Bedlam (20 page)

“Okay, I’ll play along … for now.” She looked wistfully at her cigarettes and McNeil ignored her.

“Go on.”

“There was a child.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s quite simple, honey. You’re a man of the world. I guess you know all about the birds and the bees. Fulsome Frank had no desire to reap what he’d sown. He refused to stand by me, too scared of his wife whose connections are worth far too much to him and his career. I was left to deal with the situation. I had an abortion. I’m not proud of it. I don’t talk about it. If you talk about it, I’ll deny it, sue you for slander and murder your career - and probably you, too.”

McNeil smiled. “I don’t die easily.”

“So I hear.”

“Do you blame him?”

“I blame myself. I could have said no. He bought me off. He promised me breaking news exclusives in exchange for my co-operation. I was young, determined and greedy. I had my career ahead of me. I agreed and I’ve lived to regret it.”

“Did he give you the exclusives?”

“For a while.”

“Were they worth the life of a child?”

She winced at his words. “No.”

“Do you want to help me save one?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Twenty-five years ago another child was lost, and she may as well have been aborted because, to my knowledge, no one has missed her or grieved for her, or even attempted to find her. Something terrible happened. I don’t know what. I need you to help me find out.”

“Why do you need me? You have all the facilities of missing persons at your own finger tips. Why not use police data?”

McNeil shifted his gaze to the corner of the room. It was empty.
“Because on this occasion, Ms Temple, the Force is definitely not with me.”

“Why not?”
She leaned toward him, the hardened newshound sensing a story. “Do I smell cover-up?”

“I’m not sure but someone is going to great lengths to ensure I don’t succeed. I need you to check back through your records. Nineteen Eighty-Eight, something happened right here
in Bedlam, and it was covered up. If anybody can uncover it, I think you can. You’ll know it when you see it.”

“This means a lot to you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me why?”

“Not yet.”

Clarissa regarded him in silence for a moment. “Some things are best left in the past, honey.”

“Like you and Frank?”

“Yes.”

“But not the baby?”

“No.”

“And if you had your time again, would you have done things differently?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s all I’m asking, the chance to go back and put things right.”

“You might not like what I discover.”

“I know I won’t.”

“And you still want to go ahead?”

“I have to.”

“And what do I get out of it?”

“You get your exclusive, and if we’re lucky, we both get the chance to put the record straight.”

Clarissa rose to her feet and began to gather her things. “Tell me, honey, has this got something to do with your girlfriend?”

McNeil sighed. “It has everything to do with her.”

Chapter Thirty Two

The last time McNeil had visited St. Bartholomew’s Church was for the funeral of Aunt Mae, the woman who had brought him up. He couldn’t recall a time before Mae, and what he remembered of his life with her was a rose-tinted canvas of cold winters, beach-combing summers and the smell of home baking. It had been an idyllic apple-pie childhood, made all the more perfect because it was through Mae that he’d first met Kit.

He paused in the lane outside the arched stone gateway. In summer it was covered in pale yellow roses. The remembered scent softened his tense expression. The graveyard was blanketed now in a thick layer of drifted snow, but he recalled it in springtime: irreverent games of hide-and-seek behind stones that had stood for centuries; stolen daffodils and bluebells hidden behind his back, when the reverend was near, and hastily produced with a flourish and grin, first for Mae, and later for Kit. His heart ached with the memory.

His eyes strayed through the arch to the church entrance. The heavy oak door was ajar and he was free to enter, as was every parishioner of the small hamlet of Eden, but even so, reluctance dragged his step. His memories weren’t all of Kit, and they weren’t all good.

He ran his fingers over the rough stone that topped the wall and inhaled gently, stealing a moment of solitude before he took the next step. He needed to ensure that the paper he’d pasted over the cracks in his persona was secure.

He’d made a significant effort. His suit was pressed, his shirt fresh from the packet, his tie straight. He’d even dallied with the razor. But there was little he could do about the scars and bruising on his face. The pills he’d been given by Richardson had been taken as evidence with the rest of his things from the warehouse, and true to his word, he hadn’t had a drink since Minkey’s, but that didn’t mean it was easy or that he didn’t need either. Inside, his mind played games with him and his gut churned with apprehension. He’d come for answers, though he had no idea what the questions should be.

He slipped into a pew at the back of the church and sat a moment in silence - remembering. This was where he’d first seen Kit, on Easter Sunday, nineteen ninety-three. He was ten years old, she an ungainly seven with flowers in her hair and sand between her toes. With hindsight he realised he’d loved her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, but that first summer things had been very different, and she’d merely been the shadow that dogged his every footstep, the child who squealed at spiders, couldn’t throw a ball or ride a bike, and insisted on holding his hand when he didn’t want her to. A treasured child, she suffered terrible nightmares, was never let
out on her own and rarely strayed from the vicarage garden or church yard … until she met him.

After a nomadic period where they’d travelled the countryside together like gypsies and he’d changed schools as often as his socks, he and Mae had finally found Eden, and a year later the new reverend and his family had arrived. Mae had encouraged their friendship, and it wasn’t long before he’d taught Kit to ride a bike with no hands and climb trees fearlessly, and before the first summer was out they were inseparable. It was many years before their friendship developed further but the love had been there from the outset.
Was still there. Would always be there.

“Joey, is that you?”

A soft voice delicately flavoured with melancholy interrupted his thoughts, and he raised his head to the woman who stood at the end of the pew. He hadn’t seen Kit’s mother for almost a year. She’d aged far more in that time. She smiled, Kit’s smile, and her tired washed-out blue eyes lit briefly.

“Have you come for the memorial?”

“The memorial?”
His words, softly spoken, barely moved the frigid air.

“For Kit.”
She slid into the pew alongside him and twisted sideways to study him more closely. “It’s a year today since she left us, Joey. Surely you know that.”

He stared blankly at her, felt a strange tightness in his chest. The paper was beginning to peel. Was he really the only one who believed she was still alive? “Of course, I know that,” he murmured. “It’s been a long year
… the longest year.”

He dropped his eyes as she took his hand and squeezed it gently. “I read about what happened to you.
A terrible business. Sometimes I wonder what the world is coming to. You look awful. How are you, Joey?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really?”

A ghost of a smile brushed his lips as an image of Kit racing down the cliff path to the beach slid into his mind. She was barefoot, her eyes screwed tight against the wind-blown sand, her hand clasped tightly in his as the momentum of the steep path hurtled them ever more quickly toward the crashing waves. He inhaled the salty tang of the sea and shrugged the image away. “I’m still searching, Audrey. I will find her.”

“Don’t, Joey,” she sighed. “Don’t keep putting yourself through the torment. It really doesn’t help anyone, least of all you. She’s with Jesus, that’s what George believes, and I believe it, too. She was a beautiful daughter, a wonderful young woman. That’s what today’s memorial is for, to celebrate her life. I know how hard this is for you, Joey. I know how much you loved her. I’m her mother, it breaks my heart to think she’s gone, but it will help me if you can stay and celebrate with us.”

McNeil shook his head. “I came to speak with George. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay … I …” He pulled back his hand, squeezed past her to the end of the row, and stood, one hand gripping tightly to the back of the pew, the other palm pressed flat against the wound dressing nestled beneath his shirt. He inhaled discreetly. If ever there was a time when he needed Kit’s whisper in his head, it was now. As his eyes swept the interior of the church, the funereal flower arrangements and burning candles caused his stomach to recoil. He had to stay in control. He pleaded silently for Kit to help him.

“George won’t want to speak with you, Joey, certainly not today. I’m sorry but you know how he is. This has all been too much for him. Losing one child brought him to the church, losing the second has almost cost him his faith. It’s been very hard for him, Joey. He … he’s not the same man. If you can’t stay for the service, come back another day when you’re less emotional, when we’re all less emotional.”

“I’m sorry, Audrey. I’m so caught up with Kit, in my head, in my heart, I can’t think straight. Mae told me you lost a child a long time ago. Kit never spoke about it. How old was she when she died?”

Audrey’s face softened and McNeil recognised that faraway look. Memories. At least she had those.

“Elizabeth was barely two when she passed away. Kit was inconsolable. They say twins have a bond. I don’t know, but I
know she retreated into a shell and didn’t come out of it until she met you. I’m glad she had you, Joey.”

McNeil smiled sadly. “I’m glad we had each other. What happened to Elizabeth? Mae never said.”

Audrey looked away. McNeil heard the gasp as she armed herself with an extra breath. “A tragic accident. George has never forgiven himself.”

“He was with her when she died?”

“Oh yes. He’s been paying penance ever since.”

“How did it happen?” The words were out before he realised how insensitive they sounded. He was so used to questioning those left behind following a traumatic loss, he’d slipped into detective mode without thinking and instantly regretted it.

Audrey’s face fell. “Not today, Joey. It’s too much. My heart is in pieces. I don’t think I can go through it again. She was such a beautiful child, old beyond her years. I know people throw out that statement and rarely mean it, but in Elizabeth’s case she was so full of grace, she just had to look at you with those big soulful eyes of hers, and that smile. They say God has a purpose for us all. I console myself with that thought, and so did George, until Kit was taken. Now he’s full of self-doubt. He’s a broken man, Joey. I’m sure you understand what that means.”

McNeil knew all too well. “Where is he, Audrey?”

“Joey, it’s not a good time …”

“Where is he?”

She sighed, pulled out a linen handkerchief and dabbed at moist eyes. He felt his own lip tremble as he witnessed her distress. He sucked in a ragged breath and tried to turn away, but before he could, she had followed him, her arms were around him, and he reciprocated awkwardly. He couldn’t break down, not now and certainly not here.

“Joey, regardless of what George might say
, you’re not to blame for Kit. Just remember that.”

McNeil put her aside and nodded. Of course he was to blame. He already knew that. “Where is he?”

“In the vestry. He’s putting the finishing touches to his reading, weaving his memories of Kit into words of hope.” She smiled wistfully. “I don’t know how he does it. I open my mouth and all that comes out is sorrow.”

McNeil stood in the open doorway and watched as the Reverend Foulkes stooped over his desk, pen in hand. The smell of old books and furniture polish made him smile. It brought back memories of Mae and the pride she’d taken in all her church duties. That was how he’d come to know Kit, helping out Mae as she cleaned for the reverend and his family. From chance meetings they had become co-conspirators, inseparable. There was never any doubt that they would be together. But no one, not even he, could have predicted how things would end.

“It’s time we had a chat, George.” McNeil’s request was barely audible above the hiss of the ancient gas fire in the grate, but the reverend, as if in possession of a sixth sense, laid down his pen and spun his chair slowly to face him.

He leaned back, creaking the worn leather beneath him. His face was grey and drawn with lines of regret. “You think this is an appropriate time, Joseph?”

The use of his full name in the long-suffering tone reserved specifically for him put McNeil immediately on the defensive. He recalled the pats on the head, the reluctant acceptance and latterly the simmering distrust. He pushed it all to one side.

“It’s important. It can’t wait.”

“More important than Kit’s memorial?”

“Kit isn’t dead. So, yes, this is more important.”

“Denial won’t bring you peace. Believe me, Joseph, I know.”

“What do you know?”

“I know you’re not welcome here anymore.”

“Tell me, George, why is that?”

“Because you took the most precious thing in our lives and you lost her.”

“No, George. I fell in love with your daughter, and she with me. A madman took your daughter and I’m going to get her back.”

The reverend shook his head. “It’s too late for that. She’s at peace. Leave her be.”

“I can’t. I believe in her. I believe she’s alive. I won’t stop until I find her.” He wanted to add,
and you shouldn’t either
, but the man had clearly given up, and the evidence of desolation leached like sweat from his pores and gathered in the deep furrows on his brow. Had he always been like this? McNeil couldn’t honestly remember but he’d always sensed that George had suffered, rather than embraced, him.

“Why did you disapprove of our relationship?”

“You weren’t good enough for her.”

“I expect all fathers think that about their daughters’ …
lov … suitors.”

George shrugged wearily. “I don’t care about anyone else’s, just mine.”

“You’re a man of the cloth. You’re supposed to care about everybody. It’s in your job description.”

“Don’t try and be clever, Joseph. This isn’t the time or the place.”

“Well, as it happens I agree with you. I was never good enough for her, never will be, but she thought I was, and that’s what counts, isn’t it? Her happiness.”

“All I ever cared about was her happiness. Protecting her, keeping her safe …”

“Like her twin, Elizabeth?”

George shot him a wounded look and McNeil ignored it.

“What happened, George, to change your opinion of me? We got along when I was a kid. We got along when Kit and I first got together. You knew we were in love … would always be in love, and then Mae dies and suddenly I’m the devil incarnate. What happened, George?”

“You took my daughter to Bedlam and you lost her, Joseph. What do you expect?”

“No, George, what happened before Mae died? I saw the look on your face at her funeral. Did she tell you something …about me?”

The reverend pulled himself out of his chair and tried to shepherd McNeil out of the door with an outstretched hand. “It’s time you left. I have to get ready for the service.”

“What did she tell you?”

“Get out.”

McNeil stood his ground. “I need to know what my aunt told you. There are things I don’t remember about my life before Mae. It’s important that I do. It could help me find Kit.”

The reverend rounded on him with an expression that was not exactly fire and brimstone, but the look in his eye was enough to cause McNeil to take a step back. There was anger, but more than that, there was hurt so intense, so all-consuming, that he wondered if there was anything else left inside the worn-out shell and how the man had survived.

“Elizabeth is dead and I’ll carry the weight of my sorrow and her mother’s tears till the day I die. Kit is dead and I blame you for that, for luring her away from her family with your smile and your promise of better things. Regrettably, we lost one child, but Kit was ours to keep and you took her from us. I can’t tell you what Mae told me, I can’t break her confidence even if I wanted to, but I can tell you this for nothing. Mae was not your Aunt. She was not related to you in any way. You came to Mae from the devil himself, and believe me, Joseph, he will claim you back.”