THE HOUSE AT SEA’S END (27 page)

‘Cathbad?’

He appears in the doorway, still wearing combats and a black T-shirt.

‘Cathbad, do you think Nelson is Kate’s father?’

Cathbad sits heavily on the foot of the bed. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Jesus.’ Judy considers this. It feels wrong, sitting here
in the dark with Cathbad. It feels wrong because it feels right.

‘Does anyone else know?’

Cathbad shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so. They’re both very private people.’

‘But the boss is married.’

‘I’m sure he loves his wife.’

‘But what about Ruth?’

Cathbad sighs. ‘She loves him, I think. But him? He loves the baby, the idea of being a father again. But I don’t think he’ll ever leave Michelle.’

‘Cathbad?’

‘What?’

‘Are you really a wizard?’

Cathbad grins, his teeth very white in the darkness.

‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t know what I think.’

‘I’m not a wizard,’ says Cathbad. ‘I’m just someone who tries to live a certain way. In harmony with nature, in harmony with the old traditions. My mother though …’ He laughs softly. ‘A few hundred years ago she would have been burnt at the stake. She knew a spell to make your hens lay, to charm back an unfaithful husband, to make a man irresistible to women. She was a witch, all right, even though she went to mass every Sunday. This was rural Ireland. Everyone went to mass even if they were queuing up in Mammy’s back yard the next day.’

Judy tries to imagine Cathbad as a child. He seems ageless somehow. ‘My dad’s Irish,’ she says. ‘He’s a bookie.’

‘That accounts for the bond between us.’

‘Is there a bond between us?’

‘I think so, don’t you?’

Judy moves her legs, trying not to touch Cathbad. The trouble is, the room’s too small. It’s getting smaller by the second.

‘Do you want to go to sleep?’ asks Cathbad.

It’s as if he’s asking a different question altogether. Judy struggles with her answer.

‘Yes,’ she says at last.

Much later, Judy wakes from a confused dream about ice floes, hooded figures, sacred fires. Groping on the floor, she finds her watch. Five o’clock in the morning.

The landing is silent. No sound from Clara downstairs. Suddenly a soft footfall makes her jump and something rubs against her legs. She stifles a scream and, looking down, meets luminous green eyes. Jesus, she’d forgotten Ruth had a cat. Shakily she strokes Flint’s gently butting head. Where has he been hiding all this time?

In the bedroom, Kate is still sleeping, making little snuffling noises. Cathbad is lying across the double bed. Asleep he looks much younger.

‘Cathbad?’

He is awake in an instant.

‘You’ve shaved off your beard.’

Cathbad reaches for her, pulling her down on the bed next to him. He is strong, much stronger than he looks. He smells of wood smoke and expensive soap.

‘We can’t,’ says Judy. ‘I’m getting married in two weeks.’

‘It was meant to be,’ says Cathbad, kissing her neck.

I don’t believe in any of that, Judy wants to say. I’m a rationalist, a policewoman and I’ve only ever slept with one man. But, instead, she is kissing him back, greedily, urgently, moving her body against his.

It is nearly nine o’clock when Ruth wakes up. The curtains are open and the room is full of light. There’s no sign of Nelson. She goes to the window, wearing the duvet over her shoulders. Outside the sky is bright blue and the snow blindingly white. There are no footsteps on the path down to the beach, where the sea is breaking gently against the frosted pebbles. Still draped in the duvet, Ruth pads into the bathroom. From the bathroom window, which faces the side of the house, she sees Nelson, in his shirtsleeves, clearing the snow from around his car. She watches him dreamily, not thinking of anything very much. He is working hard, his breath billowing around him, but he’s doing it all wrong, bending his back rather than his knees. Ruth noticed this once before. When was it?

How could she have gone to bed with him again? After trying so hard to keep her distance, to be independent, not to jeopardise his marriage. Perhaps she’s pregnant. Maybe they’ll continue to have sex once a year and, in a few years’ time, they’ll have a family of five. Don’t be silly, she tells
herself. It’s highly unlikely that she’s pregnant again and last night was a one off.
Another
one off. It was the snow, the house, the relief of discovering that Kate was all right. A combination of circumstances that will never occur again. Ruth is free to get on with her life. She leans against the window, her breath misting the glass.

As she watches, another figure comes out of the house. Jack Hastings. He is warmly dressed in a heavy coat and peaked cap with the inevitable dogs running around him. He says something to Nelson and Nelson laughs, the sound echoing up to Ruth’s turret window. She retreats. She doesn’t want them seeing her there, like some overweight Lady of Shalott. Time to get on with things.

She rings Judy. There’s a long wait before she answers and Judy sounds distinctly odd, flustered, unlike herself. Is Kate all right, Ruth asks anxiously. Yes fine, says Judy, Cathbad’s giving her some breakfast now. Is Cathbad still there then? Yes, the snow’s still pretty bad on the Saltmarsh. What’s Clara doing? She’s making some tea. Please stay with Kate until I get there, says Ruth. I’ll be as quick as I can.

She showers standing up in the bath, washing her hair with some violently scented gel. It’s horrible, putting on the same clothes from last night. What was it that Nelson had said to her? ‘I can’t get you out of my head, Ruth. I try but you’re there all the time.’ She doesn’t know how she feels about Nelson; it’s all so complicated, so angst-ridden. But she knows one thing: when he said those words, a shock of pure pleasure had run through her. Nelson doesn’t love her, she knows that, but at least he can’t forget her. That’s something.

Breakfast is awkward. Nelson doesn’t meet her eye. Stella cooks them bacon and eggs, maintaining a steady flow of hostess chatter. Jack is silent, feeding bacon rinds to the dogs. Irene doesn’t put in an appearance. ‘Mother had a bad night,’ explains Stella.

‘Jack’s found me some chains for the car,’ says Nelson, still not looking at Ruth. ‘The coast road is clear. We should be able to get through.’

‘What about my car?’

‘Better leave it here. I’ll have someone pick it up for you. The important thing is to get you home.’

‘Yes,’ agrees Ruth.

‘We ought to start as soon as possible.’

‘Have some coffee first,’ says Stella, taking the pot from the Aga.

And Ruth feels a curious reluctance to leave. She wants to see Kate, of course she does, but she also wants to stay here, having someone cook for her and make her coffee. She wants to sit by the fire and read the paper. She wants to huddle up on the sofa and look at the snow outside. She wants to be Stella’s daughter. She wants to stay here with Nelson.

But as soon as Nelson has drunk his coffee he is standing up. ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ he says formally.

‘My dear fellow, don’t mention it,’ says Jack.

Now that Nelson has become ‘my dear fellow’, thinks Ruth, will it be difficult for him to raise the little fact of Jack’s father being a murderer? She knows that Nelson has the film in his car, along with the diary and the scissors. His next visit to Sea’s End House may turn out to be a very
different affair. But Hastings, who yesterday had seemed so shaken by Hugh Anselm’s film, is all charm and smiles. He shakes Ruth’s hand warmly, brushing off her thanks. ‘Any time, my dear. Glad we could help.’

Ruth turns to Stella. ‘You’ve been so kind.’

Stella enfolds her in a hug. ‘Come again. Bring your little girl.’

‘I will.’

‘Come on, Ruth,’ says Nelson, impatient as ever. ‘We’d better get going.’

The drive to the Saltmarsh is beautiful. The fields are white, glittering in the sun, the trees like a Christmas card. Everything ugly or utilitarian – the municipal dump, the holiday flats, the caravan selling hamburgers – has been covered with this kindly layer of magic. It’s hard to believe that last night the snow had seemed terrifying, a malign force. Now it’s sleigh rides and Santa and Holiday on Ice. They pass some teenagers sledging down a hill on bin liners, children building a snowman in their front garden, a family on their way to church, ears aglow with virtue. Ruth had forgotten that it was Sunday. They do see a few abandoned cars, an upturned bicycle, its wheels still spinning, but otherwise the snow seems delightful, designed purely for fun. The main roads have been gritted and, as they get nearer to King’s Lynn, they see cars and buses. The world is getting back to normal.

‘Thaw’s setting in,’ says Nelson. It seems like the first thing he’s said for hours.

‘It’s incredible,’ says Ruth. ‘All this snow in April.’ Her
mouth feels dry; she doesn’t think she’s ever uttered a more boring sentence.

They drive in silence across the Saltmarsh. The bleak landscape of stunted trees and wind-blown grass has been transformed and a smooth white terrain unfolds in front of them, like the surface of the moon. The birds are flying lower than usual, desperate for food; occasionally a sandpiper makes a kamikaze dive down into the reed beds and the ducks walk, bemused, on iced-over marsh pools.

‘Ruth—’ says Nelson.

‘I can’t wait to see Kate,’ gabbles Ruth. ‘It feels like years since I’ve seen her. It was so kind of Judy to drive all this way …’ Her voice fades away.

‘Ruth.’ Nelson is stopping the car. Keep driving, Ruth urges him silently. I don’t want to have this conversation now. Ever.

‘We’ve got to talk.’

‘What about?’ says Ruth.

‘Jesus! What about? About everything.’

‘There’s nothing to say.’ Ruth fiddles with her seatbelt. Suddenly the car feels far too small. She knows that Nelson is looking at her but, for many reasons, she does not want to meet his eyes.

‘Look, Ruth …’ Ruth hears Nelson’s voice gearing down to his persuasive tone. ‘Last night was … well, it shouldn’t have happened.’

‘I know,’ says Ruth, looking out of the window. In the far distance, she can see the sea.

‘I mean it was … great, but—’

‘What do you mean “great”?’

‘You know what I mean. If I was single, it would be a different matter. But I’m not. We both know that.’

Would it be different? Ruth doubts it somehow. A single Nelson would never have looked twice at her; he would be off searching for a blonde Michelle clone. It was only circumstance, proximity and a host of other words meaning the same thing; meaning that she and Nelson were never really meant to be together.

‘I know you’re married,’ says Ruth, trying to keep her voice calm. ‘I’ve always respected that. I’ve never made any demands on you, even with Kate. Have I?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then. It’ll never happen again. I’ll make sure of it.’

Nelson sighs. Ruth doesn’t know if it is with relief or regret. They both sit in silence for a moment, looking out across the endless white marshes. Then Nelson starts the engine.

Judy’s jeep is parked outside the house, next to Clara’s snow-covered Mini. Ruth leaps out of the car as soon as it stops. She doesn’t look back to see if Nelson is following.

She opens the door to a bizarre domestic scene. Clara is sitting at the table, earphones in, reading. Judy is in the kitchen and Cathbad is lying on the floor playing with Kate.

Ruth rushes over and grabs Kate, holding her so tightly that she squawks. ‘Hallo, sweetheart,’ she whispers.

‘Hallo,’ answers Cathbad, still lying on the rug.

‘Cathbad! How come you’re here?’

‘Ask Judy.’

Still carrying Kate, Ruth hurries over to Judy and hugs her awkwardly, the baby between them.

‘Thank you so much for coming over.’

‘It’s okay. All part of the service. I was just making toast. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not. Have anything.’

‘Well, there wasn’t really anything else. Just cat food and baby food.’

‘Where’s Flint?’

‘Asleep on your bed. He gave me the fright of my life last night.’

Nelson has come in and is talking in a low voice to Cathbad. Ruth walks over to Clara who is watching her rather quizzically.

‘Thanks so much for staying last night, Clara.’

Clara takes out her headphones. ‘That’s okay. You didn’t really need to send the cavalry over. I was quite capable of looking after Kate for one night, you know.’

Ruth smiles, slightly embarrassed. In the light of the day, her fears seem rather stupid. But then she remembers the diary.
I hate his wife. I want to kill him.
No, she’s still glad that Judy was here last night. And Cathbad too. But why
is
he here?

Before she can ask him, Nelson cuts in. With his height, dark clothes and unsmiling face, he is incongruous in the small, cosy room. He seems determined to add to this impression, speaking in a brisk, businesslike tone, not making eye-contact with anyone.

‘I’ll drive you home, Clara,’ he says. ‘You still wouldn’t want to risk the roads round here.’

‘You can give me a lift too,’ says Cathbad, who has taken a piece of toast from Judy.

‘No,’ answers Nelson brusquely. ‘You go with Johnson.’

I’m Johnson again, am I, thinks Judy. But the boss had thanked her when he rang earlier. There’s no doubt she’s one up on Clough.

‘I’ll take you home, Cathbad,’ she says, not looking at him.

Nelson and Clara head for the door. Ruth thanks Clara profusely, trying to make up for last night’s lack of trust. Nelson says nothing.

Judy gathers up her phone and bag. ‘Coming, Cathbad?’

‘There’s no need to rush off,’ says Ruth. She rather likes the idea of sitting here with Judy and Cathbad, eating toast and talking about the marvels of Kate.

‘We’d better be off,’ says Judy. ‘I’ve got lots to do.’

‘Yes, the wedding’s in a couple of weeks, isn’t it?’ says Ruth, wanting to seem friendly. ‘You must be so excited.’

‘If you say so,’ says Judy. Rather rudely, Ruth thinks.

As soon as the door shuts behind Cathbad and Judy, Kate starts to cry. Having been angelic all night (‘She only woke up once,’ said Cathbad, ‘but I sang to her and she went back to sleep’) she now transforms into Damien from
The Omen
. Ruth tries milk, food, dancing round the room, singing. But obviously her singing isn’t a patch on Cathbad’s because, after the first few bars of ‘The Wheels on the Bus’, Kate howls louder than ever. In desperation, Ruth switches on the TV, jiggling Kate up and down as she fumbles with the remote. She flicks between sonorous church services and black-and-white films, trying to find something child-friendly. Eventually Kate stops sobbing and stares entranced
at the screen which is bright green with little figures running around madly. She might have guessed. Kate has obviously inherited the football gene from her father. Another thing to hold against him. But Ruth is too grateful for the peace to feel too aggrieved. She settles down on the sofa, with Kate against her shoulder, to watch Manchester United versus Chelsea.