Hidden Depths (2 page)

‘This is Miss Marsh,’ James said. ‘She’s working at our school.’

The woman had a big straw bag strung by a leather strap over her shoulder. She held out a hand which was very brown and long and bony. The bag slipped down her arm and Felicity saw that it contained files and a library book.

‘Lily.’ Her voice was clear. ‘I’m a student. This is my last teaching practice.’ She smiled as if she expected Felicity to be pleased to meet her.

‘I told her she could come and stay in our cottage,’ James said and set off up the lane, unencumbered, not caring which of the adults carried his things.

Felicity was not quite sure what to say.

‘He
did
mention I was looking for somewhere?’ Lily asked.

Felicity shook her head.

‘Oh dear, how embarrassing.’ But she didn’t seem very embarrassed. She seemed to be remarkably self-assured, to find the incident amusing. ‘It’s been such a nightmare travelling from Newcastle every day without a car. The head asked in assembly if anyone knew of accommodation. We were thinking of a B&B or someone wanting a paying guest. And yesterday James said you had a cottage to let. I tried to phone this afternoon but there was no answer. He said you’d be in the garden and to come anyway. I presumed he’d discussed it with you. It was hard to say no . . .’

‘Oh yes,’ Felicity agreed. ‘He can be very insistent.’

‘Look, it’s not a problem. It’s a lovely afternoon. I’ll walk into the village and there’s a bus from there into town at six.’

‘Let me think about it,’ Felicity said. ‘Come and have some tea.’

There had been tenants in the cottage before, but it had never quite worked out. In the early days they’d been glad of an extra source of income. Even with the money from Peter’s parents the mortgage repayments had been a nightmare. Then, with three children under five, they had thought it might house a nanny or au pair. But there had been complaints about the cold and a dripping tap and the lack of modern convenience. And they hadn’t been comfortable having a stranger living so close to the family. They’d felt the responsibility for the tenant as an extra stress. Although none of them had been particularly troublesome, it had always been a relief to see them go. ‘Never again,’ Peter had said when the last resident, a homesick Swedish au pair, had left. Felicity wasn’t sure how he would feel about another young woman on the doorstep, even if it was only four weeks until the end of term.

As they sat at the table in the kitchen, with the breeze from the sea blowing the muslin curtain at the open window, Felicity Calvert thought she probably would let the young woman have the place if she wanted it. Peter wouldn’t mind too much if it was for a short time.

James was sitting beside them at the table, surrounded by scissors, scraps of cut paper and glue. He was drinking orange juice and making a birthday card for his father. It was an elaborate affair with photos of Peter taken from old albums and stuck as a collage around a big 60 made out of ribbon and glitter. Lily admired it and asked about the early photographs. Felicity sensed James’s pleasure in her interest and felt a stab of gratitude.

‘If you live in Newcastle,’ she said, ‘I suppose you wouldn’t want the cottage at weekends.’ She thought that would be another point to make to Peter.
She’d only be here during the week. And you work such long hours you wouldn’t notice she’s around.

The cottage stood beyond the meadow with the wild flowers in it. Besides the garden, this was the only land they owned. Viewed from the house the building looked so small and squat it was hard to believe that anyone could live there. A path had been trampled across the field and Felicity wondered who had been here since the grass had grown up. James probably. He used it as a den when he had friends to play, though they kept the building locked and she couldn’t remember him asking for a key lately.

‘Cottage makes it sound more grand than it is,’ she said. ‘It’s only one up and one down with a bathroom built on the back. The gardener lived here when our house was first built. It was a pigsty before then, I think; some sort of outhouse anyway.’

The door was fastened by a padlock. She unlocked it then hesitated, feeling suddenly uneasy. She wished she’d had a chance to look around the building before inviting the stranger in. She should have left Lily in the kitchen while she checked the state of the place.

But although she was aware at once of the damp, it was tidy enough. The grate was empty, though she couldn’t remember cleaning it after her youngest daughter and her husband had been here at Christmas. The pans were hanging in their place on the wall and the oilskin cloth on the table had been wiped down. It was pleasantly cool after the heat in the meadow. She pushed open the window.

‘They’re cutting grass at the farm,’ she said. ‘You can smell it from here.’

Lily had stepped inside. It was impossible to tell what she thought of the place. Felicity had expected her to fall in love with it and felt offended. It was as if an overture of friendship had been rejected. She led the woman through to the small bathroom. Pointing out that the shower was new and the tiles had recently been replaced, she felt like an estate agent desperate for a sale. Why am I behaving like this? she thought. I wasn’t even sure I wanted her here.

At last Lily spoke. ‘Can we look upstairs?’ And she started up the tight wooden steps which led straight from the kitchen. Felicity felt the same uneasiness as when she’d paused at the door of the cottage. She would have liked to be there first.

But again, everything was more in order than she had expected. The bed was still made up, the quilt and extra blankets folded neatly at its foot. There was dust on the painted cupboard and dressing table, on the family photographs which stood there, but none of the rubbish and clutter which usually remained after her daughter’s stay. A jug of white roses stood on the wide window sill. One of the petals had dropped and she picked it up absent-mindedly. Of course, Felicity thought. Mary has been in although I never asked her. What a sweetie she is! So unobtrusive and helpful! Mary Barnes came to clean twice a week.

Only when she was closing the padlock behind them, did Felicity think that the roses couldn’t have been there for more than a few days, and Mary, an unimaginative woman, would never have thought of a touch like that without being prompted.

They stood for a moment outside the cottage. ‘Well?’ Felicity asked. ‘What did you think?’ She caught a falsely cheerful note in her voice.

Lily smiled. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘Really. But there’s such a lot to think about. I’ll be in touch, shall I, next week?’

Felicity had intended offering her a lift, at least as far as the bus stop in the village, but Lily turned away and walked off across the meadow. Felicity couldn’t bring herself to shout or run after her, so she stood and watched until the red and gold figure was lost in the long grass.

Julie couldn’t stop talking. She knew she was making a tit of herself, but the words spilled out, and the fat woman wedged in the Delcor armchair that Sal had got from the sales last year just sat there and listened. Not taking notes, not asking questions. Just listening. ‘He was an easy baby. Not like Laura. She was a real shock after Luke. A demanding little madam, either asleep or crying or with a bottle in her gob. Luke was . . .’ Julie paused trying to find the right word. The fat detective didn’t interrupt, just gave her the time to think. ‘. . . restful, peaceful. He’d lie awake all day, just watching the shadows on the ceiling. A bit slow talking, but by then I’d had Laura and the health visitor thought that was why. I mean, she was so bright and taking up all my time and sucking my energy, that Luke had got left out. Nothing to worry about, the health visitor said. He’d catch up as soon as he started nursery. Geoff was still living with us, but he was working away a lot. He’s a plasterer. There’s more money in the south and he went through one of those agencies, ended up working on Canary Wharf . . . It was a lot to cope with, two kids under three and no man around.’

Then the woman did respond, just nodding her head a touch to show that she understood.

‘I started him at the nursery at the school in the village. He didn’t want to go at first, they had to drag him off me, and when I went back an hour later he was still sobbing. It broke my heart, but I thought it was for the best. He needed the company. The health visitor said it was the right thing to do. And he did get used to it. He used to go in without screaming, at least. But all the time looking at me with those eyes. Not speaking but the eyes saying, “Don’t make me go in there, Mam. Please don’t make me go.”’ Julie was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chin, her arms clasped around them. She looked up at the detective, who was still watching and waiting. It came to her suddenly that this woman, large and solid like rock, might once have known tragedy herself. That was why she could sit there without making those stupid, sympathetic noises Sal and the doctor had made. This woman knew that nothing she could say would make it better. But Julie didn’t care about the detective’s sadness and the thought was fleeting. She went back to her story.

‘It was about that time Geoff came home from London. He said the work had dried up, but I heard from his mate that there’d been some row with the foreman. He’s a good worker, Geoff, and he won’t be pissed about. It was a difficult time for him. He was never one for sitting around and he was used to making big money. He put in a new kitchen for me and did up the bathroom. You’d never believe what this place looked like when we first moved in. But then the cash ran out . . .’

Sal had made tea. In a pot, not with bags in the mugs as Julie always made it. Julie reached out to the tray and poured herself another cup. It wasn’t that she wanted one, but it gave her time to sort out what she wanted to say.

‘It wasn’t a good time. Geoff wasn’t used to the kids. When he was working in London, he had only one long weekend a month at home. Then it was a novelty for him being there. He’d make a fuss of them, bring presents. We were all on our best behaviour. And every night he was out at the club drinking with his mates. When he came back for good it couldn’t be like that. You know what it’s like. Baby clothes drying on the radiator and toys all over the floor. Mucky nappies . . . There were times when he lost patience, especially with Luke. Laura would giggle and play up to him. Luke seemed to be in a world of his own. Geoff never hit him. But he’d shout and Luke would get so scared you’d think he
had
been battered. I used to shout all the time but they knew I never meant it. They’d get their own way anyway. It was different with Geoff. Even I got scared.’

She was silent for a moment thinking of Geoff and his temper, the gloom which lingered over the house after one of his outbursts. But she couldn’t keep quiet for long and the words started again.

‘Luke was no bother in the infants’ school. He even seemed to like going. Perhaps he was used to it, because the nursery was in the same building. He had a lovely teacher in the first class, Mrs Sullivan. She was like a grandma to them, sat them on her knee when she was teaching them to read. She told me he had problems – nothing serious, she said – but it would be best to get him checked out. She wanted him to see a psychologist. But there was no money, or the waiting list was too long and it never happened. Geoff said the only thing wrong with Luke was that he was lazy. Then he left us. He said we got on his nerves. We were dragging him down. But I knew fine well that he’d been having a fling with a nurse from the RVI. They ended up living together. They’re married now.’

She stopped again for a moment. Not because she’d run out of things to say, but because she needed to catch her breath. She thought Geoff had known all along that there was something wrong with Luke. You could tell by the suspicious way he’d stare at him when he was playing. He just didn’t want to admit it.

It was eight-thirty in the morning. They were still sitting in her neighbour’s house, in Sal’s front room. Outside the postman walked past, staring at the cop standing by her front door. The kids further down the street were chasing and giggling on their way to school.

The fat woman detective leaned forward, not pushing Julie to continue, more showing her that she was content to wait, that she had all the time in the world. Julie sipped the tea. She didn’t tell the woman about the way Geoff had looked at Luke. Instead she moved the story on a year.

‘The tantrums started when he was about six. They came out of nowhere and you couldn’t control him. Mam said it was my fault for spoiling him. He wasn’t in Mrs Sullivan’s class then, but she was the only one at that school I could really talk to, and she said it was frustration. He couldn’t explain himself properly and he was struggling with his reading and writing and suddenly it all got too much for him. Once he pushed out at this lad who was teasing him. The lad tripped and cracked his head on the playground. There was an ambulance and you can imagine what it was like waiting to pick up the bairns that afternoon – all the other mams pointing and whispering. Luke was dead sorry. He wanted to go and see the lad in the hospital, and when you think about it, it was the other lad who’d started it with his teasing. Aidan he was called. Aidan Noble. His mam was all right about it, but his dad came round to the house to have a go at us. Mouthing off on the doorstep so the whole street could hear.

‘The head teacher called me in. Mr Warrender. He was a short plump man, with that thin sort of hair that doesn’t quite cover the bald patch. I saw him in town the other day and I didn’t recognize him at first – he’s taken to wearing a toupee. He wasn’t nasty. He made me a cup of tea and that. He said Luke had behavioural problems and they weren’t sure they could cope with him in school. I showed myself up. Started crying. Then I told him what Mrs Sullivan had said about it being frustration and if they’d pushed for Luke to see a specialist earlier on then he might not have worked himself up into such a state. And Mr Warrender seemed to listen because Luke did see someone. They did tests, like, and said he had learning difficulties, but he should be able to stay in school with some support. And that was what happened.’