Dying to Know (A Detective Inspector Berenice Killick Mystery) (29 page)

He
reached his house, feeling in his pocket for his keys.

And,
he thought, if we have a child, Helen and I, then that’s how it will have turned out. And if we don’t… He’d turned the key in the lock, preparing himself, once more, for the silence of the vicarage, for Helen hiding away in her studio.

But
there had been lights, and noise, a dog, and a slouching young man sitting at his kitchen table, and on the floor, an injured young woman. And Liam Phelps.

Liam
jumped to his feet, arm outstretched. ‘Chad,’ he said. ‘Just the man.’ He waved towards the sofa. ‘Finn Brady. And Lisa. They’ve escaped a horrible event. No need for police or anything,’ he added.

Chad,
standing by the table, lowered himself on to a chair, still in his coat. He wondered why Liam seemed to be in charge, as the physicist continued to explain that everything was under control. ‘… surface injuries only, I’m sure your wife can lend her a change of clothes…’

Helen
was sitting mutely at Liam’s side, and it seemed to Chad that he had become a guest in his own house, and that Liam was the host.

But
then Helen caught his eye, and whatever she saw there roused her to action. She got to her feet. ‘I think we need to eat,’ she said. ‘Chad, dear, you’re still in your coat.’ She laughed, went to him. ‘Let’s fix everyone some food.’

In
the hall, he took off his coat, hung it on its peg. Too many questions, he thought, hearing her taking plates from shelves, opening the fridge, the clink of a bottle of wine. Who was that girl? Who had injured her so badly? And that dog, now nuzzling her elbow, licking her hand. How did they get here, these people, sitting there in my lounge? Who brought whom? Did Helen just find them on the doorstep?

Later
he would ask her, did Liam bring them?

She’ll
hear him ask the question. She’ll hear, underneath his words, something unasked, something waiting to be asked. She’ll find that she can’t lie. No, she’ll say. Liam was already here, she’ll say to Chad, knowing that in these words she’s sowing seeds of doubt, unable to protect him by untruths.

But,
for now, they stand in the kitchen, side by side, stirring soup on the hob, cutting bread, pouring drinks, helping Lisa sit at the table, helping her manage a spoon in her good hand, breathing again as, wincing through pain, Lisa eats, and laughs.

‘The Green Man...?’ Berenice wondered if she’d spoken out loud. She took a sip of red wine, turned back to the book.

‘As
did the Green Man himself once emerge from the Tree of Life, only to Merge once more into leafy desuetude, so does this knowledge risk falling on stony ground unheeded, and will go unnoticed by generations to come. In the wrong hands it brings terrible dangers, as witnessed once already; so do I commit these notes, the only true account of my findings, to these pages, in hope that by these rays of truth we may see more clearly.’

She
took another sip of wine, turned the page.

‘In
the time of the Ark, when the world convulsed and the floods broke forth, they said it was to cleanse mankind of sin. And yet, what I say now, is that the world is made clean by the tears shed by mankind himself, as we bury our dead, as we commit our children to the earth, until the next flood comes again.’

Berenice
rolled some spaghetti on to her fork. She closed the book and placed it on the far side of the table, don’t want that vicar complaining about tomato sauce stains…

Terrible
dangers, witnessed once already.

She
wondered what they were. And children, committed to the earth, and people shedding tears.

Stories,
she thought. The truth is always there, in the stories people tell themselves. All you have to do, is listen.

She
swirled more spaghetti around her fork.

Dead
children. Murdo and his wife had a child who died.

It
takes less than that to kill a marriage.

And
there’s that Dr. Merletti with her passionate declaration of love, the mistress’s manifesto, always the same, I could have written it myself.

Stories,
she thought. It’s time to talk to Virginia again.

20th
September
,
1922

The
hum
of
the
machine
seemed
to
fill
the
room
,
so
loud
,
that
at
first
Gabriel
didn’t
hear
the
click
of
the
door
.
Then
,
aware
of
a
shadow
across
the
bench
,
he
turned
,
sharply
.

‘
Amelia
,
’
he
said
.

‘
Were
you
hoping
I
was
someone
else
?
’
She
brushed
her
fingers
along
the
edge
of
the
bench
.

‘
What
news
?
’

‘
The
doctor’s
here
.
He
says
it’s
a
fever
.
He
says
she
may
be
over
the
worse
.
Nanny
Roberts
is
with
her
now
.
’

‘
Has
she
managed
to
eat
?
’

‘
A
little
soup
,
that’s
all
.
’

She
watched
him
as
he
went
to
his
switches
,
pulled
them
across
.
The
hum
faded
.
Outside
,
the
sky
was
pink
with
the
last
of
the
day
.

‘
I
have
been
praying
-
’
she
began
,
but
he
interrupted
,
appearing
not
to
hear
.

‘
No
more
.
’
His
voice
was
rough
. ‘
We
have
laid
your
father
in
his
final
resting
place
,
and
your
brother
.
There
will
be
no
more
loss
…
’

‘
I
hope
that
you
are
right
,
my
dear
.
’
She
laid
her
hand
briefly
on
his
arm
.

He
went
to
the
bench
,
fiddled
a
wire
into
place
.
There
was
a
fizz
,
a
spark
.

‘
We
will
be
a
family
,
you
and
me
and
our
dear
child
,
’
she
said
,
but
he
was
concentrating
on
a
dial
. ‘
And
the
shadow
of
our
loss
…
’
she
said
.

‘
Oh
,
such
a
dark
,
dark
shadow
.
’
He
seemed
to
be
speaking
to
his
dials
. ‘
A
gap
that
cannot
be
filled
…
’

She
saw
that
his
eyes
had
filled
with
tears
.
He
blinked
,
dabbed
at
the
corners
of
his
eyes
with
a
finger
.
He
turned
towards
the
bench
,
flicked
another
switch
.

From
the
house
she
heard
the
maid
calling
her
.

‘
Doctor
Fitzgerald
is
about
to
leave
,
’
she
said
. ‘
I
must
go
to
him
.
I’ll
see
you
at
dinner
.
’

He
gave
a
brief
nod
.
She
shut
the
door
behind
her
.

Chapter Nineteen

Brightness
after the rain. From the window of the spare bedroom, Helen could see the strip of sea, rippled with morning sunlight.

Lisa
lay in the bed, fast asleep, breathing gently, her dog at her shoulder. The bruising around her eye looked darker, but the swelling seemed to have diminished, and the cut looked clean where Liam had washed and dressed it.

Helen
gazed down on her sleeping form. Tazer stirred, watched her.

She
ought to see a doctor, she thought. Or the police. Or someone.

I
don’t know what to do.

The
room had pale blue walls. The curtains had a blotchy, abstract pattern in mauve and pink.

Our
child would have slept here. Chad had let that slip, once, during the move, the nursery he’d called it, carrying a box of books.

The
box was still there in the corner of the room, gathering dust.

And
what about Clem? Was he going to pursue his daughter? Are we all somehow in danger now?