Хилари Боннер - The Cruellest Game

Immediately I forgot all about Robert and Gladys. After all, this was a small village and there could have been many innocent occasions when Robert might have encountered the vicar’s wife, even though he had always been reluctant to leave the house any more than he had to.

I stared hard at the pretty blonde standing before me. Could this be Sue S., the girl Robert had written about in his diary? The one he had wanted to take to his friend’s birthday party. The one he’d described as ‘well fit’. I felt sure it must be her. But I didn’t want to admit that I’d been reading Robbie’s diary. Not even after his death.

So I merely said, ‘Hello,’ and ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘Yes, thank you for coming,’ repeated Robert without a lot of interest. But then, he had not read Robbie’s diary.

‘I’m so sorry...’ she told me, half turning away. Then she turned back, a determined look on her face, as if she had made a decision.

‘I just wanted to tell you, I don’t think you know, I was Robbie’s girlfriend,’ she blurted out.

‘I didn’t know,’ I said.

She blushed.

‘He was going to tell you,’ she said quickly. ‘We’d only been going out for a few weeks. He said he was going to tell you and he wanted me to meet you. And his dad...’

‘Girlfriend, but he was only fifteen...’ began Robert.

‘Well, I never,’ said Dad.

‘Don’t,’ I said, sensing that Sue Shaw was already uneasy.

I touched her arm. I could find no words. So this had been Robbie’s girlfriend. I wondered what the term meant for them. Had they been lovers? She looked so young and fresh-faced. I found myself rather hoping that they had been lovers. That my son had at least known the joy of sex with someone he cared for before he had died, even though he had been so very young.

Sue Shaw began speaking again, oblivious it seemed to Robert’s and Dad’s interruptions.

‘He was always talking about you, you know,’ she continued. ‘Some of the boys don’t even mention their parents. They think it’s soft. But Robbie did. He was so happy, you see, at home and everything...’

She stopped as if realizing what she was saying.

‘So you thought he was happy too?’ I asked.

‘Of course he was happy,’ said Robert.

I ignored him. So did Sue Shaw. She nodded.

‘But do you know anything, anything at all, that might have made him do...’ I paused. ‘Do what he did?’

She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Of course not.’

‘Of course not,’ I repeated.

Her colour deepened, and she began to back off again.

‘It’s my dad, I have to go, he doesn’t know I’m here... he didn’t approve, you know, of Robbie and me...’

I put a restraining hand on her arm.

‘You mean he knew about you two?’

Her face was quite red by then.

‘Yes, well no, not until... until just before Robbie died. I have to go. He’ll kill me.’

She seemed to realize she’d made an inappropriate remark. ‘I mean... I mean, he wouldn’t approve,’ she tailed off lamely.

I tried to reassure her with an attempt at a smile. Then I asked if she’d be kind enough to give me her phone number.

‘I would just like to talk about Robbie sometime,’ I said. ‘That’s all.’

She nodded and rattled off the number, but I could tell that my request had made her even more uncomfortable. She scurried off in the direction of the exit. I found a pen and an old petrol receipt in the front pocket of my handbag and scribbled the number down, hoping my short-term memory remained as good as it always had been.

Most of the rest of the time at the Lamb and Flag was a blur pretty much like the funeral itself. I stood up to thank Gerald Ponsonby Smythe and managed to knock red wine over Robert’s pristine shirt. I’d cried all over it and then thrown wine at it. It was as if I were determined to destroy it.

He said not to worry, he’d give it a scrub down in the Gents, and left my side for the first time since we’d arrived at the pub.

Dad had gone off wandering around the bar looking at the old Dartmoor prints which hung from almost every wall. Just for something to do, I imagined. Gladys was still with me. And, even though I’d told myself it was of absolutely no consequence, I continued to wonder how she and Robert had met. So I asked her. As casually as I could manage.

‘I’m afraid I know he’s never been to church, that’s for sure,’ I said, with another attempt at what passed for a smile.

‘Oh no, not this church anyway. It wasn’t here, not in Blackstone,’ she replied. ‘Curiously enough, I’ve never seen your husband in the village, and I do get about a bit, as you’re probably aware.’

Not as curious as you might imagine , I thought.

‘So?’ I prompted.

‘Oh, it was some years ago when Gerry and I had an Exeter parish. He used to sing in the choir.’

I felt as if an ice-cold hand had been placed on the back of my neck, the touch of freezing fingers seemed to be running down my spine.

Robert did have a fine baritone singing voice. The woman must be mistaken, though. Surely. I tried to make myself believe that. And to make her believe it too.

‘He used to sing in a church choir?’ I queried. ‘But he hates religion. Right through our married life he’s never gone near a church even for a wedding or something if he could help it. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, and you’ve been so helpful. But that’s the truth.’

She looked doubtful.

‘Well, I’m pretty sure it was him, although, of course, I didn’t really know him. You see, it was...’ She stopped abruptly as if about to say something she’d thought better of. ‘No, well, I’m sure you’re right.’

‘He’d lived in Scotland right up until just before we met,’ I said.

‘I see.’ Gladys definitely looked puzzled now. ‘I’ve usually got a good memory for faces, but—’

‘What about names?’ I interrupted, suddenly not quite so sure of myself after all.

‘Names?’ she queried.

‘Yes, what was his name?’

She hesitated for a moment.

‘Well, obviously, if it was your husband, his name was Robert Anderson, I assume.’

‘But do you remember that?’

Now she looked plain bewildered.

‘Well, I’m not sure, I hadn’t thought...’

She paused again. I waited a moment before deciding to take the plunge. ‘Or could it have been Rob Anderton?’

‘Do you know, I think that might have been the name...’ There was yet another pause. ‘No. How silly of me. That makes no sense. It must have been Robert Anderson, if it was him at all. And it was a very long time ago. Perhaps I’ve got the whole thing mixed up. Do you know, I used to trust my own memory with anything, chuck, but nowadays, I don’t know, it’s not what it was, that’s for certain...’

Her voice was just a babble in the background. I felt sick.

I could see Robert walking across the bar towards me. His shirt front pink now rather than red.

I’d almost let him in again. It had been a relief on such a day to lean on him, to feel his love for me without drawing back from it. I think I might have subconsciously more or less decided to let the doubts and uncertainty go. Or at least to live with them. After all, Robert was still the same man. What did a name matter? And he was all I had. Now the doubt and uncertainty had become totally overwhelming again. I feared what Gladys’s innocent remark might really mean.

‘I’ve done my best,’ he remarked ruefully, screwing up his face in mock embarrassment almost like the old Robert. He came very close to me and rested one hand on my shoulder, again almost the old Robert, the old proprietorial Robert.