‘No. Worse, if anything. I had a row with Sally. I mean, now, of all times. I don’t know how I let it happen. I should have held my tongue. And so should she. Even now, with Beth missing, she can’t let go.’
‘Let go of what?’ Rose spoke softly. She was on the verge of learning something and she didn’t want to scare Carol off the subject.
She sighed. ‘It’s been the same all our lives. I know she’s a bit younger than me and probably resented my being born first – that happens in lots of families – but anything I’ve ever had or wanted, she’s either taken, or tried to take away from me. What makes it worse is that is exactly what she accused me of doing this morning.’
So it had been Sally’s voice they had heard. However, Carol’s self-pity seemed a little excessive
considering what her sister had actually lost. And then Carol spoke again. Rose leant forward, her hands resting on the pile of her skirt. Her hair hid one side of her face from Carol.
‘The trouble is I’ve never really tried to stop her. When I was small it seemed natural for her to have the things I wanted. It became a habit. Oh, Rose, I’ve made some terrible mistakes, but one of them was worse than anyone else could possibly have made.’
There was no doubt that Carol was obsessive; the clean white carpet covering the floor of a house where two small children lived was further proof of that. But now, looking at her eyes which sparkled too brightly and the face with its two vivid spots of colour, Rose thought she might also be neurotic, possibly even mentally ill; the sort of woman who thought the world was against her. Yes, everyone suffered a touch of paranoia once in a while, but surely not to this extent. Unless, of course, it was simply a case of exaggerated sibling rivalry. It was not a nice thought but there was always the chance that Carol was resenting the amount of attention her sister was receiving at the moment.
‘I’m sorry. I hardly know you, I shouldn’t be burdening you like this. I suppose it’s because I feel you’re part of it, having been there on Tuesday.
And whatever you may think, believe me, I do know exactly what Sally’s going through. That’s probably the reason why she snapped.’
‘Sometimes it’s easier to say things to a stranger.’ Rose wanted to bring up the subject of the boyfriend but could not do so without giving away the fact that Geoff had told her. Carol would know she had been betrayed.
Norma appeared with a tray. She set it on a small table. She had found pots and made tea and coffee, taking her time because she realised that Rose was the sort of woman Carol might confide in. As for herself, well, she was probably considered as being too old to understand her problem even though she had seen far more of life than Carol. And Norma had a good idea what her problem might be. ‘Who’s for what?’ She poured two coffees and tea for herself. ‘Put some sugar in it, Carol. It’ll do you good. Now, what was all that about earlier? I couldn’t help but overhear the shouting.’
Rose bit her lip. Now was not the time to smile, either Norma didn’t waste words, or tact was not her strong point.
‘You must have heard, too,’ Carol said with a frown as she asked herself what Rose had been doing in the downstairs hallway.
‘Not really. I’d only just arrived when you
came down the stairs. I bumped into Norma as she was on her way out.’
‘God, I’ve caused everyone so much trouble. I’m sorry, Norma, I didn’t realise you were busy.’
‘’Tisn’t important. I can go up to the churchyard this afternoon. I tidy my parents’ graves every month or so,’ she added, by way of explanation to Rose. ‘Sunday seems to be the appropriate day to do it somehow.’
They both turned to Carol who had started to cry quietly. ‘I miss that little girl,’ she said through her tears. ‘No one knows how much I love her. I should never have done what I did. Never.’ The tears flowed harder. Rose got a tissue from the cellophane packet she kept in her handbag and walked over to where Carol was sitting. ‘Here, use this,’ she said. Then, more gently, ‘What was it you did, Carol?’
Carol blew her nose and shook her head. ‘Oh, nothing really. I’m so bloody distraught I don’t know what I’m saying. That row, that’s what’s done it, it’s really unnerved me.’
‘When are your two kiddies coming home?’ Norma thought Carol required someone or something else to occupy her thoughts rather than her own self-pity. It had been a bad idea, sending them to stay with their grandparents.
‘Tonight. I’m picking them up around teatime.’
‘Good. I’m sure they’ll have missed you. I think we’ll leave you in peace now. I’m sure Rose won’t mind dropping me back. It’s not out of your way, is it, dear?’
‘Not at all. I’m going that way. I’m going back to Newlyn.’
They were about to get into the car when a third vehicle turned in at the gate. Carol, seeing them off from the door, had one hand to her mouth, the other steadying herself against the lintel.
The man who got out of the car might have been Carol’s husband but Rose guessed, judging by her reaction, that it was more likely to be the boyfriend. Bugger it, she thought. If we’d stayed just a few more minutes things might have become really interesting. She gave a wave then got into the car and turned the key in the ignition. As they drove away she saw, in her rear view mirror, that Carol and the man had gone inside the bungalow.
‘What did you make of all that?’ Norma asked, then carried on before Rose could answer. ‘Like I said before, something’s not right there. I’ve never met him, but I’m certain that man isn’t her husband. And what did she mean about Beth? You don’t think she’s …’ but she couldn’t bring herself to put it into words.
Rose knew that the questions had been
rhetorical. This was a trait Norma shared with Doreen Clarke. It was merely the voicing of thoughts to try to make some sense of them.
Spoken aloud, what Norma had suggested sounded ridiculous, but the idea had passed through Rose’s mind, too. And, reminiscent of the Bradley twins, there seemed to be no love lost between the sisters.
‘This’ll do me. Pull in anywhere it’s safe to park,’ Norma said when they reached the tiny square in Marazion. ‘I’ll walk from here to the churchyard. I don’t know about you, but I need a bit of fresh air now. Thanks for the lift, dear. And like I said before, you’re always welcome.’
Rose smiled, wondering if Norma was a little lonely now that she had no family left at home. She could do with some fresh air herself and the car would be all right where it was. She got out and locked it then walked down the short alleyway between two buildings, which led to the beach. This was where it happened, she thought. The scene was once more vivid in her mind. There was no question that the child had gone willingly; she could almost see her smile. But something about the scene she was visualising didn’t quite fit. She sat on the fine sand where it was dry because the tide did not come in that far
and tried to work out what was puzzling her. Was it something someone had said?
She found it difficult to concentrate because her artist’s eye kept observing the people who were walking past. The beach was a popular place for walkers and those exercising their dogs, especially on a weekend morning when the clarity of the air was unbelievably startling. There were a few small puffs of white cloud in an otherwise blue sky and the shades of the sea were varied. On the horizon it was a translucent green where the rays of the sun shone down. Where rocks were concealed beneath its surface it was tinged with purple and closer to the shore it was aquamarine edged with white spume.
The tide was still going out. At the edge of the water were flocks of gulls; mainly the ubiquitous herring gulls but also the smaller blockheaded gulls with their red legs and beaks and the small dark smudge behind each eye; their winter plumage. In the summer they would sport a chocolate hood. In the distance were a few of the far larger, solitary blackbacked variety.
Although the wind no longer blew from the east it was still too chilly to sit still for long. Rose stood up, brushed the sand from her skirt and strode along the beach.
Around the curve of the coastline, along which
the Penzance to Paddington railway line ran, she could see the walls of Penzance harbour and the tower of the church of St Mary the Virgin which was a familiar landmark to locals and could be seen from many viewpoints around the bay. Beyond that lay Newlyn with its steep tiers of granite properties, and the road to Mousehole where her house stood. She could just make it out.
Fifteen minutes later she had reached one of the wide streams which dissected the beach, running from the hills through tunnels over which the road had been built. Her shoes would be ruined if she tried to cross it. On a warmer day she would have taken them off and waded to the other side. Now, she retraced her steps, warm from the exercise. Her shoes left deeper imprints in the more gravely texture of the sand closer to the shore. By the time she got back to the car her calves were beginning to ache. Walking in sand was much harder than on grass or a pavement. But her mind was no clearer. Don’t think about it and whatever it was will come back to you, she told herself as she began the short drive home.
Just over an hour later, Jack arrived in Marazion. With plenty of time to spare he had stopped for a few bits of shopping and bought the local paper,
the
Sunday Independent,
which covered the three West Country counties. As he was early he would have a chance to read it.
The Godolphin Arms was a large pub with a separate dining room, a children’s play area and panoramic views over the bay. Sunday lunches were already being served. Jack ordered coffee and chose a seat at a table in the window.
He recalled one other occasion when he had been there with Rose. They had watched a constant stream of visitors returning from the Mount, most of them unaware of the vagaries of the tide. The majority had made it back but a few stragglers remained on the causeway not realising that the sea would swirl in ahead of them. There was slimy seaweed on parts of the causeway and the stones were uneven so it was far too dangerous to run. They had simply had to wade, shoes and jeans becoming soaked. One strong young man had hefted his girlfriend onto his shoulders and piggybacked her to dry land.
To their astonishment they had seen one couple attempt to make it out to the Mount but they soon had to turn back. Today no one was on the causeway; it was hardly visible. There was another hour and a half before low water.
Jack opened the paper. As he had expected there was coverage of Beth’s disappearance but
the article only reiterated what had been reported in the daily press, along with the number to ring if anyone had any relevant information.
There had been callers, there always were, and each one had to be taken seriously even though there were claims that the person could predict where Beth was or could swear that she had been abducted by aliens. There was always the chance of a double bluff, that the person at the end of the line really did have information but was tying to prove they were more clever than the police. ‘Inspector Pearce?’
Jack looked up. He had given Poole a description of himself but he would have been recognised anyway as at the moment he was the only single male in the room. The man standing beside him was as tall as Jack but that was the only similarity. Michael Poole possessed typical Anglo-Saxon looks; blond hair and blue eyes and skin which looked as if it would burn rather than tan. Jack recognised that he would normally be considered good-looking by women, but that day he looked exhausted.
Jack stood and shook his hand. This was an informal chat, not an interview. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
Michael hesitated, unsure if this was some sort of test. He had the car, after all. ‘Thank you. A pint of bitter, please.’
Jack went to the bar to buy it then returned to the table. There were more customers now; he wondered just how private their talk would be. However, the couples and family groups all seemed engrossed in their own conversations.
‘Thank you.’ Michael took a sip of his beer then placed the glass on the table in a way which suggested he hadn’t really wanted a drink. No doubt he was nervous. ‘I know there’s no further news,’ he began. ‘I was at Sally’s place this morning and an officer rang to say so.’ He looked at Jack, hoping that he was wrong, hoping that in the time since he had left her something may have happened. But Jack’s grim expression gave him the answer.
‘You do realise that everything that can be done is being done.’ Banal, meaningless words but they needed to be spoken.
Michael frowned as he nodded, wondering what exactly it was that they were doing.
‘Why did you and Sally decide to part?’
‘It was not my decision. I loved her, I still love her, but she didn’t want to stay with me.’
‘Was this before or after Beth was born?’
‘Before. She can’t have been more than a couple of months pregnant when she left. At the time I thought she might have been using me,
that a baby was all she wanted.’ He shrugged in resignation. ‘If so, she certainly fooled me.’
‘This is going to sound impertinent, but I need to ask you about your maintenance arrangements.’
‘What?’ Michael had picked up his glass. He replaced it on the table without drinking from it. His hand, Jack noticed, was shaking.
‘We happen to know that you have continued to make them, despite the situation. Some men wouldn’t have. You see, you told us that you didn’t know where she was living and we happen to know that she doesn’t have a bank account.’ In Cornwall, not having one was not as unusual as it would have been anywhere else.
He hesitated as he thought about his method of doing so. ‘You’re right. Sally didn’t want me to know where she was living. I saw Beth a couple of times when she brought her up to Looe when she was a baby. At first I was angry because I didn’t get to see her more often, but I respected Sally’s wishes. I even insisted on a blood test to prove the baby was mine. Anyway, Sally continued to refuse to give me her address. Alice wouldn’t either, although I knew she wanted to. We came to an arrangement, I was to give the money to Alice on a monthly basis and she would forward it on.’