The Cornish Guest House (38 page)

Liz knew that Robert had seen Luke because she’d bumped into Alex outside the convenience store, and he’d confirmed that Luke had eaten at A Winkle In Time last night and that he and Robert had carried on talking and drinking after the others had left.

‘Poor Luke’s beside himself,’ Alex had said, clutching a packet of cigarettes in one hand, a can of Coke in the other. ‘I guess he needs someone to speak to. It’s good he and the boss get on so well.’

Liz had felt a mixture of anger and jealousy; she missed talking to Robert herself, and missed the way that he used to pop back home between shifts because he couldn’t bear to be away from her. She longed for his arms around her at night and yearned for the way things used to be.

He came down when Rosie was having breakfast and hardly looked at Liz, as if the mere sight of her caused him pain.

‘Bye, darling,’ he said to his stepdaughter, kissing the top of her head, ‘have a good day.’ As for Liz, he brushed her so lightly on the cheek with his lips that she could scarcely feel it, and the rage and injustice that was just beneath the surface bubbled more ferociously. She’d have it out with him, she’d have to, but now wasn’t the right time. Rosie, Sarah and Andy were her priorities – and finding Loveday, of course. Until then, decisions about her future with Robert would have to wait.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Rosie huffed when he left the room and banged the front door shut. She put down her spoon and pushed away the cereal bowl. ‘He’s being really odd, all distant and grumpy.’

‘He’s just worried about Loveday,’ Liz said, anxious not to give the game away. The atmosphere at home was unsettling enough, without Rosie knowing that her mother and stepfather were at daggers drawn, too.

Sarah came in, wearing a spotted dressing gown and slippers, her hair unbrushed and her face creased like a used pillowcase because she was still half-asleep.

‘Hi,’ she said without enthusiasm, shuffling over to fill the kettle.

‘How was your night?’ Liz asked, knowing even as she spoke that it was a pointless question. She’d heard Sarah and Andy talking quietly into the wee hours, rising periodically to go to the bathroom or wander downstairs to make tea. No one was sleeping well, which was hardly surprising, but it was easier to chat about the small stuff. You had to try to preserve a veneer of normality to stop yourself going mad.

‘So-so,’ Sarah sighed, standing by the kettle while it boiled, her back to the sink. She put her face in her hands. ‘This is killing me. When’s it going to end?’

Rosie scraped back her chair and sprang up. She could move remarkably swiftly when she wanted to, despite her tricky leg.

‘Here, sit down,’ she said, guiding her aunt to the seat that she’d just vacated and smoothing her tousled hair in the way that her mother did to her when she was upset.

Liz felt guilty. Her problems with Robert were as nothing compared with what poor Sarah was going through. Her life was suspended and would be until there was news – good or bad. Liz couldn’t bear to entertain the idea that they might never know what had happened, that Loveday would end up on some missing persons register, the mystery of her disappearance never solved. Better to live in hope, convincing yourself that any minute there’d be a phone call or a tap on the door, someone arriving with the information that they’d all been waiting for.

‘I’m sure we’ll hear something soon,’ Rosie said, as if reading her mother’s thoughts. She handed Sarah a mug of tea that she’d just made, before pecking her on the cheek: ‘I’ll see you this evening.’

Liz followed her daughter down the hallway and helped her on with her coat.

‘Is it OK if I go to Tim’s again after school,’ she asked, hoisting the black bag on her back, ‘so we can keep up with the emails?’

‘Fine, but be home by six or I’ll start to panic.’

Relations between them had been so much easier since Liz had met Tim’s mother and found out about the website project, and she was relieved that her daughter had something to distract her from the investigation. ‘No more lies,’ she’d said, when they’d discussed what had happened, and Rosie had solemnly agreed. Liz felt that she herself had learned a painful lesson and was determined to listen and trust more. She didn’t want anything like that happening again.

She sat with Sarah for a while, talking quietly about ordinary matters to try to comfort her. ‘I wonder when Pat’ll be home. Shouldn’t be long now.’

Sarah sipped her tea and nodded, but Liz could tell that she wasn’t really listening; she was in her own world.

‘I thought we’d have roast chicken tonight,’ Liz went on. ‘Andy will like that, won’t he?’

Sarah looked at her vaguely, and Liz noticed how her once round face had hollowed and the skin hung loosely round her eyes and mouth, like a baggy swimsuit worn out through repeated use.

‘I don’t know what we’re doing today,’ she said. ‘We haven’t spoken to June yet.’ June was the special liaison officer they’d been allocated, their first port of call.

‘You’ll want something to eat later,’ Liz replied gently, ‘you must keep your strength up.’

‘I s’pose.’ Sarah reached out and touched Liz’s arm, before fixing her eyes on a puddle of milk on the table that Rosie had spilt earlier. ‘Thank you.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘For everything you’re doing for us. We’re grateful, you know, having us to stay like this, putting up with us for so long…’

Liz was touched. ‘Don’t be daft. It’s the least we can do.’

She cleared away the breakfast things while Sarah went upstairs to dress, thinking that she must make another trip to the supermarket. Though Sarah had lost her appetite, the fridge still seemed to empty extra-fast with two more people in the house, and it was important to look after the guests especially, and make sure there was plenty of food on the table.

Liz hadn’t, of course, told them about her row with Robert any more than she’d mentioned it to Rosie. They’d probably take his point of view; Andy was certainly deeply suspicious of Jesse and, anyway, there was nothing to be gained from stirring things up and upsetting them further.

As she pushed the trolley round the shop, barely aware of what she was buying, she thought that her life seemed to have lost all meaning. Without Robert’s love, she was merely going through the motions, making sure that Rosie, Sarah and Andy were all right, just about holding things together for their sakes and for the baby growing within her.

It seemed almost impossible to believe she and Robert had been torn apart by Luke, who’d only been in the village a matter of months, and yet it had happened. She’d thought that her marriage was indestructible, but she’d been wrong. It had collapsed at the first major disagreement, though in truth the rift had been widening for quite some time, she could see that now. Almost from the moment that Loveday had disappeared, Robert had sided with Luke against Jesse, deaf to whatever Liz tried to say in his defence. She and Robert were fundamentally different, she thought sadly, yet she’d never noticed. If he had been deaf, she must have been blind.

*

Tabitha and Oscar had a whole long day to kill. They’d taken their time showering and getting dressed but even after a late breakfast followed by an hour of stories it was still only 11 a.m. What to do? Her phone was turned off, it was a sunny day and she was in a part of London that she’d never visited before. She decided that they might as well try to make the most of it.

Remembering that there was a big park near the wine bar, she caught the bus with Oscar back to Violet’s, dug out the map that she’d picked up at reception and took a left up the wide, winding street that seemed to go in the right general direction. The nearest park entrance was a good twenty-minute walk and she lost her way a few times, but there was no hurry and she rather enjoyed looking at the gardens and in the windows of the substantial houses on either side, trying to imagine who lived there.

There was an air of tradition, respectability and comfortable affluence about the place, she thought, and she pictured men in suits going off to work each morning, women staying at home to look after the children, wholesome family suppers, Saturday night dinner parties and summer holidays in the south of France, Italy or Spain.

An attractive, thirty-something blonde woman in jeans, trainers and a padded gilet came out of her house with two handsome red setters on leads, and she smiled at Tabitha before climbing into a sleek white Range Rover, only serving to confirm the impression. Tabitha found herself thinking that she’d like to have an easy smile like hers, a life like hers. She’d bet that above all else she felt safe.

At last they reached a set of big, black iron gates, beyond which lay a wide expanse of wild grass and trees that seemed to stretch for miles, as far as the eye could see. Oscar struggled and complained, wanting to run around, so she headed straight for a bumpy gravel footpath away from the road, let him down and in an instant he raced off like a puppy after a black and tan Dachsund that was trotting on stumpy legs behind its owner a few yards ahead.

Two women in tracksuit bottoms, trainers and T-shirts jogged past, talking breathlessly, and another on an old-fashioned, sit-up-and-beg bike trundled by with a small dog in her front basket, but no one bothered about Tabitha and Oscar. He was in heaven, climbing on tree stumps, examining woodlice, pointing at squirrels and gathering interesting sticks, until he came across a herd of fallow deer grazing in the sunshine.

‘Mamma?’ he cried, running to her side and hiding in the folds of her green waterproof.

She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Don’t worry. They’re more scared of us than we are of them.’

He came out from behind her legs to admire the animals, but it wasn’t until they were well behind that he left her side again to run off alone into the bushes.

After a couple of hours they were tired and hungry again, and Tabitha was grateful when a passer-by pointed her towards a café that was cabin-shaped with a sloping roof and glass sides. She and Oscar sat side by side on a wooden bench, eating soup and sandwiches that he gobbled down before falling asleep in his pushchair, while she trudged slowly back the same way that they’d come.

The sun had gone now, it was getting chilly and, wanting to be safe indoors, she wondered again if she’d been mad to attempt this journey. It was perfectly possible, after all, that Demi no longer worked at the wine bar and had left no phone number or address, or that even if she was still there, she hadn’t heard a peep from Loveday. Tabitha’s hunch could have been completely wrong.

Oscar woke just as they reached the bottom of the hill and turned right into the main street, lined with shops and restaurants that were still buzzing with life. He whined, wanting to be let down again, but Tabitha tried not to notice.

She wandered into various stores, pretending to admire the rails of clothes on hangers, and leafed through magazines and books in the newsagent, acting as if she was interested in buying. Then she had a cup of coffee in a café and Oscar an ice cream, all the while checking the time repeatedly on her mobile phone, wondering how the minutes could tick by so slowly.

At last, it was just after 5 p.m. and her pulse started to race as she started up the street and stared again at Violet’s Cocktail and Wine Bar, noticing, now, that the door was wide open. She half hoped as she wheeled her son towards the venue once more that no one would be there after all, but she was out of luck because there was movement inside. Steeling herself, she stepped over the threshold and blinked, waiting a moment while her eyes adjusted to the different light.

Soon she could begin to make out a dark, modern, cosy interior with red walls, small, black, glass-topped tables, black benches, soft red chairs and zebra-print stools. To the left was a glossy bar and behind it an attractive young woman in a grey dress, putting out menus. At first glance anyway, she didn’t seem the type to bite.

She looked up when Tabitha entered, and smiled. ‘Hi! Can I help you?’

If she was surprised to see a woman with a toddler, she didn’t show it. Perhaps she was grateful for company as no one else was there. Tabitha asked for two glasses of orange juice and sat down on a bench with Oscar, examining the waitress out of the corner of an eye. She was trying to remember how Loveday had described her former workmate. Good looking for sure, like this girl, but was she dark or fair, tall or short? Tabitha had no idea. When she came over with a tray, Tabitha cleared her throat and asked casually if Demi was around.

The girl put two coasters on the table and the glasses on top, plus a small bowl of nuts that Oscar reached for greedily. ‘She’s not in today. I think she’s back tomorrow. Is she a friend of yours?’

Tabitha thought quickly. ‘She used to work in the place I come from in, erm, outside London.’ She didn’t want to be specific.

‘Cornwall?’ said the girl, straightening up, the empty tray in her hand. ‘She told me about it. She said it was dead quiet.’

At that moment there was a yelp. They all turned, including Oscar, and Tabitha gasped, she couldn’t help it, because a strangely familiar figure in a pink coat had just walked in.

The hair was dyed blonde instead of black, and the make-up was more subtle. Perhaps she looked a little thinner, and her normally animated features were frozen in shock. But there could be no mistaking her, surely? They were the same brown eyes, snub nose, full mouth, and it was the same tough yet vulnerable demeanour.

‘Tabitha!’ the girl cried. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

*

After unloading the shopping and preparing the vegetables for supper, Liz hung about the house, twiddling her thumbs and wondering what on earth to do to take her mind off things. She was on her own and hours stretched ahead of her before Rosie, Andy or Sarah would be home. She couldn’t face getting out her sewing things and tried instead to busy herself with cleaning and tidying out drawers, but her heart wasn’t in it.

Finally, she could stand the solitude no longer and decided to call on Esme at her pottery studio in the next village, thinking that a friendly face might help. It was just after five now and she guessed that Esme would still be busy working on a commission, two large, matching vases and five smaller ones for a grand holiday house in St Ives. She’d left it rather late and was running out of time.