One good lie, p.12
One Good Lie, page 12
‘Well, at least you’re here, love,’ she said, rubbing her back and ushering her inside. ‘I’ve made some banana bread. Your favourite.’
The aroma of fresh baking was stronger in the hallway. She followed Bridget into a room at the back of the house. The kitchen table was set neatly with a red tablecloth and grey mats, and cutlery for five. A bottle of lemonade, bought especially for the children no doubt, sat in the middle. Ever hopeful.
Ruby stared out of the back window. Following the view across the small lawn of grass, over the short fence edging the garden and through the field behind to the edge of the cliff, where an expanse of green-blue sea reached out to the horizon. Gulls swooped overhead. She’d missed this. It was the location and the vista that had sold the house to Bridget and it was easy to see why. When the wind blew south, they could hear the waves lapping up the beach below, taste the salty sea air.
‘Sit down,’ Bridget said, flicking the switch on the kettle. ‘I’ll make us a cuppa and you can tell me all about your week. I want to hear everything.’
Ruby managed a thin smile. Bridget had always been one of those capable women who bustled around at a hundred miles an hour and even now, limping around the kitchen, her days dogged by fatigue, a by-product of the fibromyalgia that crushed her energy levels, she still struggled to stay still. She watched her as she pulled mugs out of the cupboard and filled a teapot to the brim. There was no point in offering help. Bridget loved entertaining and was affronted if people tried to take over. ‘I’m not on my deathbed yet,’ she’d say. ‘Now leave me be.’
‘I thought we’d go for a walk later,’ Ruby said. ‘I could take you along the pier in your wheelchair.’
Her aunt passed a derisory glance at the wheelchair folded beside the back door, then looked out of the window. ‘Maybe. If it stays fine.’ She placed the teapot and cups and saucers out on the table, then cut two generous wedges of banana bread and laid them on plates between them. ‘Dinner won’t be ready for a couple of hours, so this’ll keep us going. I’ve got lamb stew in the slow cooker,’ she said with a wink.
Ruby’s mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten a home-cooked meal since the risotto at Sophie’s. There never seemed much point when it was just her.
‘Now what have you got to tell me?’ Bridget probed.
There was no avoiding telling her about Charlotte Manning’s murder, although Ruby deliberately played down the visits from the liaison officer. ‘The police are treating it as a separate incident,’ she said.
‘And she turns up on the night of your mother’s birthday?’ Bridget sniffed dismissively. ‘A likely story. Sounds like there’s more to that than meets the eye. What does Sophie think?’
Ruby pictured the worry lines on her sister’s face. ‘She hasn’t said much really. We’re leaving it to the police.’
They sipped their drinks and mulled over the gossip from home. Ruby talked about Daisy’s self-portrait homework and Alfie being invited to join the football team, and skimmed over her lunch with Tom. Bridget told her about a trip she’d taken earlier in the week to King’s Lynn and then decided it was too windy and cold for them to go outside today, and why didn’t they stay inside in the warm? It’s not as if they didn’t have plenty enough to talk about.
Before Ruby knew it, a couple of hours had passed, and she was tucking into a richly seasoned lamb stew with mashed potato so soft it melted on her tongue.
‘It is a shame Sophie and the kids couldn’t come,’ Bridget said. ‘I got some of those cakes in they like for pudding.’ She pointed to a pink box on the side.
‘Macaroons.’
‘That’s it. Beryl went all the way to Norwich to get them for me. Would you like one?’
Ruby finished her last mouthful, sat back in her chair and loosened her belt. ‘No, thank you. I’m stuffed.’
‘Well, you’ll have to take them back with you.’ Bridget sat forward, narrowing her eyes. ‘Are you sure everything’s okay with Sophie? I haven’t heard much from her.’
Ruby was tempted to share her concerns about her sister, but Bridget’s condition had deteriorated after their mother’s death. The loss of her sister had hit her hard, especially in such shocking circumstances and, acutely aware that stress was a factor in triggering a fresh flare-up of pain and fatigue, Ruby felt the need to shield her aunt from more anxiety. ‘It’s just been one of those weeks, you know.’
‘Hmm. Always been a worrier, our Sophie,’ Bridget said, gathering up the plates. ‘She gets that from your mother.’
Ruby gave a wistful smile. Sophie was very similar to her mum, both in looks and personality. Many a time she’d wandered into Aileen’s house of an evening to find them sitting on the sofa together, watching the soaps, or some soppy period drama. With her love of thrillers and mysteries, she couldn’t have been more different if she’d tried.
‘I found a box of old photos when I was clearing out last week. Saved them for the children. Daisy was the image of your mother at that age. Do you want to see them?’
Ruby winced. They’d spent months going through old photos after their mother died and all it did was leave her hollow, reminding her of the depth of her loss. Though Bridget’s face was so keen, so hopeful, she didn’t have it in her to refuse. ‘Why not?’
‘Great.’ Bridget made a play of clearing the table, then disappeared into the front room. When she came back, she was carrying an old shoebox. The lid torn and tattered at the corners, the sides bulging. She snapped off the elastic band holding the lid in place and pictures toppled over onto the table. ‘Now, where are they?’ Bridget said. More photos slipped out as she sifted through, clearly enjoying herself. With the fifteen-year age gap, Bridget had always seemed more like a mother than a sister to Aileen.
Ruby picked up a picture of an austere woman in a long floral dress. Grey hair was pulled back from an angular face and tied into a bun at the nape of her neck. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d seen her grandmother’s hair loose; it was always tied up in the same tight bun. ‘Was I like my grandmother?’ she asked.
‘My mother?’ Bridget said, peering across at the photo. ‘No, nothing like.’
Ruby sighed. They’d moved to Leicestershire before she started school and only saw their extended family during a couple of visits back to Kilkenny while she was growing up. ‘It’s too expensive,’ her mother would say when the conversation came up. ‘They know where we are, they can always come here.’ But they never did and contact was mostly limited to birthday and Christmas cards, with the odd phone call thrown in, and that was a rarity. Aileen didn’t like to talk about her family in Ireland. It wasn’t until her late teens, when her grandmother died and Aileen went across for the funeral, that Ruby learnt from Bridget that her grandparents hadn’t approved of her mother’s decision to divorce their father and move to England.
Ruby pulled out another photo of a boy in a peaked hat. ‘What about my uncle?’ The five-minute phone call to inform him of Aileen’s death last year was the longest conversation Ruby had ever had with her mother’s brother. He’d listened, offered his condolences, though sent no card and made no effort to come across for the funeral or the memorial, despite being invited.
‘Derren? No, you are nothing like him. You can trust me on that one, my girl. Nor the folk on your grandfather’s side… Ah, here we are.’ She held up a couple of photos of Aileen as a young girl and cooed over them. The resemblance to Daisy was stark.
Ruby smiled and eased back into her chair. With the question marks zooming in and out of her head about Charlotte Manning and Colin Halliday’s conviction, she felt the need to understand her mother better. Could someone else be responsible for her death? A member of the family possibly. Perhaps there was something about them she didn’t know. ‘What were Mum and Derren like, growing up?’ she asked.
‘Ah, well… They both came along late, Derren was twelve years after me. Olive, your grandmother, didn’t think she could have any more kids and had thrown herself into the church. She was in her late thirties when Derren arrived.’ Bridget’s eyes glazed. ‘He was the pride of her life, mind you. Honestly, she’d have dressed that baby in gold if she could have. He could do no wrong. For Aileen, it was a different matter. She arrived three years later, a shock right from the beginning.’
Ruby recalled her hot-headed mother and smiled. ‘How do you mean?’
‘My mother was the pious one, a proper Catholic woman. She was tough on me, but when Aileen came along, she expected more of her. Oh, that girl!’ She smiled wistfully. ‘She was full of spirit from the day she was born, and I loved her for it. Sadly, my mother didn’t feel the same. She was stricter with her. Partly because she was an older mum, trying to show she knew what she was doing, and partly because she wanted to bend her into shape. It was never going to happen though.’
‘Mum did have a strong will.’
‘You can say that again.’ Bridget rolled her eyes. ‘Olive tolerated her when she was young. Couldn’t abide her in her teens, especially when her head was turned by boys. That’s why your mum married your dad, and so young. Any hint of romance and my mother had her whisked straight down the aisle.’
Ruby watched Bridget gather up the photos and shove them back into the box, her mind turning to her father. Mick, Bridget’s husband, had been a father figure to her and Sophie growing up, but Ruby had often wondered what her real dad was like. There were no photos of him at home. ‘Did they like my dad?’ she asked.
‘No. Not at all, as I recall. He was from one of the villages and much older than your mother. A waster, right from the beginning. His wages frittered away on drink. Liked a flutter on the horses too. I could see where it was going, tried to talk them out of it, but upholding their reputation as a good Catholic family was more important to my mother than my sister’s happiness. When Aileen refused to give him up, as far as they were concerned their only recourse was marriage. I think that’s why Aileen never pushed you girls into marriage. She wanted you to be happy, first and foremost.’
‘Must have been difficult.’
‘I’d say so. I was lucky. I managed to get away when Mick got the job over here. Your mam wasn’t that fortunate. Help me with the band, will you?’ She placed on the lid and lifted the box. Ruby stretched the elastic wide between her hands.
‘What did my dad look like?’ she asked.
‘Tall, dark. A bit like you. Though, mark my words, that’s all you get from him, darlin’.’
‘I searched for him online after Mum died,’ Ruby said sheepishly. ‘Even thought about employing one of those agencies, you know, that finds people.’
‘Really?’ Bridget lifted a brow. ‘Aw, he moved away after the divorce. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.’
She started to slide the box into the band. The ruffled edges of the lid caught. She rocked the box back and forth, but bits of broken cardboard kept catching. The band was digging into Ruby’s skin now. Bridget gave the box a final hard shove, and suddenly the bottom broke open. Piles of pictures splashed onto the table, dropping off the edge and cascading to the floor.
‘Oh, for the love of God!’ Bridget said.
She bustled across to a kitchen drawer, pulled out a carrier bag and started scooping photos into it. Ruby was kneeling on the floor, gathering up others, when something caught her eye. She pushed a couple of pictures aside. It was a red plastic bracelet – one of those secured on wrists during a hospital stay – and tiny. It must have belonged to a small child. She picked it up and peered closely. It was scrawled with a name and date of birth, but the writing was too smudged and faded to decipher. She could just about make out the number 85 at the end.
Bridget glanced across, and started. ‘How did that get in there?’
‘Whose was it?’ Ruby asked.
She whisked it away. ‘Oh, no one special.’
Ruby watched her toss it into the bag, but the wristband bothered her. If it belonged to no one special, why keep it?
Chapter 31
Bridget’s comments about her extended family skipped in and out of Ruby’s mind on the drive home. It was true, her father hadn’t bothered with her all this time. The news of her mother’s murder would have spread like wildfire in the close-knit communities of Kilkenny. He could have easily reached out if he wanted to.
Aileen’s relationship with her family might have been acrimonious, but so many years had passed and, even if Colin had been wrongly convicted, as much as she tried, Ruby couldn’t think of a viable motive for any of the extended family to be involved in her murder.
Bridget had been unusually quiet after she put the bag of photos away. When Ruby quizzed her again about the hospital band, she’d ignored the question, said she was tired. It was so unlike her and the fact that she’d kept it all these years niggled Ruby. She remembered her mother telling her Bridget couldn’t have children. Unless… Bridget fell pregnant and gave birth to a stillborn. That would explain the secrecy and possibly Bridget’s need to hold onto the wristband. Perhaps it was too painful to talk about. Ruby’s heart wrenched. Poor Bridget. She made a mental note to call her tomorrow, check she was okay.
Ruby shifted in her seat. Usually, she enjoyed the journey, but today the empty road seemed to go on forever. By the time she joined the A47, the weight of fatigue was pressing down hard, and she was struggling to keep her eyes open. She’d eaten far too much of Bridget’s home cooking.
She switched up the air conditioning and turned on the radio. A newsreader was talking about ongoing troubles in Syria. Sophie and the kids would be at the farm now. It was a clear day, if a little windy. The children would love it. She should make more of an effort with Sophie. There were only the two of them left in Market Deeton now, they needed to look out for one another.
The sign for the services couldn’t have been more welcome, especially when she spotted the peaked roof of Starbucks. It would be good to take a short break from the wheel and have a coffee. She could refuel too.
While Ruby filled up her car, a coachful of travellers arrived. When she’d finished, the queue for the counter at Starbucks ran to the door and the café tables inside were all taken. Ruby joined the end of the line, her gaze falling on a couple sitting at a table beside the window, eyes glued to each other, as if they were the only people in the room. She watched as he reached across and entwined his fingers in hers. He must have said something amusing because she chuckled and snatched her hand back, coyly. It was a tender moment and once again she was reminded of her and Tom, in their early days. When they were immersed in each other, when she couldn’t wait to see him, when her stomach fluttered with excitement at the prospect. She thought of Tom, standing in his socks outside his temporary home yesterday, and her heart ached afresh at the distance that now stretched between them.
The queue inched forward. Ruby pulled out her phone. She’d switched it to silent when she arrived in Norfolk – Bridget couldn’t abide people using their mobiles in company. She turned the ringtone back on and numerous Facebook notifications flicked up: friends’ news, book clubs she was a member of. She was idly scrolling through the posts when the phone pinged and the sunflower graced the screen. Ewan’s sister.
A short guttural cough behind. Ruby checked over her shoulder to find an elderly man frowning. He lifted a hand, muttered something about the queue moving. She apologised, shuffled forward again and opened the message.
I really don’t think I can help you. Sorry.
Short, curt. Disappointment gripped her. Why was she so reluctant to talk?
‘Can I help you?’
Ruby looked up. Without realising, she’d edged forward again and was now at the counter. She lowered her phone. ‘A latte please.’
‘To drink in or take away?’
‘In, please.’ She went through the motions of giving her name, pulling out her card and paying. The screen on her phone, still in her hand, went blank. ‘Sorry, could I have that to take away please?’ she said, changing her mind. The fresh air would do her good, give her space to think after being cooped up in the car for so long.
The assistant gave her a hard stare, then changed the mug to a paper cup, wrote her name on the side and indicated for her to wait at the end of the counter.
The tables outside the café were empty, not surprising as the late September air was beginning to feel distinctly cool. Ruby zipped her jacket up to her chin and sat at the table furthest from the door. She took a sip of her drink and re-read the message. There was nothing much to grab onto, but Ruby found herself coming back to that earlier message – estranged. People often dropped off with phone calls, messages and emails, especially when they moved away, some even lost contact, but the word estranged suggested an argument or a disagreement. What had happened between them?
A crow cawed overhead. A man emerged from the services and hovered nearby with a vape, the menthol smell of the vapour cloying her nostrils. She idly switched to the internet and typed in Market Deeton news to see if there was an update on the murder.
Numerous searches came up. Ruby scrolled through a new planning application for a town centre factory conversion, residents complaining about dog owners not picking up after their pets. She was about to give up when she clicked on the next page and found an entry from Deeton Mail – New Witness Sighting in Murder Investigation. Her gaze dropped to a photo beneath the title. And she froze. The image, black and white and slightly blurred, was of the rear of a man and woman walking along. Ewan and her.
Do you know these people?
A driver captured this image on his dashcam of a man and woman walking through Market Deeton town centre on Tuesday evening. They are thought to be the same couple spotted later in West Way. Police are keen to trace them. If you have any information about their whereabouts, please contact the incident room.
Ruby’s stomach twisted. She examined every inch of the dashcam photo. It had captured them walking down Clarence Street. She knew that because she recognised a clock hanging from above a café entrance in the top corner. The lens caught their outline in the car’s headlights, leaving a soft glow around them. She couldn’t remember a car passing. Not surprising really, she had been pretty tipsy. Her head was tilted towards Ewan, as if they were in deep conversation. And… What was that? The pixels blurred even more as she enlarged the image.
