Martin Edwards - The Cipher Garden

‘So this is Paradise?’

‘An outpost of Virgin Rail, actually,’ Daniel said. ‘Don’t worry. The Lake District gets better.’

Louise arched her eyebrows and stepped aside to allow him to pick up her suitcases. The train had disappeared north on its journey over the high moors to Carlisle and Glasgow beyond and a group of Swedes with bulging rucksacks were scanning the horizon in a baffled search for the vanished sun. The line below the platform was awash with puddles after a sudden cloudburst, the sky was as grey as the stone station waiting room. Daniel considered mentioning that Oxenholme station was designed by the man who built the Bank of England, but thought better of it. Louise’s arrival had been delayed by fifty minutes (engineering works), the on-train buffet had been closed (staff shortages) and she’d spent the journey sharing a table with three Macbeth-like witches who discussed their digestions at the top of their voices (deafness coupled with contempt for the fit and youthful). She wasn’t in the mood to be impressed by local trivia. Not that Louise was often in the mood to be impressed.

As he led his sister down the ramp to the tunnel that linked the parking areas on either side of the station, he stole a sideways glance at her. All at once, her resemblance to their late mother was striking and, as much as he’d loved Mum, he was sorry to recognise the similarities. Gone were the flowing dark tresses, replaced by a severe bob in her natural mousy shade. She’d never liked going out without ‘having her face on’ but now the make-up was confined to a touch of colour in otherwise pallid cheeks. If she seemed tinier than before, it wasn’t merely because of the flat shoes. He guessed she might have lost as much as a stone; there were lines around her mouth that he hadn’t seen before. Not even when she’d suffered from anorexia in her late teens, a phase that persisted until an ardent if acned suitor who lived next door helped her recover her self-esteem. He yearned to put his arm around her, but he knew that if he did, chances were that she’d shrug it off with a furious remark.

He’d left his Audi in a marked space on the brow of the hill above Kendal. As they emerged into the light, she halted on the edge of the pavement and took in the prospect of the fells in the distance.

‘This is where he lived with her, isn’t it, Oxenholme?’

He’d meant to avoid mentioning their father. Her resentment of the old man was excessive, but too deeply ingrained to be smoothed away overnight. He should have known better than to believe that they could gloss over the past.

‘Cheryl’s in Grange-over-Sands now. She’s moved in with someone else.’

‘You looked her up?’

Her voice rose; she was too astonished to be angry. For her, Cheryl was the serpent who had tempted their father into destroying his family’s happiness and he’d been too weak to resist. She’d never met Cheryl, but like her mother, she hated the woman with blind ferocity.

‘I was curious.’

Louise was struggling for calm. ‘You were always too curious for your own good.’

He heaved the suitcases into the car and slammed the boot shut. ‘Believe it or not, I felt sorry for her.’

Louise swore. ‘You’re joking!’

‘She’s not ageing well and the man she lives with is an old misery. He’s obviously planning to spend his retirement looking around for errands she can run for him. Waiting for her to mess up so he has something fresh to complain about.’

‘Serves her right, the selfish bitch.’

‘He used to be her boss.’

Louise grunted. ‘That was her modus operandi, wasn’t it? Seducing men she worked for.’

They drove through the town in silence. As they turned on to the road that led to Brackdale, she said, ‘I know I look a fright.’

‘A bit wan, that’s all.’

‘I’ve lost a bit of weight too.’

‘Not a bad thing.’

‘Still not got any manners, then?’ She hesitated before saying, ‘Thanks for letting me stay with you.’

‘I’m glad you came.’

‘Who knows, in a couple of weeks people might start mistaking me for a country maid, with pig-tails and cheeks like apples.’

He laughed. ‘So this is your first time in the Lakes since that holiday?’

He’d wanted to keep their conversation on safe ground, but with Louise you could never be sure what was safe ground. In a moment, the temperature in the car plummeted.

She said in a low voice, ‘Do you ever wonder how he could sleep? How he could live with himself?’

Daniel kept his eyes on the road. ‘He’s dead now.’

After a pause she said, ‘Yes. And I’m sorry about that. And I know how much you cared for him. Like I used to. And I realise I’m a miserable cow, I fully understand. It’s just that…’

To his horror, she started to sob. In all the years since their father’s departure, Daniel could never remember his sister crying. Not even during those frail anorexic days. Louise didn’t yield to emotion, Skiddaw would crumble before she shed a tear. A flame of anger spurted inside him. That smug bastard Rodney, this was his fault.

He pulled off the road and parked on a grassy verge. If ever there was a time to put his arm around her, this was it, but she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pushed him away.

‘I’m all right.’

‘You think so?’

‘Happens every day, doesn’t it? Woman falls for man, man shags woman, woman gets clingy, man meets another woman and runs away. And the whole cycle begins again. I’ll get over it.’

‘So you don’t like men too much at the moment, big sister?’

‘I don’t exactly like myself, come to that.’

A sudden instinct made him want to say, ‘But I like you, Louise.’

Thank God he bit the words back on his tongue. She’d never forgive him for such a horrendous outburst of sentimentality. For patronising her. For taking pity on her.

In the quiet of the car, as she dried her tears, he realised — with a shock, because he’d never turned his mind to it before, except in the shallowest way — that it was true. For all the years of bickering, for all the gulf between them whenever they discussed their father, there was a bond between them. They were all that remained of their family.

So Kirsty Howe was weeping buckets and the same day, her mother had been accused of killing her father. Hannah leaned back in her chair. She’d been in the job long enough to realise that coincidences, like cock-ups, were commoner than conspiracies. Interesting, though.

Nick looked in. ‘See you there in twenty minutes. Mine’s half a Guinness.’

She slipped the anonymous message into a plastic wallet and Charlie’s irritatingly uninformative crime-scene log back in its labelled folder. There were few less exciting virtues in an SIO than tidiness, but Ben Kind had always preached its importance. Mess wasn’t merely a nuisance, according to Ben, it could hamper an investigation if it prevented you seeing the facts with a clear eye. It wasn’t the end of the world if the facts were incomplete — an occupational hazard in an investigation led by Charlie. Spotting gaps might suggest fresh lines of inquiry. Even the lack of evidence is evidence. Like The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time .

She sat up in her chair, realising it wasn’t an original thought. She could hear Daniel Kind quoting those words, in a television programme. A week ago, she’d seen a DVD of his BBC series on special offer and picked up a copy. One evening when Marc was out, she’d watched it for half an hour. The following day, she’d picked up a voicemail message. Daniel, suggesting that they get together again sometime. He wanted her to tell him more about Ben, fill gaps in his knowledge of his father. She hadn’t returned the call, wasn’t sure it would be a good idea.