seated, eating yet another biscuit.
“We’ll leave it there, Craig. Thank you for your cooperation and I’m only sorry we had to come. You understand that we may need to ask you further questions when any information comes to light? If we have any news at all I will contact you of course. We have a photograph of your wife and there’s a poster going up as we speak. You may find that upsetting but it could help us a lot. People think when they see a poster, they remember things and they often come forward.”
“You’ve got to do it,” Craig Drew said clumsily. “You’ve got to. I know that.”
“Thanks. Thank you for the coffee. Oh, and if youneed to talk to me or there’s anything you think might be useful, this is my card, these are my phone numbers, work and mobile. Don’t think twice about contacting me.”
Whiteside’s hand was reaching to the biscuit plate, but on seeing Serrailler’s glare, he pulled it reluctantly back and followed him out of the cottage.
Ten
They had arranged this afternoon together over a month ago. Lizzie finished school at three on a Thursday, Helen had booked the day off.
She spent the morning sorting out her clothes. She ended with three piles: what she never wore, what she occasionally wore and what she often wore. Eventually, there were three bags for the charity shop, one for the clothes recycling bin, one for the drycleaner’s. The rest, brushed and rehung, went back into the wardrobe where a large new space waited promisingly.
She met Elizabeth at the school gates, for the first time in goodness knew how many years, and they drove into Bevham. Three hours and many carrier bags later, they were back in Lafferton and having coffee and toasted teacakes at the new brasserie in the Lanes.
For the entire time, Helen had managed to keep the conversation on clothes and shoes with brief mentions of university entrance and the girl who was doggedly pursuing Tom.
The brasserie was quiet. It had been an immediate hit with local shoppers, office workers, young people, women meeting up for lunch, busy from the first coffee servings at ten thirty through to a lot of afternoon teas. It would be busy again after seven. Now, only a few people were drinking at the bar. They had got a table on the dais in the window which had a view down the Lanes towards the cathedral, and Helen was feeling pleased—pleased to be with her daughter, pleased with her purchases, pleased.
“Right. Spill the beans,” Lizzie said, spooning up the froth from her cappuccino.
“What beans?”
“Well, something’s happened. Come on.”
No point in stalling. Lizzie knew her too well. Lizzie had been the first one to say, “You liked him, didn’t you? It worked out, didn’t it?” a couple of minutes after Helen had stepped in through the door after her first evening out with Phil. “Good,” she had kept saying. “Good,” as she had heard more.
She had also come home the next day and announced that a friend whose brother was at the school where Phil taught pronounced him “Decent” and “Not dumb.”
“Don’t get excited. This is so daft I’m not sure he was serious.”
“ What is?”
“He’s asked me to go with him to the Jug Fair!”
“Oh. My. God. You are joking!”
“Apparently not. Since he rang again ten minutes later to say he hadn’t been. Joking that is.”
“Actually … I think it’s rather sweet. In fact, definitely it is. You can eat candyfloss together and hold hands on the ghost train and he can win you one of those pink rabbits with goofy teeth on the duck shooting.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
“You are going, aren’t you?”
Helen had asked herself the same question several times, without coming up with a final answer. It was not the Jug Fair. That would be fine. A fair was a fair, whoever you went with, and if she couldn’t enjoy herself at one she was a lost cause. But she sensed that if she went with Phil, she would be taking a definite step over a line
“We’ll leave it there, Craig. Thank you for your cooperation and I’m only sorry we had to come. You understand that we may need to ask you further questions when any information comes to light? If we have any news at all I will contact you of course. We have a photograph of your wife and there’s a poster going up as we speak. You may find that upsetting but it could help us a lot. People think when they see a poster, they remember things and they often come forward.”
“You’ve got to do it,” Craig Drew said clumsily. “You’ve got to. I know that.”
“Thanks. Thank you for the coffee. Oh, and if youneed to talk to me or there’s anything you think might be useful, this is my card, these are my phone numbers, work and mobile. Don’t think twice about contacting me.”
Whiteside’s hand was reaching to the biscuit plate, but on seeing Serrailler’s glare, he pulled it reluctantly back and followed him out of the cottage.
Ten
They had arranged this afternoon together over a month ago. Lizzie finished school at three on a Thursday, Helen had booked the day off.
She spent the morning sorting out her clothes. She ended with three piles: what she never wore, what she occasionally wore and what she often wore. Eventually, there were three bags for the charity shop, one for the clothes recycling bin, one for the drycleaner’s. The rest, brushed and rehung, went back into the wardrobe where a large new space waited promisingly.
She met Elizabeth at the school gates, for the first time in goodness knew how many years, and they drove into Bevham. Three hours and many carrier bags later, they were back in Lafferton and having coffee and toasted teacakes at the new brasserie in the Lanes.
For the entire time, Helen had managed to keep the conversation on clothes and shoes with brief mentions of university entrance and the girl who was doggedly pursuing Tom.
The brasserie was quiet. It had been an immediate hit with local shoppers, office workers, young people, women meeting up for lunch, busy from the first coffee servings at ten thirty through to a lot of afternoon teas. It would be busy again after seven. Now, only a few people were drinking at the bar. They had got a table on the dais in the window which had a view down the Lanes towards the cathedral, and Helen was feeling pleased—pleased to be with her daughter, pleased with her purchases, pleased.
“Right. Spill the beans,” Lizzie said, spooning up the froth from her cappuccino.
“What beans?”
“Well, something’s happened. Come on.”
No point in stalling. Lizzie knew her too well. Lizzie had been the first one to say, “You liked him, didn’t you? It worked out, didn’t it?” a couple of minutes after Helen had stepped in through the door after her first evening out with Phil. “Good,” she had kept saying. “Good,” as she had heard more.
She had also come home the next day and announced that a friend whose brother was at the school where Phil taught pronounced him “Decent” and “Not dumb.”
“Don’t get excited. This is so daft I’m not sure he was serious.”
“ What is?”
“He’s asked me to go with him to the Jug Fair!”
“Oh. My. God. You are joking!”
“Apparently not. Since he rang again ten minutes later to say he hadn’t been. Joking that is.”
“Actually … I think it’s rather sweet. In fact, definitely it is. You can eat candyfloss together and hold hands on the ghost train and he can win you one of those pink rabbits with goofy teeth on the duck shooting.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
“You are going, aren’t you?”
Helen had asked herself the same question several times, without coming up with a final answer. It was not the Jug Fair. That would be fine. A fair was a fair, whoever you went with, and if she couldn’t enjoy herself at one she was a lost cause. But she sensed that if she went with Phil, she would be taking a definite step over a line
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