The Cruellest Game (15 page)

I stared hard at the pretty blonde standing before me. Could this be Sue S., the girl Robert had written about in his diary? The one he had wanted to take to his friend’s birthday party.
The one he’d described as ‘well fit’. I felt sure it must be her. But I didn’t want to admit that I’d been reading Robbie’s diary. Not even after his death.

So I merely said, ‘Hello,’ and ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘Yes, thank you for coming,’ repeated Robert without a lot of interest. But then, he had not read Robbie’s diary.

‘I’m so sorry . . .’ she told me, half turning away. Then she turned back, a determined look on her face, as if she had made a decision.

‘I just wanted to tell you, I don’t think you know, I was Robbie’s girlfriend,’ she blurted out.

‘I didn’t know,’ I said.

She blushed.

‘He was going to tell you,’ she said quickly. ‘We’d only been going out for a few weeks. He said he was going to tell you and he wanted me to meet you. And his dad . .
.’

‘Girlfriend, but he was only fifteen . . .’ began Robert.

‘Well, I never,’ said Dad.

‘Don’t,’ I said, sensing that Sue Shaw was already uneasy.

I touched her arm. I could find no words. So this had been Robbie’s girlfriend. I wondered what the term meant for them. Had they been lovers? She looked so young and fresh-faced. I found
myself rather hoping that they had been lovers. That my son had at least known the joy of sex with someone he cared for before he had died, even though he had been so very young.

Sue Shaw began speaking again, oblivious it seemed to Robert’s and Dad’s interruptions.

‘He was always talking about you, you know,’ she continued. ‘Some of the boys don’t even mention their parents. They think it’s soft. But Robbie did. He was so
happy, you see, at home and everything . . .’

She stopped as if realizing what she was saying.

‘So you thought he was happy too?’ I asked.

‘Of course he was happy,’ said Robert.

I ignored him. So did Sue Shaw. She nodded.

‘But do you know anything, anything at all, that might have made him do . . .’ I paused. ‘Do what he did?’

She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Of course not.’

‘Of course not,’ I repeated.

Her colour deepened, and she began to back off again.

‘It’s my dad, I have to go, he doesn’t know I’m here . . . he didn’t approve, you know, of Robbie and me . . .’

I put a restraining hand on her arm.

‘You mean he knew about you two?’

Her face was quite red by then.

‘Yes, well no, not until . . . until just before Robbie died. I have to go. He’ll kill me.’

She seemed to realize she’d made an inappropriate remark. ‘I mean . . . I mean, he wouldn’t approve,’ she tailed off lamely.

I tried to reassure her with an attempt at a smile. Then I asked if she’d be kind enough to give me her phone number.

‘I would just like to talk about Robbie sometime,’ I said. ‘That’s all.’

She nodded and rattled off the number, but I could tell that my request had made her even more uncomfortable. She scurried off in the direction of the exit. I found a pen and an old petrol
receipt in the front pocket of my handbag and scribbled the number down, hoping my short-term memory remained as good as it always had been.

Most of the rest of the time at the Lamb and Flag was a blur pretty much like the funeral itself. I stood up to thank Gerald Ponsonby Smythe and managed to knock red wine over Robert’s
pristine shirt. I’d cried all over it and then thrown wine at it. It was as if I were determined to destroy it.

He said not to worry, he’d give it a scrub down in the Gents, and left my side for the first time since we’d arrived at the pub.

Dad had gone off wandering around the bar looking at the old Dartmoor prints which hung from almost every wall. Just for something to do, I imagined. Gladys was still with me. And, even though
I’d told myself it was of absolutely no consequence, I continued to wonder how she and Robert had met. So I asked her. As casually as I could manage.

‘I’m afraid I know he’s never been to church, that’s for sure,’ I said, with another attempt at what passed for a smile.

‘Oh no, not this church anyway. It wasn’t here, not in Blackstone,’ she replied. ‘Curiously enough, I’ve never seen your husband in the village, and I do get about
a bit, as you’re probably aware.’

Not as curious as you might imagine
, I thought.

‘So?’ I prompted.

‘Oh, it was some years ago when Gerry and I had an Exeter parish. He used to sing in the choir.’

I felt as if an ice-cold hand had been placed on the back of my neck, the touch of freezing fingers seemed to be running down my spine.

Robert did have a fine baritone singing voice. The woman must be mistaken, though. Surely. I tried to make myself believe that. And to make her believe it too.

‘He used to sing in a church choir?’ I queried. ‘But he hates religion. Right through our married life he’s never gone near a church even for a wedding or something if he
could help it. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, and you’ve been so helpful. But that’s the truth.’

She looked doubtful.

‘Well, I’m pretty sure it was him, although, of course, I didn’t really know him. You see, it was . . .’ She stopped abruptly as if about to say something she’d
thought better of. ‘No, well, I’m sure you’re right.’

‘He’d lived in Scotland right up until just before we met,’ I said.

‘I see.’ Gladys definitely looked puzzled now. ‘I’ve usually got a good memory for faces, but—’

‘What about names?’ I interrupted, suddenly not quite so sure of myself after all.

‘Names?’ she queried.

‘Yes, what was his name?’

She hesitated for a moment.

‘Well, obviously, if it was your husband, his name was Robert Anderson, I assume.’

‘But do you remember that?’

Now she looked plain bewildered.

‘Well, I’m not sure, I hadn’t thought . . .’

She paused again. I waited a moment before deciding to take the plunge. ‘Or could it have been Rob Anderton?’

‘Do you know, I think that might have been the name . . .’ There was yet another pause. ‘No. How silly of me. That makes no sense. It must have been Robert Anderson, if it was
him at all. And it was a very long time ago. Perhaps I’ve got the whole thing mixed up. Do you know, I used to trust my own memory with anything, chuck, but nowadays, I don’t know,
it’s not what it was, that’s for certain . . .’

Her voice was just a babble in the background. I felt sick.

I could see Robert walking across the bar towards me. His shirt front pink now rather than red.

I’d almost let him in again. It had been a relief on such a day to lean on him, to feel his love for me without drawing back from it. I think I might have subconsciously more or less
decided to let the doubts and uncertainty go. Or at least to live with them. After all, Robert was still the same man. What did a name matter? And he was all I had. Now the doubt and uncertainty
had become totally overwhelming again. I feared what Gladys’s innocent remark might really mean.

‘I’ve done my best,’ he remarked ruefully, screwing up his face in mock embarrassment almost like the old Robert. He came very close to me and rested one hand on my shoulder,
again almost the old Robert, the old proprietorial Robert.

I could tell that he thought he had got me back, or at least was in the process of getting me back. One thing I believed totally was that, like me, he would never get over Robbie’s death.
But suddenly he did seem to be coping. He even had a bit of a smile on his face as he looked fondly down at me.

He didn’t know that I not only wanted to wipe that smile off, I wanted to slap him. Hard. Just as I had when I’d first learned of his deception.

And, of course, I so feared there was more to come. Gladys had made me remember that. What else had he not told me in spite of his promises? What other lies might yet be revealed?

I didn’t confront Robert straight away. Instead I just told him I’d had quite enough of the Lamb and Flag and all the doubtless well-meaning mourners who were
filling it. The ‘friends’ I hadn’t known any of us had.

‘I’d like to go home as soon as possible,’ I said. ‘Don’t forget Dad needs to pick up his car to drive back to Hartland.’

The funeral car was no longer at our disposal, but Gladys overheard and offered at once to take us back to Highrise.

As usual she chattered non-stop. And by leaving Robert and occasionally my father to make any necessary responses in the few gaps, I was able to shut my eyes, lean back in my seat and retreat
into my own head. That was not, however, a happy place.

Back at Highrise, Gladys dropped us off without, thankfully, giving any indication that she expected to be invited in. Robert and I went through the rather stilted motions of sitting down in the
kitchen and sharing a pot of tea with Dad. None of us had any conversation. It seemed like for ever before Dad stood up to leave, and I remember thinking he was probably still angling to stay the
night. But I didn’t offer. I just couldn’t.

I kissed him goodbye, aware that his cheeks were damp with tears again, and we waved him somewhat shabbily on his way. Even then I still did not trust myself to confront Robert with my new
suspicions. Or maybe I just didn’t have the energy.

Robert busied himself making even more tea.

I glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was only just gone 8 p.m. Too early for bed? I didn’t care. I so wanted the day to end.

‘I think I drank too much red wine,’ I told Robert. ‘I just need to lie down.’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Would you like me to bring you anything up? Another cup of tea? Something to eat?’

I shook my head. At the pub I had eaten some of the food provided – a couple of sausage rolls and several sandwiches. I’d been on a kind of autopilot. And eating had given me
something to do.

‘Only some water, that would be good,’ I said over my shoulder as I made my way up the stairs.

I hesitated outside the room which had been mine and Robert’s for so long. I thought for a moment about the big comfortable bed and the goose-down pillows. Earlier in the day I’d
thought I might return there that night. But, full of all that fresh doubt following Gladys’s casual remarks, I couldn’t face it.

I headed for the guest room again. My fluffy dressing gown hung behind the door. I undressed, put it on, and climbed into bed. I would have loved to have fallen into a long, deep sleep but I
just knew that wasn’t going to happen. However, when I heard Robert’s footsteps on the stairs, with a pause outside the master bedroom while he perhaps checked if I’d relented and
was inside, then further approaching footsteps followed by the sound of the guest-room door opening, I made sure that my eyes were tightly closed.

There was a kind of clinking noise which I knew must be him placing a jug of water and a glass on the bedside table, followed by footsteps and the sound of the door closing behind him.

Only then did I open my eyes. I sat up in bed, poured myself a glass of water and drank gratefully. The water at Highrise came from our own well. It was cool and fresh and unadulterated by
chemicals. Even at that moment it tasted great.

I lay back on the pillows and tried to rest, to regain my strength, and I had no idea, really, how long I lay like that, half awake, half dozing, submerged in my own misery and distress.

I must have been dozing when Robert returned. I didn’t even hear him come through the door. I opened my eyes automatically, having become suddenly aware of another presence. And there he
was standing looking down at me, concerned and kind.

‘I thought you might like something now,’ he said. He gestured to the bedside table upon which stood a steaming mug and a plate of shortbread biscuits. I could smell the unmistakable
aroma of freshly made hot chocolate.

‘W-what time is it?’ I asked.

‘A few minutes before ten,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d have an early night too.’

He reached to touch my shoulder. Only then did I take in that he was wearing his pyjamas.

‘And I thought maybe you were ready for some company,’ he said.

I jerked myself away from him.

‘No, I am not,’ I barked.

His face flushed.

‘I didn’t mean anything, I wasn’t suggesting anything,’ he said, stumbling over the words. ‘Just somebody to hold on to.’

‘No,’ I said again, forcefully.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I must have misread the signs. I thought today I was giving you some comfort at last. That’s all I want to do now . . .’

I sat up in bed, moving quickly and clumsily. I knocked against the bedside table. Hot chocolate spilled from the mug onto the pale oak surface.

‘You were comforting me,’ I said. ‘Until I caught you out in another damned lie.’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

‘You never told me you sang in a church choir, here in Devon. What the heck does that mean?’

‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ he said. ‘Because it’s not true. I’ve never sung in a church choir anywhere. Not here, not in Scotland. Why would I? I hate
religion. You know that.’

‘The vicar’s wife remembered you. You can’t deny it. She told me all about it.’

‘I can deny it,’ he continued. ‘Because it’s not bloody well true. That woman’s barmy, if you ask me. She’s also an interfering old cow.’

It was his turn to sound angry now. I couldn’t take any more.

‘Oh, just go to bed, Robert,’ I ordered him wearily. ‘Anywhere you like, except here with me.’

I wriggled down into the bed again, turned over so that my back was towards him, pulled the duvet up around my neck and shut my eyes tight.

He did not persist. Without another word he left the room. Only when I heard the door shut behind him did I relax. And then the tears came again and just would not stop.

I must have fallen asleep at some stage. It was a bright morning and the sun was quite high in the sky when I woke. I checked my watch. It was gone nine. Much later than I
would have expected.

I had a shower, put on the dressing gown again, picked up my funeral clothes and began to make my away across the landing to Robert’s and my room in search of a pair of jeans and a
sweater.