Chapter Thirty-Nine
CATH WISHED THAT SOMEONE WOULD COME and tell her what was going on.
Mag had offered her a drink, and suddenly that was what she wanted.
Good red wine. Something to take the edge off her fear.
So, they sat together in the flat over the pub as they often had in the past. The curtains hadn’t been drawn but Mag had switched on two small lamps, so they rested in shadow.
Not close friends, exactly, but two women easy in each other’s company, chatting about nothing very important.
Because now, Cath didn’t want to think about the important things.
The death of her daughter. The possibility that her son might be dead too.
‘Where’s Jim?’ Cath asked. She’d never cared for Jim. There was an air of repressed aggression about him, even when he was being perfectly pleasant to her.
‘He’s working,’ Mag said. ‘He’s driven, you see. He’s always working on something. Making plans.’
‘Like Paul.’ Because Gilbert would have long gone to sleep, and Paul used work as she used red wine.
As a distraction and a way to take the edge off anxiety, off his worry that somehow his past would come back to bite him.
In those early days in Newcastle, he’d taken too many risks.
He’d cared more about holding power than keeping to his principles, and she knew that the fear of exposure still haunted him.
He justified those bad actions still. Some late nights after a long day in the House, they would lie in bed and talk.
Sometimes the end does justify the means. Doesn’t it, Cath? Doesn’t it? I needed that money to do all the good things.
And she would agree with him, because she loved him, and she hated these moments of self-loathing. But she’d never really thought that the end justified the means. There were times when she suspected his night terrors were all about fear of getting caught and had nothing to do with remorse.
The next morning, it would be as if the conversation had never taken place. He’d get up, as confident and cheerful as always, put on his suit and his professional manner, and head into Westminster to fight for the things they both believed in.
They’d been in touch of course, over the afternoon and evening, but she’d found his more frantic demands for information distressing, and on the last call she’d said a little tetchily, ‘If there’s any news, I’ll tell you. Of course I will. Straight away. No need to keep phoning.’
It was natural, she thought now, that they were both on edge and she’d regretted the tone as soon as he’d ended the call. It was her fault after all that Alex wasn’t in his bed in the Victoria Hotel. She should never have left him alone.
Mag was still talking about Jim’s plans for the pub.
‘Why did you marry him?’ Cath’s words came out before she could stop them. ‘I mean, you and Jim, you seem so different.’
She thought that Mag would refuse to answer. After all, the question was so blunt, so rude.
But the woman seemed to be considering the matter carefully.
‘Because he needed me,’ she said at last. ‘There’s something heady about being needed like that. He was so mixed up when we met. Lost. And so grateful when I listened to him. He loved me in a way I’d never been loved before.’
‘And now?’ Cath asked. ‘Does he still need you now?’
‘Oh yes.’ Mag turned to her with a little smile. ‘Now, more than ever.’
Cath wondered if Paul needed her. Perhaps he did.
Perhaps that’s why she stood by him and went along with his wishes.
Because he made her feel needed. She felt suddenly restless.
She got to her feet and walked to the window on the far side of the room.
It looked down the combe towards the sea.
Now, there was nothing to see, except one of the Lundy lighthouses flashing through the trees.
Earlier, she’d stood there for what had seemed like hours.
She’d watched the pinpricks of light – the searchers with their torches or headlamps – flickering like fireflies or the phosphorescence that sometimes shimmered in the water when she and Hannah had gone swimming at night.
That had been their special thing to do together when they were in Tide House in the summer.
They’d leave Paul in charge of the boys and take the footpath down to the sea, then gasp at the cold of the water and the beauty of the place. Overwhelmed by their good fortune.
At the memory, Cath found herself sobbing. Huge tears were rolling down her cheeks. Mag ran over to her and put her arm around Cath’s shoulders, holding her tight. Holding her up. Trying to save her too.
* * *
They’d returned to the sofa and Mag had poured more wine, when Cath became aware of activity in the pub car park. There was no sound of vehicles yet, but the windows of the flat were open now, to let in the cool of the evening, and she heard the main door to the building open and shut. She tensed.
‘It’s probably Jim,’ Mag said easily. Perhaps not wanting to cause more anxiety. Or to raise false hope. ‘Checking everything’s okay before he locks up and comes upstairs.’
Both women went to the window to look out, and they saw the three detectives standing in a group. They were talking but their voices were low, and Cath couldn’t make out what they were saying. They all got into one car, and it drove slowly away.
‘Where are they going?’ Cath could hear that her voice was a shriek. She could feel it at the back of her throat. ‘Are they going home? Have they given up?’
‘No, my love,’ Mag said easily. ‘They wouldn’t do that. They must have some news.’
But Cath could tell that, really, Mag was worried too that they’d just been abandoned, and that Alex had been left to his fate.