Towers of Silence

Chapter Thirty Seven

I felt sullen the next morning. Too little sleep and too much unresolved ill temper. I still felt resentful of Stuart though I realised I was being unfair in leaping to conclusions and passing judgements before I had the facts. I packed my swimming things. If I could fit a few lengths in it would help with the slow burn in my stomach.

Ray was walking the children to school so I took half-an-hour to warm-up and practise some holds and jumps from self-defence. I went through my kicks; forward, side, back and stamp. Concentrated on getting the force and weight into my leg, nowhere else. Forward, back, side, stamp. I imagined jaws, knees, balls. Then I moved onto a pull and roll technique that always made me feel good when I practised it at the class with Brian. The idea was to wrong-foot an attacker by moving with them rather than against. Brian would lunge at me and I’d grab his arms and roll back and down pulling him over as I went. Once he’d landed behind me I would recover forward and run. It wasn’t the same without a partner but I could still rehearse the roll. I had a troublesome shoulder and it was important to fall without incapacitating myself.

“You won’t get a chance to warm-up,” Ursula had always told us, “maintaining general levels of fitness is important, keeping supple too. That’s the groundwork for all the rest. You need to minimise the risk of pulling a muscle or spraining something in a tricky situation.”

I followed my exercises with a hot shower and felt a great deal better. From the office I rang Eddie Cliff at the Whitworth Centre and asked if I could call in to talk to him.

“I’ve the Craft Club till twelve,” he told me, “and at one I’ve a meeting with funders about monitoring and evaluation. You know I spend more and more time raising the money and justifying the work with targets and weights and measures and performance indicators and less and less actually working with people. Sorry,” he said. “Soapbox. Right… erm… best come at twelve. Squeeze you in then.”

“Thanks.”

I checked my emails and sent one to Harry and Bev to tell them we’d be coming to the New Years party. Then I spent more time transferring files from floppy discs I’d brought from home and trying to design a more efficient way of organising my folders.

As I worked my mind circled around my forthcoming appointment with Eddie Cliff, tentatively, never quite reaching out and shaking the thing out to have a good look at it. I prowled round it with eyes shut and face averted hoping that the whole thing was a mistake, an illusion. Not real. Not a lie. A flat, hard, ugly, awkward lie.

“What?” Eddie looked genuinely puzzled. His blue eyes narrowed and shadowed with confusion.

“Someone saw you there,” I repeated. “At Miriam’s, getting in the car with her.”

“They can’t have,” he said. “I wasn’t there.” He looked at me and shook his head in disbelief. “Who said this?” He sounded hurt.

“You don’t know them but they knew Miriam.”

“It’s a mistake,” he said firmly. “Either it was someone else or it was another day and this person’s got them mixed up. That’s the only explanation I can think of. Could that be it?”

“Possibly,” I said guarded.

“You know I was here, at the Centre,” he pointed out, “I told you, we had the visit from Central Grants. I was up to here with it,” he measured the air above his head.

“That finished at two.” Sharon had told me.

He gave a short laugh. “They may have left the building at two but the work didn’t stop there: papers to clear, displays to remove, supporters to thank.” He frowned. “I feel I’m having to defend myself,” he put his hand on his chest. “And I don’t even know who’s told you this. But they’re wrong. I didn’t see Miriam after she left here. I wish I had. Maybe I could have done something…” He shrugged.

Reverend Day had seen her. Was that why the clergyman had been so awkward? Because he’d seen how distressed she was and he’d failed to help her? Did her agitation frighten him? Was it guilt that had sealed his lips, not wanting it to get out that he done nothing, said nothing and left her to her fate? Crossed on the other side of the road?

“You say it could have been another occasion?” I asked Eddie.

“We went to GRUMPY,” he saw me look quizzical. “It’s a resource centre, for community groups, they collect waste materials and recycle them, lots of arts and craft stuff. It’s very cheap. We’re members. We went to stock up on materials. I took Miriam.”

“When?”

“The day before, the Wednesday. That must be it,” he said. I could sense him waiting for my agreement. And I realised I would have to be as persuasive as he was being. I knew Horace Johnstone was a drinker, but I believed his story. He hadn’t been to Heald Place before Roland invited him. Unless he was manipulative beyond belief he had seen Eddie with Miriam and it had been the day of her suicide. Eddie Cliff was lying but I didn’t want him to know that I didn’t believe him.

“On the Wednesday,” I shook my head, tutted. “God, I am sorry. That fits,” I nodded. “Makes a lot more sense. It wasn’t the most reliable of people but I had to check it out.” I smiled, it made my mouth ache. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“You had me worried there,” Eddie said.

“Don’t. Really. This sort of thing comes up all the time. It’s amazing how muddled people can be… and asking people to recall things from months ago. Well. Anyway I’m glad that’s cleared up. It really didn’t make sense.” I smiled again. “And now, I’d better be on my way. You look busy?”

I nodded at the piles of Christmas parcels, the table decorations, the crib with its carved figures.

“Christmas Fair. You must come.”

“Yes, I will. Sharon mentioned it.” When she told me about Melody. I could have asked Eddie if he’d heard about Melody but I held back. I wanted to get out of there. Away from him. Eddie Cliff. Liar. I felt sick inside.

I got to the baths at twenty-to-one. The last twenty minutes of adult hour. I ploughed up and down, feeling my heartbeat speed up, my breathing quicken, the blood flow faster round my arms and legs. All the time I chewed over the interchange I’d had with Eddie Cliff. He’d been plausible, concerned, friendly. And he’d maintained his false story. Why?

The question echoed to the rhythm of my strokes. Why, why, why?

He had something to hide. Whatever business he had with Miriam Johnstone that Thursday afternoon he wanted to keep it hidden. He had a secret. A secret I needed to unearth. He was the last person to see Miriam alive. Not at 12.00 when she had left the Whitworth Centre but over two hours later when she was already distraught according to both Mrs Green and Hattie Jacobs.

I don’t remember getting dressed. I was too busy concentrating on my next step, and the best way to unpick the truth.