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.’