The Chorister at the Abbey (3 page)

Robert interrupted her thoughts. ‘You met Lynn Clifford in Tesco’s? I thought you were against big supermarkets?’

‘We all have our weaknesses. Mine is their new blueberry yoghurt.’

‘So you have no principles!’

‘Shut up or you won’t either when I get my hands on them!’

Robert laughed. They had made a pact when Suzy moved in, never to take umbrage. Both had been in marriages where tension had ruled.

‘Lynn was looking harassed,’ Suzy said. ‘I think Chloe’s been a bit of handful since she came back from university for the holidays.’

‘Well, it must be difficult when kids are away all term and then suddenly come home. We’ve got all that to come.’

Have we? thought Suzy in surprise. They never talked about Robert’s relationship with her children, or discussed the next stage of their own relationship. The newspaper under the logs reared as the flames lifted it.

‘I hope that’s your bloody
Daily Telegraph
,’ Suzy said. ‘I don’t know why we have it in the house.’

‘You’re right. Your
Guardian
burns better. More hot air, especially the media section.’

He grinned at her. And it was true: they could say anything to each other. But that didn’t mean that they said
everything
– there was still a big silence on the subject of what would happen next. The sense that the Spencer family had moved in pro tem still lingered.

Just as well, Suzy thought. When Robert came over to join her on the sofa, she went back to living in the present, which was just about as much as she could deal with after the drama of the last few years. I don’t want anything to change, Suzy thought. I have what I need, which is peace and stability. She felt Robert’s arms round her, and the warmth of the flickering fire filled the room.

4

Come, ye children, and hearken unto me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord.
Psalm 34:11

After Chloe and Poppy left to walk back into Norbridge, Lynn Clifford glanced again at the grandfather clock. There was no chance her daughter would be back home in Uplands for seven thirty. The dinner was a lot of work and she realized she had been a bit too ambitious with the starters. She sighed, went back into the kitchen and faced the disgusting mass of vegetable peelings on the counter.

‘Oh no, not again!’ she sighed, feeling suddenly bowed down with despair. She leant against the fridge freezer for coolness, as the heat spread from her collar bones and inflamed her head. Depression came first, then lack of breath, and then the need to rip any clothing away from her neck and face. The sticky sweat glands oozed perspiration which dripped into her eyes.

‘Please God, let it stop,’ Lynn heard herself begging, meaning it as a genuine prayer.

This time it had been brought on by Chloe’s behaviour, but on other occasions Lynn had no idea what started it. Most people said the hot flush phase ‘would pass’. But it wasn’t passing. No one understood, not even her husband Neil.

But of course she was lucky to have him. Morris Little, who ran Uplands village store, thought his wife’s menopause was a joke for the customers. He would snigger, ‘Ooh, look, Norma’s blushing. Her toy-boy must’ve come in!’ And Norma, small, spry and ceaselessly grafting, would laugh dutifully, even as her face went on fire to match her wiry red hair. No wonder she encouraged Morris to take up hobbies and get out of the shop!

The flush faded, leaving Lynn feeling grimy and tired, and she started peeling again. This supper party was her last chance to see her half-brother before the holiday. He was leaving the next day to go and spend Christmas with their parents in Yorkshire. Their father was a Norbridge man, but Lynn’s stepmother had wanted to move back to Harrogate. Lynn was glad Edwin was taking on the dutiful son thing. She wasn’t close to her stepmother. Lynn’s own mother had died when she was five, after a long illness, and Lynn had always felt that mother–daughter relationships were a mystery. She had spent most of her childhood motherless and then she had been sidelined by her father’s new wife.

Which was why it was astonishing that, from the moment her half-brother had come along, she had adored him. They had a lot in common, including a strong sense of Norbridge heritage, which made her often wonder why Edwin had never put down roots by having children himself. Lynn Clifford loved her daughter with a deep, understated passion for which she had no template.

‘Don’t you want kids?’ she had asked Edwin once, after a few drinks.

‘No . . . well, not since Marilyn left,’ he said, and she knew better than to pursue it. His one great serious love affair with Marilyn Frost was a subject they never mentioned.

She hoped her brother wouldn’t mind that she’d invited someone else to supper that evening. This time she wasn’t matchmaking because Alex Gibson was obviously not a candidate. Alex was a quiet, sad middle-aged woman who was alone for the Christmas holiday in her bleak bungalow in Fellside and Lynn had been trying to be kind.

She sighed. Even so, she hoped Edwin wouldn’t do his usual trick with single women. It was as if he wanted to put them off, with discouraging small-talk on Stamford’s anthems or Quaile Woods’ settings for the Psalms. But at least there was no need to chat up Alex. And she worked at the college, and enjoyed choral music. Lynn had met her at the parish church in Uplands with its small choir and musical tradition. So perhaps some conversation might flow.

The front door banged. ‘Is that you, sweetie?’

‘Of course it is, Mum, who else?’ her daughter shouted back, taut with irritation.

‘Come and help me with the nibbles, Chloe.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Mother! I’ve got to get changed.’ Feet thumped and clattered across the stairwell and Lynn heard the shower going full blast.

The bathroom door slammed angrily.

Five miles away, where Tarnfield nestled under the sandstone outcrops of the Pennines, the lights in the Briars’ front room snapped on, eclipsing the flickering firelight. Suzy started looking for her trousers.

‘That was an unexpected pleasure.’ Robert Clark heaved himself up from the sofa and laughed. After his wife died he had never expected to resume a sex life, and he certainly hadn’t expected to fit it round the Brownies’ meeting in Norbridge, or a lads’ rock band practice in the local barn. Robert was new to the juggling of child rearing.

Suzy was pulling on her jumper. ‘Well, it was certainly a quickie! Would you believe it, we’ve even got time for a cup of coffee before Molly gets back!’

‘That sounds good.’

‘And I need it. I drank my wine and yours too! Anything to forget
I’m a Celebrity Bonnie Lad
or
When the Gloat Comes
In
or whatever they’re going to call the next series. I could do with some gossip about the college as a change from TV navel-gazing. Tell me more about Edwin’s new boss.’

Robert followed Suzy into the kitchen. ‘She’s called Wanda Wisley. She’s in her late thirties and she’s quite formidable, apparently.’

‘Oh yes. Of course.’ Suzy raised her eyebrows. ‘She’s a woman in a position of power so she must be a monster. Been there, got the scars.’

Robert shrugged. ‘OK. You don’t have to tell me how women bosses get a bad press. Or not again. But this appointment really was rather an odd one.’

‘You mean the job should have gone to Edwin?’

‘No doubt about it! Seriously. Impeccable credentials, ten years’ experience in Norbridge, research on church music. But he withdrew his application.’

‘Did he? I didn’t know that. Well, if he backed out, he can hardly complain about this new woman, can he?’

‘I don’t think he’s complaining exactly. He’s just upset that they’ve nothing in common.’

‘So she’s not keen on discussing communion settings over morning coffee?’ Suzy had met Edwin a few times: she liked him and could see he was very handsome, but sometimes she thought his ‘young fogey’ manner rather contrived.

Robert laughed. ‘Wanda Wisley made her name running a music trust for teenagers in Birmingham, but her real claim to fame was fronting that radio series on rock music for kids.’

‘She sounds great!’

‘Maybe – but she’s throwing her weight around. She acts as if everyone in Norbridge is a bumpkin and treats Edwin as if he’s completely irrelevant.’

‘Yeah, well, he is a bit intense. The dark brooding look isn’t really for me. Orlando Bloom with a hymn book! So why did he withdraw his application for head of department?’

‘I don’t really know . . .’ Robert cuddled his coffee mug, aware suddenly of how dark and wet it now was outside the kitchen window, and how little he really knew Edwin.

‘Perhaps he felt he couldn’t compete?’ Suzy suggested.

‘Unlikely. Edwin is an expert on a lot of things. He’s a great jazz pianist, he likes all sorts of choral music, and he’s written some amazing stuff on the Psalms of David.’

‘But that’s hardly twenty-first century!’

‘I don’t know. Smiting and destroying. Sounds like TV entertainment.’

‘Actually you’re right – and that’s just behind the scenes!’

Their eyes met; Robert smiled and Suzy grinned back. It was amazing that, despite a different attitude to politics, religion and rural life, he and Suzy were so close.

He could tell that her mind was already moving to the clock on the kitchen wall. Molly was due home, and soon Suzy would start to fret. Partly it was the twitch all mothers develop. But for Suzy it was intensified by the real danger which had threatened her children eighteen months earlier. Robert put the mugs in the sink and tried to distract her.

‘So, looking forward to Christmas at The Briars?’

‘Absolutely! But what about you? I don’t know how you cope with us. Your life with Mary was so settled before, and living with us is madness. Thank you for putting up with us . . .’

‘It’s my pleasure. And equally unexpected.’

He hugged her.

Lynn Clifford sighed. Chloe was still in the bathroom. It was getting late. Where was everyone else? Neil was always busy at this time of year and might well be delayed, but Edwin was usually on time. Then the doorbell rang and, with relief, Lynn hurried into the hall. The uneven stone floor, with its bright red and orange runner and panelled walls, exuded warmth. The house was welcoming, and Lynn was smiling as she opened the door.

Edwin stood there, and with him was Alex Gibson. Alex’s round moon face was white in the darkness, her big glasses like headlights. She was wearing her shapeless anorak, and a red velvet scarf which was tied in a miserable ratty knot round her neck.

Edwin said, ‘Can you get us a drink, Lynn? We need to sit down.’

‘What on earth is the matter?’

Alex stopped in the hallway. ‘There’s been a death at the college.’

‘Alex found the body,’ Edwin said quietly. ‘Or rather, she found a boy with the body. Tom Firth.’

Chloe shrieked triumphantly from the landing. ‘So that’s why he wasn’t at the Mitre! I didn’t think he’d stand me up!’

‘What?’ Edwin sounded sharp.

‘Tom was supposed to meet me and Poppy. But he didn’t come.’

Edwin was fond of Chloe but her self-absorption, even for a teenager, surprised him. He was aware that Alex was becoming increasingly wobbly. She staggered slightly. For a moment they all stood, waiting for her to find her feet. Lynn reached out to put her arm round her.

‘But who was it? The dead body?’ Chloe was saying in a nagging voice as she bounded down the stairs. Edwin led Alex by the arm into the warmth of the living room.

‘It was Morris Little,’ he said over his shoulder.

5

The sorrows of death compassed me, and the overflowings of ungodliness made me afraid.
Psalm
18:3

‘Morris Little? Oh no!’ Lynn’s voice followed Edwin into the sitting room. ‘How dreadful! What happened?’

‘He was attacked. The police think they’ve got the lads who did it. The Frosts, of course. Who else?’

‘Oh how terrible! Edwin, this is awful. Chloe, call your father at the church or on his mobile. If she’s at home, I need to go and see his wife straight away.’ Lynn grabbed her coat from the peg in the hall distractedly. ‘How absolutely dreadful. Edwin, can you hold the fort here with Chloe? Get Alex a drink or something. Poor Norma!’

‘But Mum . . .’

‘Chloe, I need to get straight to Uplands store, and you need to get hold of your father for me.’

Yes, ma’am.

Cliffords to the rescue as usual, Chloe thought. OK, it was awful, but Morris Little was a grumpy old sod. And now he’d got himself attacked and of course her marvellous capable parents were at the centre of everything as usual, while she was left to do the boring stuff. Everyone else thought the Cliffords were so wonderful, except their daughter.

‘Make yourselves at home, everyone,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I’ll phone Dad.’

Teenagers were always last on the list, she thought angrily. Especially when your father was the rector!

* * *

In Tarnfield, the doorbell rang at The Briars. ‘That will be Molly,’ said Suzy in relief. She leapt to answer the door. Within seconds Robert could hear Molly’s squeaks of excitement.

The phone rang at the same time, and Robert answered. It took a moment for him to recognize Edwin Armstrong’s agitated voice. There had been an accident at the college. The police were at the scene. But could Robert help by coming to the rectory at Uplands?

Suzy entered the kitchen followed by Molly in her Brownie uniform, still talking, a mass of handmade Christmas decorations in her arms.

‘Look, Rob, see what Molly has made!’

‘They’re great! Suzy, I have to go out.’

‘Something serious?’

‘I don’t know.’ Robert was keeping his voice down. ‘Some sort of incident at the college. I’ve just been asked to help hold the fort by looking after someone at Uplands. I’m going over to the rectory to help. I won’t be long.’

Molly was still talking, sorting her decorations on the table: ‘. . . and then, Mummy, we glued this bit to that bit . . .’

‘That’s lovely, sweetie . . . When will you be back, Robert?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll call you.’

The last thing he saw as he backed out of the kitchen was the colourful pile of decorations littering the table, and Molly’s upturned face, focusing on her mother who was giving her all her attention.

That was the dream family Christmas I wanted, thought Robert. But already he suspected it had been spoilt. Hurrying into the rain, through a sobering blast from the icy wind, he opened the car door, sank into his seat, and started the engine.

For Alex Gibson the first few jumbled minutes after their arrival at Uplands rectory seemed to be happening to someone else. She was vaguely aware that Lynn Clifford had hurried out into the night. Then Edwin Armstrong’s mobile rang. It was his boss, she realized, the dreaded Wanda Wisley, calling again for more information. As soon as he got rid of her, Edwin started phoning someone else, a friend of his, asking him to come over straight away.

I’m a non-person, Alex thought again. Things are being arranged round me. But this time it was worse than the usual self-pity. With a cold frisson that cut through the shock and brought her back to earth, she suddenly realized who Edwin had been calling.

‘Listen, Alex,’ Edwin was speaking to her slowly and carefully as if she was a child. ‘Wanda Wisley wants me to go back to Norbridge to see the Head of Security at the college for her. A friend of mine, Robert Clark, says he’ll come over and stay with you and Chloe. I don’t feel I can leave you on your own.’

Robert Clark. Could this be happening? ‘Oh … no. Please, there’s no need for this. I’ll be OK in a minute. Perhaps if I can have a drink?’

‘Of course. I’ll get Chloe to pour you one. You will stay the night here, won’t you?’

Alex tried to shake her head but it was caught in a paroxysm. ‘I’m all right,’ she whispered. ‘It was a bit grim but nothing I can’t cope with. I ought to go home to Fellside.’

‘But you’ve had a shock, and there’s been the police questioning too. You ought to stay here. What would you like to drink?’

‘Whisky, please.’ She could stay for that. She needed it. But then she would escape.

Chloe called loudly from the room next door which served as the parish office, ‘I’ve got Dad on the phone. Where’s Tom Firth now, Uncle Edwin?’

‘The police let him go. I should think his parents will have called the doctor. He was pretty shattered.’

‘So what exactly happened to boring old Morris?’ Chloe asked.