Thirty-Eight
I awake the next morning to someone banging hard on our front door. After my internet search of baby names and their meanings, and what I subsequently discovered, it had taken me a while to fall asleep last night, so I’m not really with it as the prospect of a new day dawns.
It takes me a moment to realise that it is someone banging on the door, and not some workman or other doing repair work down the street.
Assuming Claire is up and probably answering the door, I lie back down again. But then I hear thundering again, but this time it’s the sound of someone rapidly climbing the stairs with purpose.
Claire doesn’t knock like she usually would. She simply flings opens the door, so I sit up.
‘Oh, Frankie,’ she says, and the look of total devastation on her face tells me before she says any more that something awful has happened. ‘That was Eddie at the door . . . ’ She looks at me and her lips begin to quiver. ‘It’s Rob. He’s . . . he’s dead.’
It’s amazing how your body responds in times of crisis. In all our many years it would nearly always be Claire who would be the sensible one. The one who was calm and in control when people around her were panicking and falling apart. But today it’s me.
It’s not until much later that I remember that odd fact, because at the time I simply went into automatic pilot.
After Claire’s words sink in, I leap out of bed and get dressed as quickly as I can, finding out as I go what little Claire knows.
Rob’s body was found washed up on the beach at Morvoren Cove early this morning by a dog walker, who immediately called the police.
When Eddie and Dexter arrived to open up the café for breakfast, the police and the ambulance were already there, and there was one of those yellow tape cordons around the sand. When Eddie asked what happened, he was simply told there was body on the beach. He only realised it was Rob when he heard some people standing around the police cordon gossiping. Even though the police would not confirm or deny who was found, the rumour that it was Rob Matthews the movie star began to spread around the town.
Eddie then dashed up here to tell Claire and me, so by the time we get down to the cove we can hardly get past all the people to find out what’s going on.
‘Can I see the body?’ I ask the police officer in charge of keeping people away.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ he says firmly. ‘We need to formally identify who it is first.’
‘But I know him. Knew him. He was my boyfriend.’ I’m babbling.
The police officer looks at me with narrowed eyes. ‘Recently?’ he enquires perceptively.
‘No, when we were at school. But we were still friends. Please?’
‘I’m sorry. I can’t let you through, Madam. Please stand aside now.’
I do as he asks, and I’m about to head back over to Claire and Eddie who are talking to some of the St Felix residents who have gathered, when another police officer, a woman this time, beckons me over.
‘Did I hear you say you were next of kin?’ she asks quietly.
‘Er, no, not really. But we were close.’
She nods, looks either side of her in a dramatic way that reminds me of an old-fashioned comedy sketch, then quick as a flash she lifts the tape up for me to duck under. Which I immediately do, then she pulls me to one side so no one else can see us.
‘Hold out your hand,’ she says in a low voice.
‘Why?’
‘Please, I don’t have much time.’
I do as she asks.
‘This was found clasped in his hand when he was washed ashore,’ she continues, still whispering, and she places something cold and hard on my palm.
I look down to see a beautiful shell. But not the sort you’d usually find on a Cornish beach, it’s one much more at home on the Caribbean or Mediterranean sand.
‘No idea how it got there,’ she says. ‘But I think it might mean something to someone. Do you agree?’
I stare at the shell.
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
‘You keep it,’ she says, looking around again. ‘I had a feeling you might know what it meant.’
‘Thank you . . . ’ I look for her name badge, but I can’t see one.
‘My name is Marina,’ she says. ‘Just so there’s no doubt this time.’
‘Thank you, Marina.’ I look down at the shell again. ‘But how . . . ’ As I look up again, she’s gone. I turn sharply around to try to spot her, but there’s so many people gathering now behind the cordon it’s difficult to pick anyone out.
‘Madam, move back behind the tape, please.’ The police officer I spoke to a few minutes ago is waving his hands at me like he’s directing traffic.
‘But your colleague just told me to come under.’
‘Which one?’
‘The woman, er . . . ’ I look around again. ‘She said her name was . . . ’ But I stop.
Of course she did . . .
‘Said her name was what?’ he asks. ‘As far as I’m aware there are only male police officers here right now, so if someone is impersonating a member of the force . . . ’ He looks around angrily. ‘I bet it’s journalists – they’d do anything for a story.’
‘My mistake,’ I say, hurriedly ducking back under the tape again and tucking the shell in my pocket. ‘You carry on, Officer.’ And I hurry over to where Claire, Eddie and Dexter are standing.
As we watch Rob’s body, covered in a long, zipped bag, being carried up the beach to the waiting ambulance, I hold on tightly to the shell in my pocket.
And as the ambulance drives away with Rob’s body inside, the shell, so cold when it was placed in the palm of my hand, glows with warmth.
The day is filled with even more shocks and surprises.
Not too long after the ambulance departs, we sit in Eddie’s café drinking coffees laced with whisky – medicinal, Eddie says – in a state of total and utter shock.
But someone breaks our silence by knocking firmly on the café door. Eddie gets up, mumbling something about it better not be press sniffing around for a story already. But when he returns, it’s with a familiar and very welcome face.
‘Mack!’ I jump up and run over to him. ‘Oh, Mack.’
Only after Mack and I hold each other for a few precious moments, does it occur to me to ask how he got here so quickly. He isn’t due back in St Felix until next week.
‘I was already here,’ Mack says, still holding me as he looks down into my face, his blue eyes full of sadness. ‘I’m staying at the pub. I arrived late last night. I didn’t even see Rob. I went straight to bed assuming I’d see him in the morning. God, I wish I hadn’t now.’
‘You weren’t to know what was going to happen,’ I tell him. ‘None of us did. But why didn’t you tell me you were coming? You usually do.’
‘Rob suggested it,’ Mack says. ‘He said not to tell you. He said it would be a nice surprise for you.’
I look at Mack and Mack looks at me, both of us suddenly realising something isn’t right.
‘And he was found on the beach?’ Mack asks. ‘What was he doing there so early?’
I look around at the others, but they all just look blankly back at us.
‘He wasn’t just found on the beach,’ I tell him. ‘He was found washed up by the edge of the waves . . . The man said he’d been in the water.’
‘He drowned?’ Eddie looks puzzled. ‘But he can swim, can’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Claire says. ‘Rob could definitely swim.’
‘If he was able to,’ Dexter says.
‘What do you mean?’ Claire asks.
‘Perhaps he was under the influence?’ Dexter says bravely. ‘What?’ he adds to Claire and Eddie who glare at him. ‘It’s possible.’
‘You don’t think . . . ’ I trail off. ‘No.’ I shake my head and look up at Mack.
‘Think what?’ Eddie asks. ‘What? Why are you all looking at each other like that?’
‘They’re wondering if he did it deliberately,’ Dexter says. ‘Aren’t you?’
I don’t want to, but I have to agree.
‘Why would he do it deliberately?’ Eddie asks. ‘He wasn’t depressed, was he?’
‘No, he wasn’t depressed,’ Claire says. ‘But he did have cancer.’
Eddie frowns. ‘I know he had cancer . . . oh . . . wait, was it back again?’
I nod. ‘It was terminal this time. I’m sorry, Eddie, he didn’t want anyone to know.’
‘Did you know, Claire?’ Eddie looks upset.
‘Yes, but I only found out a few weeks ago. Frankie was the only one he told when he first came back here.’
‘And Mack,’ I add.
‘I thought he was doing OK, though?’ Mack says. ‘I mean, I know it was terminal, but he seemed so well.’
My head drops.
‘What is it, Frankie?’ Mack asks. ‘Do you know something?’
‘He told me yesterday he didn’t have long.’ I look around at them all with wide, red-rimmed eyes. ‘He said that’s what the doctor told him on his last visit. But Rob wouldn’t . . . He just wouldn’t. Would he?’
‘Perhaps he thought it was easier this way,’ Claire says. ‘Perhaps he didn’t want to go through a long, slow death.’
‘So he jumped off a cliff?’ Dexter asks. ‘Why do you all keep looking at me like that? It’s what you’re all thinking. And so what if he did? If the man only had days or weeks to live and he wanted to end it himself with dignity, then good on him, I say.’
The rest of us all look at each other.
‘Whatever happens,’ Mack says. ‘Whatever they find, we must keep what we’ve just discussed within these four walls, OK? The press will be all over this. There will be a post-mortem and possibly an inquest too. If they find Rob’s death to be accidental, then that’s what we go with. And if they find any other cause . . . then we deal with that in the best way we can. But whatever happens, we must protect our friend’s memory at all costs. Agreed?’
‘Agreed.’ We all say this at the same time.
‘Rob may be gone from our lives,’ Mack says. ‘But his memory will live on for ever.