Suspicion Points Page 17

  ‘Lovely looking house,’ I said.

  Olivia dropped her tissue on the floor and pulled another one from the box. ‘It belonged to our lecturer and his wife. They didn’t have any children and took a parental interest in their students. My dad was friends with Lloyd Kerslake the lecturer – they’d been at university together. I only lasted in the house for a year – they chucked me out. Phoebe still keeps in touch with them and so does Margaret.’

  ‘Why did they make you leave?’ asked Vanessa.

  ‘Always coming home at, what they called, an unearthly hour, forgetting my key and having to ring the door bell and waking everyone up and being drunk. If I had one wish it would be to go back to that day and do things differently.’

  Vanessa looked at the photos and then back at Olivia. ‘You could look like that again,’ Vanessa said.

  Olivia looked at her in disbelief. ‘Oh yeah. How?’

  ‘You haven’t put on any weight if the photos are anything to go by. Have you kept any of your old clothes?’

  ‘They’re here somewhere. I never throw anything away – just my life and chances. When I had the chance to get friendly with Phoebe again, I fell for George’s big ideas.’

  ‘He can’t write,’ said Vanessa. ‘His stuff was so boring.’

  ‘He thinks he can. He tries to fool everyone. Tells people he’s a freelance journalist, says he’s got an agent. When I used to go to his flat to talk about this new writers’ group he wanted us to set up, he was always on the phone – but I don’t think he was really – just pretending he was talking to his agent. But he was always saying the same thing.’

  ‘Did you set up another writers’ group?’ Vanessa asked innocently.

  ‘No. No one came. Phoebe said then, in her disappointed voice, ‘You always follow the loser, Olivia’. She was right.’

  ‘You’re a very good writer – ’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Vanessa, but what good’s that going to do me? It’s not finished. It’ll probably never be finished.’

  ‘How far are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Fifty thousand words.’

  Vanessa looked impressed. ‘How many for a full novel?’

  ‘Seventy-thousand or more.’

  ‘Well that’s not far to go. If you’ve written fifty, surely you can write another twenty thousand.’

  ‘Who’s going to want to publish it?’

  ‘You don’t know till you try. Olivia, the people in the writers’ group are fierce critics. I know I’ve only been once, but they don’t give false praise and they were enthusiastic about your novel. Finish it. Send it to publishers.’

  ‘No one’s going to want it.’

  ‘Lucky JK Rowling wasn’t a defeatist like you,’ I said.

  ‘She’s not an alcoholic.’

  Her self-awareness surprised me. ‘You can get help. Go to the AA.’

  She smiled. ‘Why? I don’t drive.’

  Vanessa laughed.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ said Olivia. ‘Alcoholics Anonymous.’

  ‘Will you go? I’ll drive you to the first meeting if you like,’ Vanessa offered.

  ‘Would you?’

  Vanessa nodded.

  ‘Why are you helping me?’

  ‘Because . . . well, I hate to see someone wasting their life.’ She picked up the bottle of gin. ‘The first thing is to get rid of this. Lucky it’s nearly empty.’

  Olivia looked as anguished as if we were going to kill a cat.

  ‘It’s the first step,’ I said. Every time you do something towards achieving your goals, write them down.’

  Although I’d never taken to drink, I had become lethargic, careless of my appearance and happy to lose my days asleep in bed. Now, I remembered the words of my parents and grandparents and Vanessa, as they chivvied me back into living.

  ‘Your goals, Olivia,’ I said, speaking in the same tone they had used to good effect on me, ‘are to become a writer and give up drinking. When you write one paragraph you’re stepping towards your goal. When you write one page you’re even further. When you go to your first AA meeting, you’re making progress. Have you got a job?’

  She shook her head. ‘Who’d want to give me a job?’

  ‘You’ve got to get this place tidy and clean,’ said Vanessa. ‘No, don’t look at me as if I’ve said you’ve got to climb Mount Everest. Give me one reason why you can’t get it tidy and clean?’

  ‘It’s too untidy and dirty.’

  ‘One room at a time. You don’t go to work, so you’ve got lots of time. Start with the kitchen. Then you’ll be able to cook yourself proper meals. If you eat properly and stop drinking you’ll have more energy.’

  ‘I haven’t got any cleaning stuff.’

  ‘Then go out and buy some tomorrow.’

  ‘I haven’t got enough money.’

  ‘But you’ve got enough money to buy cigarettes and gin.’

  ‘I need them.’

  ‘No. You want them. You don’t need them,’ Vanessa said firmly. ‘What you need is nourishing food and a clean house. I’ll call for you tomorrow morning at nine and take you shopping.’

  ‘I’ll still be in bed. I don’t get up till – ’

  ‘You’ll get up at eight and have a shower. I’ll be here at nine. Don’t get dressed. We’ll go through your stuff and find all your old clothes, then we’ll buy you some decent food and cleaning things. I’ll help you to begin with, but then you’re on your own.’

  As Vanessa outlined Olivia’s tasks for tomorrow, I asked myself if we were helping rehabilitate a murderer.

  I’d memorized the address written in Olivia’s photo album and the name of her lecturer. I rang directory enquires from my car, praying it wasn’t an unlisted number. We were in luck. I rang the number. A young sounding female answered the phone. Lloyd was out and so was his wife, but she’d leave a message for him. I gave my home number. An hour later he phoned. I briefly told him why I wanted to see him and his wife, and we arranged for Vanessa and I to visit them the next day after six in the evening.

  The front of the house in Exeter looked much the same as it had in Olivia’s photo. Not only did Lloyd and his wife remember Phoebe, Margaret and Olivia very well, we discovered that Stuart had also been their lodger and that’s how he and Phoebe had met. I’d assumed that Phoebe had married Margaret’s brother, but it was Margaret who had married Phoebe’s brother. After I’d discovered she was one of eight children I should have checked to make sure. It probably wasn’t important, but one of my rules was never to assume anything.

  Lloyd had given a speech at their weddings, they kept in touch by e-mail and saw each other a couple of times a year.

  ‘That class was the most memorable I’ve ever taught,’ said Lloyd. ‘Nineteen eighty-eight. It was completely divided down the middle into positive and negative – to use the politically correct terms. Those days I called it good and bad. Phoebe was a beacon of the positive. She was not the brightest in the class, Olivia was, but she was intelligent and hard working. She started a homework club, she worked in a hotel restaurant to supplement her grant, she drank little and didn’t smoke. She made good use of her time, spent her money wisely and didn’t get into debt.

  ‘Margaret was the same. She worked nights in a supermarket stacking shelves. Both good solid workers. They had to study hard to pass their exams, unlike Olivia who was brilliant.’

  He saw my look of surprise and asked, ‘Will you let me guess what she’s doing now?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Unemployed? Unmarried? Hoards of children?’

  ‘Only one child,’ said Vanessa. ‘He left home as soon as he left school. She never sees him. Says she’s a fantasist.’

  ‘Do you think she is?’

  I didn’t say we were wondering if she was a killer.

  Vanessa gave a wry smile. ‘Well, she says that she’d be the daughter-in-law of a duke if fate hadn’t taken away the man she loved.’

  ‘Fate.’ He snorted. ‘Charles. He wa
sn’t the son of a duke.’

  ‘I thought it was a fantasy,’ said Vanessa.

  ‘He was the son of a lord.’

  ‘Oh. Actually, now I remember she did say lord. I didn’t believe her.’

  ‘He was the negative force. Sixth son. His parents last desperate attempt to have a daughter. Ignored through his childhood, sent to boarding school where he was expelled for taking drugs. He was good looking, charismatic and corrupt. He abhorred Phoebe and her group – they despised him. Olivia fell in love with him a few months into the year. She went to his parties and got drunk and stoned. Her work suffered. Instead of coming top of the class at the end of her first year she just scraped through. In their second year Charles took some bad heroin and died. It was Olivia who found him. She sobered up and tried to be more sensible, but then discovered she was pregnant.

  ‘By that time she looked rough. She wore odd clothes and I’m sad to say she could have been easily mistaken for a prostitute. She’d dyed her hair blonde and the dark roots were showing, which added to the effect. She went to the lord and lady who said that by the look of her the baby could have been anyone’s. They accused her of leading their son astray and they wanted nothing to do with her or the baby.

  Phoebe and Margaret attempted to put things right by going to visit them. They were adamant, but they treated Phoebe and Margaret with more respect than they treated Olivia, who didn’t even get inside the house. They were taken into a room and allowed to sit down and were able to plead Olivia’s case.’

  ‘She said you told her to leave here.’

  He grimaced. ‘We did. She’d been given plenty of warnings that if she didn’t stop making a noise when she came home late – ’

  ‘What sort of noise?’

  ‘She’d either forget her key or loose it, and ring the doorbell. If she did remember her key she’d bang the door and come up the stairs singing at the top of her voice or shrieking with laughter. The night we said she had to leave, she was very drunk, staggered into Phoebe’s room and vomited all over her. Poor girl was fast asleep, she woke up and screamed. It took us an hour to get things cleaned up. We couldn’t take anymore, so we gave her a weeks notice. She left the next morning and moved in with Charles. From then on she went completely bad.

  ‘It was difficult for me. Her father and I were friends. Eventually I knew I had to do something so I told her that if she didn’t start coming to lectures I’d have to tell her father. I also said that she had to join the homework club Phoebe and Margaret had started. She gave me cheek and said was I sure I wanted her in my house again. I told her I was doing it for her father. This was before Charles died.

  ‘She caused disruption in the homework club, but her work did improve. She started handing things in on time, but her earlier brilliance had evaporated. The first essay she ever handed in was so exceptional I read it out to the class. It was the best essay I’d ever read. It was better than anything I could have written. What happened to her was a tragedy, but it was mostly of her own making.’

  His wife took up the story. ‘It started off so well. Three attractive and jolly girls who were close friends. Olivia and Phoebe worked at the same hotel. One night, not long after she started going around with Charles, a customer clicked his fingers at Olivia and she swore at him. He complained. She was sacked on the spot. Phoebe took over his table and he gave her a fifty pound tip. When she told Olivia, Olivia sneered and said she had no pride if she grovelled to such a rude man. Phoebe argued that she would never have to see him again and that fifty pounds would come in very useful. I think she spent some of it on new clothes. She bought us wine and smoked salmon and she treated Margaret and Stuart to a trip to the cinema.’

  Vanessa arrived for dinner two nights later looking pleased with herself. After giving me a bottle of wine, she bounded into the lounge and produced a book from her bag. ‘Phoebe’s novel. I went to the book signing. Lots of people there – had to wait in a long queue to get it signed.’

  I opened it.

  To Vanessa,

  I’m looking forward to hearing more of your poetry.

  Best wishes,

  Phoebe Harris

  ‘No wonder there was a long queue if she wrote personal messages for people she knew,’ I said. I began to read the first page.

  It was twenty years since we’d seen each other. We’d reconnected through Face Book. I was the one who’d looked for her. It was curiosity really. I wanted to see if she’d fulfilled her dreams. She’d wanted to be an actress. I’d never heard of her, but I never went to the theatre so she might have been on the stage, but just never made it as a movie star. My ambitions had been to get married and have children and be loved and cherished. I’ve never married, never had children and no one loves me. I was one of those people no one would ever miss. When I left a job, no one cried or bothered to buy a card or say goodbye.

  We met in Bushy Park. Even without the YSL logo on her yellow cashmere jumper the signs of success were evident – the well cut hair, beautifully tailored navy trousers, suede brogues and crisp white shirt. I already knew she was married and she wore a big diamond engagement ring. And she smelt of expensive perfume. I swallowed my envy and we talked while we had a picnic. The picnic was my idea because one of those cafes or pubs that she’d be sure to want to go to, would be too expensive for me.

  It was six months later that I discovered she cut her own hair, bought all her clothes from charity shops, went into department stores and used one of their perfume testers at the Dior counter, and she and her husband were in danger of losing their house.

  But by then it was too late to undo the damage.

  ‘Can I borrow it?’

  Vanessa grinned. ‘Searching for clues?’

  ‘Yes. Were George or Olivia there?’

  She shook her head. ‘But yesterday Olivia and I went through all her old clothes. She’s got some really nice things. We washed her jumpers by hand and took her shirts, jeans and skirts to the launderette. She does own an iron – an old one, but it works.

  Vanessa and I were having lunch in The Crown pub near Bodmin on Sunday afternoon. It was one of those places that were becoming increasingly rare, where there was no TV or music. They served wholesome British food and real ale. I was sitting opposite Vanessa with my back to the doorway and bar.

  Suddenly she nudged me with her foot. ‘George has just come in.’

  ‘Is he alone?’

  ‘As far as I can see. He might be joining someone. Shall I see if I can get him to sit with us?’

  Much as I disliked the thought of putting up with his company instead of having a relaxing afternoon, it was too valuable an opportunity to miss.

  ‘He’s coming our way. Looking for a table.’ Vanessa waved. ‘George!’

  He looked at her blankly.

  ‘Remember me? I’m from the writers’ group. Would you like to join us?’

  He put his pint of beer on our table and sat down. His clothes reeked of cigarette smoke. ‘Yes, I remember now. Sorry, I was deep in thought. Let me see if I can remember your name.’ After a few moments he shook his head. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘That’s okay. I’m Vanessa.’

  ‘That’s it. I would have got it eventually.’

  ‘This is my boyfriend Robert.’

  George was pale. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked desperately unhappy, which would make sense if he’d accidentally killed a baby and an innocent man. His teeth were discoloured and his breath was stale.

  ‘Hi, Bruce,’ he said to me. When I looked puzzled he said, ‘Bruce as in Robert the Bruce.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Remembering Ethel’s description I smiled.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you? I can tell.’ He looked at Vanessa. ‘And I’ve got a good name for you. Monster. Vanessa. Nessie. Nessie the Lock Ness Monster.’

  Vanessa put on a good show of allowing him to think he was clever and original.

  ‘Are you feeling better?’ she asked.

  ‘How did you
know I’d been ill?’

  ‘I heard you telling Phoebe.’

  ‘Oh, right. I’d forgotten. Thanks for lending me the money.’

  Vanessa smiled. ‘That’s okay. I hope it was nothing serious.’

  George looked sorry for himself. ‘It could have been. I had a slight heart attack. Lucky I was in a shop when it happened and they called an ambulance.’

  I knew that many people who had suffered heart attacks were left with depression. I wondered if this, rather than guilt and remorse, explained George’s unhappy manner.

  ‘How terrible for you, but I’m glad you’re feeling better,’ said Vanessa. ‘I can’t tell you how excited I am about the writers’ group. I’m so pleased I found it.’

  George grunted. ‘It could be tons better. It’s badly run.’

  ‘Is it? How? I’ve only been once, but it all seemed to go smoothly.’

  He looked bitter. ‘You think so?’

  Vanessa widened her eyes. ‘Yes. What’s wrong with it?’ She began to look worried and doubtful.

  He drank his beer. ‘I shouldn’t say this, with you being new and all.’

  But you will say it, I thought.

  ‘It’s okay, George. I won’t tell anyone. If anything is dreadfully wrong I’ll leave and find another group. I don’t want to get mixed up in anything dubious.’

  ‘It’s Phoebe. She’s the big problem.’

  ‘Phoebe?’

  George nodded. He launched into a tirade similar to the e-mails he’d sent Ethel. I yawned. He didn’t even notice.

  ‘But she seems very popular,’ Vanessa said when George paused.

  ‘Oh yes. We were friends once. I used to like her. I thought she liked me, but she was just using me for ideas. She didn’t want to be the president at first and I helped and supported her, but as soon as she got used to the power she thought she was indispensable. Cunning. That’s what she is. She’s made the group social so members depend on it for friendships. Christmas dinners, summer picnics, parties – ’

  Suddenly I was no longer bored.