The Outcast Dead (16 page)

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Authors: Elly Griffiths

Tags: #Mystery

BOOK: The Outcast Dead
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Judy must be a bit drunk, thinks Ruth, or she would never be talking about work. She wonders who this family are and why Nelson was discussing them.

‘I adore unusual names,’ says Corinna. ‘But then I’m a very original person.’

*

Ruth is grateful for Phil’s suggestion that they move around between courses. She had been hoping for a chance to speak to Frank but finds herself between Shona and Aslan. Shona is being chatted up by Dex, ‘Seriously, you’re way too good-looking to be a lecturer. You should be on TV.’ Shona is laughing and flicking her hair around. Ruth knows that she too thinks that she’s wasted on the University of North Norfolk. How long before she’s making a cutting-edge series on Shakespeare, striding around Stratford-on-Avon in a lace top and leather trousers?

Ruth is left with Aslan. She learns that he’s twenty-four and studied English at Oxford. He’s always wanted to work in TV and is very grateful to Dani for giving him the chance. He’s a militant socialist who wants to destroy the status quo from within. ‘How did you get the job on
Women Who Kill
?’ asks Ruth. ‘Was there lots of competition?’ No, Aslan admits, fiddling with his fringe, his dad was at Westminster with one of the producers and just,
basically, had a word. Aslan tries hard to show an interest in Ruth’s life but she’s aware that teaching archaeology in a little-known university can hardly compete with white-water rafting in New Zealand (something Aslan did on his gap year). She’s just embarking on a description of a dig that’s boring even herself when a voice says, ‘Hey Aslan, shift up and let me talk to the birthday girl.’ Aslan shifts with alacrity and Ruth finds herself next to Frank.

‘Having a good time?’

‘Wild.’

‘Not your kind of thing huh?’

‘Oh no,’ says Ruth hastily. ‘I’m really enjoying it. It’s lovely of everyone to come. It’s just I don’t much like being the centre of attention.’

‘I know what you mean. My kids organised a surprise party for my fiftieth. It was one of the worst nights of my life.’

So he’s over fifty, Ruth can’t help thinking. Aloud she says, ‘But you must like being the centre of attention. You’re a TV star.’

Frank laughs. ‘I’m not a TV star. I’m just a historian who pops up on the cable channel now and again.’

Ruth, remembering Rebecca’s reaction on meeting Frank, thinks that he protests a little too much. Even amongst the TV people, he has a certain star quality. It’s not that he’s the glossiest or best-dressed – in fact she is sure he was wearing that corduroy jacket earlier – it’s more that he’s the only person not looking around to see the effect he’s having on the others. He seems entirely at
ease with himself, a rare quality on television or off it. And there’s no doubting that he is rather good-looking. She can see Shona glancing in their direction, clearly wondering what Ruth can have to say to such an alpha male.

‘Did you read the diaries?’ Frank is asking.

‘Yes. I won’t be able to sleep for a week.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s OK. It certainly seems that Mother H may have been innocent. There’s even an explanation for the bloodstained clothes – Joshua had a nosebleed on the day he died. Did they read the diaries in court?’

‘Yes, but they weren’t given much weight. Likewise the maid, Martha, gave evidence that Jemima had really cared for the children but she was disregarded because she’d been an unmarried mother herself.’

‘Martha?’

‘Yes. Jemima had taken in the mother and child together. The boy grew up to be a successful lawyer and philanthropist. He always believed in Jemima’s innocence.’

‘Who was Mr G? He seems a bit sinister.’

‘Ah,’ Frank looks mysterious. ‘I’ve got my theories about Mr G. Look, why don’t I take you to Saxlingham Thorpe one day? The farmhouse isn’t there anymore but there’s a ruined church and lovely views. It’s a really pretty place. We can have lunch in a pub and I can tell you about Mr G and the rest of the background.’

‘OK,’ says Ruth. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Sometime next week?’

Ruth is about to answer but Shona, unable to bear it much longer, has appeared at Frank’s shoulder. ‘Hallo. You must be Frank. Ruth’s told me so much about you.’

*

At the end of the evening, after Phil has divided up the bill, there is a general move towards taxis and cars. Frank offers Ruth a lift but she says that she is going with Judy, who insisted on driving so that Ruth could have a drink. She wonders if Judy’s had a drink herself but she seems perfectly sober as they walk to the car park.

‘It was a great night, Ruth. Thanks for inviting me.’

‘Thanks for coming. I needed a friend to protect me from all the TV types.’

‘They were OK. I liked Dani and Dex was a real laugh.’

‘What about Corinna?’

‘Oh, she was a nightmare.’ Judy clicks her key to open the car.
I wanted to have the full experience of motherhood
. Silly cow.’

It’s quite cosy bowling home through the dark lanes. Judy drives fast but well, hands at perfect ten-to-two position. She puts in a CD and for a while they just listen to Elvis Costello singing about Alison and how the world is killing her. Ruth rests her cheek against the window and thinks about Kate and Nelson and Frank and Jemima Green.
I shall lay him with Emily and Susannah, where Rowan will stand guard
.

Taking the turning for the Saltmarsh is like driving into nothingness. There are no street lights, no houses, no landmarks, just inky blackness that seems to press in
on all sides. They could be driving through the sky for all they know. There’s no moon, not even the ghost lights on the marshes to guide them on their way. Judy’s headlights seem only to illuminate a few yards ahead, as if the dark is somehow solid.

The car bumps over the uneven road. Elvis sings a melancholy song about shipbuilding. Judy says, ‘I keep thinking of the time that I drove over here in the snow. This is where I saw Cathbad. Jesus, he just appeared out of the night like some wraith.’

‘He does have a habit of appearing out of nowhere.’

‘That’s why I can’t believe that he’s gone.’

Judy talks about Cathbad as if he’s dead but he’s alive and well, living in Lancashire. Ruth knows that he’s staying away because he wants to give Judy a chance to make it work with Darren. She wonders if she should say this now. Judy must know that Ruth knows about her relationship with Cathbad but they’ve never discussed it. They are friends but their friendship has strict limits. They have never talked about Ruth’s relationship with Nelson either.

‘Bloody Cathbad,’ says Judy, and it sounds as if she’s crying. ‘How could he do this to me?’

‘He loves you,’ says Ruth.

‘Does he?’

‘I know he does.’

They drive in silence for the next few minutes. Ruth sees Clara’s car parked outside her house, just as it was that night in the snow.

‘Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?’

‘No thanks. I’d better get back.’

‘Thanks for the lift.’

Judy raises her hand in acknowledgement. As Ruth watches, she performs a complicated three-point turn and then the car is lost in the darkness.

*

The Book of Dead Babies

For A

You never spoke yet we miss your silence

You never walked but we miss your step
.

Dearest Child, sweet Babe

Now you are singing and dancing with the angels
.

Your cheek was cool and soft as snow

Precious Girl, we loved you so
.

For R

The rocking horse is riderless now

The soldiers sad without their friend
.

Oh we miss your laugh and your ready chatter

Your sleepy smile at the day’s end
.

Sleep well, my Babe, my little Angel Boy

The time was short and yet so full of joy
.

For J

Mothers have no favourites, that is known

But the heart has secrets that can ne’er be shown
.

I loved you my Child with a Mother’s heart

Though another bore you, you were mine by rights

Of love and kindness
.

Oh the painful nights

Without you, my most Precious Son

But you, at least, I see in my most secret eye

Because, my Child, I know just where you lie

And when the good Lord calls me from this life of pain

I will lie beside you and hold you in my arms again
.

CHAPTER 19

Saturdays are the worst, thinks Cathbad. Weekdays aren’t too bad. He works as a lab assistant at the university four mornings a week. Then he comes home and takes Thing for a long walk. In the evenings he reads or watches TV. He has started writing the story of his life though it’s harder than you’d think. The things he wants to say – about his mother and grandmother and the importance of the old ways – seem stubbornly out of reach. Sometimes he abandons autobiography altogether and writes letters to Michael. These he tears up before he is tempted to send them.

He has made some friends. There is a local druid community and they are welcoming enough, though tediously devoted to pub quizzes. He has been out with the other technicians a few times, there is even an attractive redhead in the Modern Languages Department who has made overtures of more than friendship. But Cathbad’s heart is frozen. He doesn’t think he will ever be able to love a woman again.

Saturdays are bad because he imagines Judy and Darren in their little house, having breakfast, reading the papers, deciding what to do with their precious free hours. Worst of all, he imagines Michael in his high chair, smiling at Darren and calling him Daddy. He sees the family in slow motion, like the end of a romantic film, laughing as they run along beaches and eat ice creams and cuddle furry animals. Lou Reed’s
Perfect Day
plays in the background. He tells himself that Judy will probably have to work at weekends, that she hates ice cream and isn’t sentimental about animals. It doesn’t help much because it reminds him what Judy is really like. She’s his polar opposite: she’s measured and rational, not given to flights of fancy or messages from the spirit world. She likes fast cars, he drives an ancient Morris Minor. She understands the Tote, he bets on horses with unusual names. He believes in the Pagan Gods, the Virgin Mary and anyone else who might be helpful in a crisis. Judy trusts only in her wits and the police procedure handbook. Why, then, does he miss her so much? Why do other women – not only the redhead but the female druids with their homespun skirts and books on homeopathy – seem so pallid in comparison?

But this Saturday Cathbad determines to invest in positive energies. He takes Thing for his early-morning run, breathing in the heady air on top of Pendle Hill and asking the spirits of earth and sky to watch over them. Then he returns home full of good intentions. Cathbad’s cottage was once owned by a witch and this, to him, makes it a highly desirable residence. He speaks to Dame
Alice now as he feeds Thing, makes coffee and listens to the news on the radio. The rumbling Radio 4 voices remind him of Ruth. ‘Dame Alice, Wise Woman, help me to get through today without thinking of Judy.’ There is no sign from Dame Alice but Thing looks at him hopefully, wagging his tail. Cathbad pats the dog and wonders how to fill the next few hours. He could go into Clitheroe for the market, he could do some work in the garden, he could write the next chapter of his memoirs. He could burn some herbs and try to meditate, or he could walk to Fence and have lunch in a pub. He’s so lucky, the world is wide open to him. He sighs and goes to look up Judy’s house on Google Earth.

*

Judy is not running along the beach to the strains of Lou Reed. She is with Darren and Michael in the car, on their way to see Darren’s parents. It’s another sunny day, though there are clouds gathering in the sky that promise rain before nightfall. Darren is singing along to Radio 2 and even Michael is beating time with his cuddly giraffe. They are going to the sea-side (Darren’s parents have moved from King’s Lynn to Southwold). What could be better?

‘Bet Mum and Dad will think that Michael’s grown,’ says Darren.

‘They only saw him two weeks ago.’

‘He’s growing all the time.’

Michael is actually rather small for his age. It annoys Judy that Darren talks about him as if he’s a prizefighter
or a rugby forward. ‘He’s a champ. Look at those arm muscles. He’ll be a devil in the scrum one day.’ Michael has long eyelashes and sensitive fingers. Judy thinks that he may grow up to be a concert pianist.

‘Wonder if we’ll get in the sea today,’ says Darren.

Judy shivers. ‘It’ll be freezing.’

‘Not for our champ,’ says Darren. ‘He’s tough.’

Judy says nothing. She leans forward and switches over to Radio 4.

*

Ruth is also at the seaside. She and Shona are walking along the seafront at Cromer. Ruth is holding Kate by the hand and Shona is wheeling Louis in his pushchair.

‘Out!’ shouts Louis. ‘Out! Out!’

‘When we get to the beach,’ says Shona. She’s wearing a short flowery dress and looks like something from a retro catalogue. Louis, on the other hand, looks very contemporary indeed. He’s a few months older than Michael but twice as big, a ginger-haired heavyweight with a penchant for camouflage and loud noises.

‘Out! Sea! Now!’

Kate puts her fingers in her ears.

They walk past the helter-skelter and the pier. The tide is going out and people are already setting up deckchairs and windbreaks on the sand. The sun is warm but, looking towards Overstrand, Ruth can see grey clouds gathering. ‘Tears before bedtime,’ her mother used to say. She really must ring her parents tomorrow.

‘Catch a crab,’ sings Kate. ‘Catch a crab, a crab, a crab.’
Nelson once caught a crab fishing from Cromer pier and Kate has never forgotten it.

‘Maybe later,’ says Ruth. She knows that she and Shona will never be able to catch a crab. It’s a man thing, like skimming stones (Nelson can do that too).

They release Louis from his chair and walk down the steps to the beach. Ruth spreads out a blanket and Shona finds the buckets and spades. Ruth is wearing a skirt for once and she stretches out her legs in the sunshine. Shona is kneeling beside Kate, filling a castle-shaped bucket with sand. Ruth is filled with an unexpected wave of happiness. It suddenly seems a very wonderful thing, to be sitting on the beach with her friend and their children. Kate’s face is stern with concentration as she turns the castle upside down. Louis beats his spade on a thermos flask. The sun sparkles on the sea and from the pier comes the tragic tinny tune of the merry-go-round. She closes her eyes.

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