Chapter 67
SIXTY-SEVEN
Christmas Day that year was a miserable affair.
They tried to make the best of it, for the children, but Will’s present of Fortnite was tainted now, and Tilly had asked for a new saddle for Fresco, which, after it was unwrapped, only reminded her of the attempted poisoning.
Even the tree Matt had bought sat rather forlornly at the bottom of the main staircase, somehow too small and timid for its surroundings, its flashing lights more reminiscent of a warning beacon than the cheery twinkling of stars.
Kate recalled Jamie’s letter, the one she’d read out to the planning committee: We have a lot of traditions around the holiday season, which we intend to enjoy as a family after your departure .
. . She wondered whether they’d transplanted those customs to their temporary accommodation at Pelham Park, and, if so, whether their day was as muted as the Crowthers’ was turning out to be.
No doubt Jamie was reassuring them that, by this time next year, everything would be different and they’d be back in Trade Cottage again.
It was the day after Boxing Day when, taking a binload of peelings out to the composter, she heard the rumble of a male voice in The Old Tennis Court’s garden. Hairs prickled on the back of her neck, even before she’d identified it as Jamie’s.
But it was him, there was no question – that insistent, hectoring drawl, answered by Rosemary’s higher tones. It sounded as if she was trying to disagree with him. Kate moved closer, stealthily pressing up against the leylandii.
‘But if I did that, I’d have to see it,’ Rosemary was saying.
‘It’s hardly a big price to pay,’ Jamie replied dismissively.
‘Dumping rubbish outside my window?’ Rosemary sounded disgusted. ‘Is that really necessary?’
‘We want the rats to come back,’ he said calmly. ‘If you scatter it under the hedge, you’ll hardly see it.’
‘Aren’t I doing enough already?’ Rosemary asked wearily. ‘You realise they might stop me driving? At the very most, they’ll only give me a temporary licence now.’
‘Why d’you need to drive? Everyone round here delivers. Besides, you’ll soon have us next door. Courtney can run you around, if you need to go somewhere.’
‘You know I don’t like to impose. And I have things I like to do. Helping at the hospice shop, seeing my friends . . .’
‘You’ll have your hands full with the kids. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
When Rosemary didn’t reply, Jamie’s voice became curt. ‘They’re having to leave behind the grandparents they’re closest to, in America. This is your fault, for making Dad leave Trade Cottage. You need to help me put it right.’
‘You know very well it was him who wanted to move—’
‘I know he wanted us to get Trade Cottage back. If you don’t work with me on this, you’ll be betraying his legacy.’
‘His legacy!’ Rosemary exclaimed bitterly. ‘We both know what his legacy was. And how long do you think it’ll be before the whole village knows, too?’
Jamie said harshly, ‘If anyone tries to spread rumours, I’ll have the lawyers on to them. The police, too. They’re not allowed to slander a dead man who can’t defend himself.’
‘It would hardly be—’
‘End of,’ he cut across her. ‘Now, either you dump your rubbish out here, or I’ll take away your bin. When there’s a nice big pile, I’ll take some photos.’
It sounded as if he was already walking back to the house, his voice fading as he tossed those last words over his shoulder. Rosemary stayed where she was for a few moments – Kate heard her sigh – then she followed Jamie back up to The Old Tennis Court.
Kate didn’t move. Her brain was whirring as she processed what she’d just heard. What had Rosemary meant when she spoke so bitterly about Paul’s legacy?
Then she realised.
The father of Martina’s child wasn’t Jamie, or Guy Pelham.
It was Paul.
That was why the police had access to the matching DNA – there would have been tissue samples from the post-mortem. That was why they were no longer hoping to interview the father. They knew he was dead.
And that was why Paul had killed himself. Not because of his terminal condition, and not because of Kate and Matt. But because he’d guessed the secrets of the past were about to resurface, and he’d be revealed for what he was.
She did a quick calculation. Paul would have been near enough fifty when Martina got pregnant – almost thirty years older than her, which was shocking enough in itself.
Old enough to feel his good looks fading?
A mid-life crisis, a young woman in distress .
. . And for Martina’s part, perhaps, desperation as well as misery, when the young men she’d set her cap at took advantage of her, then tossed her aside.
Perhaps it had even seemed like sweet revenge, to sleep with the father instead.
She walked slowly back to the house, thinking it all through.
That snippet of conversation had revealed other things, too.
That Rosemary’s dementia diagnosis was trumped-up was hardly a surprise.
But the ugly tone Jamie had used with her confirmed what Kate had suspected before, when she’d seen them together at The Old Tennis Court.
He was contemptuous of her. The Finches, she realised, were one of those families that created a glittering facade for the outside world, but at the core were deeply rotten.
And what was the betting Jamie had picked up that attitude towards his mother from the other male member of the household, his father?
She waited an hour, pacing up and down, to give Jamie time to leave. Then she went back to the hedge and eased open the wooden gate.
She looked up at The Old Tennis Court. All seemed quiet. Even so, she went and checked the front. There was no sign of Jamie’s Tesla, only the Popemobile.
Keeping well away from the Ring doorbell, she knocked on the side door.
When Rosemary saw who it was, she looked shocked. ‘Oh! Kate. I’m not sure you should—’
‘I need to ask you something,’ Kate interrupted. ‘And a lot depends on the answer, so please tell me the truth. Do you actually want any of this?’ She gestured over at Trade Cottage. ‘Jamie, living next door? You, at his beck and call? Me and Matt and the children, out of your life completely?’
There was a long pause before Rosemary said quietly, ‘No. I don’t want him here. I don’t want him in Tray. That was all Paul. But now I don’t think I can stop him.’
‘Yes, you can,’ Kate said. ‘I’m going to help you.’