Tideline (30 page)

‘Didn’t what?’

‘Didn’t come for the music. I didn’t see him. They asked me that too. But I told them no. I saw no one.’

I stare at them. They both look fraught. Pale and petrified. And now I’ve answered their question, despondent.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘That I can’t help.’

I can see Helen’s not been sleeping either. She looks dreadful.

‘How are things with Mick?’ I ask at last.

‘Yes, there have been some . . .’ she lowers her voice, ‘developments. You know, all that stuff I told you about. The stomach patting and all that. The udon noodles.’

At this, Alicia sticks her fingers down her throat the way Helen told me she’d done and makes a puking sound. I look at her coldly and turn back to Helen. Alicia shrugs and stands up.

‘I was about to go anyway,’ she says. She picks up her shoulder bag and drags it across the floor, turns briefly and raises a hand in farewell to Helen. Then she goes out of the pub,
not bothering to thank me for the drink, nor to say goodbye.

I sigh. Turn to Helen. ‘The last time I heard from you, it all sounded rather . . .’

‘It’s all awful,’ she says, now Alicia’s gone. ‘I’ve had to take time off work it’s so bad. The doctor’s signed me off for two weeks with stress.
The family liaison guy suggested I ask for it.’

‘Family liaison guy?’

‘Oh. They sent a family liaison person over to stay with us while all this is going on. He watches the dynamics. I told him a bit about it, I don’t think he would have realized
otherwise. I had to talk to someone. He says it’s common for people like Mick to react like this by wanting to become ‘rescuers’ of the victim’s nearest and dearest.
He’s advised me to let him be. But it’s still pretty ghastly, Sonia. Watching Mick in some kind of thrall to my sister.’

‘Have you talked to her?’

‘I’ve tried. But she’s still got it in for me for not looking after her son properly.’

‘It does seem tough on you,’ I say. ‘But this liaison guy sounds pretty astute. Hang on in there while you can.’

‘Sonia, you could really help,’ Helen says. ‘I know you don’t want to cover for me, and I understand that. But you could make a few enquiries. Find out if anyone saw Jez
that afternoon? Take regular walks along the tideline, and look for clues. I didn’t want to say in front of Alicia, but I’m worried that’s it’s worse than I thought, that
something unthinkably nasty’s happened to him.’

‘Aren’t the police going to do another search themselves?’ I ask.

‘Oh yes. They talk about it. They want to question everyone all over again. But there are certain areas in which they prefer to remain a bit mysterious it seems,’ Helen says, looking
at me oddly. ‘Sorry, does this trouble you Sonia?’

‘Trouble me? Why would it trouble me?’

‘You look alarmed. No one likes to be questioned by the police. Believe me, I’ve been through enough of that myself over the last couple of weeks. There’s always that niggling
worry in your mind that they won’t believe you’re innocent. I still have it. ’

‘Oh, that’s not a concern,’ I say. ‘Mind you, think of all the miscarriages of justice the police have been responsible for over the years.’

‘Quite,’ says Helen. ‘Tell me about it. For a while I thought they’d just arrest me whatever I said. I had visions of being convicted for Jez’s murder and spending
the rest of my days in prison. But this lot do seem pretty sharp. I have to hand it to them. They’ve changed my opinion of the police, in fact. Don’t know if they get some kind of
psychological training these days.’

I stand up.

‘And you haven’t told them where you were on Friday morning?’

‘Sonia. I can’t.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ I say. ‘I must go.’

‘You won’t stay for another?’ Helen asks as I move towards the door. I shake my head and leave her making for the bar to order another large glass of wine.

Sonia

At home I clear up the kitchen as quickly as I can and go straight up to see Jez. I feel the heat radiate against my face as I lean over him. He whimpers but doesn’t
wake. There’s a smell coming off him of illness, pungent, yeasty. I go down, get him some paracetamol. Shake him awake, make him swallow two tablets with some water. He slumps back, falls
asleep again. There’s just room on the mattress for me. I lie with him for an hour, maybe two.

‘What are we going to do, Jez?’ I whisper.

I’m afraid he’s lost more weight. His hip bone under my hand feels sharp. It’s lost its soft contours. His face, too, is more defined than before, the shadows under his
cheekbones darkly angular in the dim light.

There’s the intermittent
shoosh
of waves on the shore each time a launch passes out on the river. The occasional flare of light on the wall. As I shift from my side onto my back,
releasing the lock of his hair I’ve taken into my mouth, I notice that the doorbell on the river side is going. I go rigid, my knee between his legs. It rings again, and doesn’t stop.
If it continues, Jez will wake up, find me here. He might shout out, which, in the silence of the night, may be audible from below. I haul myself from the warm fug of the duvet, pick up my boots
and tiptoe across the room. I lock the door, hurry downstairs and across the hall. Someone taps sharply on the window in the living room. A voice calls, ‘Sonia, Sonia,
please
open up!
I’ve nowhere else to go!’

Across the courtyard to the door in the wall. The sulphuric scent of mud off the riverbed is overpowering. The tide must be out. There’s a brisk wind that stirs an eddy of rubbish on the
path. I shiver.

‘Helen! What is it? Keep your voice down, will you!’ I hold the door close to me. She’s distraught. Her face in the orange glow of the lamplight is crumpled. She must have
continued to drink after I left her.

‘I walked in on them!’

‘What?’

‘Let me in, will you?’

Instinct tells me it’ll be easier to comply than refuse, given the state she’s in. I let her follow me across the courtyard and into the kitchen. I sit her on the bench, and pour her
a glass of wine.

‘We must keep our voices down, Helen,’ I say. ‘Neighbours, and so on.’

She doesn’t query this, just rests her forehead in one hand, groans and starts to talk, quietly at first.

‘I had a good think in the pub after you left. Decided I had to talk to my sister. Mick’s never going to discuss it.’

She knocks back half the red wine I’ve poured her.

‘It’s about ten thirty by the time I get home. All quiet. I go up to see if Maria’s gone to bed. Push open the door – and they’re in there together. On the bed.
Her
son’s missing
. And she’s with my husband on Jez’s bed. Give me another drink, Sonia. God, I need it.’

‘What about the family liaison person?’

‘Eh?’ she looks up, dragging a fist angrily across her cheek, boxing away tears.

‘You said he was helpful. He told you Mick’s behaviour was typical under the circumstances. To let it float over you.’

‘Ah ha. Yes. Where was he when I needed him? He’d gone to sleep at the Clarendon Hotel. So, and I only said it because I was a bit pissed, you know how you say things you don’t
mean. I said, “That’s it. I’m off.” And Mick says, and he’s half-dressed, Sonia, sitting there on Jez’s bed in the Calvin Klein tartan boxers I bought him last
Christmas, his arm round my sister, he says, “Fine by me because I’m sick of your drinking.” I mean, I wouldn’t
be
drinking if it wasn’t for the way he’s been
lately. But he says, “Half the time you wouldn’t notice if the boys went out and never came back. It’s no bloody wonder Jez has disappeared from under your nose.” How dare
he say that? He was raving. It was horrible, Sonia. Complete character assassination.’

‘Helen, shhh,’ I say. ‘You’re upset. But you mustn’t get hysterical.’

Jez might hear, he might call out. I feel ill, as if I might be sick, and I remember that I hardly slept last night, that my nerves are ragged.

‘I feel like it,’ she wails. ‘I feel like howling! What am I going to do? Where am I going to go? He’s being so, so . . .’

‘Here.’ I pour her some more wine, to quieten her.

‘Feeble. How can he be so weak Sonia? He won’t stand up for me. I’m his wife, for Christ’s sake! He thinks that because the police have been questioning me, I might
actually be guilty. That Maria’s the only one who deserves any sympathy.’ She scrapes her fingers down her blotchy cheeks. ‘Or has he always had a thing for her? They say only bad
relationships crack under strain. So maybe this was coming anyway and I was too stupid to notice!’

She slumps against the back of the bench. The wine’s gone in a couple of large swigs.

‘I’ve got nothing left. My kids are dropouts, my husband’s unfaithful, my nephew’s gone missing and might be dead. They all think it’s my fault!’

‘They don’t, Helen. They can’t. Not Mick. Not your sister.’

‘They do. I can see it in their eyes. I can’t tell them where I was that morning, Sonia, it’s too humiliating. But it has nothing to do with Jez. You believe me, don’t
you? I know it must seem crazy. Better that they think I’ve been drinking than that I’ve something worse to hide. Maybe I’ll come clean. What do you think? Have I been too
proud?’

She stops and shifts back in her chair, her eyes fixed on something under the table. She stoops down, then points. I follow her gaze. Jez’s Tim Buckley badge, the one with the image from
his album cover, ‘Works in Progress’, that matches the T-shirt Alicia was wearing today, lies face up on the floor. It must’ve fallen off his hoodie when I rolled up his sleeves
earlier this afternoon. Helen’s mouth drops open. She looks at me. I stare back at her, rigid, unable to speak or move.

‘What the . . .’ she says, looking at me, then back at the badge. ‘The motif, it’s the same one Alicia was wearing on her T-shirt. The one she got with Jez from that
internet site.’

My mouth’s dry, my face set. Jesus, don’t let her click.

‘I should know, I was there, they did it on my computer. The other day. Where did it come from? We must tell the police. It’s Jez’s. I’m sure it’s Jez’s. What
on earth is it doing here?’

I swallow. Suck my cheeks, try to get some saliva working in my mouth.

‘Kit. Picked it up on the river path.’

I get up and move across to the wine rack with Helen’s empty glass. I take down another bottle, lean against the sink for a moment and close my eyes. Count, I tell myself. Breathe. I keep
my back to her. My hands have lost all feeling. At last I manage to get a grip on the corkscrew. Why didn’t I pick a screw-top bottle? I manage to extract the cork and slosh the wine into her
glass. Hope she won’t notice the slug of whisky I add. Or the Rohypnol.

I steady myself before turning back to her. I sit down, hand her the wine, and brush a stray hair from my cheek.

‘You didn’t tell the police?’ she says.

‘It didn’t occur to us to. Why would we?’

‘It’s got that Tim Buckley thing on it.’

‘Tim Buckley?’ I say. ‘I had no idea.’

She leans forward, is about to pick it up and stops.

‘Sonia, we must put it in a plastic bag for the forensics. It’s crucial evidence! Don’t touch it.’

‘As I say, Kit picked it up, said she wondered if Harry wanted it, he didn’t – hadn’t heard of . . . what’s his name?’

‘It’s all extremely odd,’ she says. She looks up at me as I hand her the glass. Is she fitting a jigsaw together in her head, even through the mists of the alcohol?

‘It’s not odd, Helen,’ I say, my voice sharp. ‘We had no idea it might be Jez’s.’

‘But think! A roach on the river path, the one Alicia found. Now this! Where did Kit find it? The police must be told. Hey Sonia, I’m a sleuth! I’m gonna solve this mystery.
I’m going to find my nephew. I have a feeling I’m close to solving this. Lemme think. I know. He was going to call in here for some Tim Buckley music, wasn’t he? Did he come here?
Sonia!’

‘No he didn’t,’
I hiss.

‘No need to get upset!’ She’s gazing at me over her glass as she drinks. ‘Why didn’t you make the connection, Sonia? Kit finds a Tim Buckley badge, Jez was supposed
to come here for a Buckley album. You’re my friend. If you know anything, anything about Jez, I’m here for you. But you have to tell me. Do you? Do you know anything? Did you see him
that day? Did Kit?’

‘No.’

‘We have to phone the police.’ Her words have begun to slur. She stands up and wobbles a little. ‘Where’s my bag? I’ll use my mobile.’

‘Helen, it’s after midnight,’ I say as gently as I can manage. ‘The police won’t thank us for ringing them at this time about a badge! If you’re sure
it’s Jez’s we’ll tell them tomorrow.’

‘If he came along the river path, if he came here, they need to know.’

I notice with relief that her voice is losing strength, she’s articulating each word as if it’s a huge effort.

‘You’re distressed,’ I say. ‘We need to deal with you. Does Mick know where you are? Do the boys?’ My thoughts soar, buoyed by urgency. ‘The boys’ll be
beside themselves after everything that’s happened lately. Did you tell them you were leaving?’

‘Fuck. I feel completely plastered. I need to lie down. The phone. Oh my God. When I rang here earlier this afternoon, I imagined I heard Jez’s voice. But . . . no, that’s mad.
Isn’t it?’

‘Completely.’

She stares at me, her eyes bloodshot, her face reddened by drink. I can see doubt in her eyes. She’s begun to click, despite the alcohol and, now, the drug. I stare back at her. Why has
she put me in this position? She’s already standing up, edging along the bench, aiming for the living room. She won’t let the police idea drop.

‘Gimme the phone,’ she says, flopping onto the sofa. She’s struggling to keep her eyes open. ‘The police . . .’

‘Stop worrying.’

‘It’s urgent,’ she says. ‘It can’t wait.’

Her eyelids are drooping. In a few moments more she’s asleep. I stand and stare down at her. The world is collapsing about me. When she wakes up the first thing she’ll demand to do
is phone the police about that bloody badge and the voice she thinks she heard on the phone. Helen’s forced me into this position and I have no choice. I pick up the feather cushion on the
sofa next to me. I place it gently over her face. Then I press. She starts to wriggle. When she phones, they’ll want to have another look in the music room and I can’t move Jez again.
He’s too ill.