Bad Blood Page 7

  She was prepared for disappointment and another wasted day, but when she walked up the long drive and rang the bell it was, to her surprise, Gemma herself who appeared. She’d have recognised her anywhere, though her mousy fair hair was blonde now and she’d grown up rather glamorous, with the sort of gleaming look that only a lot of money gives you. She had a toddler clamped to her hip, a rosy-cheeked little boy who gave the stranger a shy smile and then buried his face in his mother’s neck.

  ‘Gemma, I don’t know if you remember me—’ she began, but after a puzzled moment recognition had shown on Gemma’s face.

  ‘Oh my God! You’re Marnie Bruce! I don’t believe it! Goodness, you haven’t changed a bit!’

  Marnie was struggling with the flashbacks the sight of her friend had prompted. ‘Well …’ was all she managed, but it didn’t matter. Gemma was talking enough for both of them.

  ‘Don’t just stand there – come on in! It’s wonderful to see you. Where have you been all these years? You just disappeared so suddenly, and no one seemed to know where you’d gone. I made Mum drive me out to the house, you know, but it was all shut up. What happened?’

  Without giving her time for a reply, she led her across the hall. A small, dark-haired woman – Asian, Marnie thought – appeared on the stairs behind her carrying a vacuum cleaner, but as Marnie looked up she shrank back into the shadows at the top as if she were startled, or even afraid.

  Gemma opened a door into a huge farmhouse kitchen, all glossy surfaces and sparkling glass-fronted cupboards, and went to a flashy coffee machine, pressing buttons as she chattered on.

  ‘This is Mikey, by the way – don’t ask about his father. Fergus Napier was another one who did your trick of vanishing out of my life so I came back to stay with my parents – they’ve been wonderful. Mikey’s spoilt to bits.’

  Gemma ruffled the child’s hair and then set him on his feet. ‘You go and play, sweetie, while I chat to Marnie.’

  He eyed her fetching down a tin. ‘I want a biscuit,’ he demanded, in the tones of one setting out a negotiating position.

  His mother smiled at Marnie. ‘Doesn’t take them long to work things out, does it? All right, Mikey, but just one or you’ll spoil your lunch.’

  Marnie was relieved when Gemma turned her back to fetch coffee mugs. She was afraid that the spasm of envy that was twisting her insides would leave its ugly mark on her face. Here was someone who had everything; she had nothing and just at the moment it felt as if Gemma had taken all the luck she’d never had.

  With Mikey placated and settled in a corner of the room with a small mountain of brightly coloured toys, Gemma brought the coffee over and sat down at the table opposite Marnie.

  ‘Well, that’s my life story: finished school, worked in Dad’s office, got married, screwed it up, came home with Mikey. What about yours? I bet it’s a lot more exciting. You were much the most interesting of my mates – it was really dull after you left.

  ‘Oh, can you still do that crazy thing of remembering absolutely everything? It made you sort of a woman of mystery!’ Gemma gave an easy laugh.

  Marnie echoed her, but with difficulty. ‘Yes,’ she said, struggling to keep the two scenes straight in her head: Gemma, aged ten, the centre of a group of chattering girls while Marnie watched from the edge; Gemma now, looking at her with hopeful grey eyes, waiting for her life story.

  She wasn’t ready yet. ‘When did you move away from Newton Stewart?’ she asked.

  Gemma frowned in thought. ‘Can’t have been long after you went. Dad’s business was mainly in Stranraer and I suppose when this came on the market he just thought it would be better to be nearby. The construction business was doing well then, though of course, just now …’ She shrugged.

  ‘Anyway, what about you? Why did you leave so suddenly? You never said a word to me.’

  ‘I didn’t know myself,’ Marnie said stiffly, but then, as if the hot coffee and the warmth of the room with the sun making patterns on the flagged floor had melted something, she began to talk.

  Gemma listened in silence, only making the occasional sympathetic noise, and when at last Marnie finished said, ‘That’s awful,’ with obvious sincerity. ‘You poor thing! Look, my parents might know what happened afterwards. I’ll ask them when they get back home and let you know. Where are you staying?’

  It would be humiliating to have Gemma turn up at the squalid little bed and breakfast. ‘I’ll give you my mobile number,’ Marnie said hastily.

  ‘Fine. I’ll be in touch. And promise you won’t vanish again.’

  They had reached the front door when Marnie remembered her other quest. ‘I don’t suppose you know someone called Anita who lives here in Dunmore, do you?’

  ‘Anita Loudon?’ Gemma asked. ‘She’s the only Anita I know.’

  Surely it couldn’t be as easy as that. ‘The Anita who was my mum’s friend was blonde, quite attractive – at least, she was then.’

  Gemma nodded. ‘That’s her. She’s local – knows everyone. She works in my mum’s dress shop, actually, but I think this is her day off so you might find her at home. The house is a semi-detached on Lennox Street. Can’t remember the number but it’s got a bright-red door.

  ‘So you just go back along this road till you reach the one you came up on from the shore. You pass the play park and then it’s the next road on the right – or is it the one after that? You’ll see it, anyway.’

  Marnie thanked her and set off. As she walked down the drive, she noticed the cleaning woman ahead of her on the road below, scurrying as if she were late for something. She wasn’t heading towards the town; she must live at the farm next door, that was the only other building in sight – unless she was planning on a long walk. Marnie thought idly.

  She was still feeling a little dazed that today everything had fallen into place so neatly. It was encouraging, even if she still hadn’t heard from the police.

  Janette stood in respectful silence along with three other women as Shelley, mopping her eyes, walked round the little play park. She hated coming here like this, though it had been just a small rough field when, in that frantic hunt after Tommy had gone missing, she had caught a glimpse of something pale against the darker grass over at the farther edge. Where his body had lain, a slide stood now along with a climbing frame, swings and a see-saw – Tommy’s memorial.

  They waited awkwardly by the gate. Shelley’s act of remembrance seemed to take longer each year, as if she was making the point that her grief only grew as time passed. At last she got up, kissed the bouquet of white roses she had brought and laid them on a bench that had a discreet memorial plaque.

  Shelley came back towards them. She was stooped today like an old woman, and with a foolish sense of shock, Janette realised that was just what she was. They all were, this group of friends, though Janette liked to think she looked younger than her years. She certainly hadn’t been aged by sorrow as Shelley had, and superstitiously she touched the wood of the fence as she opened the gate for her friend. They all filed through behind her.

  Shelley’s sudden scream took her totally by surprise. She spun round.

  A slight, fair-haired young woman was walking towards them – no, it wasn’t fair hair. It was reddish-gold, and she had vivid light-blue eyes. Janette felt her own flesh crawl.

  ‘Don’t come near me!’ Shelley was screaming. ‘Don’t touch me! Vile, vile! Get back to hell where you belong! Get away, get away!’

  Shocked, Marnie gaped at the woman who had accosted her, yelling hate. She was old, but tall and strong-looking with rather wild grey hair and her face was blotchy as if she had been crying. As she stood transfixed, the woman lurched threateningly towards her, her hands like claws reaching for Marnie’s face.

  There was a group of women with her and one of them grabbed her, restraining her as Marnie dodged back with a scream of fright.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ this woman called. ‘Shelley, stop it! It’s all right!’

 
; ‘Shelley’ was mad, obviously. ‘She shouldn’t be allowed out, your friend,’ Marnie said fiercely as her terror subsided into anger and her racing heart slowed. ‘She could give someone a coronary, doing that.’

  ‘Yes, I know, I’m sorry. She’s not usually like that. It’s just …’ The apology trailed away.

  Her friend, her arms still imprisoned, burst into hysterical sobs. ‘But it’s her, it’s her!’

  ‘No, it isn’t. It can’t be, Shelley. Just think – it can’t possibly be.’

  Marnie felt a cold shiver run down her back. All right, so this was a crazy woman. But it didn’t explain why the others were staring too and her friend, who seemed sane enough, was looking at Marnie with eyes that were wide with shock in an ashen face.

  And when she found the house where Anita Loudon lived, in the road that looked out over the play park, there it was again: that same look of horror and dismay as Anita opened the door.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  For the third time, DI Fleming read through the report of the Marnie Bruce interview. As Hepburn had said, the account she had given was very detailed and, at least to Fleming’s more imperfect recollection, factually accurate – uncannily so, in reference to her own occasional visits to Marnie’s mother. She had completely forgotten that ill-judged orange and olive-green sweater she had apparently been wearing.

  Where on earth did you go from here? Fleming turned to the thick buff file on the desk beside her and flipped through the yellowing transcripts. She checked that there was a marker at the relevant injunctions and in one or two other salient places, then closed it again.

  It was still dusty. She took out a wipe and cleaned it up; Rowley wouldn’t appreciate getting her hands dirty, either physically or metaphorically. Fleming hadn’t been able to settle to anything today as she waited for the superintendent’s return from a meeting in Stranraer, apparently, and she’d asked to be told when she got back.

  This wouldn’t do! She’d a load of stuff she needed to shift and she wanted to get away promptly tonight for Cammie’s celebration. Cat was coming down from Glasgow specially and she’d said she’d meet her train at Dumfries just after six, so not being there waiting would be another big black mark. With that threat hanging over her, Fleming selected a pile of requests for authorisation that could be done on autopilot and powered her way through them.

  When the summons eventually came, she gathered up her papers and hurried downstairs with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Over the top!

  ‘Come … come in,’ Anita Loudon managed. As she stared at her unwelcome guest she was struggling with a sense of unreality.

  She had thought for a crazy moment when she saw her standing on the front doorstep that her visitor really was Kirstie returned – not the woman who called herself Karen, the woman she had known twenty years ago, with dyed black hair and eyes muddied with coloured contact lenses, but the girl with the red-gold hair and bright-blue eyes.

  It was Marnie, of course, Marnie – the child whose memory had haunted her dreams and her three o’clock wakings, with ‘Guilt! Guilt! Guilt!’ tolling in her head like a great bell. Anita had forgotten how unnervingly like her mother as a girl she had always been.

  As the young woman followed her into the house she heard herself babbling, ‘My, this is a surprise! How nice to see you. Goodness, how long is it? In here – now do sit down. It’s so lucky you found me in – I’m usually working, but this is my day off.’

  Marnie didn’t sit down. As Anita fluttered round her, she turned to face her squarely. She too was looking shocked, and rigid with tension.

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ she demanded. ‘Why is everyone looking at me as if I’m some sort of monster?’

  Dear God, where did you start with that one? And – everyone? Anita drew a deep breath.

  ‘Marnie, I’m sorry – so rude, to have stared at you like that. It just took me a moment to place you and then it was such a surprise to see you after all these years.’

  She saw Marnie open her mouth to speak and deliberately turned away, saying, ‘Now, I’m sure you need a coffee. It’s quite cold out there, but at least it’s not raining today. You just sit down. I won’t be a moment.’

  She whisked out of the room. Don’t panic, she told herself, don’t panic. The crushing sense of her own sin threatened to overwhelm her and even before she switched on the kettle, she flung open the back door and slowly inhaled the cool, damp air. She needed all her wits about her.

  Marnie wasn’t just making a nostalgic visit to the place where she had spent a part of her childhood. She’d come looking for answers and Anita had to think up some to give her in the time it took for a kettle to boil.

  And ‘everyone’? Who was it who had seen her and thought the same as Anita had?

  Marnie was quite glad to do as she was told and sit down. Her legs still felt shaky after her encounter with the coven down the road. She had felt their eyes on her as she hurried away and came along to the house here. What was it with this place?

  And Anita – the Anita Marnie remembered had been petite and slim and had seemed glamorous, at least to her as a child, but she wasn’t that any more. Her nails were still manicured and her hair was still long and blonde but it was thinning and meagre now and she was just a thin, worn-looking middle-aged woman trying to seem younger by keeping the look she’d had twenty years before.

  No matter what Anita said, when she opened the door she hadn’t been surprised, she’d been horrified just like the women in the village. She’d wriggled out of it by going to make the coffee but when she came back Marnie was going to force her to tell her why, however reluctant she might be.

  Was she sure she really wanted to know, though? The scene flickered into her mind again.

  She’s just walking past the play park, trying to read the street name on the board at the end of the next road. There’s a group of women coming out of the park and then there’s this weird one who suddenly tries to attack her and she’s yelling, ‘Don’t come near me! Don’t touch me! Vile, vile! Get back to hell where you belong! Get away, get away!’

  Feeling sick and frightened, Marnie buried her face in her hands. What nightmare was this that she had stumbled into?

  She didn’t have to stay. She could get up right now, walk out of the house, before Anita returned. She could – but then she would never know what this was about and it would drive her crazy. The ache of curiosity was part of her reason for coming back in the first place.

  So she was stuck here in this dreary little room, the sort of room Marnie hated. It was old-fashioned, with too much fussy furniture with barley-sugar legs and elaborate machine-carving and every surface was cluttered with knick-knacks: little vases, bowls, china ornaments and photographs – lots of photographs. She imagined taking a big black plastic bag and sweeping the surfaces blessedly clear.

  The coffee was taking a long time. She got up restlessly and went across to look at the framed photos grouped on the top of a bow-legged bureau. There was one where Anita had obviously posed for the camera, with her dark eyes looking flirtatiously from under long eyelashes, her blonde hair thick and full, just the way Marnie remembered her. Most of the others were just snaps: there was one of an elderly couple but most were of Anita – Anita laughing in a group of friends, Anita raising a glass at a party, Anita in a paper hat pulling a funny face.

  Not very interesting. Marnie was just turning away when her eye caught one right at the back. A photograph of a man.

  He was striking-looking, rather than handsome, with very dark hair and eyes and flaring eyebrows marking a narrow face. He was giving a quizzical smile and there was something about his expression that drew you in, making you want to share his amusement.

  She couldn’t move. She stood, stiff and still, as the images began to whirl in her head, crazy clips and sequences – too many, too many! Then one pushed the others aside and started running.

  It’s a sunny day, the day after her birthday and she’s feeling
proud of being a big girl of five. It’s hot inside and she’s out on the walkway that runs past the front doors of all the flats in the block.

  Mum’s inside with him. They’re shouting at each other so it’s better being out here even though she doesn’t like the sour smell from people peeing on the stairs. She’s left her birthday present doll inside because if the boy next door comes out and sees her playing with it he’ll have it off her. So she’s bored, and she’s hanging over the wall to see what’s happening in the car park five floors below.

  Not a lot, really, just someone shouting at a big dog that’s chasing a little one. She’s watching to see if it’ll catch it when he comes out of the flat behind her. She turns, warily.

  If he’s in a good mood he’s OK but she’s always a bit scared of him. She’s had the back of his hand a few times and if he’s been fighting with Mum he’s bound to be in a bad mood. He’s scowling, anyway.

  Then he sees her, and suddenly he’s smiling. ‘Hi, Marnie. What are you doing?’

  She feels uncomfortable when he smiles like that. It’s not his nice smile, the one that means he’s happy and everything’s going to be fun.

  ‘Nothing,’ she mutters.

  He joins her. ‘Boring, isn’t it? What are we going to do to cheer things up? I know – why not practise wall-walking?’

  She’s puzzled. ‘Where?’

  ‘Here.’ He pats the top of the wall she’d been looking over. It’s not very wide, just wide enough for your foot, if you were daft enough to put it there.

  She says, ‘I’m not allowed to.’

  ‘Oh, of course not – if you were by yourself. That would be dangerous, but I’m here to see you’re all right. Come on, it’ll be fun. I’ll lift you up.’

  He’s coming towards her, holding out his arms. She hangs back. ‘I don’t want to.’