Annie had already explained that they hadn’t come bearing bad news, and Mrs. Prince seemed more at ease. At least, her hand didn’t shake as she poured the tea. “What we were wondering,” Annie began, “was whether you’ve seen your grandson Michael lately.”
“Michael? Not for a few months now,” said Mrs. Prince. “The last I heard, he was shacked up with some floozie on a council estate in Eastvale.”
“That’s right,” Annie said. “Alex Preston. But you must have got that from your son-in-law, Frank. Those were his very words. I’ve met Alex, and she’s not a floozie at all. As far as I can gather, she and Michael are very much in love. Alex is worried about Michael. She hasn’t seen him since Sunday morning. She says it’s not like him to go off without saying. She thought he might have been visiting his dad. I’m just wondering if maybe he was visiting his mother?”
“Our Denise? Well, he isn’t. Maybe he’s come to his senses and left this woman?”
“I’m being serious about this, Mrs. Prince.”
“So am I. Besides, our Denise doesn’t live here anymore, and Michael certainly hasn’t been here visiting us. He’s just like his father, never had much time for Henry and me. Not that we haven’t tried. Oh, he’d drop by now and again when his mum was here at first, like, but—”
“Do you know if your daughter has seen him in the past few days?”
“She would have said.”
“So you do still see her?”
“Yes, of course. It’s just that . . . well, she met a fellow, you see. Lives in Whitby. And she . . . they . . . well, she’s moved in with him. He’s a nice chap, mind you, is Ollie. It’s short for Oliver, you know. I always thought Oliver was a lovely name. Very distinguished. Like Oliver Cromwell. Not that he’s got any airs and graces, mind you. But he’s a decent lad. He’s got a university degree. Got a good job, too. He works in the council offices. They were here for tea just this last Sunday.”
“And she didn’t mention Michael?”
“No. Why should she?”
“We’d really like to talk to her about him,” said Annie.
Mrs. Prince looked at her watch. “Well, she won’t be home now. She’ll be at work. That big Tesco’s down by the railway station.”
Doug Wilson stood up. “Mind if I use your toilet, Mrs. P.?” he said. “Long car ride from Eastvale.”
Mrs. Prince pointed across the room. “It’s through there, on the right. And leave it as you find it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Denise and her husband have been separated for two years now. Is that correct?”
“About that long, yes.”
“Do you have any insight into what happened?”
Mrs. Prince pursed her lips. “Well,” she said, “you never really know with marriages, do you? People don’t open up to you about private matters like that, do they? All they ever talk about is being incompatible, or things not working out. Only they really do know why, if they’re honest. I mean, Henry and me were against the marriage right from the start. She should never have married a farmer, I told her. She was throwing herself away on him. She could have made a good career for herself in business or something, married a nice accountant, or even a lawyer. You should have seen her then. She was a lovely girl. Clever, too. She did really well at school, got three A levels and all. She could have gone to any university she wanted, but no, she had to get a job straightaway and start earning money so she could enjoy her freedom. That’s how she put it. ‘I want to enjoy my freedom while I’m young.’ Money for clothes and makeup and CDs and nights out clubbing in Leeds.” Mrs. Prince snorted. “A long time that lasted. Her freedom.”
“She married young?”
“Young enough. She was nineteen. Worked at the NatWest down on Eastvale market square back then. Henry and I were living in Middlesbrough for his work, like. It wasn’t all that far away. And she’d learned to drive, had a little car of her own. Then Frank Lane had to walk in and apply for a loan. I ask you, what woman in her right mind would fall for a man who goes into a bank to apply for a loan?”
Wilson came back into the room and sat down again.
“How long were they married?” Annie asked.
“Twenty years. She’s still a young woman. Takes good care of herself, too. Always down at that gym, working out.”
“And she has a job at Tesco’s?”
Mrs. Prince paused. “Well, it’s just temporary, like, until she gets on her feet. She’ll be back in banking before long, just you wait and see. Manager, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“So she’s not working in the Tesco office now, in management?”
“Not exactly.”
“When she split up with Frank, did she come straight here to live with you and your husband?”
“Yes. She was in a terrible state. He kicked her out and chucked her clothes after her. I told her right from the start she shouldn’t have married him, that life as a farmer’s wife would never agree with her. She was like a beautiful bird in a cage. She liked nice things and parties and going to restaurants, holidays in Spain, trips to London and Paris. She was a virtual prisoner up at that farm. I don’t know how she stuck it out for so long. It must have been for the sake of the boy.”
“You think that’s what did it in the end? The farm, her life up there, the isolation?”
“’Course it was. And there was never enough money. They were always scrimping and saving to make ends meet. I’m not saying her Frank was tightfisted or owt, not really, but there were times when she could hardly afford to put a meal on the table. I ask you. And he was working all hours God sent. They had no life, never went anywhere. Not even London. No, it’s a wonder it didn’t happen sooner.” Mrs. Prince folded her arms.
“You mentioned the sake of the boy. Do you think she waited until Michael grew up before leaving?”
“I suppose that was partly it. I mean, she does care for the lad, give her her due. She was a good mother. But I’m sure it had been in the cards for some time. Michael was seventeen when our Denise finally left. I reckon she thought he was old enough to take care of himself by then. Not that he had a clue, like. Another one who didn’t want to stay in school and go to university. Didn’t know what he wanted to do, if you ask me. Still doesn’t.”
Annie didn’t think she knew what she wanted to do when she was seventeen. Mostly just get drunk on Bacardi Breezes and hang out with the boys. Doug Wilson probably didn’t know, either, she thought, glancing sideways at him. She thought Winsome knew, though, that she always wanted to be a police officer, just like her dad back in Jamaica. He was her hero, or so she had once confessed after a vodka and tonic too many. But Annie had no idea. Even now she sometimes wondered whether she had made the right decision.
Doug Wilson tapped his pen on his notebook and looked over at Annie. It was the kind of look that said what are we doing wasting our time here, and Annie realized he was right. They had found out as much as she wanted to know about the Lane family, and they would get nothing but more bile out of old Mrs. Prince. Christ, what a miserable bloody family, Annie thought. At least the two members she’d met so far were hardly bundles of joy. Maybe Michael and Denise had a better attitude. Well, she’d soon find out.
Just as they were leaving, she turned and asked Mrs. Prince, “Do you know any of Michael’s friends?”
“I can’t say as I do.”
“A lad called Morgan Spencer?”
“Can’t say as I’ve heard of him.”
“Is there anything else you can help us with?”
“I don’t see how. As I said, I don’t have anything much to do with the Lanes, not since our Denise moved out.”
Annie nodded to Wilson, and they left. They stood by the car for a moment and looked out to sea. The ships were mere dots on the horizon. The wind was chill but the water was blue, the sun bright.