The Real Katie Lavender (16 page)

He took the cup. ‘Thank you.’

When she’d gone, he turned to his right. The tattooed hulk was fast asleep, his mouth open. To his left, the fidgety woman had a pair of headphones plugged into her ears and with her eyes closed she was moving her head in time to whatever music she was listening to.

Too strung out now to sleep, Lloyd checked his watch: five and a half hours until Singapore. Five and a half long hours until he could speak to his mother. And, more importantly, Stirling.

Had she been a coward not to go with Stirling and formally identify Neil’s body? Would this be something else that she would always regret?

It still didn’t seem possible that Neil could be dead. If only it could be a ghastly nightmare from which she would suddenly wake up. Breathless with relief, she would turn over and there, the other side of the bed, would be Neil, snoring and muttering in his sleep. He’d always been a snorer and a mutterer. Most of what he’d said was incoherent, a babble of one-sided conversation. Often she had teased him about it, and he had laughed that one day his so-called babbling would be decoded and would be found to solve the mysteries of the universe that had for centuries eluded the world’s greatest minds.

She would give anything now to hear Neil muttering in his sleep. To hear his laughter one more time. To see that carefree smile of his. To take pleasure in his support and encouragement for the latest idea she’d had for her beloved garden. He had never really shared her love of gardening, but he had enjoyed the results, and had given her free rein to transform the two acres here when they’d moved to The Meadows seven years ago. ‘Do whatever you like, Pen,’ he’d said as, glass of wine in hand, they’d wandered round the existing and unimaginatively laid-out garden in the evening sun. ‘I trust you completely to make a stunning success of it.’

‘It won’t be cheap,’ she’d warned him when they’d come to a stop and watched a riverboat passing by. ‘Not for what I have in mind. I’ll need help as well.’

‘Spend whatever is necessary. I just want you to be happy here.’

Tears filled Pen’s eyes as she heard Neil’s words so clearly in her head. She remembered how touched she’d been. She was a lucky woman, she had thought at the time. The passion may have fizzled out of their marriage, but they had something far more important and lasting between them: they had loving companionship and a wealth of shared experiences. And they had Lloyd, who was unquestionably the absolutely best aspect of their marriage.

She wished Lloyd was here now. He wouldn’t be able to make Neil alive again, but he would be a reassuring presence when all else felt frighteningly unreal. Perhaps it was that absence of reality that made her hang on to the hope that it was all a mistake. That it hadn’t been Neil’s car that had been found. That it had been another man who had taken his life, and another wretched family left to come to terms with the death of a loved one. Was that selfish of her to wish such an awful thing on another family if it would spare her own?

And wasn’t there a real possibility that it might not be Neil’s body that Stirling had gone to identify? Someone might have stolen the car and his wallet. A simple case of mistaken identity. That was why it was so important, she understood now, that as grim as the task was, it had to be done. One had to be sure.

She closed her eyes, willing Stirling to return with the news that it wasn’t Neil. She was clutching at straws, but so long as there was doubt, there was hope. Even if it didn’t make sense.

She patted the earth around the euphorbia she’d just planted, then stood up and heeled it in more firmly. She wondered if Katie was doing exactly as she’d asked her to do. She seemed a capable enough girl. She also seemed wise beyond her years.

Stirling’s love child. What a thought. And what a cat amongst the pigeons that was going to be when it came out. Poor Gina, it was going to be a dreadful shock for her.

When Pen had broken down in the kitchen earlier, having said to Katie that she wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out Neil had done the same as Stirling, she had not uttered the words lightly. It stood to reason in so many ways that he would have had an affair, because she hadn’t provided him with the one thing he’d badly wanted – a child of his own.

After repeated miscarriages, she had finally been forced to accept the advice of the doctors that she would never be able to carry a baby full term. That was when she and Neil decided to adopt. She had always thought that there was something satisfyingly right about Neil, having been adopted, becoming an adopter himself. Yet as happy as they were as a family with Lloyd at the centre of it, in later years it had become a recurring thought for her that Neil might look elsewhere for sexual fulfilment. If he had, she would have accepted the situation, knowing that it was her fault, because sex, unless it was to create a baby, had lost its interest for her. She had done her best to please him, but when she hit an early menopause, it was game over; she didn’t even have the will to pretend any more. Neil never forced the issue; he was too patient and considerate a man to do that. If he had had an affair, he’d been extraordinarily discreet about it. She liked to think that had she discovered he’d been quietly seeing another woman, she would have accepted it as a necessary part of their marriage. She could have borne it so long as nothing ever changed between them.

The ground nicely compacted around the euphorbia, she picked up the watering can and watered the plant in. Nurturing the plant, that was what she was doing. Tending to it like a helpless baby.

Was it wrong of her to be out here in the garden? Would people think it disrespectful? Hard-hearted, even? But what else could she do? She had to do something to keep busy, to keep her mind from plunging down into that place from which she feared she might never return. So to hell with what people thought; activity was what sustained a person during a time like this. What did it matter if there were those who would think she didn’t care? They would be wrong.

No doubt she would garner more sympathy if she was to weep and wail at the top of her voice and beat her breast and rend her garments as they did in some countries. Did they still rend their garments these days, or was that just in the Bible? One thing she did know: people didn’t go in for that sort of thing here in Henley-on-Thames.

The absurdity of the thought immediately made her think of sharing it with Neil later. But like a jagged shard of glass piercing her heart, she knew there would be no sharing anything ever again with Neil. He was dead. Of course he was. She had been fooling herself to hope otherwise. How she would miss him. How she would miss sharing a joke with him over something she’d forgotten or misunderstood. But most of all, she would miss his kindness and gentle understanding of her. A sob burst out of her and she felt the strength drain from her body, and very slowly, as if she was being deflated like a balloon, she sank to her knees. She wrapped her arms around herself and gave in to the raw agony of the pain, letting it overwhelm her, letting it suck the very breath out of her.

‘Oh Neil,’ she cried, ‘what am I going to do without you?’

Having completed the task she had been set, a test as much as anything, she suspected, Katie went in search of Pen to see what else she could do.

She found Pen kneeling on the grass, her head lowered as if in prayer. She was rocking backwards and forwards in a scarily rhythmic motion, at the same time emitting an awful wailing sound. Katie knelt beside the woman and pressed a hand to her shoulder.

‘Pen,’ she said, feeling wholly inadequate. ‘Is there a friend I can call for you? A friend who could come and be with you?’

Seemingly unaware of Katie’s touch or her voice, Pen continued keening and rocking.

‘Pen,’ Katie repeated, this time louder. ‘There must be someone. What about Stirling’s wife, can I ask her to come?’

When Pen still didn’t seem to hear and her teeth began to chatter, Katie stood up. What on earth should she do? Call a doctor? She regretted now listening to Pen in the kitchen after she’d blamed herself for her husband’s death; she should have been firm with her and insisted she rest. She must have cried for about five minutes, then just as suddenly as the tears had started, they’d stopped. She’d wiped her eyes, blown her nose and said briskly, ‘Sorry about that, I don’t know what came over me. I’m OK now. I’m fine. Thank you. Let’s go into the garden and see if there’s something I can find for you to do.’ To hear her apologize for breaking down and then witness her valiant attempt to appear normal had been heart-rending.

It was just as harrowing now to see her in this agony of grief. Katie hated to see anyone upset. Tears were infectious. She’d found that with Mum. But she’d never seen her mother like this. Was it possible Mum had kept the worst of her grief hidden from Katie? She pictured her mother crying alone, and it saddened her so much she had to get a hold of her emotions. If she started crying, she’d be of no use to anyone.

But how to help Pen?

Once more she knelt on the grass alongside the poor distraught woman and placed both of her hands on her shoulders, deciding she would remain here like this, however long it took, until Pen was all cried out.

Please don’t let it be him . . . Please let it be anyone but Neil
.

Stirling had clung on to the hope with such determination, he had almost convinced himself that it would be true, that when the sheet was pulled back and he was asked if it was his brother, he would shake his head and say that whoever the poor sod was, he had never seen him before in his life.

But the hope had been in vain. His voice choked, he had formally confirmed that it was his brother. Cecily had been at his side. With great tenderness she had stroked Neil’s cheek and kissed his forehead. They were told that his appearance – the swollen and wrinkled skin marked with cuts and bruises – was consistent with drowning; that his body would have sunk and been bumped along the surface of the river bed before resurfacing.

They were led away to an office and it was explained to them that a more exact time of death would follow, but for now they were working on the theory that Neil’s body had been in the river for two days, and that death had been caused by asphyxia by drowning. Stirling listened in a daze, hearing the words but not really taking them in. Coroner. Post-mortem. Inquest. What did any of it matter? Neil was dead. That body he had just identified really was his brother’s.

Tea in polystyrene cups was brought to them, and he was asked if he could think of any reason why his brother might have taken his life. They had obviously done some digging, for now Detective Inspector Rawlings was asking about Nightingale Ridgeway. Were there any problems at work? Had there been any disagreements? He felt Cecily stiffen at his side. ‘Please,’ he said, putting his untouched tea on the desk between him and the police officer, ‘this has been a very distressing ordeal for my mother. I’d like to take her home now.’

Rawlings looked at him. ‘Just one more question. Do you know a woman called Simone Montrose?’

‘No,’ Stirling replied tiredly.

‘Only she was the last person your brother spoke to on his mobile, which we found in his car. Phone records show that he spoke with her regularly. Are you sure the name doesn’t mean anything to you? To either of you?’

Simone Montrose hadn’t stopped crying since the policewoman had called her on her mobile. That was more than three hours ago.

Recognizing his number, she had happily assumed it was Neil, but hearing a woman’s voice, she had been instantly on her guard. In the two years since their affair had begun, she had always dreaded his wife discovering that he’d been unfaithful and ringing ‘the other woman’ to vent her feelings.

But the woman at the other end of the line hadn’t been an aggrieved wife; she had been a police officer, and she was hoping Simone might be able to help her. The woman had asked if she knew a Mr Neil Nightingale.

Simone hadn’t known how to answer. To say no would look odd, in as much as the policewoman was clearly ringing her on Neil’s mobile. Which meant she knew Simone’s number was listed in the phone’s list of contacts. Instead of answering the question, and suddenly concerned that something had happened to Neil, that he’d been involved in an accident – she hadn’t heard from him in a couple of days, and now a police officer was in possession of his mobile – she’d said, ‘Can you tell me what this is all about, please?’

And then the world was turned upside down for Simone. ‘Mr Neil Nightingale has been found dead,’ the policewoman had said bluntly, ‘and we’re trying to piece together his final movements. We believe you might have been one of the last people he spoke to. According to his mobile, that was Thursday morning. How did he seem to you?’

‘How did he seem?’ she’d repeated, her voice hollow. ‘What do you mean?’

She couldn’t remember much more of the conversation thereafter, other than that suicide was mentioned.
I must not cry
, she’d told herself as she fought to stay in control whilst the woman droned on.
I must not cry
. To cry would give the police officer more information than was necessary. She was a friend. An acquaintance who was saddened to hear of the death of Neil Nightingale. Saddened. Not devastated. Not heartbroken. None of those things. She owed it to Neil not to break down. At all costs she must not give their relationship away. But she realized that the police, if they hadn’t checked already, would know from the phone records that Neil called far too often for her to be
just
a friend.

Now, as she lay on her bed – the linen that smelled so redolently of Neil after he’d stayed with her last week – the thought ripped through her that he would never call her again, or lie in this bed with her again. She felt desolate, her heart torn from her ribcage. ‘Oh Neil,’ she cried aloud, her shoulders and chest heaving with renewed sobbing, ‘you can’t be dead. We had everything planned. We had a life together to look forward to.’