Hypocrite's Isle (37 page)

 

When Gavin didn’t call about a new supply of Valdevan, Caroline called him, but failed to get an answer. He didn’t respond to either the flat phone or his mobile, and a call to the university revealed that he had not been seen in the department. This was to go on for three days before she became so anxious that she packed a bag and told her father she was going up to Edinburgh to find out what was wrong. Her first port of call was the flat in Dundas Street, where Tim Anderson told her that Gavin had not been home ‘for a couple of days’. He invited her in and offered her coffee when she told him who she was, and said, ‘I thought maybe he had gone south to your place. I understand your mother’s not well.’

‘No. I haven’t managed to contact him since Tuesday.’

‘He seems to have been a bit low lately,’ said Anderson.

‘Could I see his room?’ asked Caroline.

‘Sure, on you go.’

Caroline swallowed as she entered Gavin’s room. Maybe it was what Tim had said, but she was filled with foreboding. Something was dreadfully wrong. Gavin didn’t have much in the way of clothes but most of them seemed to be there, except perhaps for his beloved green jersey, and his denim jacket, which wasn’t hanging on the back of the door. He certainly hadn’t packed up all his belongings and gone off somewhere. His laptop was lying on the floor beside the bed, with what she saw when she picked them up were three copies of the Valdevan paper. She froze when she saw the white envelope that had been lying underneath. It had her name on it. She opened it with trembling fingers.

Caroline’s sobbing attracted Tim, who knocked gently on the half-open door. ‘I couldn’t help but hear …’

Caroline handed him the tear-stained letter. ‘Oh, God, what’s he done?’ she sobbed.

 

Tim accompanied Caroline to the police station, where they
reported
Gavin missing and showed the desk sergeant the letter so that they would be taken seriously.

‘And you are?’

‘His girlfriend.’

‘His flatmate.’

Caroline and Tim were invited to take a seat, and gazed unseeingly at the information posters on the walls while they waited. They were eventually asked into another room, where a plain-clothes officer invited them to sit in front of a table. Caroline could see by the expression on his face that he might have bad news to impart, although he began by taking what he called ‘a few details’.

‘Have you any idea what Gavin might have been wearing when he disappeared?’

Tim shrugged but Caroline said, ‘I think maybe his green
jumper
, probably jeans and a denim jacket.’

This seemed to be what the officer was looking for. He put down his pen and said, ‘I’m so sorry, but the body of a young man was taken from the sea at North Berwick this morning. His clothes match your description.’

Caroline shook her head, as if unable or unwilling to accept what she was hearing. Tim put a tentative arm round her shoulders.

‘I wonder … would you be willing to . .?’

Tim nodded.

 

No one spoke on the rain-swept drive over to the City Mortuary, not even when they got inside. The officer disappeared for a few moments before coming back and gesturing for Caroline and Tim to follow him. They were shown into a room that both of them felt they had seen a million times before on TV and in films. One of the fridge doors was opened and a body tray slid out on to the rails of a waiting trolley. The sheet covering the body was pulled back and the attendant stepped back in practised fashion. The officer nodded to them.

Caroline approached the trolley first, and found herself
looking
down into Gavin’s cold, pallid face. His eyes were closed. She nodded for the benefit of the officer, and closed her eyes for a
moment
, as if summoning up strength before bending to kiss Gavin’s forehead. ‘Oh, Gav,’ she sobbed. ‘You stupid … stupid …’

 

Caroline returned to the flat in Dundas Street, but only to pick up Gavin’s laptop and the copies of the Valdevan paper. Tim suggested that she stay the night, saying that she shouldn’t be alone, but she declined, knowing that she couldn’t bear to be anywhere near the little room where she and Gavin had first made love. She took a taxi over to Pollock Halls, where two classmates helped her through a very long night.

The report of Gavin’s death made it to the papers next day.

Caroline felt a deep anger inside her as she read the report over and over again. ‘Two-faced, mealy-mouthed bastard,’ she growled. Gradually, her attention moved from Sutcliffe to Frank Simmons, who was ‘on leave’. She turned to Moira, one of the girls who had supported her through the night. ‘I have a favour to ask,’ she said.

‘Anything, Carrie.’

‘You have a car. I have a delivery to make.’

 

Moira stopped outside the Simmonses’ house and Carrie got out, carrying Gavin’s laptop and the Valdevan paper. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said.

‘Take as long as you need.’

Jenny opened the door. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m Caroline, Gavin’s girlfriend.’

‘Oh, my God. We’ve just read it in the papers. Oh, my dear, what can I say? Come in, please. I don’t know if you know Frank?’

‘Yes, from my classes.’

Jenny led the way into the kitchen, where Frank Simmons was sitting, arms crossed on the table, with the
Scotsman
open in front of him.

‘It’s Gavin’s girlfriend, Caroline,’ said Jenny softly.

Simmons got to his feet slowly, as if in a trance. He was
wondering
what fate was about to throw at him now. He gestured with one hand to the paper. ‘Caroline, I wish I could think of something sensible to say … but I can’t. This is absolutely bloody awful. I’m so sorry.’

Jenny ushered Caroline into a chair opposite Simmons, and they both sat down while Jenny made fresh coffee. Although
Caroline
could see that Simmons was genuinely upset, she also sensed that he was wondering why she was there. ‘I thought you should have these,’ she said, pushing the three copies of the Valdevan paper across the table, and immediately invoking in Simmons memories of Gavin recently doing the same thing.

‘Thanks,’ said Simmons, looking down at the title page, but really wondering what he was going to find in Caroline’s eyes when he looked up. When he did, there was no anger there, only sadness, and something he suspected might be resolve.

Caroline put Gavin’s laptop on the table and said, ‘The paper’s also on the hard drive. You can return the laptop to me when you’ve done whatever you plan to do with it … if anything … and I’ll return it to his folks.’

The
if anything
hung in the air like an accusation.

‘Thank you,’ said Simmons.

Jenny brought over coffee, but Caroline got to her feet saying, ‘Not for me, thanks, there’s someone waiting outside. I just thought I’d bring these over and tell you, Frank.’

‘Tell me what?’ asked Simmons in trepidation.

‘Gavin didn’t blame you.’

Jenny showed Caroline out, and returned to the kitchen to find Simmons sitting staring at the closed laptop. ‘Are you all right?’

‘No,’ said Simmons quietly, continuing to stare at the laptop.

‘Frank?’

Simmons suddenly smashed his fist down on the table and looked up at Jenny. ‘I am most definitely not all right. We are not going to Australia. We’re not going anywhere. We are staying here. I’ve got too much to do.’

In the silence that followed, it dawned on Simmons that there had been no reaction from Jenny. ‘Well?’ he prompted.

‘It would seem that I’ve just got my husband back,’ said Jenny. ‘And about time too, if I may say so.’