Chapter Twenty-eight
From the Thirsk Garden Centre website:
‘Son was wrong,’ said Thelma.
Pat and Liz looked at her. ‘That’s what Annie said. That the truth was important, love doesn’t excuse us and there have to be limits – then she mentioned the memorial service for Davey, quoted from that sonnet Bun Widdup read out, and finally that – those three words … Son was wrong.’
There was a frowning pause as the three considered.
‘What bit of the sonnet did she quote?’ asked Liz eventually.
Thelma got out her green mark book, even though she knew those muttered words by heart. ‘“Golden lads” and “fear no more”,’ she said.
‘It sounds like she was leading up to saying something,’ said Pat. ‘But never got to what it actually was.’
‘What she said – it doesn’t make sense.’ Liz shook her head in frustration.
Thelma sighed. ‘It did to Annie. After she’d spoken … she looked peaceful – as if she’d got something off her chest.’
‘But what though?’ said Liz.
‘Son was wrong,’ mused Pat. ‘Wrong about what?’
‘This is Son, Davey Fletcher’s partner?’ said Liz.
‘Who else could she have been meaning?’ said Pat a trifle impatiently. ‘There’s no one else called Son in the mix and no one else had children – any sons – not Neville, or Caro or Davey Fletcher or even Annie—’
‘Chloe has children,’ said Liz. ‘A child rather.’
‘A daughter,’ said Thelma. ‘Not a son.’
There was a pause. Pat sighed, shook back her hair.
It felt like straw in this hot weather. How she longed for cooler days, so she could return to her baggy tops.
She was sick of sundresses and T-shirts were only really good for the Tiffanys of the world.
She stopped, with a jolt of feeling. Soon Tiffany would be needing to wear tops as baggy and loose as her own.
‘So, what did he say?’ Liz’s voice cut into Pat’s reverie, bringing her back into the here and now. ‘You saw him.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Pat. ‘I was miles away. What did who say?’
‘Son Masters,’ said Liz. ‘When you saw him. Did he say anything he might have been wrong about?’
Pat frowned, recalling that amiable, sad figure in Jemima’s Pantry.
‘He said he was at the memorial service,’ she said counting the memories off on her fingers.
‘He said he was away on a book event when Davey set out on his drive in the blizzard. And he said how Davey was in a bad place about the report coming out.’ She frowned again, looking into space.
‘My main memory,’ she said. ‘My overriding impression is that he didn’t seem to bear Neville Hilton any particular ill will.
Which felt a bit strange, seeing how it was Neville’s Ofsted report that caused Davey to drive off that day. ’
‘Of course, Son could have been pretending,’ observed Thelma.
‘He could well have been pretending,’ said Liz, more forcefully. ‘Remember he has a criminal record for GBH.’
‘I know that’ said Pat. ‘I just don’t think he was lying to me. He was one of those people who wears his heart on his sleeve.’
‘But if he was hiding his anger,’ said Liz, a skip of excitement in her voice. ‘That’s what Annie could have been referring to. Son was wrong. Meaning he was angry and he confronted Neville.’
‘Only …’ Thelma frowned as she stirred her coffee.
‘Only what?’ said Pat.
‘Only that’s not how you’d say it,’ said Thelma, frowning up at the ceiling fan. ‘“Son was wrong” implies a mistake – a wrong choice or decision – not that he was lying about something.’
‘Annie was very weak, poor lady,’ said Liz impatiently. ‘You said yourself. People say all sorts when they’re not thinking straight.’
‘But that’s just it,’ said Thelma. ‘She was thinking straight, I’m sure of it.’ She sighed, thinking of that still figure on the bed. Was Annie even still alive? Hopefully the peace she’d seen had remained with the woman.
‘Of course,’ said Liz, ‘it could have been Son who somehow confronted Neville and Annie thought he was wrong to do it. Son was wrong to shout at Neville …’
‘But even if it was Son who did it,’ said Pat, ‘you can’t get away from the fact he was an hour’s drive away at six thirty.
Half an hour before Neville had his shouting match.
They all were – Son, Annie, Chloe, Caro – all of them.
According to Google Maps, Pity Me is a fifty-seven-minute drive away from Hollinby.
Rod said you might just make it in forty-five if you break the speed limit – but remember you’re talking the tail end of rush hour round Durham.
’ She sighed. ‘It’s a pity Ffion’s been ruled out – at least she was actually in the building even if it was only for five minutes. ’
‘Ruled out?’ Thelma looked interrogatively at her.
‘Oh yes.’ Pat gave a grin. ‘You missed some right fun and games earlier on. CSI: Thirsk starring Liz Newsome.’
‘Give over,’ said Liz, flushing slightly. ‘It was as much you as it was me.’
‘It was not!’ said Pat. ‘I was just the heavy backup.’
After Pat had finished telling the tale, Thelma took Liz’s hand. ‘Well done you,’ she said, and Liz flushed. ‘Anyway …’ Thelma stood up with the sombre air of someone heading for the gallows. ‘I must be away. As I say, I need to be logged on to the speed awareness website by midday.’
Pat stood and gave her friend a rare hug. ‘You’ll be fine, my love,’ she said.
Thelma nodded. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I drove all the way to Annie’s and back, and I drove here and really, I’m okay. It’s just the whole thing – I feel so judged …’
There was a sympathetic silence. They both knew exactly how she felt.
So many times, as classroom teachers they had been judged and found wanting in some way.
It was an experience that had never grown any easier.
Indeed, as they had grown old the fear of being judged seemed to have grown more powerful rather than the reverse.
‘You’re a good driver,’ said Liz. ‘Just focus on that and ignore whatever pantomime they make you sit through.’
Son smiled; the amiable face slightly blurred on the screen. Tiffany-Jane smiled warmly back. ‘It’s good to see you!’ she said. ‘How are you, Son?’
The question was – despite the ulterior motive behind it – warm and sincere.
Pat reflected that it had been very fortunate that Tiffany had been sitting rather aimlessly around when she arrived home.
The girl had listened attentively – almost avidly – to her account of the morning’s events, shaking her head, widening her eyes and at one point exclaiming, ‘No way!’ Jax had been labelled a ‘misguided soul’ and Annie had prompted a cry of ‘Bless!’ When Pat had told her about Annie’s murmured, cryptic words she’d nodded and said decisively, ‘We need to Zoom Son Masters.’
‘And say what?’ asked Pat doubtfully. ‘It’s a bit out of the blue don’t you think?’
‘Oh no,’ said Tiffany airily. ‘I’ve messaged him a few times since we met him, poor love.’ She frowned considering. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘this is one of them times you need to ask someone point-blank.’
It was with this sentiment in mind Pat sat now, watching Son nodding at them from in front of a pale-yellow virtual sunrise.
‘I’m doing good,’ he said. ‘I’m in phase – and in tune.’ He made a little punching movement with his fists and Tiffany clapped her hands.
‘Excellent,’ she said.
‘And thanks for the mention you gave me,’ said Son. ‘I’ve had six, seven reach-outs.’
‘That is so brilliant!’ said Tiffany. ‘Now.’ The voice changed into something more assertive. ‘Son, I have something to ask you. And if it’s in any way intrusive I must apologise.’
‘Okay.’ Son frowned, looking puzzled.
‘It turns out,’ said Tiffany, ‘that a friend of ours knows Davey’s boss.’
‘Annie?’
Tiffany nodded. ‘You know she’s ill?’
A cloud crossed over the amiable face. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I mean she’s been ill a long time; I keep meaning to check in on her.’
‘Now, the thing is,’ interrupted Tiffany, ‘Annie mentioned Davey’s memorial service – but said there was something wrong – maybe to do with it … and we were wondering what she could mean?’
Son frowned. ‘The service they held at the school?’
Tiffany nodded. ‘Do you remember anything about it that seemed in any way wrong.’
‘Wrong?’ Son sounded doubtful as he slowly shook his head.
‘Or something that struck you as strange,’ put in Pat. ‘Out of place?’
Son looked at them, perplexed. ‘No,’ he said.
Tiffany looked at Pat, who sighed in frustration. ‘Was anyone missing who should have been there?’ she asked.
Again, the shake of the head. ‘The only person who wasn’t there was Bun Widdup,’ he said. ‘But she was never going to be there; it’s two hours from where she lives.’
‘Our friend told us the service was quite emotional,’ said Pat tentatively.
Son nodded slowly. ‘There was a bit of darkness,’ he said. ‘But people moved their souls to the place where they needed to be.’
Pat nodded. ‘Was one of those places Hollinby Quernhow?
‘The poem,’ said Son suddenly. ‘That helped everyone.’
‘Poem?’ said Tiffany.
‘The poem Bun read out …’ Son smiled remembering. ‘Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,’ he said. ‘It was … special. It brought light into the space we were all in.’ Son nodded, remembering. ‘When she read, the sunlight was coming into her room. It was like she had a halo, like an angel—’
As they were saying goodbye Tiffany said, ‘We’ll Zoom again – and maybe meet up sometime?’
‘That was good of you,’ said Pat as she shut the laptop.
Privately she wondered what her son would have to say about his pregnant partner visiting someone who might had a criminal conviction for GBH; indeed, thinking about it, she was none too happy herself.
A conversation for another time, she thought.
‘I feel sorry for him,’ said Tiffany. ‘Besides’ – she looked blankly round the kitchen as if it were a top-security cell – ‘I’ll have enough time on my hands.’ She sighed a deep sigh.
‘Yes, about that,’ said Pat, ‘I’ve been thinking. About you, about your influencing … I mean what is it you and Justin are saying? Don’t get down – get right back up!’
Tiffany looked at her, tired and pasty.
‘It just occurred to me,’ said Pat. ‘How about something along the lines of Ms T.J. Rox the Cradle?’
‘Sorry?’ Tiffany frowned.
‘Motherhood with pizazz!’ said Pat. ‘Feng-shuied nurseries, holistic lullabies – bath bombs for birthing pools.’
She went over to the counter to start preparing Angela Hartnett’s yellow bean, fennel and tuna salad.
There’d be a houseful tonight. Andrew and Simone were coming for supper so that the news could be broken to them.
Plus, they were going to Zoom Liam and Bern away in the Bolognian villa.
Looking up from the recipe, she could see Tiffany’s face in the reflection from the glass cupboard door, frowning, mouth slightly open, and Pat could tell with a thrill of satisfaction that this wonderful, bright creature, the mother of her first grandchild, had been stopped short by an idea that wasn’t her own.