Harbour Street

Chapter Sixteen

It was the last day of the school term. Non-uniform day. Chloe left home first in a long black sweater and jeans. Ryan looked super-cool in the jacket he’d bought with his last wage packet from Kerr. Kate thought the boatman must be paying him too much, but liked her son’s style. She saw him as he was on his way out and asked quietly if it was a good idea to wear it to school. ‘You might lose it, or it could get damaged.’

He responded with one of his volcanic outbursts. ‘For fuck’s sake, Mam, get off my case. I’m not a kid. I can decide for myself what I’m going to wear.’ The sudden temper reminded her of Rob and for a moment she shrank from him. Then he saw that he’d scared her and was smiling and apologetic. ‘Look, nobody at school would steal anything from me, and I’ll look after it.’ He kissed her before he went through the door. Teenagers, she thought. They’re like toddlers with hormones.

The house was quiet. The only visitor booked in before Christmas was George Enderby for one night on his way south from Scotland. Kate Dewar felt lighter, somehow frivolous, as if she’d shed a burden of responsibility. And she had to admit that Margaret’s death had something to do with that. She’d loved Margaret to bits of course, and had depended on her, but after the first shock of knowing that she was dead, she realized how much she’d cared what Margaret thought. She’d always felt that Margaret was judging her. About the way she ran the guest house, the way she was bringing up the kids, even the way she dressed. Her relationship with Stu. Nothing was ever said, but she’d wanted Margaret to approve. If Ryan slipped out of the house without saying where he was going, if there was a complaint from a visitor about something to do with their stay at the guest house, or if Chloe had one of her strops, Kate’s first thought was for Margaret’s reaction. What would she make of it?

Now Kate felt wild and silly. She wondered if she could phone up a couple of friends and suggest they go out for lunch. A trip to Newcastle, an Italian meal, too much wine. She imagined herself staggering back on the Metro, too tipsy to care if Chloe was working herself to death. Stuart would be out at an end-of-term dinner with his colleagues tonight and she wouldn’t see him until the morning. But the first friend she tried had sounded as if Kate was quite mad. ‘Newcastle? The week before Christmas? It’ll be a total nightmare. Besides, I’m rushed off my feet.’ So Kate felt deflated again. Perhaps, after all, she should be sensible. She should do the Christmas preparation. Bake mince pies for the freezer. Ice the cake. Wrap some of the kids’ presents while they were out of the way.

Still, the sun was shining and the frost on the roof of Malcolm Kerr’s shed made the building look almost festive, so Kate decided that at least she could leave the house. There was a new place in Mardle, an ice-cream parlour and coffee shop, which had opened with the same optimism as had lain behind her own decision to develop the guest house. At least she could get a decent coffee and a pastry to celebrate her mood. And give some support to the new venture. Perhaps Mardle would see a change in its fortunes and tourists would arrive at last.

She was on her way out. She opened the front door and there on the step was a young woman. The visitor definitely wasn’t from Mardle. She was stylish. The boots and the haircut were expensive. Kate felt untidy and rattled by the shock of almost walking into the woman.

‘I’m sorry.’ Why do I always apologize? ‘Can I help you?’

The woman introduced herself – another detective. Even today there was to be no escape from Margaret’s death.

Kate felt flustered. ‘I was just on my way out. Since we heard about the murder I seem to have been trapped in the house. And it’s the kids’ last day at school. My last day of freedom.’ Because although this newcomer, this Detective Constable Holly Clarke, was young and smart and obviously didn’t have children, Kate thought that she might understand.

‘Where were you off to?’ The woman stepped back onto the pavement to give her space, and Kate felt that she had more room to breathe.

‘Just for a coffee.’ Kate gave a shrug. ‘That’s about as exciting as my life gets.’

‘Tell me about it. And I could murder a latte.’ Holly seemed to realize what she’d said. ‘Ooh, sorry!’ But by then they were both giggling, like schoolgirls, as they walked up the street towards the town.

The new cafe had giant espresso machines and trays of home-made cakes and pastries. The realist in Kate thought that it wouldn’t last more than six months in Mardle, but its novelty value meant that it was full now.

‘What do you fancy?’ Holly asked. ‘My treat.’ She’d already shepherded Kate towards a table in the corner. The room echoed with the sound of conversation and the machines behind the counter. Kate knew she was being offered cake in return for information, but still she didn’t care. It felt almost as if she’d found a new friend.

‘How can I help you? I suppose this is about Margaret?’

‘Hey, no rush! Let’s enjoy this first.’

And instead of asking about Margaret, Holly began talking to Kate about her. The woman was full of questions, chatty and gossipy. She wanted to know about Kate’s time as a musician, the stars with whom she’d worked, the nightmare of touring. She asked how Kate had come to be running Harbour Street in the first place; about the kids and then about Robbie. ‘How did he die?’ Looking up from her latte with an interest and sympathy that Kate hadn’t expected.

In the bubble of the warm room, Kate began to talk about her marriage. She said things that she’d never even discussed with Margaret, though she’d sometimes suspected that Margaret had guessed what the relationship was like. ‘Robbie was a Scot. From the west coast. All dark hair, flashing eyes and Gallic passion. I was still in the music business then and we met at a gig.’ She paused, expecting more questions from Holly, questions about Margaret, but none came and Kate continued. ‘It was a lovely venue, an arts centre in the Borders. Intimate, you know. I started chatting to Robbie in the bar afterwards.’ And she relived the scene in her head: the smoky bar and Robbie Dewar, the handsomest man in the room, walking towards her as if in slow motion, like a scene in a really soppy movie. She’d been chatted up by fans before, but Robbie had charmed her with an old-fashioned courtesy. He’d made her laugh.

They’d spent the night together in her hotel room. She’d thought it would be a one-night stand – after all, she had no plans then to settle down – but two days later he was knocking at the door of her parents’ house, tidy in a clean shirt, carrying a bunch of roses, asking if she’d like to go out for a meal. Kate broke off in the middle of the story to look up at Holly. ‘He drove sixty miles that day just to spend an evening with me and drove back sixty miles at the end of the night.’

‘Wow!’ Holly smiled. ‘Romantic or what?’

And Kate agreed that it had been. ‘I was bowled over by him. Most men only seemed interested in my music. The money. Or managing my career. Robbie liked my singing, but he was too proud to live off me. He wanted to be the provider.’

‘So you stopped singing?’ Holly looked up, and Kate could tell that she was shocked. This woman wouldn’t let any man get in the way of her career.

‘Not straight away.’ Kate was defensive. How could she make this modern and confident young woman understand? ‘And when we were first married I was happy to take things easy for a bit. I loved the business, but it was tough. The travelling. The pressure of media stuff. I missed the performing, though. That response you get from an audience. Stuart, my new bloke, set up a gig for me in a little theatre in Whitley Bay a month ago and it was fantastic to be onstage again. Addictive.’

She paused, remembering the event. A middle-aged audience who’d still remembered her hits, who’d got to their feet and cheered a couple of bars into the intro. Who’d queued up afterwards to buy the new CD that Stuart and a couple of his friends had helped her to produce.

But Holly was still waiting for the end of the story.

‘When we had the kids I couldn’t tour any more and the bookings dried up. It’s a fickle business. You’re quickly forgotten.’

‘Couldn’t your husband do some of the childcare?’ Again Holly looked at her as if she were mad. ‘Or you could have hired a nanny.’

‘Robbie was an engineer,’ Kate said. ‘And that was before the time we talked much about work-life balance.’ She smiled at the idea of Robbie managing two small kids in the morning. Breakfast and the school run. Of Robbie joining in with ‘Wheels on the Bus’ at the toddlers’ group, making small talk about breastfeeding and house prices with the other parents.

‘So you just gave it all up? All your ambitions and your dreams?’

‘Not consciously. They just kind of slipped away. And I loved Robbie. I thought it was admirable that he wanted to care for us.’

She paused. Now she was coming to the difficult part of the story. She could just stop there, of course. It was none of this detective’s business after all. What did Kate’s private life have to do with the murder of Margaret Krukowski? But after all these years she wanted to tell it – she’d started now.

‘Then Robbie was made redundant,’ she said. ‘The firm he’d been with since he was an apprentice got taken over and they laid off most of the skilled workers. He had a bit of redundancy money, but we knew that wouldn’t last long. My manager offered me a UK tour – something gentle to remind people I was still there. When I talked about it to Robbie, he lost it. Absolutely refused to consider the idea. It was a crazy time. He was so unhappy. He’d walk out of the door and not come back until a couple of days later. And I wondered if he was turning up on another lass’s doorstep, in a clean shirt, carrying a bunch of flowers.’ She stopped because she was running out of breath, and because she was afraid that she might cry in front of this immaculate young detective.

‘When did you move to Mardle?’ Holly asked.

‘Then. This aunt I’d never heard of died, leaving me the house on Harbour Street. It seemed like the most wonderful piece of luck. A place of our own and the chance of a steady income. I remortgaged to do the renovations. I thought Robbie might be excited too. He might see it as a possibility.’

‘But it wasn’t his thing?’ Holly had chosen a cake for herself, but it lay untouched on her plate. She gave Kate her full attention.

‘He told me he’d got a job on the rigs. A couple of his mates were there already. And I thought it might work. Two weeks on, two weeks off. And it would give me a break when he was working away. It’s hard to describe what he was like when we were here. He was so restless and he had so much energy, but it was destructive. Like it wasn’t the sort of energy that got walls painted or the house cleaned. He just prowled like a lion in a cage.’

‘It sounds as if he might have been depressed,’ Holly said.

‘Yeah? Well, I think I was depressed too.’ Kate paused for a moment. She knew what she wanted to say, but couldn’t quite find the words. In the end she continued in a rush. ‘Do you know what I felt, when the news came that Robbie had died in an accident offshore? Relief. I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about him any more. I wouldn’t have that constant anxiety when he stamped around the house, shouting at the kids.’

‘Was he violent?’ Holly asked the question as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And for a detective perhaps it was natural. Her working day would be spent with people who kicked off at the least provocation.

‘Sometimes,’ Kate said quietly. ‘When he had a drink inside him. I mean, he never broke any bones, but he could lash out. Not with the kids, but sometimes with me.’ And the children saw. She pictured them, white, terrified, backed into a corner in the sitting room, watching. Ryan’s nightmares had started about then. The nightmares and the wandering. ‘It was more that he was unpredictable. You never knew from one day to the next what sort of mood he’d be in.’

‘I can see why you’d be relieved that he was dead then.’ Holly sounded perfectly matter-of-fact. And finally she cut a corner off the cake. She looked up. ‘Did Margaret know he had a temper?’

‘I don’t think she ever heard us arguing.’ Thinking back to that time when they’d first moved into the Harbour Guest House, Kate found that she was feeling tense and cold. It was remembering the big house and the kids, and dreading the days when Robbie would come back from the rigs. ‘And I didn’t know her so well then. But she’d have picked up that there was an atmosphere. One day she said to me: “You’re a different woman when Robbie’s away.”’

‘Would you have divorced him if he hadn’t died?’

Kate thought Holly probably didn’t have anyone serious in her life. Otherwise she wouldn’t ask these questions as if there was one simple answer. ‘I’m not sure,’ Kate said in the end. ‘Even when he was angry and restless I felt sorry for him. Responsible. As if he was another kid. And partly I was responsible. If he hadn’t hooked up with me, if I hadn’t dragged him to Mardle, perhaps he could still have had the life he always wanted. The perfect wife and kids, the happy family.’

‘You didn’t consider going back to the music, once he was dead?’

Kate thought about that and tried to answer honestly. ‘I’d lost all my confidence,’ she said. ‘I sang for me and the kids. Taught them to play the piano. But I thought all I was good for was to be a guest-house landlady. Until Stuart came along and persuaded me otherwise. There was no pressure, but he let me believe in myself again.’ As she said the words they sounded like the worst sort of cliché, too cheesy even to use in a song, but still she thought that they were true.

They sat for a moment in silence. Holly stood up. ‘I’m going to have another coffee. Want one?’

Kate nodded.

Then the talk was all about Margaret, and Kate couldn’t decide whether she was pleased or sad about that. ‘Did you get the impression that Margaret had been in an abusive relationship?’ Holly asked. She was very serious now.

Was that what I had? An abusive marriage? Again Kate thought that it wasn’t possible to sum up a relationship in one phrase.

‘No, I thought her husband had been the love of her life. Why do you say that?’

‘Because she had a special sympathy for the women at the Haven.’ Holly seemed surprised that Kate had asked. The informal chat had turned into an interrogation. ‘And she seemed to recognize what you were going through, didn’t she?’

‘I suppose she did.’ But Kate thought it wouldn’t have taken personal knowledge to see what was going on with her and Robbie.

‘What about Malcolm Kerr? His wife claims that he hit her. Did Margaret ever say anything to suggest that Malcolm might have been violent towards her too?’

‘No!’ The whole tone of the discussion had changed and Kate felt that she’d been misled, conned somehow by the expensive haircut and the pretence of friendship. ‘I don’t even know if they were an item. I just told your inspector that Malcolm was upset when he turned up at the house yesterday.’

‘You hadn’t seen them together recently?’ Holly finished her coffee and pushed away the plate with the half-eaten pastry.

‘No!

‘He never gave her a lift in his car, for example?’

‘I never saw them together.’ Kate heard her voice rising in pitch. ‘Not in the street. Not in a car.’ She got to her feet and started walking towards the door. How could she have been so stupid as to have trusted this woman? To have thought that they might be friends.

Holly followed her and they walked together back towards Harbour Street, the atmosphere quite different now. There was no schoolgirl giggling over tasteless jokes. Instead, an icy silence. Outside the guest house they stopped.

‘And Stuart? How did he get on with Margaret?’

‘Fine! They got on well together. They had lots in common – a love of music. The countryside. But they didn’t really know each other. They only met occasionally when we invited Margaret to have supper with us.’ Kate sensed she was talking too much and shut her mouth tight. No way was she going to invite the detective into the house.

‘So Margaret didn’t know Stuart before he came here to visit you?’ Holly was pulling her car keys from her bag. This was her last question.

‘No! Of course not! How would she?’ But even as she was speaking, Kate was remembering the first time she’d introduced Margaret to Stuart. It was in the summer, an unusually fine day and she’d put lunch in the small garden at the back of the house. Chilled white wine and cheese and salad. She’d called up to Margaret: ‘Come down and meet the new man in my life.’ Margaret had walked out onto the patio and Stuart had stood to meet her, and for a moment Kate had been sure there’d been a mutual jolt of recognition.