No Mercy (4 page)

He gave her a sideways glance, but didn’t pursue the subject.

They were silent until they hit the main path and then he said, ‘So, you got any plans for Friday night?’

Maddie shook her head. ‘Nothing special.’

‘You should come down the Fox, have a few drinks.’

‘Maybe,’ she said. It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested it and she was never sure whether he meant the invitation as a date or was simply being matey. It was ages since she’d been asked out by a guy. She was out of touch with courtship rituals and found it hard to interpret the signals. What had once come so easily to her – there’d been a time when she was never short on offers – now felt like a complicated dance to which she’d forgotten the steps. ‘I’ll have to see if I can get a babysitter.’

‘How’s your Zac doing, then?’

Your
Zac. Even after all this time, Maddie hadn’t quite got used to hearing those words. Six years ago, when she’d first started taking care of him, she had always told people that he wasn’t actually her son. It had felt disloyal to Greta to claim him as her own. But now she no longer bothered to explain. The story was a long and painful one, and somehow it was easier – and less upsetting – to let the presumption lie.

‘He’s fine,’ she said. ‘He’s going to one of those daytime activity camps at the moment, so that keeps him out of trouble.’ Without the extra cash from the grave-tending, and especially from the mysterious Cato, she would have struggled to afford the fees. ‘My friend Shauna picks him up in the afternoon and drops him off at his grandparents’. They look after him until I get home from work, but they’re getting on a bit, so I don’t like to impose. It’s hard work taking care of an eight-year-old.’

‘It must be tough,’ he said, ‘bringing up a kid on your own.’

They went past the bin and she dumped the wilted flowers in it. ‘I’m not completely on my own. Like I said, I’ve got help.’ In truth, without Bo’s parents – Winston and Alisha – she would have struggled to cope. Her own mother had taken off to Portugal shortly after Greta’s death, making it clear that her child-raising days were over and that she had no intention of taking on another. And as for her father, well, when it came to family responsibilities, he hardly qualified as Dad of the Year.

‘Enjoying the camp, then, is he?’

‘Yes, loving it, but not as much as I am. He’s so worn out by the time he comes home I barely get a peep out of him.’

‘Now that’s worth paying for.’

‘Every penny,’ she agreed. She was on the verge of asking if he had any kids of his own, but then thought twice about it. What if he thought she had an ulterior motive, that she was sussing him out as possible boyfriend material? That wouldn’t be good. It might make her look desperate, and no girl wanted to be placed in that particular category.

They arrived at the main path that led in a northerly direction to the top part of the cemetery and in the southerly to the high-street exit near Kellston Station. Rick stopped and there was one of those slightly awkward pauses as if neither of them was quite sure what to say before they separated. Maddie looked at her watch again even though she already knew the time.

‘So…’ he murmured.

‘I’d better go,’ she said, ‘but thanks for being so brave.’

‘No problem.’ He rocked back a little on his heels. ‘We gravediggers are renowned for our chivalry and courage.’

‘And modesty,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t forget modesty.’

‘Well, I didn’t like to mention it, but…’

She smiled. ‘See you around, then.’

‘Sure. See you around.’

She had only gone a few feet when he called out to her again.

‘Oh, and, Maddie?’

She turned, wondering if he would mention the Fox again. ‘Yeah?’

‘Take care, huh?’

‘You too.’ She gave him a wave and continued along the path, aware of a mingling sense of disappointment and relief. Quickly she brushed the feelings aside. What was the matter with her? It wasn’t as if she even had time for a boyfriend. No, she definitely didn’t. With two jobs to do and a child to take care of, with all the washing, cleaning and cooking, there were barely enough hours in the day as it was.

Maddie raised her face to the sun and felt the warm rays spread across her skin. There she went, making excuses again. When it came to relationships, she was always full of them: reasons why she couldn’t, why she shouldn’t. It was years since she’d even been out with a man. And yet other women managed it. There were plenty of single mums out there who didn’t stay home alone every night.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ she murmured.

But she already knew the answer. It was fear that prevented her from getting involved, fear of loving someone and losing them. Greta’s death had shaken her to the very core. The only person she allowed herself to love was Zac, but even that love was shrouded in anxiety. She was not his real mother and never could be. What if she got it wrong? What if she let him down? Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night, her heart racing, her skin clammy with dread. Staring into the darkness, she would clench her hands into two tight fists, praying that nothing bad would happen.

Maddie had almost reached the tall wrought-iron gates that led out on to the street when she heard the sound of footsteps hurrying behind. She flinched and turned sharply, her nerves still on edge after the episode at the grave. But it was only Delia Shields.

‘Sorry,’ Delia said, catching up with her. ‘I didn’t mean to… I was just wondering if I could have a quick word?’

‘Of course.’

Delia hesitated, the tip of her tongue snaking out to dampen her dry lips. Her hands did a curious dance in the air. ‘Er… I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I was… I was just curious as to who’d employed you to tend the Lucy Rivers grave.’

Maddie gazed back at the woman. Delia’s face had a tight, strained look. ‘Lucy Rivers?’ she repeated, playing for time. Although there was nothing strictly confidential about the work she did – she was hardly a doctor or a priest – a part of her still felt that the question wasn’t appropriate. Mr Cato paid her and that, as far as she was concerned, gave him the right to privacy unless he told her otherwise. ‘Why? Did you know her?’

Delia hesitated again, a red stain appearing on her cheeks. ‘Er… no, not exactly… Only… the family… the family are curious.’

Maddie frowned. She was pretty sure that Delia was lying. And if Lucy’s family were so interested, why had they ignored the grave for so long? It didn’t make any sense. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I don’t really think it’s my place to say.’

Delia’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Exactly that. I can’t give out the names of my clients.’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous!’

Maddie gave a thin smile. If she’d had any doubts, her mind was now made up. ‘Look, I really have to go. I’m sorry I can’t help.’ She turned and walked off towards the street.

‘It’s him, isn’t it?’ Delia called out after her.

Maddie glanced over her shoulder. ‘Who do you mean?’

‘That bastard! That bastard Cato!’

Maddie stopped, almost jumping at the viciousness in her voice. The sensible, polite middle-aged secretary had morphed into a snarling harridan. She stared at the woman, shocked by the transformation. Delia’s mouth was slightly open, a gob of spittle resting in the left-hand corner, her eyes blazing with fury. What was going on? Well, whatever it was, she didn’t want to get involved. Without another word, without even bothering to reply, she hurried through the gates, eager to escape the madness.

Maddie tried to maintain a pleasant expression as the couple in front of her changed their minds for the third time about whether they wanted a striped or plain parasol to go with the bench set they’d decided to buy. The girl, who had pink sunburned shoulders, pulled a face as her gaze flicked indecisively from one to the other.

‘What do you think, babe? Which one’s gonna go best?’

The bloke nodded towards the red-and-white-striped version. ‘That one. Yeah, let’s get that one.’

‘You reckon?’

‘Yeah.’

But the girl still dithered. ‘I dunno. Maybe. I do like that one – the colours are nice – but I’m not sure if…’

Maddie had to make a conscious effort not to raise her eyes to the heavens. For the most part she enjoyed working at Marigolds – being surrounded by plants usually had a calming effect on her – but today she’d been consigned to the garden furniture section and her patience was starting to fray. Where she longed to be was in one of the greenhouses or in among the roses with the peaty smell of the earth in her nose. Instead, she was stuck out on the hot concrete with the sun beating down on the top of her head.

Maddie found her attention wandering. The events of the morning kept revolving in her mind, first the incident at the grave, then her conversation with Rick and finally the confrontation with Delia Shields. What had made the woman turn like that? There was clearly some kind of history between her and Cato. And she was still no closer to knowing what his connection was to Lucy Rivers. Automatically, her hand went to her back jeans pocket, checking that the wedding ring was still there.

‘Do you have this in yellow and white?’

‘I’m sorry?’ said Maddie, preoccupied.

‘Yellow and white,’ the girl repeated. ‘Or pink and white? What other colours do you have?’

With an effort, Maddie painted the smile back on her face. ‘Just the ones that are on display, but we can order other colours if you like. It’ll mean waiting, though. It usually takes a week to ten days.’

‘Nah, we don’t want to wait,’ the guy said. ‘Let’s take the red and white.’ He glanced at his girlfriend. ‘Yeah? Shall we do that, babe?’

The girl shrugged. ‘Maybe we’ll have another look round.’

Maddie would have left them to it if she hadn’t noticed her manager, Paul Spencer, hovering by the sun loungers. He had an anxious, twitchy look, as if he was planning to intervene before she let an easy sale slip through her fingers. Quickly she got her head into gear. Money was tight and she couldn’t afford to lose this job.

‘It is nice, isn’t it? The red’s very striking. It’s the last one we’ve got in this colour.’ She had no idea if this was true or not – there could be another twenty sitting in the stockroom for all she knew – but she was determined now to make the sale. ‘I think it’s a really good choice.’

‘You see?’ the bloke said. ‘If we don’t get it now, then…’

‘I suppose,’ the girl said.

‘And we deliver,’ Maddie said. ‘That’s no problem. If you’d like to come inside, I can take all your details.’ She began walking away, praying that they’d follow her.

Amazingly, they did. Three minutes later, the deal was done, the bench set and parasol were paid for, and her indecisive customers had left.

It was cool inside and Maddie lingered for a moment, appreciating the air conditioning. She gazed through the window and saw Paul giving his salesman’s spiel to a bloke standing by the barbecues. Personally, she didn’t like pressuring people into buying stuff – in her opinion, they either wanted something or they didn’t – but she had no desire to get on the wrong side of her manager. If she lost this job, she might not get another in a hurry. There wasn’t much call for archaeologists in Kellston, and she wasn’t qualified for anything else.

Maddie’s heart sank as she returned to the concrete forecourt with its hot metal tables and chairs, its arbours, gazebos, water features, pots and planters, and endless rows of solar lights. She remembered the job she had been forced to give up and how once upon a time she had always looked forward to going to work.

It was six years now since that fateful phone call had changed her life for ever. No, she wasn’t going to think about that. She plumped up the cushions on a swing seat and shifted the deckchairs back into line. She tried to think about something else, but the memory refused to go away.

She had been twenty-three, working on a dig in Cornwall, when the call had come from her mother. Not the kind of news that could be absorbed easily. Murder. That didn’t happen to families like theirs. It happened to other people, other sad, unfortunate people. Cold – that’s what she’d felt, like someone had plunged an icy dagger through her heart.

‘You have to come home,’ her mother had said.

And of course she’d had to, wanted to, needed to. But what she hadn’t realised then was that once she’d returned, she wouldn’t be leaving in a hurry. Six years later and she was still in Kellston. It was the longest time she had ever lived anywhere and sometimes she yearned to be on the move again.

Maddie’s fingers tightened around the top of a deckchair as she had a sudden vivid image of the last time she’d seen her sister. It had been at the flat in Carlton House, a few months before she’d died. Greta had been standing at the window, staring down at the grey, sprawling walkways of the Mansfield estate. Zac, who must have just turned two, was playing by her feet. What had they talked about? She couldn’t recall. All she could remember were Greta’s short bitten-down fingernails with their chipped black nail varnish. And that expression on her face, sullen and bored, as if Maddie was an unwanted visitor who, for the sake of politeness, had to be endured.

A thin sigh escaped from between Maddie’s lips. She should have tried harder to heal the breach between them. She should have made more of an effort. Although she had long since ceased to understand Greta, she had never stopped loving her. Their lives had gone in different directions, but if she’d taken the time to talk to her, to reach out, then maybe the relationship could have been salvaged. Instead, irritated and bemused by her sister’s attitude, she had made her excuses and left. Jogging down the nine flights of worn stone steps, she had felt only an eagerness to get away from the estate and the pall of despair that hung over it.

Now it was too late for reconciliations. The clock couldn’t be turned back. Maddie closed her eyes for a second and blinked them open again. It made her angry and frustrated that Greta’s killer was still out there somewhere. Maybe she had walked past him on the street. Maybe he drank in the Fox. Maybe he was one of the young hooded men who hung around the Mansfield with their cold, angry faces and their pockets full of smack.

She felt an ache in her chest, a longing for justice. It wouldn’t bring Greta back, but at least it would provide some kind of closure. There must be other people who knew the truth about what had happened. The police, she suspected, had lost interest in the case. Officially, it remained open, but the files were stacked up on a dusty shelf by now, abandoned and forgotten. The trail, if there had ever been one, had long since gone cold.

Maddie released her hold on the deckchair and took a step back. Her hands felt damp. Although Zac had the right to know why his parents had been murdered, it seemed unlikely that he’d ever do so. She feared for the effect this history would have on his future. If she could have wrapped him up in cotton wool, protected him from the horror of it all, she would have, but nothing could change the past.

She peered up at the clear blue sky, squinting against the sun. All she could do was carry on, one day at a time, hoping that the worst was over. Yes, that was something to cling on to.

And yet she couldn’t quite believe it. A part of her still lived in fear of what the future might bring. An odd chill feeling crept into her bones as if someone had just walked over her grave. She gave a shiver, lowered her gaze and glanced uneasily around her.