Chapter 17 - A Quiet Sunday
The next day the early news on Clifftop FM was full of the story of the rockfall. Eyewitnesses were interviewed who gave increasingly spectacular accounts of the event, and described in gory detail the agony of the unfortunate man hanging 'by his fingernails' from the edge. His distress was apparently nothing compared to their own trauma at having to see such a terrifying spectacle. One woman claimed that she had 'nearly died of fright'.
The village was invaded by local and regional news reporters, who were followed by an outside broadcast unit from 'the telly'. Excitement was at fever pitch, and the police were obliged to stop sightseers from going to the beach to photograph the fallen rock, which lay piled up below the cliff. Safety experts appeared, summoned by the Health and Safety officer who had been roaming around the arena the day before. The land slip was carefully measured, the furrow in the meadow inspected, and the fallen earth checked. Nobody had been crushed by it, as the tide had been in far enough to deter visitors from walking on the narrow strip of shingle which appeared below the cliff at low tide. No boats had been anywhere near the area of the landslip, nor had any swimmers ventured round under the bungee jump location. By a miracle, it seemed, disaster had been averted.
Kim lay in her hospital bed and listened to local radio on headphones. She could hardly take in the news, it seemed impossible. She kept thinking that Steve would have rushed to the scene, eager to discover the cause of the landslip with his geological expertise. But Steve was dead. Steve, her husband, was not missing, not a runaway living a mysterious life with a boyfriend, not a lying, deceiving, cheating rat. She had seen a body lying under a sheet, on a slab in a mortuary. That body was Steve, because the segment of his arm they had left revealed for her to inspect, a horrible, shrivelled length of skin and bone, had nevertheless revealed the familiar 'winking dolphin' tattoo. He had loved dolphins, but she had hated tattoos, so he kept his trophy of university days a secret for a while after they met. One day during their courtship he had taken her to Brighton Aquarium and made her fall in love with dolphins before showing her his tattooed arm. She was in love with him by then, so she accepted him, winking dolphin and all.
Her mind was in torment, unable to begin the process of grieving for her dead love. She had spent so long fighting her instinctive disbelief, unable to accept the cruel story that he had left her deliberately. Now that her instincts were proved right, she was bewildered all over again. He was a murder victim, found in the basement of her own place of work. She had walked around her office, month after month, just yards above the rotting body of her slain husband. It was appalling, horrific; true but unbelievable.
The nurses quietly carried out their duties, leaving her in peace apart from bringing a cup of tea and some toast. She drank the tea, but the toast was impossible to swallow. After one mouthful she pushed the plate away, and put on the hospital headphones. They, at least, cut her off from having to make polite conversation with the ladies on either side of her. "What are you in for, dear?" was not a question she felt like answering.
Her eyes were shut when her visitors arrived, and they stood wondering for a moment. Paula gently touched her arm. Kim opened her eyes, saw her friend, and smiled. Sue was there too, and a third figure - James. She felt a little confused.
"You'll have to forgive me, they gave me a sedative and I don't think it's worn off yet."
"Don't worry, darling," Sue comforted her. "We only wanted to check if you need anything. I can go to the hospital shop, and let these two talk to you, if you like."
Through the blur of the sedatives she could recall the evening before, when Sue and Paula had visited her and told her all about the astonishing end to the Extreme Sports day, and James' heroism. Now he was here, at Paula's side, and Sue was offering to make herself scarce. Kim put two and two together. "I wouldn't mind a couple of canned drinks, if you can find any - the tea is pretty dire," she replied, reaching into the little cupboard beside the bed for her handbag.
"My treat," said Sue, scurrying away. James invited Paula to sit down on the visitor's chair, and went off to find another. When he came back, Paula was tentatively exploring the subject of identification, and roped in James to confirm his version of what he saw in the tunnel. He was embarrassed, and would have preferred to have avoided such a sensitive subject, but Kim asked him to repeat what he had told Paula the day before.
"Erm, well, it was just that I thought I saw a middle-aged man, rather, well - portly, and Paula says your husband was not, er, that is, he was, had, I mean......" He stopped, confused and embarrassed.
"What he means," Paula carried on, "is that he didn't see a slim man of medium height, 'Steve' in other words. So I began to wonder if somehow the identification had gone wrong - you did say the police only let you see a little bit of an arm." She spoke gently and kept her voice low, as the woman in the next bed was straining to listen.
"And I thought they'd got a positive identification of Mr Chewter," James added, trying to regain his composure.
Kim stared at them. "Of course the first one they found was Mr Chewter," she whispered.
It was their turn to stare. "The first one?!" they chorused, forgetting to keep their voices down.
"You mean you don't know about the other bodies?" Kim whispered.
James and Paula looked at each other, aghast. Paula turned to Kim and leaned over near her ear. "What are you trying to tell us? There were more bodies down there?" she hissed, her eyes wide with horror.
By the time Sue came back the facts had been sorted out. Kim had been told by the police that two more bodies had been found, and had been in no doubt about her positive identification of Steve. It was not difficult for her to talk about, it still seemed like a plotline for a film, not real at all. If she was ever to accept that Steve was gone from her life, she knew she had to get her head around the reality. It was oddly comforting to know that Steve could not have wanted to desert her, and would have come home to her loving arms, given the choice.
Sue was equally appalled at the news. "You mean Steve and someone else - down there - all the time - ye gods! Oh, Kim, you poor darling - no wonder you ended up here!"
No-one knew what to say. They stood there while Paula patted Kim's hand and Sue stroked her hair. James, feeling like a fool, offered to get a hot drink for everyone. No-one wanted one, so he reassured Kim that she would not be expected back at work until she was feeling up to it. The little group fell silent again, until eventually a nurse came to their rescue by saying that more than two visitors was against the rules, and anyway visiting time was nearly over. They promised to come again the next evening, but Kim said she would probably be discharged. "Call us and let us know," they told her.
As they were about to leave Frayminster Hospital Sue remembered Imogen's anxiety over Cuffy, so she asked at Reception if a Mr Cuthbert Acres was a patient. The receptionist recognised Sue, and co-operated with a thorough trawl through the computer records. There was no sign of him as a current or recent patient, so Sue asked if Angela Wallace, a social worker friend of hers, was around. "You're in luck, Sue," the receptionist replied. "I saw her come in just half-an-hour ago to sort out an admission. Try A&E, she's probably still with the patient."
Sue dragged the other two down the long corridors to the A&E department. "I'll explain later," she promised the other two. "As long as you explain over lunch in the Gull," James grinned. Paula looked at him, and a little smile passed between them.
The A&E department was quiet, which was normal for a Sunday lunchtime. A typical Saturday night in Frayminster town centre produced the usual messy consequences, added to the victim from Pebbleton cliffs. These had been cleared through the system hours ago, so only a few small groups of people were sitting in the rows of red plastic chairs. A large family tried to console one of their crying children, and a little way from them a bored wife sat reading a magazine, while her husband beside her threw back
his head and clamped a wad of tissues to his nose. "Do you reckon she punched him?" James whispered to Paula, and she giggled.
Sue headed straight to the third group, an elderly couple who were being helped to fill in forms. The lady assisting them was Angela, and Sue stood in her line of sight until she was noticed. Angela looked up, and Sue mouthed the words "One quick question?"
Angela pointed out to the old couple the places on the forms where their signatures were required, and stood up. Sue murmured her question, and Angela nodded immediately. A very brief conversation was enough to secure the information needed. Angela sat down again with her clients, and Sue returned to her friends.
"He's in a home, one of those extra secure ones for dementia patients. I think I'll go there this afternoon, and maybe I'll ask Imogen if she'd like to come too. Of course, Angela wasn't really supposed to tell me, Data Protection and all that, but it ain't what you know it's who you know!"
"Who are we talking about?" James asked.
"Oh, sorry - you haven't been here long enough to know Cuffy. He is quite a fixture in Pebbleton. Elderly, but very upright and smart. In winter he wears a trilby, and in summer a straw boater, and everyone recognises him in the village. He's completely harmless, but definitely eccentric. His folks used to own land around here, so he thinks any decisions round the village need his input. He often comes into Reception and talks to Imogen - he's got a real soft spot for her. But he talks in such old fashioned language that it makes us giggle."
Paula agreed with this analysis. "I've seen him many times, but not recently, come to think of it. Is that why Imogen was worried about him?"
"Yes, she sees him so regularly that she missed him. I think she has a soft spot for him too, if the truth be told. He spoils her rotten, I have to make her share the chocolate he brings her, or she'd be as fat as a house and have no teeth. It's a sacrifice, but someone's got to do it."
They laughed, knowing Sue's generous curves were mostly due to her obsession with chocolate. They reached the Gull Inn, but the car park was packed full. "Sundays are always too busy," Sue remarked. "What about the Three Squires?"
"Never heard of it, is it any good for food?" James asked. "Not bad," Paula put in, feeling quite peckish herself. "It's on the way out of the village, you go up Edge Lane and turn right at a little junction after you run out of houses. Blink and you'd miss it."
They got back into James' car and directed him as he drove away from the sea and into the countryside behind Pebbleton. Sure enough, along a winding lane they came to a rather run-down inn, with an almost deserted car park. "This doesn't bode well," said James. "Are you sure the food's any good? Not many people seem to agree!"
"Come on, I'm starving," Paula replied, "Let's try it just this once. It was all right last time I came, although I admit that was years ago. If we go on somewhere else we'll never get lunch until tea-time!"
They left the car under the shade of a tree, and pushed the big oak door to enter the gloomy interior of the pub. Coming in from the sunlight they could barely see, but they could hear a low murmur of conversation from a few drinkers at tables around the room. A surly barman leaned his elbows on the counter, while a scruffily-dressed local mirrored the pose from the public side of the bar. Everyone slowly turned to stare at the newcomers, and the room fell silent.
James advanced to the bar. "A pint of bitter, please, and - ladies, what will you have?"
The two women gave him their modest order, and they looked around for a free table. There was one near a rather dirty window, but it was farthest from the rest of the clientele, so all three by mutual consensus headed for it. James pulled out chairs for the ladies, which produced a muffled snicker of laughter from someone, and then he went back to collect the drinks. "That'll be ten quid," the barman grunted.
James was about to hand over a ten-pound note, expecting a decent amount of change. "I beg your pardon?" he asked in astonishment.
"Ten quid."
"I don't think so. Trading Standards would be very interested in your pricing system. These drinks are worth six pounds at the most, and if you want us to order food, I shall expect a properly priced menu first."
The room erupted with jeers, and someone shouted, "Who d'yer reckon y'are, wiv yer la-di-da ways?"
"I'm the Parish Clerk of Pebbleton," James replied calmly, turning in the direction of the unseen speaker. "And I don't like to see the villagers overcharged for their drinks. You have a choice, gentlemen - you won't be charged this much in any other village pub." More catcalls and laughter greeted this remark. These regulars benefited from the landlord's normal prices.
"You're the Parish Clerk?" called out a new, more respectful voice. "Blimey, ain't you the one wot's been nicked for doin' in that other bloke?"
A fresh babble of conversation broke out. Paula and Sue looked at each other. Paula fished in her purse, got up and handed James exactly six pounds. He looked the barman squarely in the eye, pocketed the ten-pound note and proffered the six pounds.
After a moment's hesitation, the barman snatched the money and crashed open the till with venom. "Only got sandwiches, if you want 'em. Three quid each."
"Are they freshly made?" Paula chipped in.
"Yeah. Ham or cheese." The barman was sullen, but wanted their money. His turnover was getting lower every year.
"That sounds fair enough, Sue and I will have ham," she whispered to James. He ordered three ham sandwiches, picked up the tray of drinks, and carried it to the table. Sue had been cleaning the wooden surface with a tissue from her bag. They felt the eyes of all the locals on them, but they had so much to discuss that they were able to ignore the rude stares.
"I just couldn't believe it when Kim told us about the other bodies," Paula whispered. "How horrible for her, having to identify Steve."
"I know," said Sue. "She must be thinking that he was down there all the time, while she was at work above."
"While we were all at work above," James added, shuddering. "That must have been what the Inspector meant - he told me before I left the station yesterday, that this whole business began before I even came to Pebbleton." Paula nodded, adding "I suppose Steve must have been killed all that time ago. You see, James, she thought he'd run off with a male friend."
"Never did any such thing, of course," Sue retorted. "In a way, I'm so glad for her that she can forget that version of events. He must have genuinely set off for a job interview, and never even got to the airport. That's what the police found out originally, and it all makes sense now."
"I remember she told us the job interview never existed," Paula agreed. "No-one had heard of him at the university in Ireland, no-one was expecting him, and there was no job available. It was all made up, but it must have been convincing, as he seemed anxious to go for it. Kim was unhappy about moving from Pebbleton, but, well, you know how it is - women will always make sacrifices for a good man."
"Oooh, a good man, where can I get one of those?" Sue laughed, but James was looking intently at Paula.
"Steve was a good man, then?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," Paula replied definitely. "Kim loved him, and now she's been vindicated in believing that he loved her too. He wanted something good for them both, and I suppose that's why they got to him by making up a job offer."
"They?" James and Sue chorused.
"Well, you know - whoever did this. It seems to me that more than one person must have been involved. For a start, there was another body found with Steve's. Whoever can that be? Do you know of anyone missing?"
"No," replied Sue, "but that reminds me." She found her mobile phone and called Imogen. The others could hear Imogen's squeak of outrage at the news that Cuffy was in a home for dementia patients. The visit was settled for later that afternoon.
"Why are you so worried about this Cuffy?" James wanted to know.
"I just think he shouldn't be in that kind of home. Have you eve
r been in one? They are so sad, full of lost souls wandering about, because their relatives can't cope any longer. They have to be reminded and helped to wash, eat, everything. I know there has to be somewhere for those poor people, but Cuffy was immaculate. He ate well, and walked all over the place, fit as a fiddle. OK, he was living in the past, but not entirely. Imogen said he was aware of the Development, and the swimming dome. He just thought it was being built for the Olympics!"
"I wish," James groaned. "Talk about a disaster for Tourism. We'd be lucky to get the old folks' outing here now, with half the cliff falling into the sea."
"Half! You do exaggerate. But I know what you mean. I suppose there will have to be a major enquiry," mused Paula.
"I heard the Health and Safety man on the phone, after the landslip," said Sue. "He was asking for a geologist to be sent. Funny, when you think about it - Steve was a geologist, and he could have done the job."
"A geologist? Really?" said James, thoughtfully.
"What? You think there's a connection?" Paula asked.
James did not answer as the barman suddenly appeared at his elbow and plonked down a large plate of ham sandwiches. He slapped a handful of serviettes on the table, and held out his hand. "Nine quid."
There was a large pile of sandwiches. To their surprise, they looked very appetising, made with generous hand-cut slices of bloomer loaf and stuffed with plenty of real ham off the bone. The plate appeared to be clean, too. James quickly handed the man the ten pound note from earlier, and smiling up at him, said, "Keep the change."
The man took the money and gave a barely concealed snort of contempt. After he departed they fell on the food, unconcerned that they had to share a plate. The sandwiches were indeed delicious. "Amazing what a threat can do," James whispered. "The words 'Trading Standards' or 'Environmental Health' - either seems to have a marvellous effect on service standards," he grinned.
They munched happily, oblivious of the hostile stares of the rest of the bar's occupants. As they finished, a little man with a rat-like face sidled over to their table, and introduced himself as the president of the Working Men's Association. "I'd want to ask you a question," he demanded.
James explained that he was not a spokesman for the Council, but a public servant and Council employee. "Don't matter," the little man replied, and they realised it was his nasal voice they had heard earlier, identifying James as having 'done in the other bloke'. Clearly this had not deterred him from confronting the supposed murderer.
"Oh well, I'll do my best to answer - though if it is about the death of the previous Clerk, I can make no comment, except to say that the police are quite satisfied that I had nothing to do with it."
"Nuffink to do wiv that. I jist want to know why you let them take our livelihoods - all that land sold, now we got no jobs. All our lives we bin working on the land, man and boy. We can't get jobs wiv some buildin' company, or learn a new trade at our time o' life. What made yer do it?" he whined. "Money, I'd say. An' you," he pointed accusingly at Paula, "You're one of 'em. I recognise you from paper, you're Councillor Somebody. You were in on it."
To the surprise of the women, James pulled out the fourth chair at the table an invited the man to sit down. Taken aback, he obediently sat. James spoke gently: "I do feel for you. It is never easy to change your way of earning money - I've been there myself. Miss Cheam and I are merely employees and have no say in these decisions. And I must correct you on behalf of Councillor Rivers here. It is a matter of public record that she voted against the Development."
"Did yer?" the little man asked, softening. Paula nodded.
"Well good on yer, girl," he smiled, showing teeth brown from years of tobacco. "Maybe yer not all like them Squires."
"Like what Squires?" Sue interrupted. The man cocked his head to one side, thought for a moment, then made a decision. "Come outside, an' I'll show yer," he invited.
They were ready to leave the dingy bar, so they followed him outside. "See that?" he pointed up to the pub sign. Beneath the title 'The Three Squires' hung a cracked and fading painting on a wooden board. They could see three men in colourful tricorn hats and matching coats, with spades over their shoulders. Behind them a brown hill partly obscured the view, which consisted of a river winding through a green valley.
Their guide explained. "Him in red, that's Squire Monkford, him in yellow, tall bloke, is Squire Acres, and the fat one in blue is Squire Clandecy. They was all about as powerful as each other years ago, and they did something to take the water from us. Forced our families to work for 'em, on their land, 'cos our folk couldn't grow much after the river went."
"The river went?"
"Look! Look at the picture. They dug some kind of mudbank, and made the river go to their fields, turnin' it away from its proper course. Used to go down to beach, in gap between them cliffs. Weren't no good our families protestin', they was a law unto themselves. See 'em up there - arrogant bastards, all of 'em. We worked for 'em, no choice. But we hated 'em. Folks from the Edge hate rich folks, like you jist saw in there. They took against yer because they saw yer as rich folks."
"We ain't - aren't - rich!" protested Sue, hoping he wouldn't notice her holiday tan.
"And all this must have happened centuries ago," Paula reminded him.
"Edge folks got long memories," was the answer.
"Why do you call it 'the Edge'?" James enquired.
"That was the river - blimey, yer don't know nuffink about this place, do yer? The river Edge - why d'yer fink it's called Pebbleton-on-Edge?"
There was a moment of silence while this sunk in. James was the first to speak. "I suppose I thought it meant the cliff edge, although now I come to think of it the White Cliffs of Dover doesn't make it 'Dover-on-Edge'. Good grief, so there was a river flowing between the cliffs down to the beach, and now it's - well, where is it?"
"Some trickled back in the old river bed in the valley, but mostly it's gorn underground," the little ratty-faced man replied with grim satisfaction. "Didn't do 'em much good, playin' wiv nature. Them Squires got no benefit after a while, 'cos the river wouldn't run where they wanted it. Water takes its own way, an' it disappeared. That's why they couldn't make their big profits after a while, an' they started sellin' up. First Monkfords went, then most of Acres. All at each other's throats, they were, mind you. Only Clandecy hung on - he got Monkfords best land, and I reckon 'e did some jiggery-pokery 'imself wiv water, 'cos 'e did all right until war came along. Only a few of us left now, workin' on the land, until yer stupid Development."
He seemed to remember that none of his audience could be held responsible for the Development, and grinned suddenly at James. "Well done fer standin' up to fat Des," he congratulated him. "He's a tightwad, an' no mistake. Would'a done yer for ten quid an' far more, if yer'd let 'im. 'Tradin' Standards' - nice," he chuckled. "Yer should'a seen 'is wife makin' them sandwiches out back - he stood over 'er like an 'awk, tellin' 'er ter put in more 'am. She couldn't believe 'er ears!" He rubbed his hands in glee, wheezing and sniggering.
They took their leave of their new friend, who now considered himself their personal guide. He directed them back to the main road with great care, and they waved goodbye to him. "Let's hope he tells his mates in the Working Men's Association that we are the good guys," James laughed.
Sue was looking at her watch. "I'll have to hurry, I'm meeting Imogen in fifteen minutes. Hey, you know what I was thinking? Cuffy must be the last of the Acres family. He's tall, like the Squire Acres on the pub sign. No wonder he thinks he has to help run the village."
James dropped Sue at her house and she jumped in her car. The little old Mini zoomed away almost immediately. "She drives like the Stig on Red Bull," Paula laughed.
"Unlike you - I've noticed you are a very careful driver," James remarked. "That's not a criticism - it's a compliment."
"Thank you. You're not bad yourself."
They sat quietly in his car, unwilling for the encounter to end. "It wasn't a good idea to push our luck asking for coffee at the pub, but can I buy you one now?" James asked.
"I've let you buy enough today, James," Paula replied softly. He flinched inside - here it came, the brush-off. She wanted to get away from him. But she continued, "How about I make us a coffee at my place - we can sit in the garden, it's a pity to waste a lovely afternoon in a cafe?."
He felt his heart lift. "Sounds lovely," he replied.
He never quite understood how it happened that afternoon, but he found himself sitting on a rug on the grass under a willow tree, behind the block of flats where she lived. They drank coffee from a flask, ate blueberry muffins, and he ended up telling her his life story. His real life story. He told her years later that it was the blueberry muffins that did it. But he guessed it was just that she was a really good listener, and the time was finally right.