The Silent Girls (16 page)

‘I’m pretty sure they didn’t, what happened in the square? I was watching you, what did you do to upset that thug?’

Sophie didn’t want to dwell on it. ‘My mere existence seems to offend him.’

Matt nodded. ‘I know that one, I grew up with my presence causing offence. I always assumed that I must be some kind of uncomfortable reminder for people and that maybe my existence made them feel bad about something. I assume it was because they knew that hanging my father was a mistake.’

Fair play to him, Sophie thought, he made no bones about his beliefs. ‘Yeah, well I don’t know about Johnno, I suppose to him if I’m not earning him money by buying his drugs or whoring for him then I have no place here.’ No one owned an area, but once the rot had set in patterns formed. As she led Matt up the stairs to Dolly’s room she wondered if the canker had set in with the murders – Dolly had always told her what a nice place the square had been in the old days. It was difficult to see that now, there were too many layers of filth and decay to rake through to find any decency. Even this wasn’t decent, allowing a stranger to rifle through someone else’s house was hardly the mark of good behaviour and respect. Sophie dismissed the thought; she had always found the moral high ground to be an exceptionally lonely place.

Lena waited until Johnno had sloped off to whichever dive he might be planning to menace that night. She might have saved the girl from a beating, but someone would cop it and she had no doubt that the animal would be picturing her face when he did it. She might be old but she wasn’t stupid, she knew that in a place like this shit floats to the top. Given that Sam was higher up than Johnno in the local criminal hierarchy, she had to consider her own part in things. After all, she had brought him up and taught him the basics of life, like how to fight for what you believed in, how to hold your head high above the rest and how to do what needed to be done, no matter what. Only it had all gone a bit wrong in Sam, maybe the error had occurred in his nature, rather than her nurture? It wouldn’t surprise her; he had come from bad blood.

She reached her front door and fumbled for the key, remembering a time when no one had locked their doors because no one had needed to, communities operated on trust back then. They operated on the same thing now, only what you could trust had changed. You could trust that someone would want what you had, you could be sure they would try and take it and you damned well knew that given half a chance they would get one over on you as quick as blinking. The only advantage of Sam’s local status as far as Lena could see was the fact that she was relatively protected from such proclivities. If you disrespected Mrs Campion, you were signing your own death warrant.

As she hung up her coat she thought about his dinner date with Edie and wondered at exactly which point in his life he had ceased to take notice of his mother. She had been adamant with him about Edie Byrne, but he’d ignored her. Lena’s control over things seemed to be slipping in so many ways and she wasn’t sure whether to keep fighting and keep a grip on it, or just let it slide. Hanging on to things was such hard work. Maybe it didn’t matter, what they didn’t know couldn’t bother them, despite how much it bothered her… That was the problem when you had sold your soul to the Devil, the small print always got neglected and came back to bite you in the backside when you least expected it. Looking at him now – Sam Campion, all full of himself, all knowing, fingers in pies that should never have been baked, friends with people who could barely be categorised as human in Lena’s eyes – she wondered if the bargain she had made had ever been worth it?

Edie scanned the menu, translating as she went – confit of pig’s belly served on a bed of crushed potato with baby vegetables and a red wine jus could be interpreted as cheap fatty belly pork, mash, peas and gravy. She often wondered if these restaurants traded on their pretensions more strenuously than they traded on their reputations. Eventually she chose a simple Caesar salad and thanked the heavens that she wasn’t the one paying fifteen pounds for a bit of lettuce and a few shavings of Parmesan.

She had dressed in one of Dolly’s old dresses found hanging in the wardrobe, a pretty fifties style vintage thing teamed with a pair of authentic Mary Janes. She could hardly have shown up in her jeans and a T-shirt and hadn’t thought to bring anything else with her. You didn’t clear out a house wearing a cocktail dress. Dolly’s dress held the faint, acrid taint of mothballs and despite having doused it with fabric freshener, the smell still tingled and tickled at the back of her throat.

‘You look lovely, by the way.’ Sam had said when she’d climbed into his car. She’d thanked him and opened the window lest the whiff of camphor put him off.

He’d chosen this elegant gastro pub on the outskirts of Winfield, assumedly to impress her with his taste and wallet. Looking around at all the slate, bare brick and brass neck of the place she wondered what kind of impression he had formed about her. Simon had been one for what he considered good taste and showing what he was worth, but Edie had spent far too long keeping up appearances. Pretension wasn’t part of her make up, but politeness was. ‘Nice place, have they done it up recently?’ She vaguely remembered the pub as being a rundown bikers’ haunt.

‘A couple of years ago, my company did the renovation.’

That figured, Edie thought, evilly wishing she’d ordered the fillet steak Rossini now that it was clear that Sam’s bill would likely never find its way to the table. ‘It’s very nice, you did a good job.’ She said before taking a sip of the wine he had insisted on ordering. Edie wasn’t a wine fan and felt that most of it would taste better sprinkled on a bag of chips than it did from a glass.

Sam smirked. ‘It’s been a long time since I needed to wield a hammer, Edie.’

To her annoyance she felt herself blush. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

He treated her to a radiant smile. ‘I know, I’m only joking with you. But there is something I wanted to talk to you about.’

Edie’s curiosity was interrupted by the arrival of their food, her salad sparse and elegant, served in a flared dish bigger than a fruit bowl, his a blue steak, seeping blood and practically still mooing. She watched him slice into it and take a bite, a tiny trickle of blood dribbling from the corner his mouth; it made him look like a character from an Anne Rice novel. ‘Good steak?’ she asked, suppressing the giggle that threatened to ruin the mood should she have to explain it.

‘Excellent. How’s your salad?’

‘Lovely.’ Or as lovely as a mouthful of lettuce, some toasted stale bread and cheese could be. The wine, sour and acrid, helped to wash it down.

When he seemed to be nearing the end of his meal she pressed him. ‘So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’

He chased the last smear of blood around the plate with a hand cut chip. ‘I have a solution for you. I know how much of an ordeal clearing the house is for you, so I want to buy it. Cash on the table and you can pack up and walk away tomorrow, leave everything as it is – and trust me to keep anything that might be of sentimental value or of any importance, of course.’ He leaned across the table and took her hand. ‘Dealing with all that just isn’t fair on you, this way you get a simple, straightforward sale and I get a property I can develop and sell on. It’s a win win, Edie.’ He squeezed her fingers and smiled at her as if it was a done deal.

Acutely conscious of the warmth of his skin and the pressure of his fingers, Edie tried to return the smile, but hers was hesitant and apologetic. If things had been different – had Dolly not muddied the waters with her strange financial shenanigans – Edie would have bitten Sam’s hand off, taken his money and run. ‘Oh Sam, that’s massively kind and generous of you, but I can’t accept. Not only does it seem that the house is riddled with dry rot and God knows what else, but we can’t sell it because it doesn’t belong to us. According to the solicitor, Dolly took out some kind of secured loan, like an equity release deal, and the house belongs to the finance company. Rose and I had no idea and neither did the solicitor until he requested the deeds and saw that there was a charge against the property. All I’m required to do is clear it as soon as possible so that they can take possession. I really do appreciate the offer though Sam, thank you.’

She had been expecting a quiet shrug of resignation, an “oh well, it was just a thought” comment, so it came as quite a shock when he abruptly let go of her hand, flopped back in his chair, and scrubbed his brow with a hand that she could swear was trembling. He was visibly trying to suppress his anger. To anyone else he might look like a man who had simply eaten too much and who was leaning back to ease his full belly. Edie had spent too many years around a volatile, angry man not to recognise the signs for what they were. Sam was desperately trying to contain his temper. ‘I’m really sorry Sam, like I said, I didn’t know.’ It came out as if her mouth and brain were on some kind of autopilot, with a default setting of ‘pacify at all costs’.

‘You’re kidding me, right? There has to be some way round this, I want the house Edie.’ He said it as though she might have some control over the situation and could change it on a whim.

She was about to reply, to reiterate the situation, when his phone rang, the ringtone whining out of his pocket in an irritating spurt of synthesised sound. He reached for it, looked at the screen and frowned. ‘I have to take this.’

Edie nodded, relieved at the interruption and that he had chosen to walk outside to take the call. A waitress came over to the table and started to clear the plates, ‘Was everything all right for you madam?’

‘Lovely, thank you.’ Edie lied.

‘Would you like to see the dessert menu?’

A glance outside revealed Sam pacing and gesturing as he talked into the phone. ‘I don’t think so thank you, it looks as though we won’t get time,’ she said with a smile to the girl. ‘Perhaps you could bring the bill?’

‘Oh, there’s no charge for Mr Campion and his guests, madam, you can have whatever you like with the manager’s compliments.’

Edie didn’t doubt it for a minute, though she did doubt that the generosity came with any compliments – possibly a grudging sense of obligation at most. As for whatever she’d like, a waiting taxi might have been helpful. The thought of sharing the journey home with an angry and upset Sam was about as unpleasant and sour as the wine that she continued to sip to keep up appearances.

When Sam returned his demeanour had completely altered and he was back to the affable and charming man that she had arrived with. ‘Sorry about that, but something has come up. Do you mind if we cut short the rest of the evening and do it again another time?’

Edie was convinced that her relief must be tangible, and fought to hide it while she bent down to retrieve her bag. ‘Of course not.’ She said while slipping her way into the jacket that Sam was holding up for her in the most gentlemanly manner. ‘It’s been a lovely evening,’ she added, deliberately stifling the instinctive apology that wanted to burst from her mouth. Old habits died hard.

Matt had been fascinated by the wig blocks with their names and faces, yet more evidence that the Morris woman had known more about the murders than she had ever let on. But it wasn’t proof. Matt had enough clues, artefacts, ideas, theories and thoughts to argue a jury into next Thursday week, but he didn’t have proof. Had the murders been current he was sure that the police would have responded to Sophie’s discovery, and they might even have investigated. This many years after the event, and given that they fully believed that the right man had been caught and had paid the ultimate price, it was unlikely they would do any more than indulge the story and, with stifled politeness, only laugh at him when he was out of earshot. There had to be something more in this damned house, something that would prove beyond doubt that his father had been innocent of murder. There just had to be.

Sophie was showing him the baby clothes, but they didn’t fit into any hypothesis or scenario that he’d formed so he dismissed them as unimportant. ‘Probably made for Rose or Edie. Might as well put them back in the rubbish if Edie doesn’t want them.’

Sophie sighed. ‘I don’t think Edie wants much from here; she goes through the place like a dose of salts. I swear, if she had a flame thrower she’d blast the lot and be done with it.’

Looking at the piles of junk Matt was inclined to agree that it might be a relevant solution. Looking for proof in here was an experience akin to trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack. He sighed and perched himself on the corner of the bed.

‘So the head things, they don’t prove much, is it?’ Sophie said.

‘Nothing new, no.’

Sophie lowered herself down onto the opposite corner of the bed, the orange squash light making her skin look sallow and unhealthy. ‘Why keep on with it, why keep looking after all these years? Even if your dad didn’t do it, no one’s coming back, and chances are whoever did is long gone.’

The kid made a fair point and it was one that Matt had pondered many times. ‘Principle I suppose. Payback? Loyalty? A promise I made to my mother. I don’t know, I just can’t let it go. I want some kind of apology I suppose, an acknowledgment that all those years of humiliation and persecution were wrong and that someone is prepared to admit it.’

Sophie looked pensive. ‘I get that, I suppose we all want to rewrite the past, I know I sure as hell do. But if you do prove it, say something does turn up that proves you right, what will you gain really? Won’t you just be passing the misery on to Edie, and she’ll be the one that has to carry the burden of it?’

This cocky child had a wisdom beyond her years, and a way of cutting through things and piercing the heart of them (somewhat painfully if Matt were honest). ‘Isn’t the truth supposed to set you free?’ he said tritely, it sounded pathetic even to his own ears.

Sophie snorted. ‘Yeah, it sets
you
free but cages someone else. Where’s the fairness in that?’

‘And where is the fairness in betraying my trust, Sophie?’ Edie’s voice cut across the room like the blade of a guillotine, severing the safety of the clandestine nature of Matt’s presence and causing Sophie’s face to drop its mask of bravado.