Ann Cleeves - The Crow Trap

“Have you seen her records?” Anne demanded. She’d had a lot to drink in a short space of time, though she could tell Rachael disapproved.

She needed it.

“Not yet. Not in detail.”

“We’re talking fantasy here. I mean real fairy-tale time. The other day I saw her miles outside the survey area. Miles from the nearest river if it comes to that. Where did you get her from anyway?”

Rachael muttered something about it being Peter’s decision. Anne thought Rachael wasn’t really management material despite the courses and the degrees.

The next day she felt she needed cheering up. The vegetation classification had been going well. The quad rats in the peat bog had proved interesting. There was nothing so special that the development of the quarry would be threatened, but she’d enjoyed the variety of species there. She had a hangover and could afford to take time off.

The last time she’d seen Godfrey, he’d presented her with a mobile phone, so they could keep in touch. She hadn’t told the others and when they were around she kept it switched off. There was no real reason for the secrecy she could have said she’d bought it herself but she knew what would happen. Rachael would consider it communal property and suggest that whoever was going furthest into the hills should borrow it as a safety measure. If Anne objected she’d be made out to be a heartless monster. Well, bugger that, she thought. If Peter Kemp wasn’t such a tight bastard he’d have provided mobiles for them all. Another reason for wanting a room of her own was so that she could charge it up without anyone else seeing.

That morning Rachael drove into Kimmerston for a meeting with Peter and the developers. Grace, more together than she’d been for days, actually had breakfast with them and volunteered the information that she’d be out all day. As soon as they’d left Anne called Godfrey on her mobile.

“Can you come out to play?”

“I don’t know… “

“You weren’t planning to be at the meeting with Kemp Associates, were you?”

“I hadn’t realized there was a meeting. Neville must have fixed it.”

“If Neville’s as good a bloke as you say, get him to drag it out. Keep Rachael out of the way and give us longer.”

“I can’t involve him.” “Why not? If he knows already.” She paused. “Have you got a pen?”

“Of course.”

“Write down this shopping list. You can call at Tesco’s on your way over.”

“You’re expecting me to come over to Black Law?”

“Why not? They’re both out.”

“Well… ” he said. “Someone might see.”

“So what? You’re entitled from time to time to look at the development site.”

“I want to see you.”

“Then come.”

When he arrived he was laden with carrier bags like a suburban husband.

He seemed quite comfortable with the role. She thought he must have been shopping for Barbara. Like a suburban housewife she unpacked the groceries. He held out a polystyrene tray of chicken pieces wrapped in cling film

“Shouldn’t these go in the oven now, if we’re going to eat them at lunchtime?”

“Are you joking? I’ll do them later. I’m not wasting time cooking when I’ve got you to myself.”

It was a grey and misty day and she’d lit a fire. They had a picnic in front of it. She’d ordered salad, bread, a lump of Stilton, olives, chocolate.

“All the things,” she said, “I love most in the world.”

And me?” “You?” she said. “Oh, I don’t think I could fall for anyone who fishes for compliments like that!” But she pushed the tub of olives out of the way and pulled him down beside her instead.

They were at the undignified stage of events. His trousers undone but not fully off, her bra undipped but dangling from one shoulder, when Grace arrived. They heard the kitchen door open then shut and they froze. Godfrey started scrabbling for his clothes then, but it was too late. She came straight in and saw them. She stood in the doorway staring, her eyes blank, not quite focused, as if she were thinking of something else altogether.

She didn’t say anything. Not even “Sorry for disturbing you1 which Anne thought was a bit of a cheek. She just turned round and went out.

Anne was tempted to let her go. What did it matter if she told the world she’d been shagging Godfrey Waugh in Baikie’s cottage? Then she thought it could make things difficult, and not just for Godfrey. Anne fastened her bra and pulled on her top. In the kitchen Grace was standing, writing on a sheet of paper from out of her notebook.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Anne said.

Grace didn’t reply.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“I’d forgotten to leave details of my route and my ETA.”

“Look,” Anne said, ‘ what happened just now.”

“None of my business, is it!” She can’t have recognized him, Anne thought, or she’d have said something.

“None of my business who you mix with.” So then Anne wasn’t quite sure.

“Look,” Anne said again, and even she could hear the desperation in her voice. “He’s married. With a child. No one knows about us. You won’t say anything?”

Grace looked at her. Anne couldn’t work out at all what the other woman was feeling. Contempt perhaps. Pity? Envy?

“No,” Grace said at last, “I’ll not say anything.”

“Thanks.” Anne was surprised at how relieved she suddenly felt. She wanted to make a gesture. “Why don’t I cook a meal later? For the three of us. Something special. It’s about time we made an effort to get on. OK?”

Grace shrugged. “OK.” She walked towards the door, paused, gave the ghost of a smile. “I’ll let you get on then.”

For the attempt at humour, for letting her off the hook, Anne could have hugged her.

But when Anne returned to the living room Godfrey was fully dressed.

His shirt was buttoned to the neck, his tie knotted.

“What are you doing? I’ve got rid of her.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. And she won’t say anything.” She paused. “And I believe her.”

“I should never have come. I told you it was a risk.”

He looked at her pathetically, reminding her of Jeremy, irritating her so much that she said: “Anyway, I thought you wanted to go public.

Isn’t that what you said after the meal on the coast?”

“Not now. Not like this.” He looked around the grubby room, with the remains of the meal scattered across the floor.

“Fine,” she shouted. “That’s fine! Because I’m not into commitment either. Never have been.”

They stared at each other.

“I’m sorry.” She reached out a hand, touched the cotton of his shirtsleeve. “Finish the wine at least. Our first row. We should celebrate.”

“No.” Then more gently, “I’m going to walk up to the lead mine. Then if anyone recognized the car there’s an excuse for me being here.”

“Who would recognize it? You’re being paranoid.”

“I want to go. I want to see the site again.”

“I’ll come with you then.”

“No, really, I prefer to go by myself.”

She wandered around the living room, picking up the scraps of food, piling plates and cutlery, then she went upstairs and washed out a few things in the bathroom sink. It wasn’t much of a drying day but she took them outside and pegged them on the line, thinking that from there she might see him walking back down over the hill to the cottage. She wouldn’t have gone out to look specially. There was no sign of him or of Grace.

Inside again she started to prepare a casserole for the evening meal, using the ingredients Godfrey had brought. She put Annie Lennox in her cassette player and played it very loud, so when he got back he’d know she wasn’t bothered about him one way or the other. She told herself it wouldn’t be long before he did come back, apologetic, flushed, out of breath. She thought he must look really stupid out on the hill in the clothes he’d put on for the office this morning.