Saturday, 11 March, 9 a.m.
The weekends always seemed to creep towards Martha Gunn, leapfrogging in hops, skips and jumps, so when she awoke on Saturday morning it was invariably with a feeling of surprise. It was always a slight shock to find that she did not have to drive into work or dress in sombre clothes. No, today, she thought with a skip of her heart, was a free day. A day for jeans, boots, a sweater and a long walk through the woods with Bobby, their Heinz 57 Collie cross. The weather men had been optimistic, forecasting sunshine, though, as usual, they were qualifying it with ‘may not reach all places until after the weekend’.
Even that didn’t dent Martha’s spirits as she showered and slipped into jeans and a sweatshirt. Nothing would, she thought. Sam was playing an away match against Chelsea, which kicked off later today, so that was him accounted for. And Sukey had her new boyfriend, Pomeroy Trainer, known as Pom, to occupy her. So Martha felt very free and practically danced her way into her boots, out of the house and into the woods even under a cloudy grey sky that scowled at her. There was one cloud darker than the rest. The truth was she didn’t really like Pom, who had a way of making snide comments usually focused either against Sukey and her acting career, or Sam’s enthusiasm for football, or even Martha’s cookery skills. Whatever he turned his attention to he seemed to have a knack for finding the vulnerability in one’s happiness and could turn even a cosy family supper into something unpleasant, besmirching anyone’s pleasure. ‘Gosh, isn’t this meat tough?’, ‘I don’t like your hair like that, Sukey’, or, with a bored yawn and eye-roll at Sam, ‘Do you ever talk about anything other than football?’ He didn’t seem to realize how fucking rude he was being.
Martha quickened her pace. Even telling herself that Pom’s negativity was probably the result of his insecurity hadn’t made her like him.
Bobby scampered ahead as her thoughts reflected back to Sukey’s previous boyfriend, the intellectual, quiet, clever William Friedman. She had much preferred the solemn, bespectacled lad who had never made a single derogatory comment in the brief time she’d known him. Actually, she smiled to herself, stepping over a fallen tree, William had kept his views very much to himself, so it was anyone’s guess what his private thoughts were. Maybe they were equally negative. Pom, however, was an abrasive, critical character and Martha felt uneasy and inadequate around him. But now the sun was peeping through the trees, dappling the pine-needle path with equal parts sunshine and moving shade. The scent of the trees was strong. A rabbit tempted Bobby into a brief, unfruitful chase. Even thoughts of Pom couldn’t swamp the weekend feeling. She extended the walk until way past lunchtime since today she had no one to cook for.
Stoke (and Sam) drew against Chelsea and Pom and Sukey went to the pictures on Saturday night followed by dinner somewhere in town. And Sunday? Recovery for Sam, a lazy day reading The Sunday Times from cover to cover for Martha, and Sukey and Pom spent the day with friends in Market Drayton.
Perfect.
She always avoided the local papers or the local radio station over a weekend. If there was tragedy she would learn about it soon enough via her job. And much as she loved her work as coroner, the weekends needed to be death-free.
But this meant she remained unaware of local events.