Sewing the Shadows Together (24 page)

I’m caught in a tunnel. I can see my twins, babies in front of me. I reach out but my legs won’t move. It’s like running through mud, it’s sucking me down. I look down – I’m only wearing a vest. I pull it down, but it’s too short.

There’s something behind me. I hear it and smell it but I don’t know what it is. I’m filled with dread. The walls are closing in. I can’t reach my babies and there’s no escape. Looming in front of me I see HJ Kidd’s mocking face. He’s laughing; then the face metamorphoses into Rory. He comes nearer and places his hands between my legs. I feel the sensation and want to let go. The face changes to my father’s, contorted with rage. Shame washes over me and the tunnel collapses. I can’t breathe.

Sarah woke up, shaking and gasping for breath. A feeling of panic filled her. Something was wrong: were Nick and Lottie all right? She wanted to get up and stand over their beds and watch them sleeping peacefully, like she had when they were babies. Nick was in his old room with Olly and she certainly didn’t want to intrude on their privacy. What about Lottie, and the baby? She looked at her watch. Just after 3.00 – she couldn’t phone now. She tried to breathe slowly, calming her thumping heart.

She switched on the light and sat up. It was just a dream. After the police had bagged up Rory’s razor and toothbrush, taken samples from Nick and Olly and left, they’d all sat around, stunned. Lottie had been so white Abigail had driven her home to Liam. Nick and Olly were uncharacteristically quiet while they cooked the meal. They’d all eaten very little.

Olly kept saying, ‘It must be a mistake. Crime scenes become contaminated, samples are mixed up.’ Sarah appreciated his trying to raise their spirits, to find a chink of hope, but she was filled with dread. Could this be true?

She thought back to Shona. She was so pretty, and much more mature than her; she’d always liked flirting with the boys. Sarah could picture her so clearly; her long blonde hair, the beginning of breasts under her T-shirt, her slender brown legs. Could she have been with Rory that night? All the girls fancied him. Was that her secret? Was that where she was going that night?

She felt so confused, so desperate. She sat in the darkness of her bedroom, and picked up her phone. The screen was blank.
Oh Tom, please send a message…

She’d never felt like this with Rory. They’d lived their lives in parallel, rather than together. Perhaps Rory had been unable to have a real relationship with anyone because he was always carrying the guilt, the burden of what he’d done as a teenager? Did he have a string of superficial relationships because he was afraid of letting anyone get too close?

Or maybe every marriage was equally hollow once you scratched the surface. She thought back to her own parents: she couldn’t remember ever seeing them laughing together, or even really talking. It was always quiet in their house; her father was not to be disturbed and his food was to be on the table punctually. In return, her mother was allowed her treats, but there was never any sign of affection between them.

Sarah had never been able to talk to either of them. When Shona died they’d been annoyed if she’d ever tried to mention her. She could never have discussed her pregnancy or the abortion with her mother, and she realised that she kept up the pretence of the perfect marriage with Rory partly for her mother’s sake. Marrying Rory was the one thing she’d done in her whole life that seemed to get any approval from her mother.

What did she even feel about Rory? She’d been thankful that he hadn’t abandoned her when she was pregnant, grateful that there was no pressure to abort their twins. She’d done everything she could to keep him happy because she was secretly afraid she was too boring for him – and she was always relieved when he came home to her.

Now she realised how shallow their relationship was; when she saw the love between Olly and Nick, and thought of the easy, unquestioning support that Lottie and Liam gave each other, she realised how much she’d missed. She was glad that her children could experience love, although she’d never really known it herself.

Until now. Now, with Tom, she knew what a real relationship was; a relationship where you could say anything and didn’t have to dance round on eggshells for fear of provoking a sulk; where you didn’t have to play a role and keep up a façade; where you could be yourself and feel valued.
Oh Tom, why don’t you contact me?

She looked at her watch again and tried to get back to sleep but every time she closed her eyes her mind raced. Could Rory really have killed Shona? HJ Kidd’s words echoed through her mind. When the teacher had said he had a personality disorder and called him a narcissist, Sarah had been beside herself with rage; but now, when she thought about it calmly, perhaps there was some truth in it. His superficial charm, the total lack of concern for the consequences of his actions, the easy lying, the need for admiration, the fires he’d set as a boy – it all added up.

*

Tom walked out of the clinic shaking his head. No mobile phone, but he’d found out some useful information – the funeral was taking place on Friday that week. Carl must have pulled a few strings to get it organised so quickly. Of course, he was now the biggest property owner in Plettenberg Bay, so he could probably do whatever he liked.

The funeral was to be held at the One World Church, in a lovely position looking out over the mouth of the Keurbooms River. Aunty Betty had a plot in the graveyard next to the church, where Uncle Gus was buried. She’d always said she was looking forward to lying down beside him again.

Tom just wanted the funeral over with so he could get back to Scotland as quickly as possible. He knew Sarah would be worrying because he hadn’t contacted her and was kicking himself for not writing down her number anywhere, or at least bringing her email address with him. He’d done everything he could to find her landline number, pestering international directory enquiries, but she was ex-directory. In desperation he’d emailed HJ Kidd, partly to tell him he’d be back a few days later than originally planned, but also to ask for Sarah’s phone number or email address. He hadn’t received any reply.

He kept feeling for the pocket where his phone should be. It was awful not being able to contact Sarah, but he hoped she’d be able to feel his love for her, anyway. He felt so close to her, she must feel it.

He shook his head again. Thank goodness the effects of his hangover were wearing off at last – he hadn’t felt right for days.

*

The day of Aunty Betty’s funeral was as bright and sunny as every other day. Tom looked out the most sombre clothes he could find and went along to the church. He’d had no contact from Carl. He didn’t know whether this was down to not having a mobile, or whether it was a deliberate snub on the lawyer’s part, but Tom didn’t care. He hadn’t wanted to play a significant role in the service, anyway.

He knew Betty had written down her ideal funeral after Gus died. She wanted it simple; a celebration of her life and her love for her family and Plettenburg Bay. As she said to Tom then, it was not to be a sad occasion because she was going to be reunited with her beloved Gus.

The church was crowded with people Tom didn’t recognise. Being over ninety, Betty had outlived most of her old friends from Plett, but as Tom looked around the church he wondered for a moment if he’d wandered into the wrong funeral. Then he saw Carl, looking smug and shiny, surrounded by a group of his clones: his circle from Pretoria.

The service was awful, nothing like Tom remembered Betty describing as her ideal. It was overblown and pretentious and all in Afrikaans. The music was pompous, with a singer wailing in a self-satisfied manner. Betty would have hated it.

As Tom followed the coffin covered with lilies – flowers that Betty disliked intensely – he didn’t feel her presence at all. Only when he looked out to sea and saw the water sparkling over the Keurbooms beach did he feel her spirit.

Fly free, dear Aunty Betty. You were the best.

For the first time Tom felt tears pricking his eyes. He blinked twice and started to walk towards the centre of town. He shrugged off the dark jacket and knew that it was time to leave Plett.

He heard footsteps behind him and then a voice, ‘Mr McIver?’ He turned round to see a tall, sandy-haired figure with a long aquiline nose. He didn’t recognise him, but he stopped to see what he wanted. The other man extended his hand, ‘Peter Roberts.’

Peter Roberts. In a dull spot of alcohol-destroyed brain cells it touched a chord. That was the name Betty had whispered just before she died, the name that Tom had been trying to remember for the last couple of days.

‘I’ve been trying to contact you, but I didn’t know if you were in the country or not. Somebody said you’d gone to Scotland.’

‘I was there but I came back to say goodbye to Aunty Betty.’

Peter Roberts looked solemn. ‘I’m sorry for your loss but I’ve got information that will be of interest to you. I’m a partner in Roberts and Cohn, Attorneys at Law, and we have a copy of your aunt’s will.’

Tom shook his head. ‘Her nephew, Carl van Wyk, has the will.’

Roberts smiled. ‘He has
a
will, but you will find that the one in my possession is more recent.’

‘Are you sure it’s legal?’ Tom raised his eyebrows. ‘Van Wyk’s a lawyer and you can be absolutely certain he will ‘prove’ that the one he has is the only valid one.’

‘That’s exactly why your aunt came to me. She’d been trying to amend her will, but Van Wyk wouldn’t allow it, put all sorts of obstacles in her way. She came to me and we drew up a will that was identical to the previous one, but with one important difference.’ He shot Tom a significant look. ‘A very important difference for you.’

Tom wondered what was coming next. The lawyer continued. ‘Your aunt has left you the property you and your family inhabited for so many years.’

Tom looked astonished. ‘I can’t believe it. Aunty Betty never said anything about it.’

Roberts smiled. ‘That was deliberate. She didn’t want anyone to know because she was afraid that Van Wyk would find some way to change or contest the will. But I can tell you she was a very sharp lady and this will is absolutely watertight; we have witnesses, we have a doctor’s report confirming she was of sound mind – and you now own the property on the dunes.’

Tom could hardly speak. ‘I thought Van Wyk was pulling that down?’

‘Oh yes, he’s sold it, although he wasn’t entitled to. You could challenge it if you wanted. Or you could just take the money.’ He gave a wide grin. ‘In that prime position the plot was sold for eight million rand.’

Tom gasped. ‘Eight million rand.’ He converted it quickly into pounds in his head: over £500,000.

Peter Roberts smiled again. ‘Come into my office tomorrow and we’ll sort out all the paperwork. And don’t worry about Van Wyk. I would relish a fight but I suspect he won’t challenge this because he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.’

The sun was beating down on them and they moved into the shade of a yellow-wood tree. Tom looked at him, feeling numb with shock. Betty had done this for him. He couldn’t believe it. Immediately he thought of Sarah. Now he could offer her something. Before he was a penniless bum, but now he could offer her a future. He, odd-job man, drift-wood sculptor, surfing teacher, beach bum, was worth half a million pounds. He repeated it out loud very slowly.

Half.

A.

Million.

Pounds.

He threw his head back and laughed.

Sarah had fallen asleep again and woke up feeling scratchy and unsettled. After blinking a couple of times she realised what was wrong. The vague feeling of disquiet hanging over her crystallised into the awful reality: Rory, Shona’s murderer? It couldn’t be possible.

The phone rang. It was her mother.

‘Now, I hope I’m not disturbing you, Sarah, and I know you have been very busy but I haven’t heard from you for days. I haven’t been very well, you know.’

A huge wave of guilt washed over her. She really had nearly forgotten about her mother. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum, there’s been a lot going on. Are you in today? I’ll come and see you.’

‘I’m always in,’ said her mother, with a dramatic sigh.
Yes
, thought Sarah,
except when you’re at the hairdresser or the Bridge Club or out to lunch…
She arranged to call round that afternoon.

Rory, a murderer? She couldn’t escape the thought, and found it difficult to think of anything else. She showered and drank a large cup of coffee, trying to focus on the positive; there was wonderful news as well. Lottie and Liam were going to have a baby. She put her cup down. She knew what she was going to do. She’d collect Lottie, get some pastries from the French Patisserie in Stockbridge and give her mother a lovely surprise – tell her that she was going to be a great-grandmother.

Lottie was not at all enthusiastic when Sarah called to suggest the visit, but eventually agreed. Sarah picked her up, popped quickly into the patisserie, and then they set off for Corstorphine.

‘Are you going to tell Granny about Dad?’ asked Lottie.

‘Oh, no. You know how much she loved him. It would break her heart.’

Lottie put her lips together in a firm line. ‘She’s going to hear about it soon enough, and perhaps it would be better for her to hear it from you. Now.’

‘You seem very certain it’s true.’ An awful thought struck Sarah. ‘He never did anything to you, did he?’

Lottie turned round and stared at her. ‘Mum, of course not. He was never around.’ Her voice remained very calm. ‘And what if Dad
was
with the girl? That doesn’t mean he killed her. Perhaps she wanted to be with him.’

‘Lottie, Shona was thirteen.’

Lottie raised her eyebrows. ‘Plenty of thirteen-year-olds have sexual experience.’

‘Things were different in those days.’ Sarah gripped the steering wheel tighter.

‘Maybe it was an accident,’ Lottie continued in a stubborn voice. ‘They couldn’t pin anything on him now he’s dead.’

Sarah didn’t know what to say. Lottie had always been the rational one, the one who treated her mother as if she was over-emotional and a bit naïve.

‘And even if it
did
come out. What then? He was a teenager and there are plenty of other things he did in-between which were not exactly admirable. It’s not as if he’s got a shining reputation to tarnish.’

Sarah was shocked by the bitterness in her daughter’s voice. Because Nick and Abigail had seemed to accept their father’s numerous affairs and children so easily, Sarah had assumed that Lottie felt the same. Then she thought how Lottie had seemed to withdraw recently; this brittle shell hiding how much she was hurting. ‘Your dad loved you very much.’

‘Did he? He had a very funny way of showing it then.’ Lottie’s voice seemed to catch. They turned into the crescent of thirties bungalows where Flora lived. Sarah parked the car, but didn’t go in. She wanted to sort this out now.

‘And you know how much I love you, don’t you?’ Even to her, there was a desperate edge to her voice.

‘I know, Mum, but it’s just that you never seemed to face up to anything. I thought Dad treated you like a doormat, but I never dreamt he could be constantly betraying you in the way he did. You’ll do anything to keep Granny happy, too, although she also treats you, and me, like dirt. I know you want us all to play happy families but it won’t work. And I don’t think that Granny’s going to be as delighted with the news that she’s going to be a great-grandmother as you imagine.’

Sarah gulped; she’d thought everything was fine again with Lottie and was shocked by the resentment that had obviously been running deep for some considerable time.

‘I can’t believe you feel like this. We’ll talk about it more on the way back. You must make allowances for Granny. She hasn’t been very well.’

Lottie set her mouth in a determined line. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘but just for you.’ She leant over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I know you love us, me and Nick, and you do try to do everything for the best.’

Sarah felt incredibly touched by her daughter’s words and held her hand as they walked up the short drive to the front door.

When Flora opened the door, Sarah was shocked to see how thin her mother looked. As usual she was beautifully dressed, with shoes and scarf matching, but her clothes looked several sizes too large for her and her wrists protruding from her cardigan were painfully thin.

She greeted them with a perfunctory wave. ‘At last. I haven’t seen you for such a long time.’ Her tone was heavy with reproach.

‘Sorry, Mum. We really have been very busy, but we’re here now and we’ve brought these for you.’ She handed over the pastries. ‘Shall I make a cup of tea?’

Flora indicated the sherry bottle. ‘Well, as you’re finally here, we might as well celebrate.’ She got three crystal glasses from the glass-fronted cabinet.

‘Not for me, thank you, Granny,’ Lottie said quickly.

Flora looked crossly at her grand-daughter, so Sarah broke in. ‘For a very good reason. We’ve got wonderful news – you’re going to a great-grandmother.’

Flora’s lined face crumpled into an expression of disgust. Sarah felt her stomach sink. Lottie had been right.

‘I suppose it’s that young man of yours. I would have thought you could do better than him, but I hope he’s going to do the honourable thing. When’s the wedding?’

Lottie’s face had gone red but her voice was even. ‘We’re not going to get married just because of the baby. We don’t need to – we’ve known for a long time that we want to spend the rest of our lives together. You’ve never made any effort to get to know Liam, but he’s intelligent, honest, decent, and he has integrity. I love him, he loves me… so that’s all that’s important. The baby has come a little earlier than we’d planned but we’re thrilled. Even if you’re not.’

Sarah looked at the furious set of Lottie’s face and, hurried to change the subject. ‘Shall I pour you a sherry, Mum?’

‘Thank you dear.’ Flora turned her back on Lottie. ‘Do tell me about the arrangements for Rory’s memorial service? I’m still not quite sure what I should wear.’

Sarah’s heart sank a little further. Another dangerous topic. If the news of Nick’s familial DNA match came out, the memorial service would be a disaster. ‘They’re going OK. Nick is going to talk about his father.’

Flora’s face lit up. ‘He’ll do that so well. He’s got such presence.’

‘He’ll certainly create an impression if his face hasn’t healed by then,’ Lottie muttered.

Flora gave a gasp of horror. ‘What’s happened to the dear boy’s face?’

Sarah shot Lottie a warning look. ‘We didn’t want to worry you, Mum, but it’s one of the reasons I haven’t been to see you recently. Nick was involved in an… incident and he’s got some facial injuries, but he’s fine,’ she finished hastily.

‘Why didn’t you tell me? He’s my grandson. When you keep these secrets from me, it’s as if I’m not part of the family.’

Lottie opened her mouth and looked as if she was going to say something, so Sarah hurried on, really not feeling that her mother was ready to hear her favourite grandchild had been a victim of gay-bashing. ‘So much has been happening. They’ve also been looking into Shona McIver’s death again and I had to be interviewed.’

Flora pursed her lips. ‘Really, why are they raking that all up again? It’s all so long ago.’

‘They have to reopen the case because Logan Baird has been shown to be innocent.’

‘So they say. But he was a danger to young girls, exposing himself to them.’

‘That was never proved, Mum. It was just some silly wee girls wanting a bit of attention at the time. But, anyway, they have tests nowadays that prove it can’t be him and–’

‘–and they’re looking at new suspects.’ Lottie shot Sarah a rebellious look. ‘Even our dad is a suspect now.’

Flora was pale before, but the colour completely disappeared from her face, leaving it grey. ‘Rory? That’s ridiculous. It couldn’t possibly be him.’

Sarah knew that her mother was always very fond of Rory, but she was surprised by the vehemence of her response. She tried to rescue the situation a bit, her voice shaking. ‘I’m sure it’s just a mix-up but they found that Nick’s DNA was a partial match to samples found at the scene of Shona’s murder. Which suggests that the killer was someone from his,
our,
family. They came and took Rory’s toothbrush to test it for DNA.’

Flora looked perplexed. ‘What can they tell from that? He’s dead.’

‘DNA lasts for a long time. They’re comparing it with some on Shona’s clothes; you can use anything, a hair, a bit of skin, sweat.’

Flora turned even paler than before and stood up shakily. ‘I’m afraid I don’t feel very well. I think I’m going for a lie-down now. Thank you for coming.’ She walked unsteadily towards her bedroom.

‘Mum,’ Sarah tried to follow her mother but the door was firmly closed in her face. She turned towards her daughter. ‘What do you think you’re doing, coming out with all that? She’s an old lady.’

‘She’s an old witch. And anyway, being told is apparently what she wants.’ Lottie mimicked her grandmother’s voice. ‘When you keep these secrets from me it’s as if I’m not part of the family.’