curls as though they were perfectly coiffed coils of gold, rather than the mousy results of a failed home perm. But business was business and Cheryl, even under the influence of perceived flattery, couldn’t sustain the bonhomie for long. ‘The thing is, it’s mother. She doesn’t like being on her own at night – so I was wondering if I could bring her here for the evening. I mean, she’s no trouble. She’ll sit and chat for hours, so it might be company for you too, only she’ll show off rotten if I leave her on her own to go out. I could drop her off and pick her up later?’
Maura looked at the plaintive expression on Cheryl’s face and at the pale grey eyes that twinkled with hope. Judgemental though it was, Maura doubted the housekeeper of Essen Grange received many offers of romance. She wasn’t an easy woman to like and her changeable moods seemed to drain any vestiges of attractiveness from her being. They had left wrinkles and furrows on her skin and a perceived spikiness in her manner that was hardly compelling. It would be cruel to turn down her request and ruin this opportunity. ‘Of course, no problem.’
It seemed as though Cheryl had already prepared an appeal in anticipation of being turned down. She looked as if she was about to argue her case further until Maura’s words registered. Maura almost smirked when the woman’s face didn’t know what to do with itself and went through a range of expressions before settling on one Cheryl clearly believed was gratitude, but which, to Maura, looked more like an unconfident look of surprise. ‘Oh, OK. Thank you.’ The words fell from Cheryl’s tongue as if she was wholly unfamiliar with them, and as if they consisted of the amalgam in a loose filling that she’d felt compelled to discreetly spit out.
Maura stifled a smile of amusement. ‘You’re welcome.’ With anyone else she would have probed, found out about the man who had asked her out on a date, discussed appropriate dress for the occasion and generally had a girl-to-girl chat. Where Cheryl was concerned, however, it felt as though it might be a form of mild torture to indulge in such a thing. Besides, the topic had changed to fish-paste sandwiches and the importance of cutting the crusts off and making the triangles equal to appease Gordon’s sense of order.
‘I wanted to ask you about his medication. He seems to be on a hell of a lot and unfortunately the doctor isn’t available to ask,’ Maura said after the sandwich lecture had dwindled and all subjects of the heart had been carefully skirted.
Cheryl was arranging the dainty triangles of bread on a plate. ‘I don’t know much about it, I just give him what’s in the pill box at the right times. Her ladyship always deals with all that.’
‘Do you know which pharmacy she uses?’ With Dr Moss away, at least she might be able to discuss the doses with the pharmacist.
Cheryl shrugged. ‘No idea. There isn’t one nearby so it would have to be one in town. Boots maybe, though to be honest I always had the impression the doctor brought them with him when he came.’
Maura raised her eyebrows – if that was the case it was extremely unusual. ‘Oh, OK. Perhaps it’s because they’re private patients.’
‘Probably’ Cheryl mumbled, distracted by the tray she was laying for Gordon’s tea. ‘But I wouldn’t go prying too much if I was you. Dr Moss doesn’t like questions from the likes of us. He’ll be wanting this in a minute. You going to take it?’
‘Sure.’ It felt like the most useful thing she’d done all day. Gordon was indeed waiting, staring pensively at the clock as if timing her. He seemed happy enough that his meagre tea had arrived a few minutes before time, but didn’t start to eat until the clock struck the hour. Despite his quirks and desire for routine, there didn’t seem to be that much wrong with him. The peeing thing had clearly been done to test her mettle, and now she’d proved herself he seemed quite content with her presence and in little need of nursing. Basic assistance was all he required. Maura had to wonder why Dr Moss had suggested her when an unqualified carer would have been much cheaper and just as capable. Perhaps he’d felt sorry for her and recommended her out of pity. The thought was of no comfort. Instead, it made her feel pathetic.
Back in the kitchen, Cheryl was making moves to go. ‘Right, I’ll see you tomorrow – make sure you lock everything up tight tonight, won’t you? Mind you, I don’t think you’ll have much trouble – there’s still police crawling all over.’
It was a fair point. The police presence was a distinct comfort now she’d decided to stay, but Maura locked the door behind her anyway, and drew the bolts just in case. Then she went to every downstairs room in the house, except Gordon’s, and locked the internal doors with the heavy black keys that nestled in their locks. Before she went to bed she would lock the kitchen-passage door too; at least that way no one would be able to get far into the house before she, or Buster, could raise the alarm. It was nice to know the police were still around, but they were a quarter of a mile away, through the orchard and guarding bones, not looking for intruders.
With Gordon settled, medicated and in his pyjamas watching TV, she was at a loss what to do with herself. Locking all the doors had given her a sense of claustrophobia, as if the house was closing in around her like an unpleasant old lady enfolding her into an unwanted embrace. In the cold quiet of the hall she felt as though the house was holding its breath in anticipation. Of what she didn’t know, but there was an unpleasantness about the feeling she didn’t want to dwell on.
It was fanciful thinking, born of feeling purposeless and the bad habit of mental filtering. She didn’t know why she’d come other than to escape an equal loneliness at home. At least here there were no reminders of Richard or Sarah – until Poole had shown his face, of course. God knew what she’d done to piss karma off to the extent that it had put him in her path again. It was as if all the fates wanted her tied to the past whatever her own choices were. Life wasn’t fair, and didn’t she know it.
There she is, making herself at home, getting to know people – making friends. Bloody dog lapping at her heels. Pathetic. There are no friends here, no one trustworthy, no one she can rely on. I should know. She’s in the middle of a nest of vipers and that fucking dog is nothing but a liability.
As if locking the doors will keep me out. I know this place better than any of them. I know all its secrets. I know all of theirs too.
I wonder if she knows that all the evil is inside with her? All she’s done is lock out the good.
There seemed nothing left to do but kill time. As she climbed the stairs with Buster at her heels, thoughts about killing things led to thoughts about the bones and what the fates had determined for the person they had once been. Whoever it was couldn’t have anticipated a secret burial and subsequently being laid bare by a bulldozer for all to see. She paused on the landing and suppressed a shudder. It didn’t bear thinking about, but neither could she avoid it. The lights of the crime scene were all too visible in the distance as she peered through the landing window. Bob’s dwelling was visible too, light twinkling through the orchard’s gnarly trees. It was a comfort knowing he was there.
A bath was the order of the day, something to wash away the sense of oppression and feelings of despair. The thought of it was comforting, though the reality was a disappointment. The plumbing was old, the bath made of steel and the tank inadequate. Six inches of tepid water wasn’t quite what she’d had in mind and a rapid whip round with a soapy sponge to compensate didn’t induce the sense of relaxation she’d hoped for. Her own towel was still in her bag and she was forced to use one of the thin, rigid things that Cheryl had hung in the “guest bathroom”. Maura could only hope that the house’s other resident fared better with her ablutions. Gordon had to make do with strip washes and a downstairs toilet, she’d had to endure a Baltic bathroom,
