Ann Cleeves - Telling Tales

“Mantel was never a real father,” Robert said. “She needed someone to talk to.”

“Like Zoe?” Vera asked. “Did you pick Abigail up from school too? Meet her when she bunked off lessons?”

“I never encouraged that. I tried to persuade her to go back. I acted like her social worker, that’s all.”

“My God,” Emma said. “You had sex with her.”

“No! She wanted to. The opportunity was there. I admit I was tempted, but we never had sex.” He looked at Mary. “You must believe me.”

Vera had a sudden picture of Bill Clinton. I never had sexual relations with that woman. But perhaps Robert was telling more than the literal truth.

“Is that when the blackmail started?” she asked. “When you refused to sleep with her. We know she was a very mixed-up young lady.”

“Yes,” he said. “She threatened to tell the whole village that we’d been lovers. “We could announce it at the youth club. Deceit’s a sin. We should stand on the stage, holding hands, and tell the world.” Then she’d burst out laughing, as if she’d been drinking or she was mad and I never knew whether or not she was serious. I tried to stay away from her, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I thought I was the only one who could save her.”

“Then you killed her,” Emma said in a whisper. “You strangled her, and left her out by the ditch for me to find.” There was a moment of silence, of horror. “Did you kill Christopher, because he’d found out?”

They were all staring at Robert, waiting for an answer. He said nothing and Emma continued talking.

“I think I’ve always known. I think I even knew at the time. Not about Zoe, not the details at least, but even then I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t believe the miraculous conversion. There was one night when I couldn’t sleep, and I came downstairs. You were in the garden talking about it. There was a smell of honeysuckle. You were planning how you could leave York. I must have heard something…

“And Abigail must have wanted me to know. What a game it would have been for her. There was the way she talked about my father, all teasing and secretive. How many hints had she dropped? And I never picked up on them. Or I didn’t want to. She’d have told me eventually, of course. She’d have loved it, made out that it was for my own good, that she felt I had a right to know the sort of man my father was. And I’d already guessed. I just couldn’t admit it to myself. I didn’t want to believe it.”

Vera, watching, heard the self-dramatization, thought she couldn’t wait to get away from them all.

“Did you kill her?” Robert asked.

Emma looked at him as if he was a fool. “Me? Of course not. Do you really think I could do that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Get out,” she said.

Robert stood up and seemed about to say more. She looked away from him.

“I’ll phone James,” he said. “Tell him to come now.” It was as if he hadn’t spoken. He looked around, expecting a response. Even Mary seemed unaware of his presence. He left the room. Ashworth slipped out after him.

Vera cleared her throat. She’d heard enough. It was time for her to take centre stage. It was usually a position she loved, but somehow tonight, she couldn’t get into the mood.

“Robert didn’t kill Abigail,” Vera said. “At first I thought he did, but it wouldn’t have been possible. Not physically. You all described that Sunday to Caroline Fletcher. Her records aren’t brilliant, but she made a note of that. Emma, you and your father were together in here, washing-up.” She paused. “How did Christopher get out of helping?”

“He probably claimed he had homework to do. Some project. He could usually dream up something urgent for school after Sunday lunch. Something to get him out of domestic duties.” Emma watched Vera warily across the table.

Vera stared back. “Christopher would have been upstairs, then?”

“Yes.”

And your mother would have been in the living room, reading the paper. That was the Sunday routine. She cooked the lunch and then she was allowed some peace. Nobody would have disturbed her.”

“She deserved some time to herself. We all appreciated that.”

“Oh, we all deserve some peace.” Even me. Even an old cop, who spends her life meddling in other people’s business. Vera looked at the women, thought suddenly that she’d made a terrible mistake, that she’d got the whole case wrong. Then her confidence returned as suddenly as it had deserted her. This is it, she thought. Let’s get it over. Then I can go home.

“But there was no peace for you that day, was there, Mary? You waited until Robert and Emma were washing-up and then you left the house by the door into the garden. You’d arranged to meet Abigail. How did you manage that, Mary? Did you send her a note, pretending to be Robert?”

“I didn’t think that she’d come,” Mary said.

“What happened to the note? It was never found.”

“She had it with her when we met. She was waving it at me, taunting. I snatched it from her hand.”

“I don’t think for a moment you intended to kill the girl. You thought you could reason with her. You’d explain that Robert was a good man with a lot to lose. You only meant to protect him. You were more like a mother than a wife, weren’t you? It doesn’t seem fair that you had to live like that. Holding the family together, keeping up appearances in the parish. You’d never all have survived another move.”

For the first time that evening Mary was quite still. She could have been carved from wax. She stared ahead of her and she didn’t answer.

“But Abigail was never reasonable. She was disturbed and wilful. She liked to create trouble. She would have been delighted to see you. Someone else to be her audience. Did she gloat about her power over Robert? It would all have been a game to her. Did she laugh?”

“Yes,” Mary said. “She laughed.”

“And she wouldn’t stop?”

At first Vera thought Mary would refuse to answer, that she’d made a terrible mistake, coming here so late, provoking a confrontation. The silence seemed to last for hours. Then Mary spoke, her words as considered as always. She wanted her story told in her own way. “It was so loud. Louder than the rooks and the sound of the wind. Even there, miles from anywhere, I was afraid someone would hear.”

“You wanted her to be quiet.”

“Yes,” Mary said. “I wanted the noise to go away.”

The door opened and Ashworth came quietly into the room. Mary didn’t notice.

“Perhaps we should talk about this later,” Vera said. “Somewhere else. When there’s a lawyer to look after your interests.”

“Let me tell you now.” Her voice was urgent.

“I should warn you that you’ll be charged and that you don’t have to say anything…”

“I know all about that,” Mary interrupted impatiently. “But I want you to know. Before anyone else puts words into my mouth…”

“Let her speak,” Emma said. “I have to know.”

“Go on.”

Abigail was laughing. Suddenly it felt so undignified, standing there, shouting at the girl. I reached out to make her stop, so I wouldn’t have to yell. I caught both ends of her scarf and pulled them. To make her listen at first. Just to make her take me seriously. Then she was quiet and limp and I could hear the rooks again and the wind. I left her and I went home. I took off my wet shoes and my jacket and put them in the cupboard under the stairs. I went into the kitchen. No one had missed me. I didn’t really believe she was dead. I thought I’d given her a fright, she was young and fit, and she’d run back to the Chapel.”