Burial of Ghosts

Chapter Nineteen

A day later I bought a car from Ronnie Laing. He phoned me at Jess’s at nine in the morning. She was out and for a while I was tempted not to answer, but the caller was persistent and the noise was irritating. Jess was on her weekly trip to Asda. It was a social event. She met four mates there and ended up having fancy coffee and sticky buns with them in the café where once I’d been caught thieving.

So, eventually I picked up the phone and it was Ronnie Laing. I knew his voice at once.

‘Hello, Lizzie. That is Lizzie…’ His voiced tailed off nervously, leaving a question. I’d never given him my second name.

‘Beswick,’ I said. Jess’s name. ‘Lizzie Beswick.’

Why did I lie? I thought he might not have made the connection between me and the young woman who’d discovered his stepson’s body. And I didn’t want him to. The sensible thing would have been to put down the phone and to stay away from everyone who’d ever known Thomas Mariner. But I couldn’t. I was too close to it and I couldn’t see clearly. I continued briskly, ‘How can I help you?’

‘This is Mr Laing. From the garage on the coast road. I think I might have found you a car. A little Peugeot. Diesel. Brilliant economy. Good price.’

He gave me the details. There was no stammer. Perhaps it was easier for him to speak on the phone. I found I was writing down the information on the notepad on the hall table; afterwards I couldn’t remember what he’d told me and was glad of the notes. It seemed to me then that his voice changed. He stopped being a salesman. His tone was more confiding.

‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Are you interested?’ Perhaps he was just selling something else. Perhaps I’d got him all wrong and he was a more skilful salesman than I’d realized, more subtle.

‘Yes.’ I could hear a breathy nervousness, hoped he hadn’t picked it up. ‘Yes, really, I think that I might be.’

‘I can bring it round to you if you like. Let you have a test drive.’

But I didn’t want him knowing where I lived and we left it that I’d call round as soon as I could fix up a lift. When I replaced the receiver I was shaking, not just with nerves but with excitement. And what did that say about me?

I phoned Dan at the hostel, hoping to con a lift from him – he owed me a favour – but I got through to Ellen, who told me it was his day off. She brought up the subject of Thomas before I did. She’d recognized my voice.

‘You must write a piece,’ she said, confusing me for a moment. I’d forgotten I’d told her I was a journalist. ‘How many young men have to die before something is done?’

Then I remembered her son had been attacked on the streets and had died too. Thomas’s death must have brought all those memories back. She must have realized she sounded a bit crazy because she apologized. ‘We’re all on edge here. You must have seen about the boy who was killed in Seaton Delaval. He used to be one of our residents.’

‘How terrible.’ Trite and pathetic, but she seemed not to notice.

‘I find it so hard to let them go anyway,’ she said. ‘I mean, I know they have to move on, be more independent, but I hate it. I worry so much for them. After this it will be a thousand times worse.’ She paused. ‘But can you imagine what his mother will be going through?’

For the first time since finding Thomas I tried to understand. How would you feel if a child you never wanted, who was always a nuisance, died? I decided guilt is what you’d feel. A searing explosion of guilt.

‘Do you think I should go to see Mrs Laing?’ Ellen asked. ‘Or would that make things worse?’

I muttered something about not being in a position to give advice and replaced the phone before she could drag me any further into her distress. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it and repeated Ellen’s question to myself. Should I go to see Kay? If I did, what point would it serve? For me or for her? Before I came anywhere near an answer, Jess staggered in, the fingers on both hands white, where three carrier bags in each had cut off the blood supply. I wasn’t expecting her back so soon. She’d caught an earlier bus than usual, missing out on the coffee and buns. Perhaps she thought it wasn’t safe to leave me alone for too long. She was starting to make me feel suffocated. I understood what was going on. As Ellen had said, it was hard to let go. But I was an adult and Jess wasn’t my mam. I needed to get away from her and Sea View before I said something hurtful. I needed a car.

We hadn’t seen much of Ray since Thomas’s death. I don’t think he and Jess had fallen out over me. He was too besotted by her to do anything to cause a disagreement. Perhaps he’d just felt he should spend a bit more time running his business, otherwise he’d go bankrupt and there’d be no cash then for visits to folk clubs or trips into the hills.

‘The bloke from the garage phoned,’ I said to Jess. She had her head in the larder, putting away the tins of tuna and chopped tomatoes. ‘He thinks he’s found me a car. I wondered if Ray would be free sometime to give it the once-over.’

She was in a quandary then. She didn’t want me to have a car. If I had a car, who knew what other scrapes I might get into? How many dead bodies might I stumble across? But she wanted Ray and me to get on. If he sorted me out a good deal, perhaps I’d be grateful to him and I might not kick up too much of a fuss if she moved him in.

‘I’ll give him a ring,’ she said, emerging bum first from the pantry. ‘See how he’s fixed. He’s only working down at Sandy Bay. Put the kettle on, pet. He’ll probably fancy a brew when he gets here.’

No competition, then. Ray would win every time. I’d got what I wanted and I still didn’t like it.

It was a sunny day with a gusty wind, the sort of day that makes schoolkids flighty and wild. As soon as I was out of the house I had the urge to run. Along the beach and far up the coast, away from Jess and Ray and the neighbours across the lane who were peering out from behind their nets to see the lassie who was caught up with that murder case. But I didn’t. I got into Ray’s van and drove south with him towards the city, proving to Jess and myself that I was sane and well behaved.

When I got out at the garage Ronnie appeared at the office door immediately, as if he’d been waiting for me. I noticed again how small he was, then forgot it at once as he came closer. There was that smile and a handshake and I was hooked once more. A boy had died and I was a suspect in a murder inquiry but none of that mattered because a middle-aged man seemed to find me attractive. And at that moment I didn’t even see anything wrong with it. I was an addict who’d had another hit.

It didn’t occur to me then to wonder why he was at the garage in the first place. It was less than a week since his stepson had been stabbed. Even if he didn’t care about Thomas, shouldn’t he have been at home comforting his wife? All I could think of then was that I wanted to touch him again. I wanted to slide my hand from the back of his fingers to his wrist, then up the sleeve of his jacket, stroking the fine hair against the way it was lying. Which was sick, of course. He was a married man, old enough to be my father. But there was something about him which provoked that reaction. I would see it again with other women. Despite his apparent shyness, he had an energy which was contagious, which made the people who were with him feel more alive too. You could see it in the way he moved. He had a controlled power. You must have seen those slow-motion wildlife films on the telly, of wild cats moving across grassland. That’s what he made me think of. He had a great body. Anyone would have been impressed by it. And I tell myself now that I was vulnerable, under stress, in need of comfort and reassurance.

He was speaking. ‘I’ve already had one offer.’

I must have looked blank, stupid.

‘For the car. I couldn’t take it, of course. Not after having promised it to you.’

‘Oh.’ I managed a grin. ‘Right.’

‘You are still interested?’

‘Sure.’

‘I can take you out for a test drive if you like.’

I looked over to the office. I had supposed he must have someone else working for him. The garage was surely too big to run single-handed.

‘I’m on my own this afternoon,’ he said, as if he guessed my thoughts. It still didn’t tell me how many people worked for him. ‘It doesn’t matter, though. I’ll just lock up. To be honest, my heart’s not really into selling today. There’s been a death in the family.’ He looked out across the busy dual carriageway as if he were lost in thought.

‘I’m sorry.’ I stepped back and tried to put a bit of distance between him and me so I could think more clearly. ‘Look, I can always come back. There’s no rush. If you’d just prefer to go home…’

‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘I couldn’t face that either. I’m better off here. I need to keep busy. It doesn’t do to brood.’

‘Was it someone close?’

For a moment I could almost believe I didn’t know. I suppose that’s what acting’s all about. You have to believe yourself into the part. Perhaps that’s where Dan goes wrong. I turned to listen to Ronnie, but a lorry rattling down the coast road blanked out his answer.

‘Sorry?’

‘My stepson,’ he said. ‘He was murdered. We weren’t as close as I would have liked, but he didn’t deserve that. He was only nineteen.’

I wanted to tell him that I’d found the body and that I’d known Thomas’s natural father. It would have been something to connect us and a good story. But I didn’t. Some impulse for self-preservation stopped me. The same impulse which made me refuse when Ronnie offered to drop me home after the test drive.

‘If your dad wants to go,’ he said, ‘we can drive you all the way home in this. It’ll give you a real feel for the car.’

The thought of Ray as my dad entertained me for a moment. I couldn’t really imagine that he’d had a fling with a gypsy when he’d been a young man. But perhaps he had hidden depths. I didn’t explain our relationship to Ronnie, though. The less he knew about me the better.

‘Nah,’ I said. ‘I can’t be that long. He’ll not mind and besides he’ll want to check it out before I part with my money.’

I explained to Ray what was happening and he settled down for the afternoon with his Ramblers’ Association newsletter and his yowly music. If he resented not going back to work he didn’t show it.

It was strange to be driving again. I’d always loved it. It had come naturally to me. Something about the way the hands and the feet and the eyes all work together. It had been a symbol too of my new respectability because I’d done it properly. I paid for driving lessons from my first wages, bought a car from a mate of Jess’s after having asked the RAC to report on it, got it an MOT and a tax disc before taking it onto the road. The kids from the home would have been horrified. Most of them had been driving since they were ten. That first car had taken me all over the county, places I’d only heard people talk about. On days off I’d go exploring, north as far as Berwick, inland to Wooler and Rothbury. A stomp along an empty beach or over the hill, then afternoon tea in a little caff. Brilliant.

I pulled out of Ronnie’s garage and drove east towards the coast, thinking too hard at first about the gear changes, fumbling for the indicator though he’d told me where to find it. Soon it was coming automatically, no thought needed. He was right. It was a nice little car.

I hadn’t intended to go very far, but we hit the end of the dual carriageway before I’d realized. There was a view of the sea, the wind blowing the waves into white spray and the spire of the big church on the front at Cullercoats. I remembered going to a carol concert there one Christmas with my primary school choir. Ronnie and I hadn’t spoken all the way.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to come so far. I got carried away. I’ll take us back now.’

‘It’s a shame about your dad.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘A day like this. You just feel like driving,’ he continued. His voice was suddenly angry, mirroring my thoughts and memories in a way that scared me. ‘I mean out of the town. Away from all these people.’

‘Yours is a strange business to be in,’ I said, ‘if you like open spaces. Didn’t you ever want to do anything else? Live somewhere else?’

‘I’ve responsibilities. A family to support. And I’m a countryman at heart. Country people need cars more than people who live in towns.’

I didn’t know what to say, so I indicated at the roundabout to show I wanted to go back towards the city. He must have realized how intense he sounded, because he snapped suddenly back into salesman mode. ‘You drive very well.’

‘For a woman?’ I wanted to lighten the mood too.

‘I didn’t say that. Most of the best drivers I know are women.’ He paused. ‘Why haven’t you got a car now? Accident?’

‘Nah,’ I said. I was pleased that the conversation had taken a less threatening turn. ‘Nothing like that. I’ve been abroad for a while. That’s all.’

‘You’re very lucky. I’ve always wanted to travel. I managed a bit when I was younger. Now it’s not so easy. Where did you go?’

‘Morocco.’

‘Really? A friend of mine said Morocco was his favourite place and he’d been all over. You might have heard of him. The gardener. Philip Samson.’

I was too shocked to say anything. At the time I couldn’t take in the implication that Philip’s world and Thomas’s had met through Ronnie Laing. All I felt was another stab of loss.