The Missing Marriage (8 page)

Was it today he'd seen the small girl in the dress? It couldn't have been – this was no weather for dresses like that, and the dress had been stained with some kind of fruit, but it couldn't be blackberries because it was too early in the year for blackberries.

He looked around to check the trees and see whether they had leaves or not, but there were no trees on any of the horizons. There was no colour in the gardens opposite either – the only thing that stuck out was the yellow door in the bungalow where the woman's face was staring at him still.

Then it started to rain.

He pulled his collar up and carried on sitting there, unsure what else to do or where to go until a woman came walking through the rain. She was wearing a long waterproof coat, and a headscarf – and she had a blue carrier bag in her hand.

It took him a while to realise that she was walking towards him; walking fast, her shoes slipping on the wet grass.

‘Bobby!' she gasped. ‘What in God's name are you doing?' She turned round on the spot, taking in the flats and the back of the shops and the bungalows as he'd done earlier, only she was more stunned. ‘How long have you been out here for? Where are your shoes? You've got a cut on your head – there's blood.'

She was on the verge of tears as she pulled him to his feet and led him towards the bungalow with its front door open still.

‘I don't want to go in there,' he said, pulling his arms away from her.

‘Get inside out of this rain, Bobby.' She pushed him forcibly indoors and he stood in the hallway listening to the sounds of water running, and soon there was steam coming out of the room at the end of the hallway.

The sky was clearing by the time Anna turned back down Quay Road towards the Quayside, and the sun now making its way through the disappearing clouds, was harsh. She was driving straight into it and so didn't see Martha Deane sitting on the bench opposite the Ridley Arms until she pulled up right beside her.

Martha had her bike with her.

Laviolette had been right – here was Martha paying her a visit and sooner even than he'd probably anticipated.

‘How long have you been here for?' Anna asked as she got out of the car, squinting because of the light coming off the water.

‘I don't know,' Martha mumbled, unsure of her tone. ‘I can't stand it at home any longer, and . . . you don't mind?'

Anna sat down on the bench beside her, sighing and tilting her face instinctively towards the April sun.

‘I don't believe her,' Martha said suddenly.

‘Don't believe who?'

‘Mum. I don't believe her about anything. Do you?'

Ignoring this, Anna said, ‘How did you know where to find me?'

‘I heard dad and Nan talking yesterday morning. Dad said you should have phoned him about a short term let – that he'd have done you a deal.' She paused. ‘Nan said she told you to phone him.'

‘She probably did. I don't know – I've had so much on my mind.'

This was a lie. She had phoned Tyneside Properties before coming north and asked to speak to Bryan, but found herself unable to – so hung up.

‘Nan says your granddad's dying.'

‘He is.'

‘That's sad.' Martha threw something into the sea. ‘I wanted to go out with them this morning on the search – one of the boats, helicopters, anything . . . I just want to be out there doing something. It doesn't feel like anybody's doing anything.' Her voice was loud – tearful – and the next minute she had her head on Anna's shoulder and her arms round her neck, pulling herself to her.

Anna put her hand stiffly on Martha's hair, and tried not to tense up. She could feel Martha's tears running over her collarbone and beneath her running vest.

When Martha stopped crying, she let her arms drop but kept her head resting on Anna's shoulder, staring out to sea, and after a while said, ‘I came home late once from a hockey match, and dad's car was parked on the drive. It wasn't until I triggered the security light that I saw he was in the car still, just sitting in the car on the drive, in the dark.' She paused, thinking about whether she wanted to say what she was going to say next. ‘He waved at me and acted like he'd just got home, but I knew he'd been there a long time.' She twisted her head on Anna's shoulder, looking up at her. ‘He just looked so unhappy, and you know what I keep thinking? I keep thinking – what if he just couldn't cope any more with all the rows they've been having?'

Anna kept looking at the sea, aware that Martha was watching her. ‘Everybody rows.'

‘There's not a night in the past year when I haven't had to go to sleep with my headphones on to try and cut out the sound of them going on and on at each other about money – always money. That's what everything comes down to.'

Anna had a clear picture of Martha curled up in bed with her headphones on, and it was one of a deep loneliness she recognised from her own childhood; a loneliness she had carried into adulthood with her, as an inability to seek comfort – especially physical comfort.

Martha was picking at a frayed seam in her jeans. ‘Did something happen between dad and you, like – a long time ago?'

‘What makes you say that?'

‘You knew – about his appendicitis – and he was so pleased to see you yesterday.'

‘We barely spoke.'

‘He doesn't get pleased about much these days, but he was pleased about seeing you.'

Anna paused. ‘We grew up together and haven't seen each other in a while – that's all.'

‘You, mum and dad used to all live next door to each other. I know from Nan how close you and mum used to be – like sisters, she said, right?'

Anna nodded.

‘So how come mum and dad never – and I mean never – talk about you?'

‘I can't answer that.'

‘Well, that's how I know something happened.'

Martha carried on watching her without comment then suddenly said, ‘I brought something for you.' She searched in her pockets for a while then handed Anna a photograph – of Bryan Deane sitting alone at a table in a restaurant overlooking a blue, white-capped sea. Despite the view, he was staring down at the check tablecloth. He wasn't smiling; he wasn't even looking at the camera, and she could barely make out his face.

‘That's Greece last year,' Martha was saying. ‘I took it. I've got a copy on my windowsill and I know it'll make me feel better – more hopeful – knowing you've got a picture of him as well. We can keep a vigil – I've got a candle in front of mine; a scented one – cinnamon and vanilla.'

Anna stood up.

‘Wait – where are you going? We don't have to talk about this any more.'

‘It's fine. I just need to eat, that's all.'

‘Can I come with you?'

Anna hesitated, unsure whether she wanted Martha in her apartment. ‘Does your mum know where you are?'

‘I told her I was going to my friend, Ellie's.'

‘For how long?'

‘I didn't say how long I'd be – and I don't even have a friend called Ellie.' Martha shrugged. ‘She doesn't give a fuck where I am.'

‘Okay – but you'd better bring the bike in with you.'

Anna watched Martha drift round the apartment. ‘Have you finished nosing around?'

‘Almost.'

‘Not the bedroom,' she called out.

‘I've already done the bedroom. I'm in the bathroom.'

The next minute Anna heard the medicine cabinet being opened. She went down the hallway. ‘Martha!'

Martha turned round, smiling. ‘Impressive.'

‘What's so impressive?'

‘No medication – not even anti-depressants – nothing.'

‘Why would there be?'

Martha ambled back into the living room and went over to the windows, which were streaked with rain again. ‘Mum's been on and off Lithium for years – now she takes pills to help her sleep – Nytol. D'you have a boyfriend?'

‘No – no, I don't. Why are you asking?'

Martha was about to say something when Anna's phone started to ring.

‘Is my daughter with you?' Laura Deane's voice said.

Anna hesitated. ‘She is – d'you want to speak to her?'

Martha had turned away from the window and was now staring at her.

‘No – I need her to come home. Can you tell her to do that?'

Anna thought Laura was going to call off then, but she didn't. ‘What's she been saying?'

‘Nothing much – she's just pretty upset.'

‘We had a row.'

Anna was silent.

Laura laughed. ‘I bet she's been pedalling all sorts of shit about Bryan and me.'

‘No – she's been fine,' Anna responded ambivalently, too shocked by Laura's tone to say anything else, and aware that Martha was watching her intently now.

‘She thinks I'm stupid,' Laura carried on, ‘telling me she was going to Ellie's house. I knew exactly where she was going, and she doesn't have a friend called Ellie. In fact,' she laughed again, ‘Martha doesn't have any friends. She just sort of latches onto people until they get sick of her. There was a teacher at school last term she did the same thing to. She had to see the school counsellor after that. There's something else you should know about Martha – she lies a lot. I mean, she lies compulsively.'

Martha was staring out the window again and had her back turned to Anna.

‘Laura –'

‘I want Martha home – okay? I don't want you seeing her again and I don't want you round here either. I want you to stay away from us.'

‘I needed to give a statement.'

‘But you didn't need to do it here – in my home. You think I'm stupid as well, and you know what? That's always been your problem, Anna – you underestimate people.'

Laura rang off and Anna placed the phone carefully on the arm of the sofa, staring at it without seeing it.

A few minutes later, still in shock, she said to Martha, ‘That was your mum – she wants you to go home.'

The intimacy of the past hour, which had taken her by surprise, had gone. All she saw was a child she wasn't responsible for, standing in her apartment looking out of her window – and she didn't want her there any more.

Martha kept her back turned to Anna. ‘It's probably a maximum of ten degrees out there today – the sea temperature will be the same. When your deep body temperature drops to thirty-five degrees, you start to feel disorientated and confused. At thirty-four degrees, amnesia sets in. As your temperature drops from thirty-three down to thirty consciousness becomes cloudy until you lose consciousness altogether. If your deep body temperature gets down to twenty-five degrees then you're probably dead. She hates me.'

‘Your mum? I'm sure she just –'

‘No!' Martha shouted, adamant. ‘She hates me. This isn't about her wanting me to go home it's about control, that's all. She needs to know she's got control over me – and you as well. You don't know her.'

She began hurriedly collecting her stuff, putting on her coat so roughly she ripped it.

‘Let me drive you – it's pouring out there.'

‘I'm fine.' Martha pulled the bike aggressively towards her, opening the door to the apartment before Anna had a chance to get there.

‘You'll get soaked.'

‘It's only rain.' She paused at the top of the stairs for a moment, and they stared at each other then looked away.

‘Do you want to know what she was doing before I came over here today?' Martha said. ‘She was sitting on one of the barstools in the kitchen reading a
holiday
brochure. I mean, she's no great reader. That brochure – any brochure – is pretty much about her limit, and she's working hard at it. When I see her this morning, reading her brochure, I say, “You're not thinking of going on holiday are you?” and she says, “We'll see.” And I say, “But, dad –” thinking, I really have got a point, and she just says, “Piss off.”'

Martha was as sullen again now as she'd been standing beside Bryan yesterday morning, in her riding clothes.

Anna was aware that she was waiting for her to say something, and at last said quietly, ‘I don't think she's all that keen on you coming over here.'

‘Fuck that. Fuck her.'

They carried the bike awkwardly down the stairs together.

‘You know what I think?' Martha said, wheeling the bike out into the rain. ‘I think she pushed him over the edge, and that's why he's gone.'

‘Gone?'

‘He's gone,' Martha said again.

‘Which is different to disappearing?'

‘Completely.'

Anna stared out through the open front door at the Harbourmaster's office – a nondescript brick building with woodwork painted a depressing shade of blue – thinking.

After Martha had gone, she went into the bedroom and lay down on the bed, shutting her eyes, but a few minutes later was up again, looking for the running shoes she'd kicked off earlier. Then her phone started ringing.

‘Busy?' It was the Inspector and Inspector Laviolette was the last person she felt like speaking to right then.

‘About to go out for a run – why are you phoning me?'

‘It's raining.'

‘I like running in the rain. Has something turned up?'

‘Not a sodding thing.' He sounded tired. ‘Nothing . . . not a trace. Divers are going out tomorrow, then we're launching an appeal.' Before she could respond to this, he said, ‘Has Martha contacted you yet?'

‘No,' she said, without hesitation, waiting. The silence was on the verge of becoming uncomfortable when he said, ‘Do you remember much about Bobby Deane?'

‘Like what?'

‘I don't know.'

‘You think Bryan's still alive, don't you?'

‘I'm not the only one.'

‘I remember Bobby when the Strike was on. I remember going up to the caravan they had outside the gates at Cambois power station when the pickets were trying to get lorry drivers not to deliver coal.'

‘Who did you go with?'

‘Bryan – probably.'

They were silent for a moment.

‘I was up at the power station during the Strike,' he said after a while. ‘I'd just joined the Force.'

‘You picked a good time.'

Laviolette laughed. ‘It wasn't so bad at the start – we were all local boys, with some extra cork lining in our hats, shin pads and cricket boxes over our valuables, but there wasn't any trouble. Most of the drivers turned back. A few went through – there was abuse, but just verbal. Then there was this one driver who said he supported the cause, etc., turned his lorry round and drove off. Two minutes later, he was heading back up the road at well over seventy miles an hour, drove straight through the line and went crashing through the gates. One of the pickets went down and one of our boys went down as well.

‘When the next lorry came along, everybody was worked up and there's no way we would have been able to hold our lines – there weren't enough of us – if it hadn't been for Bobby Deane, talking sense to his men, keeping them calm and telling them not to break through the line.' There was the sound of scratching on the other end of the line. ‘I went to see Bobby Deane today – to ask whether he'd seen Bryan recently – only Bobby Deane's got Alzheimer's and should be in care.'

Anna thought about telling him she'd seen him parked on Armstrong Crescent, but kept quiet. Laviolette wasn't the kind of man you offered more information to than was necessary, and anyway, her head was suddenly full of deer – something to do with Bobby Deane and deer. ‘Didn't Bobby used to poach deer over the border during the Strike?' she said out loud. She had a clear image of a slaughtered deer, hanging upside down, its dead eyes staring intently at her in the Deanes' wash house.