The Chorister at the Abbey (21 page)

Edwin’s face darkened, giving him once again the cold saturnine look which Suzy found so off-putting. He looked down, failing to meet their eyes.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘If you think it’s so important, I’ll ask Marilyn to meet us.’

Alex felt a fleeting moment of triumph, followed quickly by fear. What will this do to our friendship? she thought. Oh God, what have I done?

35

Man goeth forth to his work, and to his labour, until the evening.
Psalm 104:23

Tom Firth couldn’t sleep. It was a Wednesday morning and he was due at college at ten o’clock for a class. But he felt both excited and frustrated. It would be weeks before he saw Poppy again. He needed to get the cash together for a trip to Newcastle, and anyway he couldn’t stand the thought of his dad finding out he was going to see a girl, and taking the piss. The only thing worse would be his mother’s delight which would be quickly followed by silly questions. Parents! So irritating.

Though maybe that wasn’t entirely fair. His mam especially had always been on his side, in her own nosy way. And from what Poppy said about her parents, they’d been all for her going to uni, and they’d helped her out with money. It wasn’t that parents were bad, necessarily. They were just . . . irritating. And stupid too, a lot of the time.

But Chloe Clifford’s parents weren’t stupid. For a priest, Neil Clifford was OK. He had come to see Tom again after Christmas and had said sensible things.

Tom had asked him: ‘About Morris’s body. It keeps coming back to me.’

‘Don’t try and put it out of your mind. Think about it. Talk about it to people. People who won’t fuss. Me. Your counsellor. Perhaps Alex Gibson? There’s a fine line between repressing the memory and dwelling on it too much. You are the only person who will know the difference. It’s not that easy. But I think you’re bright enough to understand what I’m saying, aren’t you?’

Tom had nodded. That was exactly it. He had been asking himself: when did thinking about it get morbid?

‘Anyway,’ Neil had added, ‘at your age lots of new things happen. Be open to them. Something else will crowd out that memory soon.’

He had been so right. Getting off with Poppy had been brilliant. And it took up all his thoughts. Except . . . there was still Chloe. Neil seemed such a good bloke – but his own daughter was all over the place. Chloe’s mum was nice, too. He remembered going round to the rectory in the summer holidays when she’d been listening to Bach’s Magnificat in the kitchen. He’d commented and she’d smiled. She hadn’t gasped and said, ‘Fancy you knowing that!’ or raised her eyebrows or made questioning noises or started talking about effing exams. Mrs Clifford was all right.

So why was Chloe all wrong? What was going on with her? Tom thought about when he and Poppy had tried following her. That had been a miserable failure. Chloe had got off the bus in Fellside and disappeared.

Tom tossed about in bed, his long scrawny body winding the thin duvet all round him, till he threw it off in annoyance and got up to pad through the cold room and stand by the radiator under the window. It was early. From his house he could see over the other terraces’ roofs to where the fells started like a dirty smear on the horizon.

He got dressed quickly without bothering with a shower. He left the tangled bed, grabbed his hat – it would be cold out there and anyway Poppy wasn’t around – and pulled on his parka, picked up his bag and flung the strap over his shoulder. His dad was away and his mam and little brother were asleep. He crept down the stairs and into the kitchen. He took some scrap paper out of his bag and scribbled a note saying he had gone to college early. That would surprise them, but there would be no questions till tea-time and he’d think of something to tell them by then.

He shut the front door behind him quietly, left the gate of the tiny front garden swinging, and strode down the street. The air was cool. If he walked briskly he could be at the Uplands crossroads in ten minutes and pick up the bus to Fellside. Then he would walk up and down the high street until he could work out exactly where Chloe Clifford had disappeared to.

There had to be some turn-off he’d missed, unless she’d gone into someone’s house. But surely she’d have had to stand on the step for a minute, and they’d have seen her – unless she’d had a key, but even then she’d have had to get that key out and open the door. Anyway the houses on that end of the street were either converted to council offices, or small shops, or lived in by a few old people. And she had literally disappeared in seconds.

Had someone been holding the door open, ready? But if that was what had happened, wouldn’t they have seen her walk up the street towards the residential end? It didn’t make sense. Even if she’d turned straight into the Co-op, they’d have seen her come out or caught up with her when they went in themselves.

But she must have gone somewhere, mustn’t she? And if he could work out where, he could message Poppy all about it, on-line. Because despite everything, he could tell that Poppy was worried about her friend. And it was catching. Now he was worried, too.

‘Ash Wednesday.’ Robert had got out of bed and opened the curtains. ‘But it still looks wintry out there. I’m coming back to bed for five minutes.’ He snuggled down besides Suzy, whose nose was almost the only bit of her showing.

‘Brrrrr . . .’ she shivered. ‘And to think, a few weeks ago I thought spring was here.’ She lifted her head up just high enough for Robert to slip his arm underneath. ‘That’s better.’ She cuddled into him. ‘What have you given up for Lent?’

‘Not that!’

‘I hope not! No, seriously?’

‘I thought about alcohol but nowadays we’ve got such a lot to celebrate I don’t want to do it! Jake and Molly doing well at school – and Nigel seems to be leaving you in peace . . .’

‘Is that all?’ Suzy said, pinching him.

‘Ouch! Well, there’s also the fact that we’re friends again.’

‘Too right! I never want to go through an ice age like that again. Thank goodness we’ve sorted things out.’ Not totally, she thought. But it wasn’t bad.

They lay there enjoying the warmth of each other. A few minutes later she said: ‘Are you going to church tonight? If you are, we’ll need a babysitter. I’m working late and missing the Bible study.’

‘I might go to the Abbey at lunchtime then. The one here at All Saints is in the evening.’

‘Is that where you get ashes smeared on your forehead?’

‘No! That’s a very High Church idea. I think it’s rather nice in a symbolic way but it’s straight out of Roman Catholicism. Some Anglicans do it, but they’re more likely to be in city churches with High Church traditions rather than round here. I don’t think anyone in the Norbridge area goes in for that.’

Suzy glanced at the clock on the bedside cabinet. ‘Seven fifteen. Time to get up. At least we’re ahead of the radio news coming on and setting a note of doom for the day!’ The alarm was set for seven thirty, but that always meant a mad scurrying around the house to get Jake on the school bus and Molly ready for the current car rota.

She put her toes out of bed and swung the rest of her body to follow them. It wasn’t so bad once you made yourself do it. The Briars was an old house with high ceilings and big rooms. The bedroom had an unused fireplace which Suzy had encouraged Robert to open up. It had a pretty Victorian surround which looked great, but the draught was noticeable. That’s typical of me, Suzy thought. The visuals are everything so we all have to freeze because it looks nice.

That reminded her. ‘Mary’s rug cleaned up well. Did you notice it was back in Molly’s room?’

‘It’s not Mary’s rug, Suzy. It’s our rug. That’s all in the past.’

‘OK, OK. So you’re fine and living in the present. But do you think the same is true of Edwin?’ Suzy was on her way to the bathroom, but stopped to hear his answer.

‘I wonder. His affair with Marilyn was the talk of the town, you know, and it must have been horrendous for him when it ended. Mary was taken ill at about the same time, so I don’t remember much about it.’

‘This Marilyn seems a bit of an oddity. Or is it just Edwin’s usual dark manner?’

‘No.’ Robert was out of bed too, but he sat on the edge, thinking. ‘Nobody ever mentions her. And it is strange that Marilyn’s not more involved with her brothers. But then again, her family isn’t exactly the Waltons, is it? I mean, she might just want to put as much space between her and them as possible.’

‘Do you think Edwin really will get in touch with her? Will she meet with us, d’you think?’

‘I don’t know. And that might be hard for Alex.’

‘What? Meeting her new boyfriend’s former lover?’

‘Exactly.’ He paused. ‘Oh . . .’

‘Well, I did meet your former lover, Robert. And we survived. But you and I have had two years and a lot of drama together.’

‘And Alex is a bit less easy-going than you are.’

‘You should know.’ Suzy made for the door, but Robert caught her by the arm.

‘You’re the only one for me, Suzy. I really love you.’

‘I know,’ she answered. ‘But I just hope it works out as well for our friends. Having Marilyn Frost bursting on to the scene might alter everything.’

* * *

Tom had caught the bus to Uplands and was astonished to find it was half full. As a student he was rarely out before nine o’clock and that seemed early to him. He’d imagined that only a few strange mole types would be poking their noses out of their holes to get to work in the morning before eight o’clock. He was surprised to find two of the Fellside Co-op assistants were on the bus, plus a couple of the council workers whose head office was up there, and a smattering of builders’ labourers and farm workers. His breath steamed up the window and he was suddenly blinded by the rising sun as the bus swung a dramatic turn eastwards and dropped into the village. In the west behind him was the still-dark coast, sloping down the steel draining board of the wintry shore. Ahead were the fells.

The bus stopped a few yards downhill of the Co-op. Tom leapt off the bus first and then watched where the people went. The two women made for the shop. Two builders started to mooch down to the council estate – probably doing more improvements to the council houses, Tom thought. The farm labourers walked straight off down Scafell Street.

Weird, Tom thought. He wasn’t sure which way to turn. For the sake of it, he walked downhill, passing the car park for Fellside Fellowship at the side of the old St Luke’s. It was a completely ring-fenced gravel semicircle which would hold about ten cars. The chapel was closed, the windows grey and blind. Nothing was happening there this morning and there was no reason to think anything had been happening there the previous Saturday when he and Poppy had followed Chloe.

The village petered out, with the turn-off to the twenty or so council houses to Tom’s left. He turned around and walked back up the village, past the Co-op and to the end of the street. Then he turned again and started to walk down to bus stop, past the council offices.

It was then he realized he hadn’t seen the council workers since getting off the bus. The council offices had taken over a section of the terraced houses. The houses had gated passageways between them leading to the back yards. Suddenly Tom understood: now the houses were offices, there was one narrow public passage between them, leading to the rear of the buildings.

Feeling self-conscious, he turned sharp right, down the passageway, as if he knew where he was going. Behind the council offices, the old back gardens had been concreted over and a couple of cars were parked there. The rear garden walls had been knocked down to allow the cars in, and the yard opened out on to a parallel road.

Tom crossed the yard and found himself virtually in open country. He could see the old convent, over the fields to his left, and to his right a lane seemed to sink deeper down into the hillside. He followed the lane downhill, past a Gothic-shaped door cut into the opposite wall, and then saw he was traipsing further into farmland. The lane seemed to wind away from Fellside; then it turned at ninety degrees towards Workhaven and the coast. Tom had heard about David Johnstone’s road accident, and he wondered if this was the spot. The car would have careered straight on, missed the turn, and hit a big tree which was there on the corner.

So had Chloe sneaked between the houses into the council office yard and out here? But why? There was nothing doing here. There was no point in going further into the countryside. Tom could see that there were no buildings ahead, not even a byre or barn. He turned around once again and walked up the hill back towards the village, his calves feeling the pull. He walked straight through the council offices’ car park and out through the narrow passage between the strips of terraced houses, into Fellside’s main street. So much for his detecting ability. He still had no idea where Chloe could have gone that Saturday.

And then he saw her. For a moment he thought he had imagined it, but it was her. She was walking down the hill in front of him to the bus stop. He could hardly believe it, but it was definitely Chloe in that silly headscarf, wearing a long shapeless coat and clumpy shoes. No one else in the neighbourhood looked like that.

His first instinct was to follow her, hanging back to see where she went. But that was ridiculous. She was obviously going to the bus stop. And where else could he be going? He had to think of something to say if he bumped into her, and to gain time he went into the Co-op. Maybe the bus would come when he was in there and he could avoid her.

The two women on the till stared at him. There was no one else in the shop and he felt stupid. He couldn’t hang around in there for ages waiting for the bus to come and go. He would look like a plonker. He scanned the newspaper rack and saw one tatty copy of the previous week’s
Cumberland News
. Great, he thought. I’ll buy this. If Chloe asks me what I’m doing here I’ll say I’ve been looking everywhere for this newspaper for a project I’m doing – and the last one left was in Fellside.

He paid for his paper and leafed through it. There was a feature on Sandy McFay’s books, one of his favourite authors. That was OK, then. He could say he wanted to get a copy of this article.

He walked out of the Co-op to the bus stop. Chloe Clifford was the only person there. For a minute she looked as if she wished she hadn’t seen him, but it was too late.

‘Hey, Tom! What are you doing here?’ She sounded like her old bossy self. Trust her to ask the questions, he thought, though she kept her face ahead looking for the bus.