Bones Under The Beach Hut (36 page)

    They
were aware of a young man in a crumpled beige suit hovering on the edge of their
charmed circle in front of the beach hut. Lionel Oliver looked up and
recognized him. 'Ah, Inspector Fyfield. The car's here, is it?'

    'Yes,
Mr Oliver. The Superintendant would like to talk to you back at the station.'

    'Of
course.'

    'I
think he ought to talk to me too,' said Joyce.

    'I'm
sure that'd be fine. If you wish to accompany your husband, Mrs Oliver . . .'

    'Yes,
I do. Lionel, if you'll just lock up
Mistral. . .'

    'Of
course, love.'

    'Carole
and Jude,' Joyce went on, 'if you don't mind just walking up to the car with
me, I'd like to get your contact numbers. I think there are a few things we're
going to need to talk about.'

    The
two women reckoned that was probably an understatement. Joyce Oliver picked up
her beach bag and the three of them followed Inspector Fyfield up the beach.

    On
the edge of the prom Joyce stopped by a bench, which faced away from the sea,
and sat down. 'If I could just get those numbers from you . . .'

    The
simple process seemed to take a long time.

    Joyce
Oliver shuffled through the contents of her bag in search of pen and paper, but
her hands were shaking so much Jude had to help her. In spite of her earlier
apparent calmness, she was clearly in a state of shock.

    But
eventually one of her wordsearch books was found. Carole and Jude wrote down
their contact numbers on the back of it. Then they followed the route taken by
Inspector Fyfield, who was by now leaning against his car. Though he had his
back to them, the women could detect the impatience in his body language.

    It
was an unmarked police car with a driver in civilian clothes, not a patrol car.
After the shock of being a scene of crime, Smalting was not about to suffer any
further affronts to its middle-class respectability.

    Or
was it? Jude, as ever hypersensitive to the mood of her environment,
experienced a feeling almost of dread. She tapped Carole on the sleeve. Both
looked out to sea. Lionel Oliver had put his suit jacket on, as if dressed for
work. The water was already up to his chest as he continued to march steadily
forward away from Smalting Beach. Carole and Jude knew that his suit pockets
would be full of shingle.

    Jude
looked at Joyce Oliver, but the old woman's powdered face was unreadable. Had
she deliberately created the delay in taking their phone numbers so that her
husband would have the opportunity to make his escape before anyone could stop
him? Had some secret message passed between the couple as they parted for the
last time? Those were questions that Jude felt sure would never be answered.

    Inspector
Fyfield contacted the coastguard. A rescue helicopter was immediately
mobilized. But of course it arrived too late.

    The
following day, as arranged, Carole Seddon's daughter-in-law and granddaughter
arrived at High Tor just before lunch. Lily had slept in the car and was very
lively. She had become much more mobile since Carole had last seen her and
climbed the stairs unaided to inspect her bedroom, of which she approved. She
was very excited by the folding cot that her grandmother had bought and by the
two new cuddlies that had been put in it.

    Lily's
speech had also developed. She could now vocalize a very convincing 'Mummy',
'Biscuit' and 'No'. Gaby had clearly been tutoring her to say 'Granny', but she
had only got as far as 'Gaga'. Which, Carole reckoned, would soon not be a
million miles from the truth.

    Her
concentration over the previous week on the investigations into Mark Dennis's
disappearance and Robin Cutter's death had had the beneficial effect of
stopping her from worrying about Gaby's visit, and the two women were very
relaxed over their Sunday lunch. Lily also ate well and when they had all
finished Carole announced that they were going to a nearby village called
Smalting, where she 'had a beach hut'.

    Lily
of course had no idea what a beach hut was, but as soon as she saw
Quiet
Harbour
she caught on very quickly. She liked the idea of their having
their own little house to live in, and she loved her own little pink director's
chair. And she was even more pleased with the new red and yellow bathing
costume that Gaby put her into. Even at that age, Lily had a real girlie
fascination with clothes.

    But
of course she had no idea what a significant event she was witnessing when her
grandmother stripped off her outer garments to reveal a sedate Marks &
Spencer one-piece bathing costume in a flattering, deep red colour. Nor was the
little girl aware how privileged she was to witness Carole Seddon removing her
shoes and socks and letting the sand get between her toes.

    Anyway,
Lily was far too preoccupied to notice what anyone else was doing. She had
become instantly busy with the plastic buckets, spade and shapes that her
doting grandmother had bought for her. In no time she had worked out what the
sea and the sand were for, and was trekking back and forth from the shoreline
spilling buckets of water and preparing elaborate tea parties with sand pies
for the two dolls she had brought with her.

    Carole
Seddon took in the scene and couldn't have been happier. It was all so
archetypally English - except of course for the fine weather.

    And
as she watched Lily busily playing, it seemed incongruous that that same beach
had so recently been a witness to such tragedy.

    There
were a few changes in the world of Smalting that summer. Following complaints
about misuse of his authority and an internal enquiry, Kelvin Southwest was
relieved of his job at Fether District Council and someone else took over the
administration of the beach huts. No complaints were made about his paedophile
tendencies, but then very few people knew about those. And perhaps his use of
child pornography did keep him from committing worse crimes.

    But
he had to find another source of such material. The same Fether District
Council internal investigation removed Curt Holderness from his sinecure as
security officer. And following an enquiry and a clean-up, Curt's
pornography-copying friend in the local police also lost his job.

    Kelvin
Southwest (with his mother) and Curt Holderness both moved from the area.

    So
did Mark Dennis and Philly Rose. Their country idyll no longer seemed as
attractive to either of them. Mark returned to work in the City, though at a
much less high-powered level. The breakdown had burnt out most of his early
promise.

    Philly
found more work as a graphic designer back in London. But she had genuinely
loved Seashell Cottage and had been unhappy about moving.

    Then,
perhaps inevitably, her relationship with Mark broke up. It was a long time
before either of them found anyone else. Mark certainly made no attempt to
reignite his marriage, but Nuala would never completely let go of him. While
she exploited other men, she would still come back to her undivorced husband
from time to time, usually demanding more money.

    A
happier, though unlikely, romance did, however, come to fruition. It was
announced in the September edition of
The Hut Parade
(with complimentary
tide table for new members of the SBHA) that Reginald Flowers had married Dora
Pinchbeck. So now he could dictate to her whenever he wanted to and she could
polish his brass fittings.

    Not a
lot changed with the other members of the Smalting Beach Hut Association.
Deborah Wrigley continued to use
Seagull's Nest
as just another chamber
in which to torture her family.

    And
in
Shrimphaven
Katie Brunswick continued endlessly to rewrite her novel
(except of course when she was off on courses instructing her about different
ways of rewriting it).

    Meanwhile
up on the Smalting prom at Sanditon Helga Czesky continued to indulge her
husband's middle-aged
enfant terriblisme.
And Gray Czesky, cushioned by
his wife's substantial tolerance and substantial income, still didn't realize
how lucky he was and would still maunder on to anyone foolish enough to listen
about his world-shattering plans to
épater le bourgeois.
(The local
bourgeois, it should be noted, remained remarkably unaware of and uninterested
in his efforts to
épate
them.)

    After
his grandfather's suicide the police closed the case of Robin Cutter. He was
found by an inquest to have died of accidental drowning. His grandmother still
used
Mistral
a lot, still always had a wordsearch book with her, but she
now spent a lot of time, as her late husband had done, just looking bleakly out
to sea.

    There
was never any thought of a rapprochement between Joyce Oliver and her
daughter-in-law. Miranda Browning perhaps received some comfort from the
discovery that her son had not been the victim of a paedophile, but the sense
of loss remained ever present in her life. As it did in the life of her
divorced husband Rory.

    For
the inhabitants of High Tor and Woodside Cottage everything continued much as
before. Jude was occasionally restless, feeling that perhaps it was time for
her to move on from Fethering, but she didn't confide these thoughts in her
neighbour. Carole Seddon could always find sufficient imagined slights in her
life, without being given any real ones to worry about.

    And
the general view in Fethering remained that the people in Smalting were a bit
up themselves.