She woke next morning, still thinking of the two new babies soon to force themselves into the world, neither of them ever even dreamt of in her own personal scheme of things. If Maggs had a baby, that would hugely impact on Drew’s business. She wouldn’t be able to drop everything and go on removals at all hours of the day and night. Well – perhaps she could do the nights, when her husband Den could mind the child. And perhaps she could take it with her at other times. Drew had looked after Stephanie at the same time as running Peaceful Repose, when Karen returned to teaching. Den, in his late thirties, was still not entirely settled to any proper career. He had gone into the police initially, but deemed himself a failure at it, in some way Thea had never grasped. He seemed like a man born out of his time, a sort of Dixon of Dock Green set down in the wrong era. Even the uniform must have looked all wrong on him, with his extreme height. He and Maggs made a couple even more physically ill-matched than Damien and Judy. At roughly the time Thea met Drew, Den had found a job at Bristol Airport, as a security officer. As far as she could gather, he was enjoying it enough to generate some hope that he might stick with it for some time to come. The hours were regular, with overtime available, and the pay substantially more than he had earned for ages. He always had a new story to tell about some benighted passenger falling foul of the surveillance system.
It was awful of her, she realised, not to feel thrilled at the imminent new lives. She did try, but all she could think was that her brother’s life would be changed forever, and possibly not for the better. As for Maggs and Den, they would no doubt make excellent parents, and produce a lovely dark-eyed child. But the consequences for Drew were unlikely to be beneficial.
Gwennie was slow to rouse, curled in her basket in the kitchen and barely breathing. ‘Don’t you dare die on me,’ Thea told her. ‘Have a biscuit and come outside with Hepzie.’
The corgi slowly obeyed and plodded to the end of the garden and back. Hepzie zigzagged over the lawn, sniffing and wagging and generally showing off. The contrast gave Thea grounds to hope there were many years yet to come in which her dog would be fit and active. One of the few aspects of her existence that found favour with Drew’s children was her spaniel.
Her first plan for the day was a brief return to Bagendon’s Upper End, by car, to check whether Drew’s theory about the plug was accurate. She would take Hepzie and Gwennie and give them a gentle stroll around the village at the same time. Then in the afternoon she might go and have a look at North Cerney, which was another little place she had heard of but never seen before.
At nine-thirty, she bundled the dogs onto the back seat and set off along the route taken by Farmer Handy in his Land Rover, the day before. Bagendon was comprehensively signposted, and she found the small road up to Upper End without difficulty. She even managed to identify the way onto the footpath back to Itlay and Daglingworth – admittedly made easier by the presence of a group of people standing just inside the field. They were staring in the direction of Itlay, where Thea could hear the whirring of a helicopter once she got out of her car.
She recognised Sophie and Tiffany immediately. They were dressed in the same resilient outdoor gear as before, perhaps even more so. Curious as ever, she called to them, ‘Hi! What’s going on?’
Sophie turned slowly, reluctantly, and simply shook her head. Tiffany was dancing from foot to foot. ‘We don’t know,’ she said. ‘Steve heard something on the police radio about the quarry. It must be serious for them to call a helicopter out.’
A man in his mid twenties with very large ears and a scrappy beard looked up, evidently having heard his name. He gave Thea a long look, before nodding to her and going back to the phone in his hand.
‘He’s got an app that means you can eavesdrop on them,’ Tiffany explained cheerfully. ‘It comes in very useful when we’re … you know.’ Sophie had slapped her arm lightly, effectively stopping her chatter in mid flow.
Thea winced, still floundering in the ethical morass that every encounter with these protesters produced. She looked around again at the assorted individuals: nobody over thirty-five, most of them wearing sturdy wellingtons and waterproof jackets. Sophie carried an air of authority, with the big-eared Steve staying close to her, like a deputy. ‘Well,’ Thea muttered. ‘Better get on.’ It was all too obvious that the whole group wished her well away from them.
She retreated to the house she had inspected the previous day and concentrated – with an effort – on the burglar alarm and the removal of her shoes, which were sure to leave marks on the spotless carpets.
The little pool of water was still in the basin, cold and greasy and embarrassing. With a sceptical frown, she plunged a forefinger in and pressed the chromium plug down as hard as she could. Then she let go and miraculously it popped up. The water ran away, leaving a grey smear on the porcelain. She ran hot water and swept around with her fingers until it was clean again. ‘Just fancy that,’ she murmured to herself. ‘What a barmy arrangement.’
Thank goodness for Drew’s good sense, she thought. Casting a final glance around the downstairs rooms to assure herself that all was well, she wondered again what the owner might have in common with her modest sister. Her taste in decor was dramatically different, but then sisters did vary a lot in that respect. Some took it seriously and others really didn’t. But this one definitely had an advantage financially, if the size and condition of the house were anything to go by.
What, then, would the woman think, if anything, about the presence of a gang of anarchists – or whatever they were – on her doorstep? Had they crossed her path before? Did she quietly support or noisily oppose them?
She went back the way she had come, to find the little crowd outside had grown in the past ten minutes, and Thea’s car had been joined by two others. Intent on her original plan, she got the dogs out and firmly connected them to their leads. Whatever might be happening in the quarry was none of her concern and she told herself to stop being nosy and stick to her job. Gwennie needed exercise and attention. Gwennie was her prime responsibility. But Gwennie herself showed every sign of curiosity at the assembly of interesting people close by. Her pointed nose lifted and she made enthusiastic little squeaks. It would be cruel to deny her the society, Thea decided, allowing herself to be drawn back to the people.
There were three or four newcomers. One was a blonde woman of fifty or so who stood close to Tiffany. Another was Nella, Sophie’s friend, who Thea hadn’t noticed earlier. One or two young men loitered on the edge of the group, with hands in their pockets and shoulders hunched, as if it were a much colder day. None of them greeted Thea or her dogs, all their attention fixed on Steve and his gadget. ‘Fatality,’ he announced loudly. ‘There must be a body in the quarry. Wow!’
Tiffany squealed and the woman beside her hushed her as if she were a small child. Must be her mother, Thea concluded.
‘We should go and see,’ said Sophie. ‘We’re not going to find out anything standing around here, are we?’
‘Tiffany’s not going anywhere,’ said the blonde. ‘She’s not meant to be associating with you people, anyway.’
‘Mum, for heaven’s sake,’ pleaded the girl. ‘I’m old enough to know what I’m doing. Why are you here, anyway?’
‘I saw Nella coming this way, and thought she’d lead me to you. I told you to stay in this morning. What about that essay?’
‘Come on, if you’re coming,’ repeated Sophie to the group in general. ‘We can go through the woods and be there in ten minutes. It might be somebody we know.’
‘We won’t see anything,’ said Nella. ‘They won’t let us get close enough. Isn’t it rather ghoulish, anyway? It’s going to be one of the quarry workers, crushed under a digger or a rockfall.’
‘On a Sunday?’ queried Tiffany’s mother.
‘They work weekends sometimes, don’t they?’ Nella sounded vague, almost offhand. ‘But suit yourself. I can’t see much sense in standing around like this.’
The man with the phone looked up again. ‘They’re not saying anything new. It’s all going according to procedure, I guess. They’re never going to put a name out over this frequency.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think there’s much we can usefully do.’
‘Why did you all come out here in the first place?’ Thea asked, mainly addressing Sophie, but sweeping the whole group in an invitation to reply.
‘Mind your own business,’ Nella snapped back. ‘Who are you, anyway? Why’ve you brought those dogs? The last thing we need is dogs drawing attention to us.’
‘You met me yesterday – don’t you remember?’ said Thea coldly. ‘And if this is private property, then you’re trespassing just as much as I am, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I know I met you. But I don’t get what you think you’re doing, barging in like this.’
‘I’m not “barging in”,’ Thea spluttered furiously, all the time thinking that actually, sort of, she was doing exactly that.
‘It’s something to do with badgers, love,’ said Tiffany’s mother, who appeared to think she was a fellow intruder. ‘They monitor all the local setts this time of year, so they can sabotage the culling when it comes.’ She gave her daughter a gentle cuff. ‘Getting themselves arrested, if they’re not careful.’
‘Not if Steve keeps a watch on where they are,’ said Sophie, not looking at Thea, but plainly addressing her. There was something rather dreamy about her delivery, as if events were taking place that she had no part in, but nonetheless found fascinating. At the same time, she could not resist asserting their aims, perhaps in the lingering hope that Thea would become a signed-up member, after all. ‘The cops, that is,’ she elaborated. ‘We’re always a few steps ahead of them, you see. Although we’ve had a few narrow escapes lately.’ She finally accorded Thea a long scrutiny, albeit with a strange lack of focus. ‘You’re not working for them, are you?’
‘Who?’
‘The cops, of course.’
‘No.’ Thea thought it diplomatic to avoid revealing that her daughter was a cop, as were others among her friends and relations. ‘Do I look like I am?’
‘They come in all shapes and sizes. Anyway, let’s get on with it. Tiffany – are you coming?’
The girl sighed and spoke to her mother. ‘Just an hour, Mum, okay? The essay’s nearly finished and I’ve got nothing else to do.’
‘How’re you getting home?’
‘Somebody’ll give me a lift.’ She looked round. ‘Sophie? Nella?’
The others all looked vague. ‘I walked,’ said Nella.
‘I’m going to be out here all day,’ said Sophie.
Nobody else appeared to be willing or able to volunteer. ‘I can’t leave you the car – I need to get back,’ said her mother.
Tiffany looked at Thea. ‘You’re that way, aren’t you? Could you take my mum home, do you think? She’s in Baunton. That’s pretty well on your way. Then I can have the car.’
Thea had no idea where Baunton was, but saw no reason to object. She was even quite gratified to be so readily included, merely by virtue of standing there with the objectionable dogs. She must, after all, inadvertently have ticked a box marked One of us, which gave her a small glow. The idea of joining a band of eco-warriors held some appeal, as she mentally ran through the list of hated targets that Sophie had produced the previous day. Wind farms – absolutely. She would quite cheerfully support any efforts to remove every one of them, onshore and off, for reasons that had evolved over recent years almost without her conscious awareness. But she was far less exercised about fracking. From the odd bits she’d gleaned, there seemed very little reason to oppose it. If the land had recovered from coal mining, there could not be much lasting damage from extracting shale gas, as far as she could see. And as for shooting badgers in the thousands, on the basis of some very unfair and one-sided findings, she was wholeheartedly on the side of Sophie and her friends. But even there, she suspected she would never be quite certain enough to qualify as an activist. She had met a few dairy farmers in her time, and knew there was genuine distress every time a cow developed TB.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘My car’s just up there.’
With some final words to her daughter, the woman followed Thea and the dogs to the car. ‘My name’s Sheila,’ she said. ‘Sheila Whiteacre. It’s the early form of Whittaker,’ she added, as if answering an unspoken question.
‘Thea Osborne. I’m house-sitting in Daglingworth. I don’t know the area terribly well, but I’m good with a map.’
‘What’re you doing in Bagendon, then?’
‘They asked me to water some plants in a house here, as well as minding the other one. Just for a few days. I walked over yesterday and met your daughter. They seem to be up to a lot of exciting stuff.’
The woman made a tutting noise, seeming to want to downgrade the activities of her daughter and her friends. ‘Strictly weekends, pet. Most of the time, they’re just ordinary citizens. Reminds me of the eighties all the same, when I was their age and we were fanatically CND. Well, Tiff’s dad was. Not me so much. It always seemed to be cold and wet when there was a march. I got out of it when I could. I did go to Greenham Common once.’
Thea had the faintest of memories of her father’s sister, Auntie Jen, giving an account of a week spent camping outside the American base. It felt romantic and very long ago.
‘They all seem to be very committed.’
‘I know. I can’t really complain, even though I’m scared they’ll get into serious trouble one day. It’s all on the side of the angels, isn’t it? Somebody has to speak out and put the brakes on, or where will it all end?’
‘Mm,’ said Thea. ‘I’m not sure. Was that the whole group? It seems mostly female.’
‘Danny wasn’t there. Nor Giles. I think he’s gone up to Yorkshire for some reason.’
‘You know them all by name, then?’
‘Mostly. Tiff brings them to the house for meetings. We’ve got more space than anyone else. I give them coffee and cake.’ She laughed. ‘And her brother’s involved, too, which adds to the pressure to use our facilities.’
‘Was he there just now?’
She shook her head. ‘He’s working this weekend. Does funny shifts, three days on, three days off. I can never keep track of him.’
They were on the same road as the one Thea had travelled in the Land Rover the day before. The A417 was just ahead. ‘Where do I go here?’ she asked.
‘Gosh – sorry. You should have turned left back at the last junction. I wasn’t concentrating. Never mind – we can go through Stratton. It’s not much further.’
Thea remembered seeing Stratton on her map – looking rather a sizeable place. She didn’t think she’d ever been there. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But make sure you direct me in good time.’
It was barely five minutes, along a very straight road, then a left turn to Baunton. Thea was glad of the excuse to see a new place, but was not unduly impressed. There were modern houses and a lot of traffic, compared to Daglingworth. But there were some beautiful buildings, one of which turned out to be their destination. ‘Gosh!’ she gasped.
‘I know. It’s been in the family for ages. Costs a fortune to maintain, of course. But it is rather special. We try to share our good fortune, and make good use of it. And we did fill it with children. Tiffany’s the youngest of five. We’re here all the year round, as well. We do our best to justify it.’
‘I’m not judging you,’ Thea said softly. ‘I think it’s gorgeous.’
‘Yes, well – I’m not going to argue with you.’ They sat for a moment in admiration of the property that was solidly Georgian, with perhaps six or eight upstairs rooms and a well-kept garden surrounding it. Ivy adorned the facade. ‘Come in, why don’t you? We’ve got a couple of Labradors who’d like a romp with your two. Well – the spaniel anyway.’ She looked over her shoulder at the back seat, where Gwennie was slumped as if she’d walked miles in Bagendon instead of a dozen yards or so. Hepzie was panting in anticipation of being released from the car.
‘No, no, thanks all the same. I ought to get back. It must be nearly lunchtime. I don’t want to get in your way.’
‘We don’t do Sunday lunches these days. My husband will be making soup or something. You won’t be interrupting at all. And anyway – it’s only half past eleven. You could have some coffee.’
There was no reason at all to get back and coffee would be very welcome. ‘Okay – you’ve persuaded me,’ she capitulated. ‘Thanks very much.’
The inside of the house made her think of her sister Jocelyn, who also had five children. Large families meant scuffs and stains and heaps and things kept for sentimental reasons. Even if Sheila’s children were all grown up, their presence persisted. The big kitchen was festooned with pictures, dog leads, coffee mugs, and a dusty board covered in notices and lists. ‘How many of them still live here?’ Thea asked.
‘Good question. I’d have to say two and a half. Tiffany and Ricky are here full time. He’s my second one, the one I was just telling you about. He works for what was British Waterways, always out and about, getting wet.’
‘Was?’ Thea had fond memories of British Waterways and canal holidays with Carl and Jessica.
‘It’s changed to the Canal and River Trust now, God help us. Much less money available. The usual business of making cuts and fudging everything.’
‘Nice job, even so. I love canals and locks and all that.’ She was tempted to recount the story of her stay in Frampton Mansell, nearly three years ago, which involved a very close encounter with the Cotswold Canal. But she resisted, finding it more interesting to encourage Sheila Whiteacre to keep talking. Which she did.
‘Then there’s Win. She’s a student, so she’s only here during the vacations.’
‘Win? Short for Winifred?’
‘I’m afraid so. We had rather a thing about names – wanted them to stand out from the crowd. Of course, we boobed spectacularly with Tiffany. It’s now in the top five or something, on all the urban estates. It’s so difficult to be original. I wish I’d thought of Thea. That’s a brilliant name.’
‘My parents felt rather the same as you. We’re got Damien, Emily and Jocelyn as well as me.’ Saying her brother’s name made her think again of his momentous news. It was sitting somewhere inside her, a blob of information that was rather like the foetus itself. ‘Have you got grandchildren?’
‘One. Thomas.’ She sighed. ‘I’m afraid I was a bit rude when they told me what they were calling him. I mean – how very dull.’
Thea laughed, and Sheila made two mugs of instant coffee. She went to the door and shouted, ‘Coffee’s up, if you want it.’ Her accent, which had been puzzling Thea, came out as definite South London, when shouting. In response, two big chocolate Labradors came slouching into the room, shoulder to shoulder. ‘I said coffee, not supper,’ Sheila told them. ‘These are Bert and Jackson. They’re monsters.’
Two large male dogs did strike Thea as excessive, and she inwardly resolved to leave Hepzie firmly in the car. Romping with these two might well result in some bruises.
Then a man appeared. ‘Thea, this is my husband, Art. He’s American. This lady is called Thea and she’s house-sitting or something.’
So the house had been in her family, Thea concluded doubtfully. The accent and the bright hair and even the name Tiffany (however accidental) felt at odds with the inheritance of a Georgian mansion.
Art had an unruly grey beard and thick-rimmed spectacles. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said, holding out a hand. ‘I’m not really American any more. She just says that as a way of apologising for me. I’ve been here since I was seventeen. This house belonged to my father’s brother, who had no kids, so I got landed with it. It’s a long story.’
Thea shook his hand and smiled. She liked him instantly. He was everybody’s idea of the perfect father and grandfather. Even his clothes looked soft and warm and embraceable.
‘There’s been some sort of accident at the quarry,’ Sheila said. ‘Sounded as if somebody might have been killed there.’
Thea had actually forgotten about the helicopter and the police radio messages. Her heart thumped in self-reproach.
‘Good God! They don’t operate on a Sunday, do they?’
‘Not as far as I know. We’ll find out soon enough, I imagine.’
‘Guess so. Where’s Tiff?’
‘I left her there, with the car. They’re doing some sort of badger headcount. Thea gave me a lift home. She’s got two dogs out there.’
‘Bring them in,’ he invited, spreading his arms. ‘We like dogs.’
‘I’d better not. One of them’s very old and slow. I’m not sure she could cope …’
‘Oh, these two are real pussycats. They’d never do any harm.’
Thea drained her coffee and got up from the kitchen table. ‘Better not. I should go, really. I feel as if I’m deserting my post.’ She smiled again and wondered whether she would see them again, and possibly meet their son Ricky.
‘What does a house-sitter do, anyway?’ Art enquired. ‘You make it sound as if you stand guard with a rifle on the front doorstep.’
She laughed. ‘No, I don’t do that. It’s the dog, really. I’ve got to keep her happy.’ And alive, she thought ruefully.
‘Oh, well, if you get the chance, you should do some exploring. Baunton’s got a famous picture in the church, you know. St Christopher. It’s quite something. And we’re overflowing with fascinating characters. It isn’t just me and Sheila, you know.’
‘I’ve met some already. A man called Jack Handy, for instance. Do you know him?’
Two pairs of eyes rolled up to the ceiling. ‘Everyone knows Farmer Handy,’ said Sheila. ‘Makes enough trouble for a dozen farmers. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.’
‘He told me about wanting to sell a bit of land for building. I suppose it’s got permission, the amount of money he was offered.’
They both stared. ‘He told you all that? When?’
‘Yesterday. Why?’
‘He must have been drunk. He never reveals a word about money.’
‘He wasn’t drunk – just angry. He needed to get it off his chest.’
‘Something must have happened, then. That doesn’t sound like the man we know at all.’ Sheila was frowning in puzzlement. ‘Did he have a ratty collie dog with him?’
‘Yes. And he was driving a battered old Land Rover.’
Before any more could be said, a phone sitting on a worktop rang loudly. Art picked it up. ‘Hi, Tiff … what about that essay? What …?’ He listened for several seconds. ‘Good grief, girl. Just you get back here right away. Don’t have anything to do with it. Take a deep breath and head for the car. You can deal with your friends later. I want you here, now. Understand?’
After another few seconds, he put the phone down. ‘The body in the quarry – they’ve just heard that it’s Danny Compton.’