Хилари Боннер - The Cruellest Game

I decided that the master bedroom, spacious and virtually undamaged, would be the least unpleasant and most comfortable place to be right now, and that I should overcome my aversion to it. I carried my iPad and mobile up there in my school bag, which also contained pens, pencils and paper. Florrie followed very quietly, probably not quite believing her luck at being allowed upstairs, and maybe into bed with me, for the second night running.

The pillows and the duvet in the master bedroom had been slashed and tossed on the floor, their stuffing spilled out everywhere. But the Farleys had removed them and cleaned up the mess. I carried in the bedding from the spare room I’d been using. The duvet wasn’t quite big enough but it would do.

I wondered if it was significant that only the bedding in the room that was obviously mine and Robert’s had been damaged. And I thought it probably was. But I was not going to indulge in any more unconstructive thoughts.

I would have liked some music to help blot out all the bad stuff, and reached instinctively for the digital radio, which usually stood on the wide window ledge. It had obviously been swept to the floor, where it still lay partially concealed by a curtain, its casing cracked in several places. It rattled as I picked it up and stood it upright again. More in hope than expectation I switched it on. The radio stuttered a bit, then, rather to my surprise, came to life. I tuned in to Classic FM.

As the sweet sounds of a Mozart piano concerto filled the room, I sank back on the pillows, Florrie draped over my legs, iPad on my lap, and set to work.

Tom and Eddie arrived promptly at eight in the morning, just as they’d said they would, even though it was Sunday. It was undoubtedly the coldest morning of the season so far. There had been signs of a frost early on, now being washed away by freezing rain.

‘Us ’ave ’ad our Indian summer all right, proper damned winter this be,’ said Tom by way of greeting, rubbing his big hands together.

I was already dressed and ready to leave the house. I’d checked out Robert, both as Anderson and Anderton, on the Net the previous evening, but not really got anywhere. However, I had made some progress in other directions, and I did have a plan for my day.

My school bag was by the front door. In it were my iPad, my phone, Robbie’s retrieved camcorder, my digital radio, all my credit cards and bank information, and a few other treasured items, like the diamond engagement ring which was just about the only thing I’d inherited from my mother.

I was taking no further chances. Even with my flash new burglar alarm system.

I told Tom and Eddie I just couldn’t bear to stay in the house any longer.

‘I need a break,’ I said, pushing my arms into my best Barbour.

‘I’m sure you do,’ agreed Tom sympathetically. ‘Look, if you want somewhere to go and someone to lend an ear, you could do worse than call in on my Ellen. Er’s ever so good at thigee sort of thing...’

I cringed inside at the thought. Tea and sympathy with one of the biggest gossips in the village, albeit that she may well be a kind woman, was the last thing I wanted.

‘I don’t know what I’m going to do or where I’m going to go,’ I told Tom. ‘But I think I need to be on my own for a bit.’

I handed Tom the key to the front door.

‘Shut Florrie in the kitchen and make sure you lock up and set the alarm system when you leave,’ I instructed him, adding my thought of the previous day. ‘Even if it does appear that the horse has already bolted.’

I couldn’t help feeling uneasy, but surely if there was anyone I could still trust, it had to be Tom Farley, I thought, as I jotted down the alarm code for him and showed him how to programme it so that Florrie wouldn’t set it off.

I’d considered taking her with me. But even Florrie seemed like too much trouble.

‘Us will, and don’t you worry about nothing, Mrs Anderson,’ said Tom, letting the sentence tail away a bit as he probably realized what a ridiculous thing it was to say to a woman in my situation.

I got in the car, switched on the engine and took a deep breath.

It was certainly true that I needed to get away from Highrise for a bit. But I was also on a mission. I had 192.commed Sue Shaw’s family and found them quite easily. Because Conor Shaw was one of my pupils, I’d already known they lived in Okehampton, but not their address. Sue’s father had introduced himself as Michael Shaw. And he’d popped up on the Net in Manor Road. Other occupants Susannah J. Shaw, Conor H. Shaw and Susan P. Shaw. Quite obviously the family I wanted.

There was a company director’s report too. It seemed that Michael Shaw was in the business of manufacturing garden sheds and summerhouses.

I’d decided I was going to confront him and his daughter. There was something they weren’t telling me, I was sure of it. And I was determined to give it my best shot to find out.

I drove to Okehampton slowly through horizontal freezing rain. None the less, I arrived in the moorland market town well before nine, and even in my state of manic distress mixed with fervent impatience I realized it would probably be counterproductive to knock on anyone’s front door uninvited at that hour on a Sunday morning.

A rumble in my tummy reminded me that it was probably the best part of twenty-four hours again since I’d eaten anything worth mentioning, so I found a cafe and ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. Once more I was surprised by how good food tasted even though I had so little desire for it. Bacon and eggs anyway.

I dawdled over my breakfast, and by the time my satnav had found 14 Manor Road the rain had stopped and it was just gone ten.

I didn’t allow myself to hesitate. I parked, marched up the short garden path to a neat semi-detached house, and rang the doorbell. Sue Shaw answered the door. She wasn’t yet dressed. She wore a pink dressing gown over matching pyjamas and slippers pretending to be toy rabbits. Her fair hair, hanging lank and unwashed, framed a pasty yet still pretty little face. She looked shocked to see me.

‘Dad’s not here. He and Mum went early to take Gran her shopping. I can’t let you in, he wouldn’t like it...’ she stumbled, spots of colour rising in her cheeks, just as at Robbie’s funeral.

‘Of course you can,’ I said, sweeping past her in what I assumed to be the general direction of the living room. ‘I’m your boyfriend’s mum, after all.’

I was aware of her shutting the front door and following in my footsteps. I hadn’t left her much choice.

A boy’s voice called from upstairs. Almost certainly Conor Shaw.

‘Who’s that, Sue?’

‘Mind your own,’ she responded.

I rounded on her at once, aware that being able to confront her alone, at first anyway, could well work to my advantage. She looked vulnerable. She clearly was vulnerable. And I didn’t care. I was going to take full advantage.

‘You obviously wanted to tell me something more when you came up to me at the funeral,’ I began. ‘What was it?’

She shook her head and mumbled something.

‘Sorry?’ I queried sharply.

She repeated herself just a little more clearly.

‘Nothing.’

‘I don’t believe you, Sue. You really wanted to tell me something, then thought better of it. Tell me now. You know you want to. Is it something you think I should know about? Something about Robbie?’

Sue looked as if she might burst into tears.

‘N-no,’ she stumbled. ‘Well, yes. Sort of.’

‘So tell me. You’ll feel better. You know you will.’

‘I can’t. Dad said I mustn’t. He said I’ll ruin...’

Sue paused. I waited.