Page 11 of Worse Than Murder
‘Alison, why don’t you talk to your boss first?’ Iain suggests. ‘See what she thinks. You don’t want to step on her toes. You need to think of the future and promotion. It’s not going to look good if you’re seen as someone without respect for rank.’
‘Iain’s right.’ Lynne reaches up and strokes Alison’s hair behind her ear. ‘You were too young to know what was going on back then, sweetheart. It was a difficult time. For all of us. I wish there could be some resolution to it, but we have to face facts that they might never be found.’
Alison swallows her emotion. ‘And what about Dad? There have been sightings…’ Her voice quivers.
Lynne steals a glance at Iain, then quickly back to her daughter. ‘Alison, your dad was a very fragile man. He struggled with what happened to Celia and Jennifer. He couldn’t… he refused to come to terms with it. It was all he could do to end the suffering.’
‘I thought he loved me,’ Alison says through her tears.
Lynne grips her hand tight. ‘He did love you, Alison. He loved all of you. But when something tragic happens like that, when your whole life is turned upside down and you have no control over it, sometimes… sometimes you can’t see the good for the bad.’
‘I miss him,’ she says, quietly.
Lynne pulls Alison into a tight hug. ‘I know you do. I miss him, too.’
Lynne looks over to Iain. He nods at her and quietly leaves the room, giving mother and daughter some alone time.
* * *
It’s another half an hour before Iain hears the front door close. He has finished washing the vegetables and is busy putting them away when Lynne walks into the kitchen.
‘I wasn’t expecting that conversation today,’ Lynne says.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Fine. I look at Alison and I see her father looking back at me. She’s got so many of his ways. Normally, I don’t think anything of it, but there are times, like now, where it all comes flooding back.’ She pulls out a chair at the table and sits down. ‘How the hell did I get through those days?’ she asks, putting her head in her hands.
Iain places a comforting arm around her shoulder. ‘What did you tell her?’
‘The same thing I’ve been telling her since she was old enough to understand. Her father sank into a depression, and he walked out into the lake. The thing is, she’s always thought that, if her father had drowned, he would have been found by now. Because he hasn’t been, she’s got this niggling notion there is a remote possibility he could still be out there, living a new life somewhere. Those sightings haven’t helped, either. People can be so cruel, can’t they?’
‘Surely Alison is sensible enough to know that he won’t still be alive after all this time?’
‘She is, but, well, you know what grief’s like. It plays all kinds of tricks with your mind.’
‘Who’s this detective she said is staying at the restaurant?’
‘DCI Darke, did she call her?’
‘Do you think she’ll go and see her?’
Lynne thinks for a long moment. ‘I really don’t know. Iain, I know we’ve talked about this before, but do you think we should tell Alison the truth?’
‘We can’t do that, Lynne,’ Iain says. There is an edge to his voice. ‘It would literally kill her.’
Iwalk into the living room and Sally and Philip spring apart like a couple of teenagers caught necking. They don’t look at me and they’ve stopped talking. I know I’ve been the subject of conversation.
I’ve just had a long and scalding hot shower after my run. I’m in my dressing gown and I feel warm and cosy. It’s a feeling that won’t last for long.
The living room is huge. There is a massive picture window looking out over Lake Windermere. The sun is setting, and the sky is a burning red. It looks like a painting. You can’t look out at this view and not take comfort. Being in the countryside has helped me enormously.
‘Good shower?’ Sally asks. She’s tucked up on the end of the sofa. She’s wearing a flowing summer dress in vibrant colours. She always looks immaculate. She says it’s because she needs to look good for the customers, but she’s one of those women who could wear a bin bag and look elegant. Even her feet are gorgeous, and, in my opinion, feet are the ugliest part of the body.
‘Lovely. Thanks.’ I sit down on the sofa opposite and look at them in turn. ‘So, what’s going on?’
‘Nothing. Why do you ask?’
‘You’ve both got guilty expressions.’
