The Other Child (33 page)

Jennifer thought for a second, but then shook her head. ‘I'll take the bus. You know …'

‘I know,' said Colin resignedly. Jennifer had been an uncomplicated driver. Only after
the incident
had she no longer dared to sit behind a wheel. Colin was not sure where the connection between the two lay. It appeared that she no longer trusted herself to drive. And the more time elapsed, the less likely it was that she would ever do so again.

He looked out of the window. It seemed that the fog was getting thicker and thicker. A strange day. So silent. Even the seagulls could no longer be heard.

He was restless. He did not know why.

It might have been the fog.

4

‘My landlady gave me notice for the 1st November,' said Dave.

They were the only customers in King Richard III, a little coffee shop on the front which offered breakfast. A young man was lounging around bored behind the counter. He had brought them coffee and scones with a scowl.

‘It's not particularly cosy here,' Dave had said when they entered. ‘But they have scones with jam, and they're not bad at all.' From its windows they could see the deserted promenade and the masts of the yachts looming out of the mist.

The coffee was surprisingly good too, thought Leslie. Strong and hot. Just right after the cold, damp air outside.

‘Is she allowed to?' asked Leslie. ‘Just throw you out so quickly?'

‘I think so,' said Dave. ‘We never signed a contract or anything like that. I'm living at hers illegally and don't have anything in writing. How would I complain? Anyway, it's not as if I'm inordinately fond of my prestigious domicile, as you can imagine.'

‘What reason did she give?'

‘She claimed that the daughter of one of her friends is going to study in Scarborough and wanted to live with her. I bet there is no such friend. The truth is, of course, that she's scared of me. She's scared I've murdered Amy Mills and Fiona Barnes and that she could be the next victim. She no longer sleeps in her own bed, but goes to some neighbour's house. And it seems she spreads terrible stories about me while she's there. Whenever I'm out on the street, I can feel a hundred eyes drilling into me from behind the windows. But I don't care. Let them think what they want.'

‘As you and Gwen are planning on marrying in December anyway, it shouldn't be a problem. Just move to her farm at the beginning of November.'

‘Yes,' he said. He did not sigh, but his Yes sounded like a sigh.

Leslie cupped both her hands around her mug. Her fingers tingled as the warmth spread up them. Then it seemed to flow up her arms too. It was a pleasant feeling which not only drove the clammy cold from her bones but also soothed her overwrought state. She knew that she was probably going too far, but something about the way Dave Tanner was looking at her gave the impression that he wanted to talk, and that he did not feel cornered with her.

‘You're not exactly head over heels in love with Gwen, are you?' she asked quietly.

‘It's pretty obvious, isn't it?'

‘Yes.'

He leant forward. ‘I don't love her at all, Leslie. That's the problem. And that's not because of her drab appearance. A woman could be as ugly as hell and still fascinate me – and Gwen isn't ugly. But the fascination – that's the nub of it. Nothing, just absolutely nothing about her
fascinates
me.'

‘In most relationships fascination goes after a while.'

‘But it's the spark at the beginning. There has to be something there, something which captivates you in the other person, something which provokes curiosity and won't let you go. You know what I mean, don't you? Why did you marry your husband?'

The last question surprised her and for a moment unsettled her. ‘I fell in love with him,' she said in the end.

‘With what?'

‘With all of him.'

He did not let up. ‘There was nothing, absolutely nothing, which annoyed you about him?'

‘Of course there was.'

His passivity. His need for harmony. The fact that he often told me what I wanted to hear, that he let me and others tell him what to do. His weakness
.

‘But something else eclipsed the things you found annoying and let you fall in love and even marry him. And want to spend the rest of your life with him.'

‘Yes. What I liked about him was stronger.'

‘What was that?'

‘His care and attention, his warmth,' she said. ‘He made me feel secure.'

He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You felt a lack of security? Gwen told me that you grew up with your grandmother. After what I've experienced of Fiona Barnes I could imagine that—'

‘I don't want to talk about my grandmother,' said Leslie sharply.

‘OK.' Dave immediately retreated. ‘Of course. I'm sorry if I've been asking too much.'

‘We were talking about you and Gwen. You're faced with a decision, not me. I made my decision two years ago: I left my husband.'

‘But he can still put you in quite a state, I'd say. The conversations you were having with yourself at that very early hour were obviously to do with him.'

She took a sip of coffee, burning her tongue as she did so. ‘He cheated on me,' she said. ‘Just over two years ago. With a woman he had met by chance while I was away on a training course. I would never have known, except that unfortunately his voice of conscience was so strong that he confessed in the end. After that I could no longer live with him. We've been divorced since last Monday. That's all there is to it.'

‘And what had upset you so much this morning?'

‘Last night he suddenly explained to me that it was all my fault. Some therapist woman had convinced him of it. He only had the affair because I was so cold and he had been the victim of my career ambitions and – as he saw it – my superiority. Apparently his confession was not down to his conscience but was a cry for help. I didn't understand that, and so to top it all, I threw him out of our flat. The poor man! It really wasn't easy for him.'

Dave looked at her, but did not say anything. Suddenly the door was pushed open and two men came in along with a gust of damp air. They seemed surprised for a moment to find other customers there, but it did not bother them. They ordered coffee, and stayed at the counter talking to the waiter.

Leslie pushed her plate away from her. She had barely touched her scone. ‘I don't think I can eat anything.'

‘Doesn't it taste good?' Dave asked.

‘It does, but whenever I think too much about my ex, I lose my appetite,' she explained. She gave him a challenging look. ‘Is it the same for you? When you think of Gwen?'

‘It's not that bad.'

‘What balances it out for you, Dave? You don't like the fact that she doesn't fascinate you. And yet you want to marry her and spend the rest of your life with her. Why? In your case what is it that eclipses what you don't like about her?'

He looked at her, as if wanting to find out whether she was being serious or was just out to provoke him. ‘You're really asking?'

‘Yes.'

He smiled tiredly. ‘You know what it is. Your grandmother knew too.'

Leslie nodded. ‘So it is true. The farm. The farm is what attracts you to Gwen.'

For the moment he seemed resigned and too exhausted to try to put a nice gloss on it.

‘Yes. That's it.'

‘What do you hope for, living on the Beckett farm with her?'

Now he pushed his plate away. The question of his future seemed to rob him of his hunger too. ‘I want to leave behind the life I'm leading,' he explained. ‘I
have
to leave it. I just can't go on as I'm doing now. But I need something … I can jump onto. I don't have anything to show for my life except my ditched studies and a long chain of occasional jobs, with which I have just about made ends meet for almost twenty years now.'

‘Do you want to bring back sheep to the Beckett farm?'

He shook his head. ‘That's not the thing for me. I'd like to develop what Gwen has started in a small and rather unprofessional way. I'd like to make the farm attractive to holidaymakers. Yorkshire is becoming one of the most popular holiday destinations in England. The farm offers thousands of possibilities, without sacrificing its original charm. The house needs large, clean guest rooms. There needs to be a safe, simple path down to the bay. People shouldn't have to fight their way along the overgrown gorge. There need to be bathing facilities. Ponies can be kept in the stables and offered for trekking tours. Believe me,' his voice had risen, but now he lowered it again as he noticed that the people at the counter were looking over at him, I have good ideas. I can make something of that piece of land.'

‘And do you have the drive to do it?' asked Leslie. ‘Do you have that too?'

‘You doubt it?'

I don't know you well enough. But after everything you've told me about your former life, I wouldn't say that drive and determination are your strengths. You know, I'm always a little wary of people who need something stupendous – in your case a large piece of land – in order to make something of their lives. Often they're people who are kidding themselves. They think the fact they haven't yet made it big has always been down to conditions being against them. Real success stories are different. In them people start with nothing and still manage to achieve something in the end.'

His expression did not change. Leslie could not tell whether he was annoyed with her directness or not.

‘You're very honest,' he said in the end. ‘But have you considered what alternatives Gwen has? She lives off her father's pension. When Chad Beckett dies – and that is unlikely to be in the all too distant future – she will be penniless. She has no income of her own. She's hardly going to live off Mr and Mrs Brankley's two or three visits each year.'

‘She could sell the farm.'

‘Her home? The only place she knows and where she's happy?'

‘Is she happy?'

‘Would she be happier without the farm? In some flat?'

‘She could look for a job. She'd finally get out, meet people. Maybe she'd meet a man who really loved her.'

‘Well,' said Dave. And after a moment's silence, he added, ‘So are you going to try to convince her not to marry me?'

‘No!' Leslie shook her head. ‘I'm not going to get involved. Gwen has to make her own mind up. She's an adult.'

He looked at her.

‘By the way, I didn't sleep with her last night,' he said out of the blue. ‘I've never slept with her.'

Leslie thought about the black tights in his room.
It's none of your business
, she told herself.

‘No?' she limited herself to asking.

‘No. She wanted to. But I … I can't. I can barely manage to touch her, let alone …' He left the unfinished sentence hanging in the air.

‘So, in that case,' asked Leslie, ‘what do you envisage marriage to her will be like?'

He did not reply.

5

Jennifer had found a slip of paper with Dave Tanner's address on the pinboard in Gwen's bedroom. Although she knew that it was not right to go into her host's room when she was not there, she told herself that her worry justified her behaviour. It was not like Gwen to be absent for so long and not to tell anyone.

Today the walk to the main road seemed longer than usual, perhaps because of the damp air which made breathing more difficult. For the bus to pick you up, you had to stand beside the red phone box. Luckily it came more or less on time. Only three quarters of an hour later Jennifer got out at the Queen Street stop in the middle of Scarborough. From there it was not far to Friargate, where Dave lived. Nonetheless, Jennifer felt shattered by the time she finally stood in front of the little terraced house.

The landlady opened the door after she had rung twice, eyeing her suspiciously.

‘Yes?'

‘Good morning. I'm Jennifer Brankley. Is Dave Tanner home?'

At the mention of Tanner's name, the old woman's face turned to stone.

‘Who are you?'

‘Jennifer Brankley. A friend of Gwen Beckett, Mr Tanner's fiancée.'

‘Mr Tanner isn't here.'

Almost involuntarily Jennifer looked past the old lady into the dark hall. ‘No?'

‘Listen, I was just upstairs. He's not there. His coat isn't here in the wardrobe either. He's out.'

‘Do you know if he was here last night?'

Now the landlady looked at her angrily. ‘I don't know, Mrs Brankley. No idea! You know why not? Because I can't sleep in my own house any more! I get on my neighbours' nerves, always pleading to stay in one of their houses, but I panic at the thought of sleeping in the same house as that man. I wouldn't get a wink of sleep! I mean, the man might have two murders on his conscience, and I'm damned if I'm going to be the third!'

‘Why do you think he has two murders on his conscience?' asked Jennifer, surprised by the near certainty with which the old lady talked.

‘Well, I can put two and two together! The police were here. They asked about the evening when Fiona Barnes was murdered, and about the evening when that young student was done in. And in both cases they wanted to know if Mr Tanner had been home. I'm not stupid. They think he's a killer, just can't prove it yet. And that's the way it is today. The biggest criminals walk free because apparently you can't lock them up until you have proof. And the politicians don't give a damn what happens to innocent people!'

‘So I suppose you also don't know whether Miss Beckett visited Mr Tanner last night?' continued Jennifer, who was for now more interested in this question than in putting the world to rights.

‘Of course I don't know!' snorted the landlady. ‘And what's more, in future I won't know either! I've given Mr Tanner his notice. He's out on the street from 1st November – and I'll feel a lot better then.'