearby at the time. It was in the local paper. The inquest and everything. Simmy thinks she died of natural causes and Dave wants to keep it like that.’

‘Yes, I see.’ Jane didn’t, but it was a start. ‘Do you know any more about what happened?’

‘No. Sorry. Death’s so final, isn’t it, so hard to take in. I can’t believe ... sometimes, for a moment, I forget and —’

‘To get back to your financial situation, perhaps you should consult your solicitor, if you have one. Do you have enough to tide you over?’

Corinne stood up. She had spotted one of Eddie’s paintings, a small one, not her usual style. Pigs – Old Spots – wallowing in mud. ‘Oh, did Eddie do that? Isn’t it clever. I’d give anything to be able to paint like that. I’m quite creative but ... Noel liked pigs.’

‘Did he?’ She had spoken about him in the past. Progress, Jane thought, although she could be being over-optimistic. All the same, there was something about Corinne that had made her think the grieving widow – well, not precisely, since they had not been married – was tougher than she thought. And a good solicitor might mean she kept the house, although Harriet, the woman at the funeral, had said he had a son. Did Corinne know about him? Unlikely. ‘I tell you what, why don’t you have the pig painting, take it home with you?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t.’

Jane took the picture off the wall – it was not one she liked very much – and ushered Corinne out of the house. ‘A solicitor, dear. Doing something practical usually makes one feel a little better.’

‘Thank you so much, Jane.’

For the advice or the pig painting? And was she heartbroken or just a very convincing actress? Supposing she had found out the love of her life had rekindled his affair with Willa. Or the woman in the park that Arthur said Simmy had seen. Heav’n has no rage like love to hatred turn’d.

Closing the door on Corinne, her thoughts returned to Gus. The previous day, in an effort to return to normality, she had attended her choir. Hoping they would sing something inspiring, she had been disappointed when most of the songs were about unrequited love, apart from the one about a dove. During the tea break, a woman she had never spoken to before approached her with an inquiring look on her face, and asked if she knew Gus. Jane said he was her neighbour, and the woman – she thought her name was Deborah – became quite excited and said she had been a regular at his camera shop and how upset she had been when it closed. Such a dear, sweet man, so kind when my husband died. When you lose someone, those little contacts are so important.

Gus, a dear, sweet man? Jane had never visited his shop, but Deborah’s description had made her realise how important it had been to him, not just a source of income. Not that he would ever admit it. As Deborah droned on about her dead husband, Jane realised coming to choir practice had been a mistake. Normally a good listener, she had felt too raw, too self-absorbed to empathise with other people’s pain.

The phone interrupted her thoughts. Matron from The Spruces. Eddie had been talking about the weekend at home and in the circumstances they had felt obliged to contact the police.

‘I phoned a little earlier, Miss Seymour, but you must have been out.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, was it something important?’ When she was on the doorstep, talking to Simmy? She would have to turn up the volume on her phone.

‘I’m afraid it’s bad news. Miss Knox had another stroke.’

‘Oh, dear, I’ll come at once.’

The pause was probably less than a second, but felt like several minutes. Long enough for Jane to know what was coming next.

‘I’m very sorry, Miss Seymour, I’m afraid she passed away.’

‘Thank you.’ She should have been prepared. She wasn’t. Eddie had been difficult, a worry, a nuisance. The months, if not years had stretched ahead. More nursing care would be necessary, and more money to pay for it. Eddie would become incontinent, possibly violent, and fail to recognise her. ‘I’ll come anyway, shall I? Yes, of course, I’ll come now.’

‘Do you have a friend or neighbour? Someone who lives close by?’

‘I’ll be with you shortly.’

Rousseau wanted his dinner. ‘Eddie’s dead,’ Jane said, and he ran on ahead of her with his tail in the air. One short sleep past, we wake eternally. And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.