Ann Cleeves - The Healers

“A mother substitute,” Sean said derisively, usually when he was jealous about the time Lily spent in Magda’s company. And Lily supposed that was true. Certainly she would have preferred Magda as a mother than Bridget the politician. She almost said as much at one of the groups, but Magda had pushed the idea aside.

“You can’t blame your parents for your unhappiness,” she had said. “You’ve left them behind. You must take responsibility for your own life now.”

But it seemed to Lily that it was harder to leave her parents behind than Magda supposed. Even last Sunday, at the Voice Dialogue workshop, when she’d been working with Val, a particular incident from her childhood had intruded. She’d had to live it again. She still remembered it quite vividly.

Her mother had been a workaholic, driven by political ambition and seldom there. Her father was an actor of sorts, but by the time Lily was a teenager hardly ever seemed to be in work. He drank like a fish and found his companionship in pubs and bars. Quite often he picked up friends there and brought them home to carry on drinking.

That was what had happened on the evening Lily remembered. She had got out of bed to go to the bathroom and almost fallen over a strange man who had collapsed at the top of the stairs. He had caught her around the waist and said in a thick Bristol accent:

“My, you’re a beauty, a real bobby dazzler,” and pulled her towards him to kiss her. She could still remember the smell of the whisky on his breath. She had screamed and screamed until he’d let her go and all the other men rushed out to see what was happening. Her father, shocked into sobriety by the noise, had been in turns defensive and apologetic. Why had she made so much fuss? he said. Then, pleading: there was no need, was there, to tell her mother.

Lily never discussed the incident with her mother, partly out of loyalty to her father and a kind of embarrassment, partly because she had so many late-night sittings that she was never there. But Bridget had found out somehow and Lily was never left alone in the house with her father after that. Strange girls were employed to ‘keep her company’ or she was sent to friends’ homes to sleep. She thought it was probably a relief all round when she packed her rucksack and left them to it.

“You’re very quiet tonight,” Magda said. She was setting the table, polishing heavy silver with a white napkin.

“I was thinking of Val,” Lily said. “The last time we met.”

“Ah yes,” Magda said. “Poor Val.”

“Did you talk to her on Sunday?”

“Only briefly.”

After a week of sunshine it had begun to rain very heavily and there was thunder. Magda’s flat had sloping roofs and windows you needed to open with a pole and the water seemed to be all round them. It was only eight in the evening but already quite dark. The room was lit with scented candles. “To help me relax,” Magda said. “What a week I’ve had.”

It seemed to Lily that Magda had made too much of an effort. Usually she was so calm and un flustered Tonight she fussed over everything; the food, the table, where Lily should sit. It made Lily uneasy.

Nothing important was said until they sat down to eat. Even then the conversation was careful, like one of those elaborate peasant dances where you go round and round in a circle. Magda started it off. She spooned food on to Lily’s plate and said: “The police are coming to see me tomorrow. They wanted to talk to me today but I said no.”

“You could have seen them this evening,” Lily said. “To get it over with. I wouldn’t have minded.”

But she would have minded really. She was glad to be here in Magda’s warm and comfortable flat. She felt she couldn’t have faced another evening of Sean mooching around the caravan. Especially in the rain. It made a terrible din, like stones rattling around in a tin bucket. It really got on her nerves.

“No,” Magda said. “I need time. To decide what I’m going to tell them.”

“What do you mean?” Lily said, startled. “What do you know about the murders?”

“Nothing. Of course. Nothing.”

“Well then?”

“I wondered if I should tell them about Juniper. Val was there, after all.”

Then Lily realized that was why she was here. Magda wanted to ask her advice. Magda, usually so confident and competent, who told them all what to do, had turned to her.

“I don’t see that it’s relevant,” Lily said. “Faye died of natural causes, didn’t she?”

Magda did not reply.

“Well? Didn’t she?”

“I’m not sure,” Magda said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“I found her diary,” Magda continued. “She was very unhappy. It could have been suicide.”

“But not murder!”

“No,” Magda said sharply. “Of course not. But now… Mr. Bowles could just have been a coincidence. But Val…”

“Have you talked to Win about this?”

Magda shook her head. “She’s unhappy enough, don’t you think?”

“Daniel?”

Magda’s voice hardened. “No,” she said. “I’ve discussed nothing with Daniel.”

They sat, looking at each other. A flash of lightning close to the roof made Magda jump so she knocked over her glass.

“Well,” she said. “Lily, my dear. What would you advise?”

Don’t ask me, Lily thought. I can’t even take decisions for myself. She forced herself to be rational, practical.

“Don’t say anything,” she said. “Not yet. Most murders are cleared up very quickly, aren’t they? The police might already know who they’re looking for. If you tell them your suspicions about Juniper they’ll have to re-open the case of Faye’s death, won’t they? And even if they decide that she died of natural causes there’ll be lots of bad publicity. Just at a time when you want people to accept the idea of an Alternative Therapy Centre at Laverock Farm.”

“That’s another thing,” Magda said. “I’m not sure we should take on Laverock Farm. It’s not right to profit from murder.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Lily said. She had her own ideas about Laverock Farm and her place in it. Usually she would not have dared to speak to Magda like that but today she seemed so vulnerable and uncertain. “Nobody would accuse you of murdering Ernie Bowles to get your hands on the farm. You’re healers.”

“I’m not sure what to think. Besides, I don’t like the idea of accepting a gift from Mr. Bowles, even indirectly. He was such a dirty old man.”

He was that all right, Lily thought, remembering the face pressed up against the window-pane, only partly hidden by grey net curtains. But I suppose that’s no reason for being glad that he’s dead.

“You wouldn’t really turn down the chance of Laverock Farm, would you?” she said. “It’s such a brilliant opportunity. Think what you could achieve.”

“Tell me, dear,” Magda said. “Why are you so interested?” And Lily realized that even now, when she was so stressed up, Magda was the most perceptive person she had ever met.

There was no point pretending. She shrugged. “I suppose I hoped there’d be a place for me there. You’d need someone living in to keep an eye on everything.”

It needn’t be much, she thought. A flat like this and I’d be as happy as a pig in muck.

Magda smiled suddenly. “Why not?” she said. “If we do decide to go ahead, why not? I see you as a sort of lady of the manor. You would be magnificent.”

Lily thought she was being teased but Magda seemed quite serious.

“But what about Sean?” Magda continued. “Do you see him having a place at the new Laverock Farm?”

The question made Lily suddenly feel very tired. Thoughts of Sean always made her feel like that. She had a picture of him in the caravan, restless, waiting for her to come home. He seemed to have stopped his wandering lately. She did not know which was worse never knowing where he was or having him cooped up with her in the caravan.