The Body on the Beach (15 page)

‘Well, congratulations. Very convincing. For a moment back there I thought you really did want to go to the loo.’ Jude was silent for a moment. ‘Mind you, they might have told
you where to find him if you’d just asked.’

‘Yes,’ Carole agreed. And then she did something that she did very rarely. She giggled. ‘But the way I did it was much more fun.’

It was six o’clock and the Crown and Anchor had just opened. Carole had initially demurred at the idea of having a drink, but Jude had insisted they needed to talk to Ted
Crisp as part of their investigation.

He was going round, wiping down the tables and emptying ashtrays into a bucket.

‘Have to do everything yourself, I see,’ Jude observed.

‘That’s right. It’s tough at the top. Bar staff don’t come on till seven during the winter.’

‘And in the summer?’

‘Summers I’m open all day. That’s when I make my money. From all those dads sneaking off and leaving the mums on the beach with the kiddies.’ He took up his post behind
the bar. ‘What can I do you for? Two large whites, is it?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Jude, and Carole didn’t even make a token murmur of dissent. Instead, she moved straight to the purpose of their visit. ‘Ted,’ she began, and
paused for a nanosecond of shock at the knowledge that she, Carole Seddon, was actually standing at the bar of the Crown and Anchor and calling the landlord ‘Ted’, ‘you heard
about that poor boy who was drowned the other day?’

‘That Aaron Spalding? Course I did. Couldn’t miss it. All over the telly, for a start. And lots of the old farts in here was talking about it and all . . . moaning on about
young kids today getting messed up with drugs . . . and saying that kind of thing wouldn’t happen if they brought back National Service.’

Carole wondered for a moment whether it had been Denis Woodville repeating his opinion, but decided it was probably a universal sentiment among the old codgers of Fethering.

‘Did you know him at all? Aaron? Did he ever come in here?’

‘Well, he shouldn’t have done, because he was underage, but yes, I seen him in here a few times. He’d come in with a bunch of them. They’d sit in that dark corner over
there, hoping I wouldn’t clock them, and send up the one who looked oldest with a shipping order for drinks. They tried it on a few times, but I was wise to them. I’m not going to risk
my licence for a bunch of kids.’

‘Had you seen them in here recently?’

‘Yes, three of them was in one evening this week. Monday, I think.’

The night they went on to the Fethering Yacht Club and found the body in Rory Turnbull’s boat, thought Carole. ‘Who were the other two?’ she asked.

‘One I’d never seen before. Young kid, looked even younger than Aaron. But I know the one they sent up for the drinks.’ He spoke without enthusiasm. ‘He comes in here
quite often. Eighteen, nineteen I guess, so he can drink legally. But when he comes up and asks for three pints of lager on Monday night, I says to him, “I’ll pull one for you, no
problem, but it’s going to be soft drinks for your two underage mates over there.” Then he gets dead stroppy and starts swearing at me, so I tell him to get out. He’s a nasty bit
of work, that one. Deals a bit in drugs and all. I can do without that sort in here.

‘Anyway, out they go, no doubt straight down to Nowtinstore, where he buys a dozen cans perfectly legally and they go off and drink them in one of the shelters on the front. At least they
wasn’t doing it on my premises. I hope they froze their bollocks off out there.’

‘The police haven’t come and asked you whether you saw Aaron, have they?’

‘No, but presumably if they was retracing his movements they’d be interested in the next night, wouldn’t they? Not the Monday. His body was found on the Wednesday morning,
wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ Carole agreed thoughtfully.

‘So who was this older boy?’ asked Jude. ‘Do you know his name?’

‘Don’t know his second name, but his first name’s Dylan.’

‘Ah.’ The two women exchanged significant looks.

‘What does he look like?’

‘Tallish. Thin. Short bleached hair. One big earring.’

‘Sounds a real charmer,’ Carole observed frostily.

Jude looked down at her large watch-face and her expression suddenly changed. ‘Oh, Lord!’ she cried. ‘I’d completely forgotten! I’ve got a friend coming round this
evening! I must dash!’

‘So we’ll go to the Shorelands Estate first thing?’

‘Yes, fine. Communicate in the morning!’ And, having gulped down the remains of her wine, Jude rushed out of the pub.

Carole finished her drink more sedately, as Ted Crisp chatted inconsequentially of this and that. She didn’t feel relaxed alone with him. Carole Seddon would never really be a ‘pub
person’.

She tried not to be interested in who Jude’s ‘friend’ might be. They were only neighbours, after all. There was no reason why they should know everything about each
other’s lives.

‘Another one of those?’ asked Ted Crisp, as she sipped down the last of her wine.

‘No, thanks. I must get back home.’ But at the door she did manage to stop and say, ‘Good night, Ted.’ Just like a regular ‘pub person’ might have done.

It was after eight the following morning, the Friday. Gulliver had been duly walked and Carole still hadn’t heard anything from Jude. They’d agreed to go to the
Shorelands Estate early and intercept Dylan when he arrived for work at Bali-Hai. According to the duty roster Carole had snooped at, all fitters were meant to pick up their carpets from the depot
at eight in the morning and be at the properties where they were scheduled to lay them by nine.

Her hand reached for the telephone to call Jude, but then she thought, this is stupid, the woman’s only next door and I must make an effort to be a little less formal. Something in
Jude’s casual approach to life was secretly appealing. Carole knew that the ramparts of inhibition she had built around herself would never allow her to progress far down that road, but maybe
she could take a few tentative steps.

Going round to Woodside Cottage rather than telephoning would be one such step. So Carole Seddon put on her Burberry and went to knock on her next-door neighbour’s door.

To her considerable amazement, it was opened by a man. He had a head of black curly hair, more of which sprouted out of the top of his Guernsey sweater. Between was heavy dark stubble. He had
jeans, trainers, blue eyes and a huge grin.

‘Morning,’ he said cheerily. ‘I’m Brad. You must be Carole.’

‘Yes, yes, I am.’

‘Do come in. Jude’s just dressing. She won’t be a moment.’

‘Oh, thank you.’ In a state of bewilderment, Carole followed the man through the cluttered sitting room into the kitchen.

He indicated a plate of toast and marmalade. ‘I was having some breakfast. Would you like a coffee or something?’

‘No, thank you. I’ve just had some.’

‘Well, excuse me if I continue munching.’

‘Of course.’

‘Do sit down,’ said Brad, as he lowered himself on to a chair and took a bite of toast.

‘Yes, thank you.’ Carole knew she sounded ridiculously formal. ‘So, Brad, have you known Jude long?’

‘Oh yes. We go way back.’

‘Ah.’ Bubbling to the surface of Carole’s mind were a whole lot of other questions she wanted to ask. How far back? Where did you meet? Where do you live? Are you a fixture in
Jude’s life?
What is the precise nature of your relationship
?

‘Great place she’s got here, hasn’t she?’ said Brad.

‘Yes, yes, it’s very nice. Needs a bit of work, of course.’

He didn’t seem to hear the second part of this response. ‘No, good old Jude,’ he said with easy admiration. ‘Always lands on her feet.’

‘Does she?’

‘Oh yes.’

At that moment the subject of their conversation swept into the room in her customary swirl of drapery. She was twisting the blonde hair into a knot on top of her head. ‘Morning,
Carole,’ she called out blithely. ‘Brad’s introduced himself, I hope.’

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry I wasn’t ready. You know how it is.’

Carole didn’t know how it was, and wouldn’t have minded a few background details to tell her how it was. But she didn’t get any.

‘We’d better be off then,’ said Jude. She leant across the table and planted a smacking kiss on Brad’s marmalady lips. ‘Don’t know how long we’ll be,
but if you’re not here when I get back, it’s been good to see you.’

‘You too. Always is.’

‘The door’s on the latch. Just click the thing up and close it behind you.’

‘Sure. Nice to meet you, Carole.’

‘And you, Brad.’ Though she didn’t feel that she’d met him at all.

In the immaculate Renault, as they drove off, Carole said, ‘Brad seemed very pleasant.’

‘Yes, he’s good news.’

‘He said you and he go way back . . .’

‘That’s right. He’s a good friend.’

And Jude snuggled back into her seat, leaving Carole desperately in need of a definition of the word ‘friend’. But Jude didn’t volunteer one, and Carole couldn’t see any
way of getting one, short of actually asking straight out what her neighbour’s relationship with Brad was. And she would never in a million years have done that.

The Shorelands Estate house which was receiving the benefit of J. T. fitted carpets was an Elizabethan pastiche with tall windows and bunches of thin, imaginatively topped
chimneys. With the inappropriate nomenclature which seemed
de rigueur
in Shore-lands, its name, Bali-Hai, was spelled out in rustic pokerwork on an asymmetrical piece of driftwood. In the
driveway, behind closed railings, a large green Jaguar squatted, toad-like.

‘I think we’re in time,’ said Carole, as she brought the Renault to a halt opposite the house. ‘No sign of a van yet.’

She looked at her watch. Ten to nine. They’d just sit and wait. And chat. Maybe she’d find out a little more about Jude’s visitor.

‘Brad was the friend you rushed back from the pub to see last night, was he?’

‘That’s right, yes.’

‘So he stayed over?’

‘Yes. Well, it’s a long way back for him.’

Back
where
? Though desperate to know the answer, that was another question Carole could never have brought herself to ask.

‘He seemed very at home, Jude.’

‘It’s nice when friends feel relaxed staying with you, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

Jude looked across and gave Carole a sweet smile. Was there a trace of irony in it? Was Jude actually teasing her, deliberately withholding information, knowing how desperate she was to know
about the relationship with Brad? It was impossible to tell.

Jude smiled inwardly. She
was
having a little game with her neighbour. If Carole had come out with direct questions, she’d have answered them. Jude had no secrets. But if she
wasn’t asked, it had never been her habit to volunteer information.

She felt good, though. It was always a pleasure to see Brad, catch up on what he was doing. Old friends, Jude found, became more valuable with the passage of the years.

There was a sudden tapping at the passenger side window. Jude wound it down.

‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing parked here! This is a Neighbourhood Watch area and . . . Oh. Oh, Jude, good morning.’

The righteous resident of Shorelands bending down to the car window turned out to be Barbara Turnbull, her large frame swaddled up in an expensive tweed coat.

‘Barbara, how nice to see you. You know Carole?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course we know each other. Morning, Carole.’

‘Morning.’

‘I’m very sorry to have spoken to you like that, Jude, but you can’t be too careful. There’s been quite a spate of burglaries here in Shorelands and, since there’s
a bit of an
element
in Fethering these days, we’ve all been encouraged to accost anyone we see lurking around.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t realize we were
lurking
,’ said Jude.

‘No, obviously you weren’t. But it’s an unfamiliar car and, since I didn’t know who was in it, it did look as though someone was lurking. Apparently, these criminal gangs
send people down to check out potential targets. “Casing the joint”, I believe they call it.’ Having shared this piece of underworld know-how with her acquaintances, she
straightened up. ‘Anyway, I was just off to my mother’s for a cup of coffee and to take her dog for a walk. First chance I’ve had to get out for days. Been tied up with housework.
But thank goodness my cleaning lady’s deigned to come back this morning.’ Barbara Turnbull put a large smile in place over her features. ‘So nice to see you both.’

‘And you, Barbara,’ said Carole. ‘How’s Rory?’

The smile froze in position. ‘Rory’s absolutely fine,’ asserted Barbara Turnbull, daring anyone to contradict her. ‘Goodbye.’

And with that she navigated her large, top-heavy body off down the road.

‘Funny,’ Jude observed. ‘When she didn’t know who we were, she thought we might be criminals lurking. As soon as she recognizes us, her suspicions cease. How does she
know we’re not “casing the joint”?’

‘Because we’re Fethering residents,’ replied Carole stoutly.

‘Still, I think it’s good . . .’ Jude mused.

‘What’s good?’

‘All this security-consciousness. All this Neighbourhood Watch stuff.’

‘I didn’t think you’d approve of that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you seem to have rather a hippyish attitude to property’ was the answer that came instinctively to Carole’s mind. But all she said was, ‘I thought you’d
regard it as snooping.’

‘Oh, I do. And that’s the beauty of it. Everyone in Fethering seems to snoop. I’m sure it’s impossible to do anything in this place without
someone
having seen you
at it . . .’

‘Well . . .’

‘Which makes me very optimistic that we’re going to find out how our two bodies came to end up on the beach. Someone must’ve seen what happened. It’s just a matter of
finding out who that someone is. And I think we—’

‘Ssh! Look.’

A yellow Transit van had just drawn up outside Bali-Hai. Lettering on the side read ‘
J. T. CARPETS
’.