Almost a Crime (108 page)

behaviour had become dangerous; therefore she might be

capable of dangerous things.

She got up: Derek, as usual, was snoring. She looked at

the clock: half past two. A very long time till morning. A

very long time too, since Octavia had phoned.

She looked across the yard at the house; it was dark and

still. Hopefully Mr Madison was managing to get some

sleep. Poor poor man. He was being asked to bear a great

deal.

Then she saw the kitchen light go on, saw Charles, fully

dressed, walk in, go over to the sink, fill the kettle.

Janet made her decision; she pulled on her old dressing

gown and went over to the house.

Three o’clock. It had been a long night. She’d been awake

for nearly twenty-four hours, Octavia realised. She’d got up

at five the day before. But she felt fine: alert, energised,

ready for anything.

She was nearly there; she’d seen a sign to Constantine

Bay. Somehow she’d expected a pretty little village; it was

more of a settlement of bungalows. A sign there directed

her on to Tresilith: only five more miles. Tresilith was a

proper village: tiny, a pub, some houses, a shop, not much

more. Now what did she do? How did she find Plenty

Farm, for God’s sake? In the pitch darkness. Thank heavens

the Range Rover lights were so good.

It must be on the sea side of the village. Janet had said it

was by the sea. She would just have to explore all the roads

leading in a seawards direction. In the event there were

only three. The first and the second were dead ends — or

rather they joined up. The third meandered about in a

hopeful sort of way, but led finally inland again. But then

she saw it as she turned back: little more than a track,

leading off it, with a sign wedged into the bank: Plenty

Lane.

Octavia turned down it, her heart thudding very hard.

A third of a mile or so along it, she could see some farm

buildings just ahead and down to her left. A dog barked

furiously; she backed up to the lane again, parked there,

waited, waited for a long time, until the dog was a quiet

once more, dreading lights going on, an angry farmer asking

her what the hell she was doing. No lights came on, no

angry farmer.

She got out, took the torch from the dashboard pocket

and walked carefully down the lane. There were so many

fields; how was she to know which one it was?

She would just have to explore them all, she supposed,

until she found one with a caravan in it. In the dark. The

thick darkness.

The fields up to her right had cows in them: she hoped it

wouldn’t be in one of them. Cows put up a huge racket,

and anyway, she didn’t terribly like them. They were so

big. Big and powerful. Louise had always teased her about

it, called her a townie and a scaredy cat, used to go up the

cows and hug them, try and make her do it, too. She never

had. Anyway, these fields had no caravans in them. Thank

God.

She walked on. She suddenly felt herself slipping and

nearly fell over; she staggered, clutched at the hedge, caught

a branch just in time. Mud, she supposed: or — no, not mud,

a cowpat, all over her shoes, her new pale pink suede JP Tod loafers. They’d cost her a fortune; it would never come off…

For heaven’s sake, Octavia, your baby’s been kidnapped,

is possibly in danger, what on earth are you doing,

worrying about your shoes? And then she slid again and

then again, and the track seemed to be disintegrating,

increasingly rough and stony. It was hopeless; she would

simply have to go back to the car and wait until it was at

least half light.

There was something outside the caravan, it had woken her

up: what was it? Louise sat up in her sleeping bag, breathing

heavily, her heart thudding. Then she relaxed; only the

sheep. How stupid. The nightlights had burned out though;

better light some more — if Minty woke up to the dark,

she’d be frightened again. Thank God she’d brought them.

She’d brought some candles, too, but she didn’t want to

light them, they were much more dangerous. Those curtain

would go up in flames in a second.

Carefully, afraid of Minty waking, she lit three more

nightlights, and got back into her sleeping bag. She looked

at her watch. Half past five. Soon it would be light. And the

first lovely proper day would begin.

Octavia could see the caravan now: just as Janet had said, in

a corner of a far field, through the grey early mist, drifting

across the countryside. See the sea beyond it, grey too;

seagulls whirled overhead, crying, the noise somehow

sinister and disturbing.

There was no sign of a car anywhere. That was worrying.

Could she have been wrong, could Louise, after all, not be

there?

The caravan was beyond the first field, in a second;

bounded by yet another. So maybe there was another way into it, on the far side, maybe the car was there. Well, the caravan was what mattered: Octavia took a deep breath and

toted to scramble over the gate.

Louise woke up again, feeling cold. If she was cold, Minty

must be. She got up, checked her; she was sweetly asleep,

lying on her back, one arm flung above her head. It was

incredible how serene she looked after her long frightening

day. Maybe she would settle down quickly. She had always

seemed a placid little thing. Juliet had been placid too:

always smiling, sweet natured. Like Dickon. Poor little

Dickon; she hoped he wouldn’t be too upset by everything

that had happened. Perhaps, when everything had settled

down, he would be able to join her and Minty. She hadn’t

quite worked it out yet, how she would manage that: but

she’d worked everything else out, she was sure it would be

all right. It was funny how she’d never felt the same about

Dickon, after Juliet had died, had never loved him so much:

in a funny way, she blamed him. For being alive, still, while

Juliet was dead. She’d denied that when Dr Brandon had

suggested it, because she didn’t like him getting anything

right; but it was true.

She looked at Minty; when she woke up she’d be

hungry. And a bottle wouldn’t do this time. Juliet had been

eating cereal, toast, yoghurt, all sorts of things. Louise had

bought cereal and yoghurt; but she wasn’t sure if she’d

brought it from the car or not. She’d been so tired by then,

so confused, so longing for sleep. She got up cautiously,

started rummaging through the boxes; she could hear the

sheep outside, rustling through the grass. They obviously

liked the caravan, regarded it as their home. One of them

was even coming up the steps, and — no. Not a sheep. God.

Maybe the farmer, or some other local, having noticed the

car. Knocking quite gently at the door; then after a few

moments, carefully, very slowly, opening it. Maybe not

even someone as benign as the farmer or a local, maybe

someone dangerous, a psychopath, a—

‘Hallo, Louise,’ said Octavia, putting her head round the door, smiling at her. ‘Hallo. I’ve come to collect Minty.’

Louise looked perfectly normal, really. Tired, but not in the

least mad. Octavia studied her. She was sitting on the bed,

wearing a rather grubby T-shirt and leggings, and her hair

was very dishevelled, but her face was quite relaxed and the

lovely blue eyes were very calm as she looked at her. She

didn’t even seem particularly surprised to see her.

‘Hallo,’ Louise said. ‘You must have been driving all

night.’

‘Most of it, yes.’

‘How did you know I was here?’

‘Oh — put two and two together. I was always quite good

at that, you know.’

‘Obviously.’

‘I’m sorry if I frightened you then. Just walking in like

that.’ What a stupid thing to say: when Louise had

frightened her more than she had ever been frightened in

her whole life. ‘How’s Minty?’

‘She’s fine. Absolutely fine. Fast asleep, look.’

‘Yes, she looks - fine. That dress is a bit dirty.’

‘Yes, she wouldn’t let me take it off.’

‘She hates being undressed,’ said Octavia conversationally.

She sounded very normal, very calm, even to herself)

rather as if she was at a coffee morning or the baby clinic.

‘What time did you get here?’

‘Oh — about twelve.’

‘And she’s been asleep since then?’

‘Well, you know. She took a bit of settling. But she was

very tired.’

‘Yes, she must have been. You must be quite tired too.’

‘I’m fine. Thank you.’

‘I don’t suppose I could have a cup of tea?’ Octavia said.

‘No. Sorry. There’s no gas for the stove yet. Water,

orange juice?’

‘Water’d do. Yes, thanks. Well - cheers, Louise. It’s nice

to see you.’

Stupid bitch. Standing there in her perfectly cut trousers and

jacket — at least her shoes were ruined — thinking she could

do anything, that everything was all right, thinking she could

humour her, like they had at the Cloisters, that she was mad,

that she could trick her into giving her Minty. Well, she

couldn’t. She hadn’t gone through all this to lose her now.

‘Was she good on the journey?’

‘Yes, very good. She hardly cried at all.’

‘You were lucky. She gets car sick sometimes now.’

‘No, she was fine.’

‘And she’d had an upset tummy, did she have endless

dirty nappies?’

‘A few.’

‘I thought so. Louise …’

Yes?’

She had that expression on her face, the one that Louise

had always hated, ever since school, a slightly smug I’m-cleverer-than-you-even-if-you-have-got-other-advantages.

Only then, the other advantages had been a pretty face

and friends and being thin; this time it was Minty.

‘Louise, I really would rather like to take Minty now. I

think it would be a good idea if you let me have her.’

‘Why?’

‘Well — because she is mine. She is my baby. Not yours.’

‘You’ve got the twins.’

Yes, of course I have—’ patient, humouring her again ‘but

Minty is mine too. I would like you to give her to me.’

She was doing that assertiveness stuff, that she’d learned

on some course or other; she’d told Louise about it, said it

worked brilliantly, no aggressiveness, no fuss, you just stated

calmly what you wanted over and over again, and in the

end you got it.

‘Well, I’m really sorry, but I can’t. I want her now.

You’ve had her for quite a long time. As long as I had

Juliet. Actually.’

‘Louise, I know that. But you must realise you can’t keep

her.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I told you. She’s mine. She’s my baby.’

‘No, Octavia. Not any more.’

It was getting more difficult; Louise was getting more

difficult. Looking less normal: very tense, rather flushed.

She supposed she’d expected that. ‘Lulu—’

‘Don’t call me that.’ Louise’s face was very hard

suddenly. Hard and less calm. ‘Don’t pretend we’re friends.

You can’t have her because you don’t deserve her. You got

rid of one of your babies. You got over that one. You’ll get

over this one too.’

‘Louise, that just doesn’t make sense.’

‘None of it makes sense, Octavia. Me having an affair

with Tom didn’t make sense. My getting pregnant by him

didn’t make sense. Nor did me taking an overdose. I’m not

too bothered about what makes sense, actually. I’m going to

have Minty now. That’s all. Whether it’s sensible or not,

I’m going to have her.’

‘Yes. Yes, I see.’

Octavia waited, trying to think. She looked at Minty,

sleeping miraculously through all this; she had given a little

sigh, and turned over, her thumb in her mouth, her bottom

stuck up in the air. She looked absolutely normal, perfectly

well. That, at least, was all right.

She could grab her, make a run for it; but that would be

very difficult in the bumpy field; and Louise, unencumbered,

not carrying quite a heavy baby, would run faster.

She could go on arguing, reasoning with her; but it was

becoming clear that wasn’t going to work. She could

pretend to go away, phone for help; or she could go to the

farm. But she was afraid to leave Minty again, now that she

had found her. On the other hand, it was probably her only

hope.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘well, Louise, all right. I’ll leave you.

You can keep her. For now.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Louise, ‘you’re not leaving, Octavia. I’m

not that stupid. You’ll just go and tell everyone I’m here and they’ll come and take her away. No, you stay here, and I’ll go.’

‘Don’t be silly. Where can you possibly go? This is the

best place — for a few days, anyway. It’s very clever.

Nobody except me knows you’re here. Nobody at all.

Even your father doesn’t know about it. He thinks your

mother sold the caravan.’

‘I bet you told someone,’ said Louise.

‘No. I didn’t. I really didn’t. Do you think Tom would

have let me come alone if I had? Don’t you think the police

would be here, looking for you? I swear to you, Louise, I