Chapter Fourteen
Late Saturday night, and Jane sat in the house waiting. Kevin had gone to bed, tired after a day working with the engineers on the road. Michael was staying at his girlfriend’s house in Brae. But Andy was still out, and it was Andy who worried her. She’d sent him a text and tried to phone, but there’d been no reply.
He’d been on the early shift at Mareel. If someone had called in sick or he’d been asked to stay on to work late, he would have been in touch. Jane knew he wasn’t the most reliable son in the world, but there was reception in that part of town and even if he hadn’t phoned, he would have texted. Before he’d gone away to university they’d been close. During his study leave for Highers he’d come into the kitchen and perch on one of the countertops, long legs swinging, dark eyes full of mischief, and talk about his dreams. He’d be a film-maker or a script editor, or he’d form a company of clowns and tour the world. She’d never known when he was being serious or when he was winding her up, but she’d loved the conversations. He was a member of the Youth Theatre and some days she’d run through the script with him and help him learn his lines.
Her first response when he’d told them he was staying in Shetland and not returning to university had been selfish. She’d been overjoyed. She’d missed him dreadfully, not just as a son but as a companion. Kevin’s talk was of lamb prices and family gossip. Like Simon Agnew, Andy had provided a view onto a wider world. She’d been worried, of course, that he was throwing away a great opportunity, but she’d thought he could make a career for himself in the islands. She was using the Internet to sell her produce nationwide; surely he could use his enthusiasm to make a name for himself in whatever field he chose in a similar way. She even dreamed that he might join her business. He could be her marketing manager, develop her website and use his artistic talents in her advertising.
But the Andy who returned from Glasgow had been very different from the lad who went away on the ferry, the family car full of his belongings and books. He was withdrawn and battered. When she tried to talk to him, he turned away. He still had friends in the islands, but they were never invited back to the house. She no longer woke up to find the living-room floor covered with young people of both sexes curled up in sleeping bags, looking like enormous slugs. He’d found work in Mareel easily enough, but still he seemed isolated. He could turn on the charm and the banter for the customers in the bar, but when he came home he seemed exhausted and spent most of his time in his room. She’d asked Simon’s advice, wondered if Andy was clinically depressed, but Simon had said just to give it time.
Her phone pinged with a text and she felt a surge of relief. It would be from Andy, telling her that he was spending the night with a friend – maybe that he’d had too much to drink to drive home. And wasn’t that a good sign? Even though her secret fear was that he’d inherited her addictive personality and that at university he’d somehow got caught up with drugs. If he was partying with his mates, at least it would mean that he had started to socialize again. But the text was from Rachel, the young woman she was sponsoring at AA: Are you still awake? OK to chat?
At first Jane was tempted to ignore the message. She had her own worries, which had nothing to do with Rachel. Then she thought at least talking to the younger woman might distract her from her anxiety about Andy. There was a kind of superstition in thinking he wouldn’t arrive while she was still worrying about him. If she was behaving more normally – talking to Rachel, as she often did – he might sail into the house full of apologies and with a rational explanation for not staying in touch.
Rachel answered on the first ring.
‘How are things?’ Jane tried to keep her voice cheerful and unworried. ‘You’re up late. Working a late shift?’
‘Yes, just got in.’ A pause. ‘I was feeling a bit low, actually.’
‘Anything specific?’
‘Not really. I’ll feel happier when they catch this killer. You must be petrified; it happened so close to where you live.’
Jane thought they’d all feel happier once the killer was caught. Now there was a general suspicion of anyone who lived in the area. She’d started looking at her neighbours differently. Wondering.
‘How’s work been?’
Work was Rachel’s stress point, but also her comfort zone. She was more comfortable talking about the patients who turned up in A &E than she was discussing her own problems.
‘I saw a child who’s been self-harming. She’s only thirteen and the family seems stable, happy. Who knows what’s behind it? That’s for the psychs and not for me.’ But all the same Rachel seemed to feel the need for an explanation. ‘Peer pressure maybe. She seems to be one of those kids who’s a little bit desperate, who tries too hard to be part of the gang. The ones destined to be rejected.’
Was that you? Jane wondered – not about Rachel, but about herself. Were you destined to be rejected? Is that why you accepted Kevin so readily, when he came along to sweep you off your feet? Because you were grateful to have been picked out?
She didn’t come to a conclusion because she thought she heard the sound of a car on the track. She strained to listen, but everything seemed quiet outside. Certainly Andy hadn’t come into the house. It must have been her imagination. Wishful thinking. She continued her conversation with Rachel, reassured by the stories of other people’s accidents and traumas. After all, her own life was almost trouble-free.
When she replaced the phone, Rachel seemed happier. It was almost two o’clock and Jane decided to go to bed. Andy wouldn’t be coming back now and she didn’t want to try phoning again. He was probably asleep. Perhaps he’d hooked up with a girl. Or a boy – since he’d been a young teenager she’d suspected he might be gay, though she’d never quite found the words to ask. Whatever, he wouldn’t want to be disturbed. This was Shetland; if any harm had come to him, someone would soon tell her.
She took her coffee mug into the kitchen and saw that Andy’s car was in the yard. It must have been him that she’d heard coming down the track when she was speaking to Rachel. But he certainly wasn’t in the house. She pulled on her shoes and went out to check if he was still in the vehicle. Perhaps he was asleep there and she’d wake him and bring him into the warm. But the car was empty. The clouds blew away from the moon and there was a sudden wash of pale light over the land that led down towards the sea. Andy was standing close to the wall that separated their land from Tain’s. He was staring down towards the wreckage that had once been a house. She was about to call out to him, to ask what the matter was, but something about the way he was standing, so hard and upright, prevented her from disturbing him. She went back into the house and went to bed.
Chapter Fifteen
The police station was Sunday-quiet, despite the investigation. They met in the ops room, with superior coffee from the machine in Perez’s office and chocolate biscuits on a chipped plate. Perez had the photo he’d found in Magnus Tait’s house on the table in front of him. Vicki Hewitt was still at Tain, sorting through the debris, but Willow and Sandy were there.
‘You went back to the house, Jimmy?’ Willow found it hard to understand that. Perez had seemed almost lost in the old man’s house. She’d cut the visit short, partly because it seemed like a wild goose chase – why bother looking for the Tain keys if they’d obviously been delivered to the solicitor? But partly because Perez had seemed so uncomfortable in the place.