Chapter 16

Did dust collect if a room was uninhabited? Somewhere, Erin had read that dust was particles of skin, but no one has been in Claudia’s front room for days. Then she remembered the police. And the time she had planned to switch the television on for Maeve, so she could talk to Jon.

A thin layer of dust covered the mantelpiece, where Claudia had positioned her collection of glass and china cats, and a pair of white kittens, nose to nose. She had enjoyed collecting, an excuse to go from junk shop to junk shop, searching. Before the cats, it had been horses but, for some reason, they had been abandoned. Why? But Erin had never understood how Claudia’s mind worked. Even as a young child, she would announce her latest craze – shells, pressed flowers, marbles, or some game they all had to play with her – dropping each new obsession as quickly as she had taken it up. They had both longed for a pony, but only ever ridden them on holiday. Erin had been a natural, but Claudia had bumped up and down on the saddle, complaining that the pony was going too slowly, or too fast. Nothing was ever her fault.

Picking up one of the cats, a blue one that bore no relation to a real cat, Erin found it was sticky, as though the last person who touched it had been eating sweets. It was bound to be Claudia, with her love of chocolate and jelly babies, and Erin could almost hear her voice, loud, filled with laughter. Look, Ollie, I bought this one in a second-hand shop in Newquay. Isn’t he sweet? He’s called Tom.

Living in Claudia’s house was making her morbid – if Ollie had hung around it might not have been so bad – and she was relieved when Jon turned up, just as she was dragging the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard under the stairs, a cupboard full of junk, old cardboard boxes and cans of paint.

‘Having a clear out?’ He had such a serious expression, she tensed, afraid he had come with bad news. ‘I could help if you like.’

‘It’s all right, I’ll do it later.’

‘Do your windows have locks?’

‘I’ve no idea. Actually, I’m thinking of changing the locks on the front door, having stronger ones fitted. I don’t suppose you know a locksmith, someone local?’

‘Supposing Ollie comes back.’

‘Yes, that’s why I’ve put it off.’ She was thinking about the money in the desk and wondering if Claudia had been keeping it to pay someone for work carried out on the house, cash in hand. Several small jobs needed doing, an upstairs window that refused to close, a patch of damp in the bathroom, tiles missing on the roof of the kitchen extension.

She could have told Jon about the man in the graveyard. Instead, she said she had been unable to find a copy of the photo of Ollie and Kent. ‘If I do, I’ll let you know. Kent’s got thick white hair. In his late fifties, I’d say. I only went to the play so I could see what he was like and, to be honest, I thought he was going to be one of Claudia’s beautiful young men.’

He laughed, and she thought, that’s better, I need someone to cheer me up, not drag me down. He was wearing new clothes, at least they were new to her, grey jeans, a tartan shirt and a denim jacket, and as he climbed the stairs ahead of her, he had to dip his head to avoid the chandelier, another of Claudia’s impulse buys.

Up in the loft, he pretended to be studying her drawing of the mynah bird. Playing for time? Preparing himself to tell her something he should have told her days ago?

‘One of the doctors wondered if Claudia could have got her dates wrong,’ she said

‘What makes him think that?’ He pointed at the dormer window where big drops of rain were landing.

‘Yes, I know.’ So they were going to talk about the weather. ‘The doctor was a woman. I shouted at her.’

‘Why?’

‘She said the baby was larger than she would have expected. No, that’s not why I shouted. It was the way she was talking, not looking at me, not really bothered—’

‘That’s good, isn’t it? The baby.’

So he had failed to reach what, to her, was the obvious conclusion. ‘It was all so sudden, Claudia and Ollie. They met in July and by the end of August he’d moved in. I thought . . . Do you think it’s possible she was pregnant when they met but the father of the baby didn’t want to know?’

Jon frowned. ‘She’d have done that to Ollie?’

‘If she didn’t relish the prospect of bringing up a child on her own.’

He thought about this. Or perhaps he was thinking about something entirely different. With Jon, it was impossible to tell. ‘Do the doctors think the baby’s going to be all right?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But so far it’s developing normally.’ He was humming under his breath, a sure sign he was trying to summon up the courage to say something that would be unwelcome. ‘I can’t stay long. Diana’s at the shop and Maeve’s with a neighbour.’

So why choose this particular time to put in an appearance? ‘Has she really got a sore throat?’

‘When she was younger, colds tended to turn to chest infections. She’s toughened up as she’s grown older, but Diana still worries, she’s the worrying kind. How’s your work going?’

‘My editor’s been on at me, but that’s nothing new. I told her about Claudia but I don’t think it sunk in. Or if it did, it made no difference.’ Her throat hurt. Perhaps she was developing Maeve’s mythical cold. Pulling open a drawer, she took out her thickest cardigan, one her mother had knitted for her when she was in her teens. Even after all those years, it still had the oily scent of unwashed wool from a Jacob’s sheep.

‘I find a deadline helps,’ Jon said. ‘I had to finish a paper for the conference. Stayed up half the night.’ Now he was studying the sketches of chipmunks, some leaping from branches, some curled up asleep. ‘You and Claudia are so different.’

‘I thought you said you didn’t know her that well.’ She was losing patience. ‘Look, if there’s something you’ve found out, something that was going on before the . . . Don’t you think it’s stressful enough with the baby and not knowing if it was an accident or . . . There’s a man wearing a hoodie who stands in the road. And there was someone hanging about in the graveyard at the back. I saw him through the window but by the time I’d—’

‘Did you call the police?’

‘No, of course not. I expect he was looking for somewhere to shelter. Anyway, there was something far worse than a harmless tramp. A rat.’

‘Where? In the house?’

‘No, in the churchyard. Rats don’t usually go inside houses, do they?’ Her heart was thumping, but it had nothing to do with the rat. She needed someone she could trust and, until recently, she had thought Jon was that person. ‘Well, do they?’ Her phone rang and she snatched it up. ‘Yes! I mean, sorry, yes, who is it?’

‘Good morning, Madam, this is Julian. Unfortunately, there is a problem with your computer.’

‘No, there isn’t. Liar! Bugger off . . .’

Jon took the phone from her hand. ‘Best to say nothing, just ring off.’

‘D’you think I don’t know that?’

He put her phone down on one of the drawings and she snatched it up, as though he had committed a mortal sin.

‘I’d better go.’ His hand was on the door. ‘Maeve should be fine to come to her next class.’

‘I hope so.’

‘Erin?’

‘Now what?’ She could hear the cat mewing. ‘I have to feed Miss Havisham.’

‘I just wanted to thank you for Maeve’s classes. They’ve been really good for her confidence. As well as learning how to draw.’

‘You came here to tell me that?’

He was straightening Ollie’s desolate black and white photograph of sand and sea. ‘I wish I could do more to help.’

‘Yes, well nobody can, apart from the doctors and nurses. One of the nurses . . .’ But she had no wish to tell him about Andrea. He pretended to care, but Claudia’s death meant nothing to him. Neither did the baby.

Someone was leaning on the doorbell. Erin ran down the two sets of stairs, missing her footing and almost falling, grabbing the banister rail, then wrenching open the door.

It was Lara.

‘I’m sorry. Your sister. She is better?’

‘No, I told you before, she’s in hospital.’

‘But she will be home again soon?’

Jon had joined them and was staring at Lara, as though he had seen her before but forgotten where it was. ‘This is Lara,’ Erin said, ‘she’s a friend of Claudia’s.’

‘Please. Clowda helped me. It is difficult. The university . . . They say I need—’

‘You’re a student?’ Jon had taken over and Erin was happy to leave him to it. ‘Which department are you in?’

Lara licked her lips. ‘You are Clowda’s husband?’

‘No. I work at the university. If there’s a problem, you should talk to your tutor. If you like I could . . .’

But she was edging away and, with once quick glance over her shoulder, she broke into a run.

‘You’ve met her before?’ Erin said.

‘Don’t think so but I doubt she’ll bother you again.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I expect Claudia gave her money.’

‘Why would she do that?’

He shrugged. He was lying. One mention of the university and the girl had panicked. She had been involved with Claudia in some way, and Jon knew what it was about, but was denying it. And nothing she said to him would make any difference.

After he left, she pulled out a drawing, but found it impossible to work. Her stomach churned and her head was full of unanswered questions. She was angry. Angry with Jon, and with Lara. At least Jon was right when he said she was unlikely to return. She had looked terrified, in a total panic. Stop thinking about it. Whatever Claudia had done, or not done, it made no difference now. If Lara did turn up again, she would tell her the truth. You’re wasting your time. Claudia’s not going to get better. Her brain is dead.

Fighting off feelings of frustration, she paced up and down, concentrating on her immediate surroundings. The loft would have made a good bedroom – she liked the way the wall sloped over her bed – but, as a living space, it was starting to feel claustrophobic. Her plan chest, easel, and art materials took up at least a third of the room, and much of the stuff she had brought with her from London was still in boxes, piled up in a corner. It was crazy that she was stuck up in the loft when the rest of the house was empty. But she had no intention of moving into any of Claudia’s rooms. Not until Ollie came back, and she had convinced herself the accident really was an accident. Not until the baby had been born.