The safe house Page 9

  ‘I think they were close enough.’

  ‘Michael, there must have been problems. She was hospitalized because of depression and anorexia. You were her doctor.’

  ‘Yes, I was,’ he said, looking away from me over at the indistinct sea. ‘She was a teenager, it’s a messy time for most of us, so…’ He gave a shrug and didn’t finish his sentence.

  ‘Was it difficult for you being a friend of her parents?’

  Daley turned to face me with his tired dark eyes.

  ‘It’s been very difficult for me being a friend of Leo and Liz. Did the police tell you what they did to them?’

  ‘A bit. I’m sorry.’

  We got into the car and drove off. The countryside seemed grey, scrubby, indistinct. I knew it was my own mood. I had been to a funeral and felt no grief. I had just been uselessly thinking. I looked out of the window. Reed city.

  ‘I’m not right for Finn,’ I said. ‘And I wasn’t particularly proud of myself today.’

  Michael looked round.

  ‘Why and why?’

  ‘I think Finn was telling me something in wanting me to go to the funeral of her parents and all I did was snoop around and try to find out about what she was like.’

  Michael seemed surprised.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t see a patient in a vacuum. I want a context.’

  ‘What did you learn?’

  ‘Nothing, except what I already knew: that our knowledge even of our close friends and relations is strangely vague. “Nice.” I learned that Finn is nice.’

  He put his hand on my arm, took it away to change gear, put it back on my arm.

  ‘You should have told me. If you want, I’ll introduce you to some people who knew the family well.’

  ‘That would be good, Michael.’

  He turned and gave me a mischievous smile.

  ‘I’ll be your ticket into rural society, Sam.’

  ‘They won’t have me, Michael. I’m lower middle class.’

  He laughed.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll make an exception in your case.’

  Twelve

  ‘She thinks I’m a layabout. Why should I be polite to her?’

  ‘You are a layabout. Just don’t be completely rude. Or go for a long walk and don’t be here at all.’

  Danny put his hands around my waist as I stood at the sink, and bit my shoulder.

  ‘I’m hungry and I like to be here.’

  ‘I’m washing the dishes,’ I said crossly. Danny was getting on my nerves today, just as he’d got on my nerves yesterday. Although, after we had returned from the funeral and talked at length to Finn about it, and Michael Daley had stayed for a drink – Danny glowering at him as if he and I had spent the day in a double bed together, not at a funeral, and Michael oddly nervy with Danny – and Elsie had been put to bed, we’d had a passionate reunion, the next two days had not gone well. He’d hung around in his normal kind of way, getting up late, eating huge breakfasts while Sally cleaned around him, going to bed in the small hours of the morning and leaning into me with beery breath, and this had irritated me. He’d not put himself out for Finn, although he hadn’t actually been rude, and this had irritated me too. He’d left his dishes unwashed in the sink, his clothes unwashed in the corner of my room, he’d almost picked my fridge clean without replacing anything, and then I was irritated by my own prissiness. Didn’t I want Danny to be Danny? ‘Can’t you lay the table or something?’ I complained.

  ‘Lay the table? Let her get her own fork out of the drawer. She’s not going to be here for at least fifteen minutes. Why don’t we just go upstairs?’ Now his hands were under my shirt.

  I pushed his roving hands away with my soapy ones.

  ‘Elsie and Finn are next door.’

  ‘Half-way through the puzzle.’

  ‘She’s quite nice to have around, isn’t she?’

  Danny let me go and sat down heavily at the kitchen table. ‘Is she?’ he said.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Oh Christ,’ he ran his hand through his hair. ‘I don’t want to talk about your patient.’

  I took five forks from the plastic basket by the sink and clattered them on to the table in front of him.

  ‘Quiche is in the fridge. Warm it up. Ice-cream in the freezer. I think you’re jealous of her.’

  ‘And why would I be jealous?’ Now Danny’s arms were folded across his chest and he was glaring at me.

  ‘Because I like her and Elsie likes her and you don’t feel quite so much like the king of the castle when you deign to visit us in the country – that’s why.’

  ‘And do you know what I think, Sam? I think you’ve stopped separating work from home. You’re in trouble here. And have a think about this while you’re at it: first of all I have to compete with a dead man for your love, and then with an invalid child. How can I ever win?’

  There was a loud knock on the front door. For once I was glad Roberta had arrived early.

  I am sometimes unkind to Roberta because I am scared of the mixed and contradicting emotions I have always had for her. I don’t want to know if she is unhappy. When we were girls, Roberta was designated the pretty one and I was the clever one. She never had a chance. She wore the pink dresses and had the row of dolls along the shelf in her bedroom; I wore trousers (even though, to my disgust, they had heel straps and no pockets) and read books by torchlight under my covers. She painted her manicured nails with pearly varnish (I bit mine), wore pretty blouses and plucked her eyebrows. When her breasts started to develop she and mum made a special trip to Stacey’s department store to buy pretty little bras with matching knickers. When she got her periods, a sense of glamour and mystery surrounded the sanitary towels and blood stains. She was an insecure little girl, who went into womanhood bravely and fearfully, as if it were her terrible vocation.

  When I was working seventy-two-hour weekend shifts as a junior doctor at the Sussex by the river, she was a mother and living in Chigwell, and while I became thin and haggard and middle-aged, she became rounder, wearier, middle-aged. Her husband called her Bobsie and once told me that my sister made the best scones in Essex. But then, what did she think when she looked across at me? Did she see a successful doctor or a scraggy unmarried mother with a vulgar on-off boyfriend and vulgar red hair, who couldn’t even cook quiche when her sister came to lunch?

  ‘And how are you enjoying staying with Sam, Fiona?’

  ‘It’s nice.’

  Finn had hardly touched her food. Once an anorexic always an anorexic they say, like alcoholics and smokers. She had sat with an anxious half-smile on her face as Danny had slouched and made flirtatious remarks and I had scowled and Bobbie had made bright remarks about how we could all see more of each other.

  ‘Do you like country life or do you prefer the town?’ Bobbie, in her social anxiety, sounded as if she were talking to a six-year-old.

  ‘I’m not sure…’

  ‘Auntie.’ Elsie had insisted on sitting so close to Roberta she was practically in her lap. Her sharp little elbows jabbed my sister every time she spooned more chocolate-chip ice-cream into her smeared and eager mouth.

  ‘Yes, Elsie.’

  ‘Guess what I’m going to be when I grow up?’

  This was the kind of conversation Bobbie could deal with. She turned away from the three adult faces ranged opposite her.

  ‘Let’s see. A doctor like mummy?’

  ‘Nowayhosay!’

  ‘Um, a nurse?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A ballerina?’

  ‘No. Give up? A mummy, like you.’

  ‘Are you, dear, that’s lovely.’

  Danny smirked and spooned more ice-cream on to his plate, slurped it loudly into his mouth. I glared across at him.

  ‘You’re her role model, Roberta,’ he said.

  Bobbie smiled uncertainly. We’re bullying her, I thought.

  ‘Let me clear the dishes,’
she said, stacking plates with a clatter.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I said, ‘and then maybe we can all go for a walk.’

  ‘Not me,’ said Danny. ‘I’m going to stay and lie about, I think. That’s what I really like doing, eh, Sammy?’

  Finn followed Roberta and me into the kitchen, carrying a couple of glasses as her excuse. She turned to my sister, who was furiously scrubbing clean dishes.

  ‘Where did you get your jumper?’ she asked. ‘It’s pretty; it suits you.’

  I stopped in the middle of the room, kettle in hand. Bobbie smiled with delighted embarrassment.

  ‘A little shop near us, actually. I thought maybe it made me look too fat.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Finn.

  I felt a wash of emotions – astonishment at Finn’s aplomb, shame at my own neglect of Bobbie, a rush of swamping tenderness for my sister, who could be made so happy by such a small remark. But then I heard Bobbie asking Finn what exactly she was studying. There was a ring at the front door, a murmur of voices, and Danny appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘A man called Baird,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll see him in the kitchen. Can you take the others through into the living room?’

  ‘I feel like a fucking butler,’ Danny said, looking across at Roberta. ‘I mean a damned butler.’

  Baird came into the kitchen and began fidgeting with a mug on the table.

  ‘Do you want me to put some coffee into that for you?’

  ‘No, thanks. Your extractor fan wants fixing. It gets rid of kitchen odours. I could have a look at it if you want. Take it apart.’

  I sat down opposite him.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I was just passing.’

  ‘Nobody just passes Elm House.’

  ‘Dr Daley says that Miss Mackenzie’s shown some signs of improvement.’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘Has she said anything about the crime?’

  ‘Rupert, has anything happened?’

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ he said formally. ‘I just wanted to see how you were.’

  ‘We’re fine too.’

  He stood up as if he was about to go.

  ‘I just wanted to ask,’ he said, as if it was an afterthought, ‘that you keep a lookout for anything unusual.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Not that there’ll be anything, but if you notice anything unusual, or if Miss Mackenzie says anything, dial 999 and ask for Stamford Central 2243. That’s the quickest way of reaching me any time, day or night.’

  ‘But of course I won’t be using that number, Rupert, because you explained to me how perfectly safe this situation was and that I had nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Absolutely. And that’s still the case, although we had hoped for a conviction by now. Is this the only exterior door apart from the one at the front?’ He grasped the handle and tried it. It didn’t seem very firm.

  ‘Should I have bars put on?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Rupert, wouldn’t it help if you told me who we were supposed to be looking out for?’

  ‘You’re not supposed to be looking out for anybody.’

  ‘Do you have a suspect or a description or an Identikit picture?’

  ‘We’re pursuing various possibilities.’

  ‘Rupert, nothing’s going to happen here. Nobody cares about Finn, and nobody knows she’s here.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Rupert, there was that lorry-park fire on Monday. How many veal transporters were destroyed? Forty?’

  ‘Thirty-four lorries suffered varying degrees of damage.’

  ‘So shouldn’t you be out harassing animal liberationists rather than worrying me?’

  ‘I believe that some of my colleagues are following a line of inquiry there as well. As a matter of fact…’ The sentence died away.

  ‘Have you got a suspect? Why are you really here?’

  ‘Looking in. I’ll go now. We’ll keep in touch.’

  ‘Do you want to see Finn?’

  ‘Better not. I don’t want to make her nervous.’

  We walked to his car together. A thought occurred to me.

  ‘Have you heard from Mrs Ferrer?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She wanted to see Finn, bring her some stuff, and I thought it might be helpful to Finn to meet her.’

  ‘That’s probably not such a good idea at the moment.’

  ‘I thought I might go and see her. I’m worried that nobody has given her any kind of help. Also I’d like to talk to her about the family, about Finn. I wondered if you could give me her address.’

  Barid paused and looked back at my house, apparently deep in thought. He rubbed his eyes.

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  We shook hands and for just a fraction of a second he delayed letting go. I thought he was about to say something, but he stayed silent, just nodding a goodbye. As I turned round to return to the house I saw Finn’s pale face at her window. I wasn’t going to be put off so easily. And anything that delayed joining Danny and Roberta for a few minutes was additionally attractive. I picked up the phone and called Michael Daley.

  Thirteen

  ‘How are you coping?’ Daley asked.

  ‘What with?’

  He laughed.

  ‘I don’t know where to begin. With Finn. With a child. Moving to the country. With a big new job.’

  ‘I’m coping. That’s what I do.’

  Michael was driving me on the Stamford ring road towards the Castletown area of Stamford where Mrs Ferrer lived. Michael had been resistant at first but I told him that after meeting Mrs Ferrer, I felt a certain responsibility for her. I was worried about her mood. Also, if she wanted to see Finn, then that might be good for both of them, and I was determined to encourage it. Certainly, the cleaner had seemed pretty determined to track down Finn and say goodbye. At any rate, I wanted to talk to her. No, I didn’t want to talk to her on the phone. After my experience at the funeral, I thought it would take a good deal of patience, not to mention sign language, to establish meaningful contact with her.

  ‘Just give me her address and I’ll go there in the morning.’

  ‘I think she’s at work in the morning. If you can wait until the afternoon, I’ll come with you. After all, I am supposed to be her doctor. It could count as a home visit.’

  As we drove, Michael pointed out remains of Roman fortifications, the traces of a siege in the civil war, an ancient mount, but then we left the interesting local sites behind and drove among school playing-fields, allotments, roundabouts, superstores, petrol stations, about which there was nothing to say.

  ‘How are you coping?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Daley, a little sharply. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Politeness.’

  ‘You don’t need to be polite with me.’

  ‘You haven’t seen me not being polite.’

  ‘I could deal with it.’

  Michael never took his eyes off the road and I couldn’t see the expression in his eyes.

  ‘Do you resent me being here?’ I asked.

  ‘In my car?’

  ‘Here, on the scene. When you are Finn’s doctor.’

  ‘I’ve already told you that I don’t.’

  ‘It would be natural.’

  We were back in a residential area of terraced houses.

  ‘If we turned left here, we’d get to the Mackenzies’ old house. But we just turn right here into the less salubrious part of Castletown. We’re alike I think, you and me.’

  I smirked at his apparent flirtatiousness.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘We like challenges. We take things on.’

  ‘What do you take on?’

  ‘When I was a child, I used to be scared of heights. There was a sort of tower near where I went to prep school, a monument built by an eccentric old duke. There were a hundred and seventy steps, and when you were at the top it fe
lt as if you were falling. I made myself climb it every week of term.’

  ‘Did it cure you of your fear of heights?’

  ‘No. Then it would have become boring. My work’s just a job. Except for people like Mrs Ferrer, of course. But my real life’s largely outside it. I make myself do things. Gliding. Riding. Have you ever been sailing?’

  ‘No, I hate water.’

  ‘You can’t live here and not sail. You must come in my boat.’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘This car’s another example. Do you know anything about cars?’

  ‘We don’t seem alike to me. I never do things I’m afraid of.’

  ‘It must be somewhere here.’

  ‘Here? Can we park?’

  ‘Trust me. I’m a doctor. I have a sticker in my window. I’m paying a call.’

  ‘Does she live in Woolworths?’

  We were in a busy shopping street. Mrs Ferrer lived in one of those rooms that you don’t notice, a doorway between shops leading up to a first floor that you wouldn’t suspect is there. A door from the street led up some grey-carpeted stairs to a landing from which there were two doors. One had the nameplate of a dentist on the door, the other had nothing.

  ‘This must be it,’ said Daley. ‘Handy for the shops, at any rate.’

  There was no bell or knocker. He rapped at the door with his knuckles. We waited in awkward silence. There was nothing. He knocked again. Nothing.

  ‘Maybe she’s at work,’ I suggested.

  Daley turned the handle of the door. It opened.

  ‘I don’t think we should go in,’ I said.

  ‘The radio’s on.’

  ‘She probably forgot to switch it off when she went out.’

  ‘Maybe she can’t hear us. Let’s go up and see.’

  There were more steps. No carpet this time. As I reached the top my face was hit by a breath of stifling hot air. Michael grimaced at me.

  ‘Is there something wrong with the electrics?’ I asked.

  ‘A reminder of Spain, I suppose.’

  ‘Mrs Ferrer!’ I called. ‘Hello? Where’s the radio?’

  Michael pointed ahead of me into the tiny, squalid kitchen.