Ann Cleeves - Cold Earth

She hadn’t been entirely honest when she’d spoken to Jimmy Perez that morning. It wasn’t that she’d lied. Lies had come easily to her when she’d been drinking. That was something all alcoholics had in common. They lied to their friends and their families and themselves. They lived in a strange fantasy world of obsession and escape. She tried to be honest these days, though sometimes it was hard with Kevin, who needed more reassurance than her sons did.

Of course I love you. I couldn’t live without you. Of course I’m happy with what we have.

Now she wondered if that was the truth. When the hill had slipped, fracturing their land and cutting it in two, it seemed that her image of herself as wife and mother had shattered too. She began to consider a parallel life away from the islands. How would she have ended up if she hadn’t met Kevin, if he hadn’t fallen wildly in love with a lass from Perth with soil under her thumbnail? She’d known from the beginning that there was no question of him staying in the Scottish mainland with her . He might love her, but not enough to give up the family croft. Would she have become an alcoholic if things had been different? She pushed that thought away quickly. There was nobody to blame for her drinking, not even her father, who’d been as much a victim of the illness as she had been. As she frequently told Rachel, alcoholism was a disease and not a lifestyle choice.

But although she hadn’t lied to Jimmy Perez, she hadn’t told him the whole story. That afternoon, when she’d hurried back from the shore in the dark and seen the woman in Tain, her silhouette against the light, there had been somebody else in the house with the stranger. Jane had seen a shadow on the wall behind the woman. Impossible to make out who was there and, besides, it had only been a glimpse. She could have been mistaken. But later, from her own kitchen window, she’d seen a torch light moving up the path between Tain and their house through the sycamores; and soon afterwards Kevin had come in, his hair damp from the drizzle, looking a little confused and strange.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Just to the shed,’ he’d said. ‘To check on the cows.’

But Tain was in quite the other direction from the cowshed, and who else would be walking up the path with a torch in his hand? The boys had been around, but they weren’t given to wandering about outside in the rain.

Now, straightening to fetch water from the butt outside, she couldn’t believe that she hadn’t demanded an explanation. But you’ve just walked up from Tain. I saw your torch. What were you doing with the dark-haired woman? She’d developed the habit of being passive and apologetic, she decided. Once she’d been passionate about all kind of things – not just her work. About books and music. She still talked about those with her friend Simon. Once she’d been passionate about Kevin. Now perhaps she just didn’t care enough to make a fuss.

When she finished planting she left the polycrub reluctantly. She’d arranged to meet Simon for lunch, and went into the house to shower and change. She had books to return to the library, so she went into town early. Standing at the counter in the converted church that was Lerwick library, she was aware that the talk all around her was of the results of the landslide. She learned that the road to the airport had opened, but there was still chaos because only one lane was clear and a big section was controlled by traffic lights. Flights were coming into Sumburgh again. She waved to people she knew, but didn’t stop to chat.

There was a new cafe right on the shore near the supermarket where she’d been tempted to stop for wine the night before. Simon Agnew was already sitting at a table near the window and she felt happier just seeing him; he could always make her laugh, and somehow he understood her in a way that her Shetland pals didn’t. They were unlikely friends. He was old enough to be her father, white-haired, lanky. Jane had worked out, from the things he’d let drop, that he must be in his late sixties at least, but he didn’t seem at all elderly. A life of sport, adventure and exploration had left him with no spare flesh at all. She thought he was all muscle and sinew and movement.

Even now, reading a book at the table, Simon couldn’t keep still. He stretched his legs into the aisle, ready to trip up any unsuspecting waitress. He didn’t wear specs and she wondered occasionally if his eyes were so blue because he wore contacts. He was vain enough. He looked up, saw Jane, waved and jumped to his feet. He had more energy than anyone else she knew. He’d moved to Shetland and into the old manse in Ravenswick when he’d retired from his work at a university in the south. Looking for peace, he’d said, though from the beginning there had been nothing peaceful about him. He was restless, still looking for excitement and new projects.

He’d blown into Ravenswick like a storm and stirred the settlement into action, bringing them together for meals at the manse, a book group, a community choir. He was into wild swimming and had them all out on the beach early one midsummer’s morning skinny-dipping for charity. Even Jimmy Perez’s Fran. They had found out more about him over time. He’d trained as a psychologist and worked in a busy hospital, before becoming an academic. His holidays were spent trekking to little known corners of the world. He still wrote books and his house was full of them. There’d been a wife, but he’d divorced years ago. ‘Can’t blame her, poor woman, I wasn’t at all what she needed.’ No kids, which was a shame because he was great with Andy and Michael. Even Kevin liked him and didn’t see Simon as any sort of threat. Because although Jane enjoyed Simon’s company immensely, she didn’t fancy him in the slightest and Kevin knew her well enough to see that.

Now Jane waved back and approached him, her face thrust forward and tilted up for the mandatory kiss on the cheek.

When did we all start kissing each other? She tried to remember when this form of greeting had become common. When she’d been young she’d only kissed her grandparents and her father, and him only when he’d been drunk and maudlin and had demanded a show of affection.

‘How’s it going?’ she asked. They had both sat down and were studying the menu. Jane suddenly felt very hungry. ‘The landslide must be a bit of a nightmare, with the manse so close to the slip. Were you OK the day it happened?’

‘I was at Magnus Tait’s funeral.’

‘Of course, Kevin said you were there when the landslide happened. Poor Magnus.’ Jane had never got to know Magnus, who’d always seemed strange and a little scary, but Simon had been a regular visitor and had been the person to call the ambulance the day Magnus had a stroke.

‘I think he would have rather enjoyed it,’ Simon said. ‘He had an odd sense of humour. The sight of us scrambling out of the way of the mud, falling over, would have appealed to him. He was never one to stand on his dignity.’ There was a moment of silence. ‘I need to ask your advice.’

Jane looked up, shocked. Simon sometimes gave advice, even if it hadn’t been asked for. He’d been trained for it, after all. She couldn’t remember him asking for it, though. ‘I’m not sure if I’ll be able to help. What is it?’

‘Did you hear that a woman was killed in the landslide?’

‘Of course,’ Jane said. ‘She was a kind of neighbour, I suppose.’

‘Did you know her?’ He looked at her sideways, waiting for an answer.

‘Not at all. I don’t think she can have been staying in the house for very long.’

‘I met her once,’ Simon said.

‘Where? Have you told the police?’ Jane thought that the dark woman from Tain was taking over her life. She felt almost as if she were being stalked. How ridiculous was that? It was impossible to be stalked by a dead woman.